Quirrell's Abnormality

"You had everyone dangling upside down in midair... That was impressive. I don't think I could beat you at charms."

"So that's why I got detention? What exactly does detention involve? Did I lose any points?" Breeze asked, a little annoyed. Those troublemakers had caused a mess and dragged him into it, too. Didn't detention just mean wasting his study time?

"You didn't lose any points." Hermione sounded a little helpless. Breeze cared too much about points, though he earned them in almost every class except History of Magic. But she'd thought about it, and she was the same way. This time, though... She said, "Slytherin and Gryffindor each lost fifty points."

"Fifty points! I've barely earned a hundred so far, and they've taken fifty away from me. Hogwarts has more than just Slytherin and Gryffindor. Ravenclaw might have overtaken us by now!"

Hearing Breeze's anger, Hermione suddenly felt angry herself. Through gritted teeth, she said, "That's not all. Harry and Weasley each lost another fifty points, I lost twenty, and Malfoy lost seventy because he was the ringleader."

Seventy points!

Breeze wanted to charge into Slytherin and give Malfoy a beating. He hadn't earned that many points in more than a week, and now they were all gone. They were the result of Breeze's hard work and smooth talking!

But there was nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was work hard to earn them back. Breeze was confident he could, but he still couldn't help feeling bitter!

"What about my detention? Don't tell me I have to help Snape deal with slugs." If that was the case, Breeze would throw Malfoy into the bucket, too, and make him enjoy some quality time with the slugs. That would make him feel better.

"No, you're going to Professor Quirrell's. The slugs are those three's problem."

Well, garlic breath was a lot better than slugs.

"Oh, Breeze, Aurora Sinistra from Astronomy Class said the weather isn't suitable for stargazing tonight, so your Slytherin and Hufflepuff lessons have been moved to Friday."

"Got it. I'll go see Professor Quirrell tonight, then."

Breeze quickly finished dinner, said goodbye to Hermione, and left the Hospital Wing.

"Breeze Order?"

Breeze hadn't gone far when an older Slytherin student walked over.

"I'm the Slytherin seventh-year Prefect. We're sorry about what happened earlier..." He said he was sorry, but Breeze didn't see a trace of sincerity in his expression. It looked more like... he was doing Breeze a favor.

"No need, Prefect. I think everyone's quite satisfied with the situation as it stands." Breeze ignored him. Slytherin never did anything without a reason, and Breeze had the upper hand right now. He wasn't stupid.

"You'd better not do anything foolish."

The Prefect stood behind Breeze, his face ashen and his mouth shut.

Breeze headed for the third floor. Professor Quirrell's office was there, and it was where Breeze would serve his detention that day.

"Knock, knock, knock..."

"C-come in." Professor Quirrell opened the door, then said, "Your d-detention is every e-evening for a week."

Quirrell took out a black book and handed it to Breeze. "Your t-task is to s-study the contents of this book. For future lessons, you'll need to a-assist me."

Breeze took the black book. It was a well-thumbed notebook, and Quirinus Quirrell's name was written on the title page.

"This is my notebook." Quirrell gazed at Breeze, his eyes deep and his words alluring. When Breeze looked up, he was drawn in by that gaze.

"I know you're a young wizard who loves to study, so the position of assistant is just what you need. I'm sure you'd be happy to help me."

Breeze nodded, his eyes vacant. He didn't know that, as he did, a weak contract linked him to Quirrell. Quirrell was its witness.

In an instant, Breeze's expression returned to normal. As if nothing had happened, he looked at Quirrell and said, "Don't worry, Professor Quirrell. I'll do a good job as your assistant."

"O-of course. I'll also give my assistant a-a reasonable number of points." Professor Quirrell seemed to have reverted to his timid self. He returned to his chair and said, "You can s-stay here or go back and s-study on your own. You don't have to come in at night."

Breeze's eyes lit up. Of course he wasn't going to stay in a place that reeked of garlic.

"See you, Professor Quirrell. I'll do my assistant duties properly starting Monday!"

Breeze left happily with Quirrell's notebook. After he was gone—

"M-master, why did you make that kind of contract with that boy..." Quirrell was afraid, because the contract consumed his life force. Its power would grow only if both parties continued helping one another; otherwise, its restrictions were very weak.

Quirrell slowly took off his turban. A terrifying, noseless face was set into the back of his bald head.

He whispered hoarsely:

"He's unusual. If I hadn't used such a weak contract, he would have found out... A natural Occlumens can't be possessed for long unless he opens a path in his soul to me."

"'Mutual help'—what's wrong with that? I give him power, and he becomes my servant. It's only fair!"

"An orphan led into the abyss. This is the most comforting thing that's happened to me in over a decade."

Breeze carried Quirrell's notebook toward the Seventh Floor. The contents were useful, but something about them felt off.

What had happened?

As soon as Breeze returned to the Owlery, Faner, sitting on a bronze lampstand, shouted, "You've been seeing someone else behind my back!"

Then it rushed over to Breeze, sniffing him all over. Its face fell. "How could you betray me?"

"Did you think a contract like that could fool me?"

"No!"

"What happened?" Breeze asked, lifting Faner by the tip of its bronze tail and tapping its snake head. "Explain."

"Hmph. It's a very well-hidden contract. If I hadn't already made another contract with you, I wouldn't have noticed it."

"It's a contract between equals on both sides... Hmph. The other party helps you get what you need, and you help them get what they want. But you have to get more and more deeply entangled without realizing it..."

Faner finally understood. It stared at Breeze in shock and anger. "Someone's trying to hurt you!"

"Hurt me..." Breeze's brows twitched. He pressed his lips together, tossed the notebook onto the table, and used his wand to flip through it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"Let me see!"

Faner volunteered, then spat a mouthful of lamp oil onto the notebook. Breeze hurriedly moved it out of the way.

"This should just be an ordinary notebook." Breeze looked troubled. He never would have thought Professor Quirrell would make a move against him. Would a professor really do something like that to a student?

He flipped through the pages again and again, until he finally came across—

"The Power Brought by the Soul?"

The few short words made Breeze's pupils widen.

Breeze studied the passage carefully and soon found the key points—

Everyone had a soul, but only Dark Magic could control souls. The ancient Slytherin's treasure, the Vessel of the Soul, had given the soul a new life and awakened its power.

If you wanted to see a soul, there was no way around darkness.

"Darkness is the only way?"

Breeze also saw some Dark Magic listed below. What surprised him most was that, besides The Three Unforgivable Curses, there were extreme forms of Dark Magic such as Fiendfyre and Necromancy.

But Breeze always remembered—

"Casting any Dark Magic requires malice to match."

He tossed the notebook aside. No matter how powerful the Dark Magic recorded in it was, Breeze wouldn't rashly dabble in it. His reason was always his strongest weapon.

"Professor Quirrell, what are you really trying to do?"

Breeze quietly closed his eyes. Then he saw a terrifying face. In a hoarse voice, it said, "I give you power, and you must obey me..."

A thread, so weak it was barely there, coiled around Breeze's wrist. Through the power of nature, he could sense it. One light tug would snap it, but—

"I won't get power from you."

Breeze didn't look at the notebook again. Instead, he took out the notebook he'd found in the Owlery and quietly began to read.

"By comparison, you're too stingy, Professor Quirrell. The magic you said you'd teach me is in this notebook, in greater detail, and it even explains how to keep your mind from being corrupted. Not that I like that method, either."

Time passed, and the next day arrived. Breeze hated having Potions first thing in the morning, though the three troublemakers had it worse. If they hadn't been the ones handling the slugs in class that day, Breeze's mood would've been even worse.

"Five points to Mr. Order for an excellent Cold Remedy Potion."

Snape came over to Breeze, picked up the pink potion, and walked a few steps to Harry. He seized Harry by the chin and said, "Drink it."

Harry swallowed the potion as if humiliated. Ron sympathized with him, and when he saw Harry glaring with a pained expression, he cursed Snape hundreds of times in his mind.

"Bitter! Ugh..."

"Hmm, not bad." Snape gave a satisfied, mocking chuckle.

"It seems Mr. Order really is quite talented."

As Harry kept sticking out his tongue, hot air burst from his ears. That was a normal reaction when someone with a cold drank the potion. The previous night, Harry, Ron, and Malfoy had all been rinsing slugs in cold water and roughhousing, leaving the place in a terrible mess. Snape had returned to his office, flown into a rage, and sent them away. As expected, all three had fallen ill the next day.

"Ha ha ha..." Soon, laughter filled the classroom, leaving Harry embarrassed and helpless.

"Malfoy, take your potion with you after class. As for you, Mr. Weasley, you can see if anyone's willing to help you. I haven't sent the Hospital Wing's Cold Remedy Potion over yet, so there's no point in going there."

With that, Snape said, "Clean your cauldrons. I want a five-inch essay on today's lesson by next Wednesday. Class dismissed."

Then he strode out.

"Pfft, who'd be willing to help a Weasley? Harry Potter, or the foul water in your cauldron?" Malfoy poured the pink potion from his cauldron into a bottle, then strutted out with his cronies.

"Damn it, damn Malfoy!"

"Ron... I think we should find Hermione. She's the only one in Gryffindor who managed to make the potion, even though Snape didn't give it a glance."

Breeze cleaned his cauldron, then turned to Hermione. "Want to go to the library and write the essay together, Hermione?"

Hermione bottled her potion, snorted, and handed it to Harry, who was looking hopeful. Then she said to Ron, "Drink it now."

Ron was about to say something when Harry, steam billowing from both ears, held the potion to Ron's lips. Seeing Hermione's fierce glare, Ron gave in. Before long, hot air was streaming from his ears, and Hermione's frown finally relaxed. She said brightly,

"Come on, Breeze. Let's go write our essays!"