"I swear, Hagrid definitely knows something."
Harry spoke with absolute conviction after they left Hagrid's Hut.
After setting down the dog food, John left with the Golden Trio. Hermione and Ron also thought Hagrid was hiding something.
Their only lead now was Nicolas Flamel.
Determined to expose Snape's true colors, Harry said, "That name sounds familiar, but I can't remember where I heard it."
He was sure he had seen the name before, but he simply couldn't remember where.
The little package Hagrid had taken from Gringotts was clearly Snape's target, and whatever was inside had something to do with Nicolas Flamel.
"John, have you heard that name before?" Harry pinned his hopes on John, who was even cleverer than Hermione.
John thought back, then shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, I don't remember either. You could try the library. If there's nothing about him there, then he doesn't exist."
It was a good idea, and Harry's eyes lit up.
Hermione had also been about to suggest the library. Since they were all thinking alike, she urged, "Then let's hurry over. Ideally, we should find him before Christmas."
She and Ron would both be going home for Christmas. They still had more than twenty days, so hopefully they could find an answer.
At the mention of Christmas, Harry's eyes dimmed a little.
He didn't want to return to the Dursley family. They would only make him stay in the cramped cupboard under the stairs, and Dudley was always trying to bully him.
Seeing Hermione and the others discussing their Christmas plans, Harry said enviously, "I don't want to go back. It's awful there."
Ron and Hermione sympathized with him. They found it hard to imagine having relatives that terrible.
"John, are you going home for Christmas too?" Hermione knew John also came from a Muggle family.
But John had no intention of going back. He shook his head. "No. I'm planning to spend Christmas consolidating what I've learned. I can't use magic at home."
His relentless approach to studying sent a chill through Harry and Ron. Hearing him, Hermione felt she couldn't allow herself to fall behind either, but if she didn't go home, her father would wonder what had happened to his darling daughter at school.
The four parted on the Fifth Floor. John wasn't planning to visit the library.
Although the name Nicolas Flamel sounded somewhat familiar, his most pressing task was to improve his Occlumency.
After reaching the Seventh Floor, he found the Room of Requirement.
He finished his day's training inside, and by the time he emerged, it was already dark.
He decided to head to the kitchens to see if he could get some dinner.
On the way, he ran into someone he didn't want to see.
"John Wick, g-good evening."
The stammering Professor Quirrell seemed to have run into John "by chance."
John's left hand had already slipped silently to his wand. He activated his Occlumency and replied with a polite smile, "Good evening, Professor Quirrell."
After witnessing John's power when he killed the troll, Voldemort had entertained the idea of recruiting him as a Death Eater.
Pure-blood?
Voldemort didn't care.
During his reign, he had acted like a fanatical pure-blood supremacist, but he himself was a half-blood.
Though he was unwilling to mention it, Voldemort didn't care all that much whether someone was half-blood or pure-blood. What mattered more was whether their power could serve him.
Pure-blood ideology was merely a tool he used to rule.
A first-year little wizard was at the easiest age to control.
Voldemort intended to raise John into a young Death Eater and make him an inside agent at Hogwarts, just like Snape.
He had arranged for Quirrell to approach John.
Professor Quirrell knew John was eager to learn, so he put on an act. "W-were you studying? How... diligent."
He had even thought up an excuse for John. John might as well use it, so he nodded. "I got so absorbed that I forgot to eat. If there's nothing else, I'm going to get dinner."
He had no desire to stay with Quirrell. Who knew where Voldemort might suddenly pop out from?
John wanted to leave quickly, but Quirrell had other plans.
Quirrell smiled. "S-such a keen student. Perhaps you'd be interested in the knowledge in the Restricted Section."
The Restricted Section?
Suddenly, John was in no hurry to leave. A look of longing for the Restricted Section appeared on his face.
Quirrell took it all in, a trace of contempt surfacing in his eyes.
As expected, wizards who pursued knowledge were always interested in forbidden things.
The quickest way to turn a good child into a Death Eater was to make him understand the importance of power.
That was how Quirrell himself had become Voldemort's follower.
Voldemort understood these wizards all too well. In his youth, he had been a regular visitor to the Restricted Section, which contained no shortage of records on dark magic.
Dark magic was powerful and could beguile the mind. Once John had learned it, they would only need to offer a little guidance to gain a young Death Eater with ease.
These thoughts passed in an instant. Quirrell smiled and stammered, "You're a good boy. I... I can give you permission to enter the Restricted Section."
"Really? I've wanted to have a look for ages!"
John acted just like a child eager for knowledge, which was exactly what Quirrell wanted to see.
Quirrell told John to come to his office the following Monday to collect the permission slip. That would solve the problem of John only being able to visit the Restricted Section at night.
As for what Quirrell was plotting, John could make a few guesses.
But none of that mattered. He wasn't actually a child. Once he had the signature, he could simply ignore him.
Besides, Quirrell would only be around to cause trouble during his first year. Someone else would automatically replace him in the second.
Everyone knew that the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts was a disposable position with a one-year shelf life.
Monday.
John received a slip signed by the professor from Quirrell. As he handed it over, Quirrell also subtly mentioned the titles of several books to steer him toward reading them.
They included titles such as "Sixteenth-Century Dark Magic," "The Curses of Magic," and "Outstanding Nineteenth-Century Curses."
He even dressed it up by claiming that the most basic part of studying Defense Against the Dark Arts was understanding how dark magic worked. John merely chuckled.
I'd have to be out of my mind to believe your bullshit.
He showed great interest on the surface, but once he reached the library, he dropped the act.
He ran into the trio researching Nicolas Flamel in the library, but didn't disturb them.
After showing Madam Pince the professor's note, John entered the Restricted Section without any trouble.
Most of the books in the Restricted Section were profoundly complex. Even with his top student mode activated, he struggled a little.
"I still haven't learned enough. My foundations are too weak."
After that sigh, John spotted a book titled "Goblin Forging."
Something stirred within him as he thought of the Sword of Gryffindor. That sword had been commissioned from goblins by Gryffindor, one of the Founders.
His current fighting style was similar to Gryffindor's, but his weaponry paled in comparison.
He had struggled a little when using a medieval suit of armor's weapon against the troll last time. These magical creatures had astonishing natural defenses.
Fire dragons were one example. Their scales had extremely high resistance to magic.
Ordinary weapons clearly wouldn't do if he wanted to fight a fire dragon.
"Perhaps I could forge one myself."
John's eyes burned with enthusiasm. Having a weapon of his own would naturally be ideal.
After borrowing "Goblin Forging," John began studying it so obsessively that he forgot to eat and sleep.
The book was a translation. Its original owner had been a wizard from Egypt.
John found it somewhat difficult to read, but that was fine. He still had time to work through it.
Over the next few days, he also borrowed "A Basic Guide to Ancient Runes" from the library.
As he expanded his knowledge, John gradually began to grasp the contents of "Goblin Forging."
That evening, he put his books away and prepared to head to the Forbidden Forest.
His punishment wasn't over yet. John still had to go to the Forbidden Forest every night to patrol with Hagrid.
After he arrived at Hagrid's Hut, Fang enthusiastically ran over and sniffed all over John.
Hagrid laughed heartily. "Fang really likes you."
Likes me?
John watched Fang sniffing insistently at the pocket holding his sandwich.
"Are you sure he isn't just hungry?"
Before you continue