Chapter 118: Blood-Scored, Quirrell
Defence Against the Dark Arts office.
"Cough, cough. Very well. I have covered the details of this spell. Cough…"
Quirrell could not stop coughing, and it took real effort to finish speaking. The hand covering his mouth looked gaunt, his skin even paler than before.
Wand raised, Leonardo traced the casting stance and asked with polite concern, "Professor, you do not look well. Should you see Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing? Or Professor Snape—his potions might…"
"N-no, no need. I will recover… slowly."
Quirrell waved it off at once and changed the subject, clearly unwilling to linger on his health.
"This spell—Sanguinisectum—carves numerous wounds into the target's surface, and they do not heal easily. Cough…"
"So, cough, never use it on your classmates."
He tried a smile, but it was scarcely better than a grimace.
Leonardo faced the practice dummy. Starting from the upper left, he drew a light X with his wand.
"Sanguinisectum."
Ssssht—
A dozen blood-red blades shot from the wand tip, each one angled toward the dummy's head, neck, and torso. Slicing sounds overlapped. In an instant, the dummy's surface was scored with cuts of varying depth. Where the slashes had struck repeatedly, the wounds were deeper; the relatively slender neck was severed outright.
Zzzzz—
Eyes narrowed, Leonardo watched red fluid seep along the cuts and hiss faintly, eating at the dummy's surface.
Good bite.
The direct lethality was enough, and there was a venomous edge besides.
Still, it felt lacking. As if it could be refined further.
Quirrell nodded at the display and praised him in a thin voice. "Excellent. Your talent is remarkable, Leonardo. Most who first try this curse manage two or three blades at best. You cast a dozen on your first attempt—and with flawless accuracy. Impressive."
"It is because you explained it so thoroughly, Professor," Leonardo replied, and it was not mere flattery. Among adult wizards, Quirrell's strength ranked as elite, and his theory was solid. When he lectured, his analysis had real bite.
"Even so, Professor, this spell seems to have room to develop," Leonardo added, voicing his sense and conjectures.
Quirrell's mouth ticked up. As expected of a Ravenclaw born with brilliance, Leonardo's drive to probe knowledge was almost instinctive. The spell his master had granted—the Dark magic—had been simplified by Quirrell on purpose, certain portions removed, a few flaws left where a keen mind might find them.
Just as Quirrell had predicted, Leonardo's gift for the Dark Arts let him see the weakness at once and even propose improvements.
After failing to sway Leonardo with a variant of the Imperius and being turned back instead, Voldemort had ordered a change of tactics: tempt Leonardo toward the Dark Arts, let him wade deeper and deeper. Once the boy tasted their power and sought ever more profound knowledge, he would discover soon enough the true peak of that path.
Voldemort loved seeing talent and strength bow before him. He would make Leonardo recognize his power and majesty from the heart.
With that instruction, Quirrell had done as told—threading a little Dark Arts lore into their sessions, guiding Leonardo step by step. Only recently had he begun to teach full Dark spells.
To his delight, Leonardo showed no resistance. His speed with such knowledge shocked even Quirrell. Yet after several lessons, a problem emerged.
Leonardo learned too quickly, too easily.
As a Ravenclaw alumnus and a man who had spent years as a student, Quirrell knew: knowledge grasped without struggle seldom stuck. Only problems that had been dug into and wrestled with could kindle a student's interest and draw out genuine, voluntary exploration.
With a prodigy like Leonardo, that was truer still.
"Good question," Quirrell said. "Keeping your mind sharp is a Ravenclaw virtue. Your idea has merit. Perhaps this spell could…"
Talking it through with Leonardo, he led him—gently—toward the spell's original shape, doing his best to make the boy feel the gains were the fruit of his own thought.
Time slipped by.
"Yes. Potions," Leonardo said suddenly. "The spell does not need to exist as a bare incantation. It can be combined with a potion."
His eyes lit with real excitement. Compound magic like this was rare. The spell was valuable, but the thinking behind it mattered even more: coupling charms with potions. With this as a model, new uses might follow.
Leonardo drew a small phial and misted a smoky-black liquid into the air, then swept his wand. This time, the wand path started at the lower right, and the final stroke of the X curved distinctly.
"Sanguinisectum."
As the blades shimmered into being, they caught and clung to the airborne droplets, a dark streak flowing through each crimson edge. Wherever the dummy was cut this time, the potion-laced wounds shed more tiny fragments that fell and vanished before they touched the ground, eaten away to nothing.
Quirrell's smile broadened. Nasty brew. Anyone who carried such a potion about was no pampered cherub.
"Leonardo, you are a wonder. This is the first time I have developed a new practical application with a student."
He beamed, doing his best to look kind.
Leonardo, in turn, let his gaze warm with sincerity, borrowing a few tricks from the drama coach to blend technique with feeling. "It is your patient instruction, Professor. Your teaching is…"
While his mouth paid compliments, his thoughts ran on.
So, finally willing to hand over the complete spell.
No wonder it had felt deficient—even flawed.
He had kept something back on purpose. Or perhaps not kept, exactly. Taught the incomplete version first, then guided them to the full.
Teach was hardly the word for the second half. It was closer to shepherding, to making it feel like co-discovery.
Why go to the trouble?
To make the learning less easy? He could simply have taught less and more slowly.
Was he manufacturing difficulty?
Leonardo glanced at Quirrell's faint smile and the thin streak of satisfaction on his pale face. If the aim was to make the work hard, then… he meant for the spell to root deeper in memory.
Dark magic.
Quite the trouble taken.
Leonardo resumed practice, letting the vortices surface in his eyes and compressing them to pinpoints. Between questions, he took a swift look with the Peeking Fiend's Eye at Quirrell's insides—the flow of his magical pathways.
Changed again.
Shrinking. Twisting.
So this was the cost of being ridden by Voldemort.
At the Quidditch match, the lines of Voldemort's own magic had been singular, uncanny—far from those of other adult wizards.
Dumbledore's, too, were distinct.
One reason their strength leapt beyond the norm?
While he cut the air, Leonardo asked in the humble tone of a student, "Professor, I read about the magical pathways within a wizard…"
…
After Leonardo left, Quirrell's face tightened. He asked, carefully, "Master, Leonardo asked about magical pathways. I have not studied that deeply…"
A low, cold voice filled his skull. "Of course you have not, fool. Pathways touch the root of a wizard. Naturally, you do not understand. I chose well. The boy's hunger to know—worthy of a Ravenclaw."
The voice paused, then continued. "I will grant you a little knowledge of pathways. Teach him a little. When he knows who has given him the richest, most precious knowledge this year, he will understand whom to follow…"
"Yes, Master," Quirrell said quickly. He wanted only to finish the task. Help Voldemort restore his body, then win back his own body and soul.
At first, it had been tolerable. As time passed, terror grew. His body, his magic, even his soul were withering. The decline would not stop. It was not what had been promised. By the time he understood, his life was in the remnant's hands.
He had to move faster and finish.
"The pair of unicorns in the forest. How goes the hunt?" Voldemort asked suddenly. Quirrell shuddered and hurried to answer. "Soon, Master. One seems female. She is with a foal. She…"
"Good."
"Good, good…" The voice turned needle-cold, stabbing pain through Quirrell's head. "Well done, Quirinus. An unborn unicorn holds the purest, cleanest life force. That will restore more of my power. The Stone…"
"When I return to my peak, I will make you Minister for Magic. Is that not your heart's desire?"
"Yes, Master," Quirrell forced out through the pain, fawning as he had learned. Inside, his heart was ice.
He knew unicorn blood could replenish life force, let the dying cling on. At a price—a curse twined through the rest of one's days. A half-life barely better than death.
Voldemort, a soul alone, could not drink. Then who would?
…
On the way to the library, a clear voice called out, "Leonardo. Finally."
He turned. From around the corner came a blonde girl.
Daphne Greengrass. What did she want?
They had spoken a few times early last term and not much since. Why seek him out after Christmas? To claim a present? No—she had not sent him one.
"Greengrass. What is the matter?"
He meant to find an excuse to slip away, but instinct told him to stay. Since becoming an Animagus, he had come to value the meditations in Divination and Inspiration more and more. He had kept at them, and they bore fruit.
Hands clasped behind her back, Daphne strolled up to him. "You are well-liked, Leonardo. Not only in your own house—Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs call you a friend too. But…"
"Why is it you only socialize with Malfoy among Slytherins?"
He stared a moment, wrong-footed by the turn. Was it not obvious? He simply did not care to tangle with Slytherin trouble. Malfoy had brought books and a 'friend's fee' unbidden, and behaved stably enough in class.
As for being well-liked, he had helped classmates in various lessons. A very ordinary thing. He taught a little better than most; students enjoyed it. Why no Slytherin ties, then?
He remembered a Herbology lesson where he had been paired with a Slytherin. The boy had flailed and floundered, and Professor Sprout had hinted he should help. He had no objection. Helping classmates was normal.
Then the boy had straightened his collar with dirty hands and said, "It is your honor to serve Zabini."
Leonardo had actually frozen at the first words—he had never heard anything quite like it. In the second second, Zabini had been planted in the soil.
Good upbringing being what it was, he had pulled the boy back out under Professor Sprout's aghast stare. He had not earned a point that day. Nor lost any. After class, Sprout had gently explained that plants belonged in soil, but people did not.
It had stuck with him. Since then, he had been all the more certain: best not to engage Slytherins.
He let a few seconds pass and said quietly, "Do you know how Slytherins treat others?"
"I do," Daphne said at once. "Arrogant. Self-satisfied. Looking down from on high."
"Contempt for those weaker or poorer than themselves."
"Pure-blood dignity and honor above all. Muggle-borns and half-bloods…"
She went on, and Leonardo's confusion deepened. She knew. Perfectly. Then she stopped and pointed to herself.
"I know because I am one."
His gaze stayed steady on her calm face. "Then what is it you want to say?"
Daphne's smile was poised and elegant. "Leonardo, I already heard from Draco."
"If one wants to speak with you sincerely, one should not do it with lies. So…"
She drew a hand from behind her back and offered a book, the smile in her eyes growing. "My tuition. Is it to your satisfaction—"
"Professor Grafton?"