Harry Potter and Dumbledore in the Kitchen

Harry's Detention ended that night—or rather, he was thrown out. After exchanging a few words with Professor Flitwick, Snape abruptly told Harry to leave his office. At any other time, Harry would not have wanted to spend another second with Snape. Now, though, he desperately wanted to know what Snape and Professor Flitwick were discussing.

And how had Will gotten Professor Dumbledore's permission to read books from the Restricted Section? Wasn't he a first-year, just like Harry?

Harry remembered what Hermione had said about the Restricted Section: it was tightly controlled because many of its books dealt with Dark Magic. Throughout Hogwarts' history, plenty of young wizards had been led astray by them.

Hermione had read that in Hogwarts, A History, by the way.

Harry could not understand why Dumbledore had allowed Will into the Restricted Section, even though he knew Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the century.

Perhaps Hermione and Neville would know. Harry decided to ask them.

"P-P-Potter?" A stammering voice came from behind Harry. He knew at once who it was. Of everyone he knew, Professor Quirrell was the only one who stammered.

"Good evening, Professor Quirrell. Is something wrong?" Harry turned to greet him. Quirrell's classes were dreadful, but he never bothered students about being late or failing to do their homework. Quite a few young wizards liked that, and Harry had nothing against him.

Besides, Snape had kept Harry in Detention that night. He had a perfectly good reason to be out in the castle. Even Professor McGonagall would not dock him points for failing to get back to his common room on time.

"N-no... nothing... I just... just got back... from outside..." Quirrell stammered so badly that Harry grew impatient listening to him.

Harry had no idea what Quirrell had been doing outside at night, but it was none of his business. Professors did not lose points for wandering around after dark, anyway. As he thought this, he noticed that Quirrell seemed unusually nervous.

Quirrell also seemed hot. Sweat was already beading on his face, and the edges of his enormous purple turban were soaked. Winter had begun, and Hogwarts had already seen two snowfalls. Harry felt chilly even bundled tightly in his robes, yet Quirrell, dressed so lightly, was sweating profusely.

It would have looked strange on anyone, even Professor Quirrell, who had always been odd.

Harry had no idea how much pressure Quirrell was under.

"Kill him... kill that boy!" A hoarse, icy voice filled with hatred echoed through Quirrell's mind, urging him to attack Harry Potter.

Quirrell's head felt as though it were splitting open, but he forced himself to endure it. The Dark Lord had been in terrible condition these past few days. Quirrell had gone into the Forbidden Forest that night to find a unicorn and help him recover, but he had failed to catch one.

Then he had run into Harry Potter on his way back. Something about the sight of Harry seemed to have set the Dark Lord off. He kept frantically ordering Quirrell to kill the boy, but Quirrell did not dare!

Merlin's toes! The Dark Lord was so confused that he apparently did not understand: if Quirrell killed Harry Potter now, Dumbledore would probably finish him off the very next moment! Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts!

"Master! Great Master! Dumbledore is still at Hogwarts, and you haven't recovered. I can't do this!" Quirrell kept explaining to the "master" on his head. Even at the height of his power, the Dark Lord had not dared appear at Hogwarts, let alone now, when he was little more than a wandering spirit who could only possess someone else.

Quirrell could only hope the Dark Lord had not completely lost his mind and would realize the cost of killing Harry Potter now.

Fortunately, the voice in his head seemed to calm at the mention of "Dumbledore." It stopped pressing him quite so urgently to act, and the tearing pain in his head eased considerably. Quirrell breathed a sigh of relief.

Just as he began to relax, however—

Tap, tap, tap... Footsteps sounded from the stairwell. A boy with silver-gray eyes came up the stairs, carrying a battered book. His expression was blank, giving him a distant, cold air.

Will Behrens.

The moment Quirrell saw him, the Dark Lord, still lost in his confusion, began muttering again inside his head. "That boy... he'll become an important asset to me..."

"That child who resembles me... catch him... catch him..."

Quirrell's headache returned. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to seize Voldemort and demand to know whether he was the Dark Lord or a priest. Why was he so interested in little boys?

If he had not insisted on using Quirrell's body to give Will Behrens that pointless lesson, things would never have reached this point:

First Dumbledore had grown wary of Quirrell. Then, before long, the Dark Lord's condition had begun to deteriorate again, forcing Quirrell to drink Unicorn Blood. And Unicorn Blood carried a curse!

Quirrell was beginning to regret ever going into the forests of Albania. He could have been a professor at Hogwarts, with a bright future ahead of him. Instead, he was about to become a cursed shell.

Damn it!

"Oh, hello, Harry. Professor Quirrell." Will's voice sounded faint and distant.

Quirrell saw the title of the book in Will's hand and was startled that he had already begun reading books on Dark Magic. Then he noticed Will's eyes, so detached they looked almost vacant, and a chill ran through him. He knew Will was extraordinarily gifted, and now the boy had encountered Dark Magic in his first year. Judging by that vacant, indifferent expression, he seemed utterly unconcerned about its influence. No wonder the Dark Lord liked him so much. He was practically a Dark Lord in the making!

Harry had also noticed the book in Will's hand. Remembering what Professor Flitwick had said, he blurted out, "Will, I heard Professor Dumbledore—"

"Professor Dumbledore? Oh, I just ran into him in the kitchen." Will cut Harry off, answering in a strangely detached voice.

At that, Quirrell turned and hurried away. He did not dare stay there with the Dark Lord perched on his head. If Dumbledore came up in a moment, the Dark Lord's condition was so poor that the slightest slip in their disguise could spell disaster for Quirrell.

"Harry, I'm going to get some rest. Good night. Ya—aawn—" Will yawned. He had been awake for two days and a night, and the few mouthfuls of Invigoration Draught he had taken had worn off. He had already been fighting sleep while eating a late-night snack in the kitchen.

He had no idea Quirrell saw him as a Dark Lord in the making, nor did he know what Harry had been about to say. He needed a good rest.

"Good night, Harry. I really want to sleep..."

Will continued up the stairs. Harry called after him in confusion, "Is that the way to the Slytherin Common Room?"

Will did not answer—or perhaps he did not hear. He kept climbing without a pause. Of course he was going to the Room of Requirement.