After a brief silence, Quirrell — his head wrapped in a purple turban — came shuffling out of the shadows, an uneasy smile stretched across his pale face. "Oh — Professor Vincent! Do forgive me. For a moment there, I forgot I wasn't still a student. My first instinct when someone caught me in the Restricted Section was to hide."
"Ha, I know exactly the feeling."
Vincent said cheerfully, "What brought you to the Restricted Section, Professor Quirrell?"
"Oh, this." Quirrell held up a battered black-covered volume. "The Dark Arts Unveiled — supplementary material for my classes. And you, Professor Vincent?"
"I've been finding myself rather drawn to ancient runes and ancient magic lately. Looking for relevant reading material. Anything catch your eye while you were in there, Professor?"
Quirrell was about to reply when he paused, then said after a few seconds: "You might want to check over that way — I think I noticed a book on ancient magic when I passed through, white cover. Hard to miss."
"Oh, really? Much appreciated."
As he turned, Vincent let his gaze drift almost imperceptibly to the turban at the back of Quirrell's head. A thought surfaced: Voldemort exists as a soul fragment because of his Horcruxes — even if killed, he cannot truly die. And I can consume souls to grow stronger.
So if I were to destroy Voldemort and consume his soul — would he survive that?
That's something worth testing. Even if it doesn't actually kill Voldemort, consuming his soul should send my magical power shooting through the roof.
"…"
Quirrell suddenly felt a chill run the length of his spine. The gaze this man had just turned on him — it wasn't right. It was the look of someone who had spotted prey.
But why would he be looking at me like that?
Unless…
His whole body gave a violent shudder. He turned and made for the door. "W— well, good luck to you, Professor Vincent."
Once Quirrell was gone, Vincent stood there pinching his chin in thought: The one who pointed out that book just now — no prizes for guessing, it was Voldemort.
But would the Dark Lord really be doing me a favour out of the goodness of his heart?
Then again, I've never given him reason to come after me — so why would he bother setting me up?
Could it be because the original owner's parents were members of the Order of the Phoenix?
Despite his misgivings, Vincent made his way to the spot Quirrell had indicated and, in an unobtrusive corner of the shelves, found the white-covered volume — Secrets of Medieval Magic.
He flipped through it quickly. It appeared to be a handwritten manuscript from some unknown wizard, recording a collection of magical legends from the Middle Ages. Most of them were dark and dangerous, though the text merely documented their existence without providing any actual incantations.
Otherwise Voldemort would have just taken the book and left.
"In that case, why would Voldemort bother directing me to…"
Before he could finish the thought, he noticed traces of magic lingering on one particular page. A slight flick of his wand. "Reveal yourself."
Instantly, the text on the page shifted and warped — and a set of annotated words emerged. Vincent read it once, and his expression became serious.
The annotation described an evil magic devised by a dark wizard of the Middle Ages. He had secretly abducted over a hundred ordinary people and sacrificed their lives through a mysterious ritual, thereby gaining immense magical power and sweeping through the wizarding world of the era — until Merlin himself stepped in and struck him down.
"Mysterious ritual… life sacrifices… gained magical power…"
These elements together — they bore an uncanny resemblance to his situation. Or more precisely, to the original owner's situation. The original owner had acquired the soul-consuming ancient magic from a tome of unknown origin, learning a sequence of ancient runes from its pages and completing a ritual arrangement.
And gaining power by consuming souls shared a certain disturbing kinship with gaining power through sacrificing lives. It was difficult not to draw comparisons.
Unfortunately, the ancient tome the original owner had acquired had vanished entirely by the time Vincent arrived in this body — otherwise he wouldn't have needed to come scrounging through Hogwarts' library in the first place.
"Hm?"
He turned another page — and found one missing. "Did Quirrell tear it out?"
What had been on that page? Surely it hadn't actually recorded the ancient magic for this life-sacrificing ritual?
Voldemort couldn't possibly know that I possess a similar 'ancient magic'. So in pointing me to this book, he must have wanted me to learn that a magic exists which sacrifices Muggle lives in exchange for power.
Vincent understood now. He's playing on my identity as a Muggle Studies professor. A clumsy little trick.
Pathetically obvious.
He returned the book to its shelf, cast one last glance into the deeper darkness of the Restricted Section, and took several of the more useful ancient runes volumes with him as he left the library.
Plenty of time. No need to rush.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the castle, Hermione came back to her dormitory after a full day of classes — only to find her cat was gone. She assumed at first that the cat had wandered outside, but by the time dinner was over there was still no sign of her.
Growing anxious, Hermione went from room to room asking, searched the common room from top to bottom, and scoured the surrounding corridors — but Crookshanks was nowhere to be found.
"Waah…"
Hermione turned to Harry, Ron, and Neville with tears welling in her eyes. "Crookshanks is gone! She might have gotten lost — could you please help me look for her?"
Ron hesitated. "At this hour, wandering the castle corridors is against the rules. We'd be given detention."
Neville answered without a second's hesitation. "I'll help you look."
Harry, still sleepless over Professor Vincent's cool reception, said: "Me too!"
"You two…" Ron made the exasperated face of a Husky blaming the universe, then threw his hands up. "Fine, fine, I'll come! First day of term and already breaking school rules — I've officially outdone Fred and George!"
Mysteries World.
The following day, Crouch brought Bernadette an unexpected piece of news: "The Temperance Faction members who had been in contact with me have gone silent."
"Oh?"
"I used some old contacts to gather information. Apparently the Pleasure Faction launched a sudden assault on the Temperance Faction not long ago, causing heavy casualties. The survivors have now scattered and gone their separate ways."
"No wonder they were so desperate to find a partner. They must have already sensed something coming."
Bernadette nodded. "Leave it for now. If anyone else comes with a similar request, let me know."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
Once she'd given Crouch his instructions, Bernadette leaned on the railing and gazed into the distance, one brow slightly raised. So how exactly am I supposed to try roleplaying as the 'Broker'? Do I have to wander the streets observing people and asking if anyone has needs, just like that man does?
Or perhaps I could organise the entire crew of the Dawn for a grand trading session?
That won't do either — everyone on board has had ample time to sort out whatever they need amongst themselves. Who would bother with a formal trading gathering?
"Or perhaps…"
Bernadette glanced over at Crouch again. "Crouch — I recall that you acquired a Sequence 4 Extraordinary characteristic some time ago, and you've been looking for someone to forge it into an Extraordinary item?"
"That is correct, Your Majesty. It is a characteristic of the Sun Pathway — a Blazing Midnight. However, the craftsmen I know are only capable of forging items up to the sub-demigod level."
"I can find someone to forge it for you. Are you interested?"
Even Crouch's habitually impassive eyes flickered with a ripple of feeling. "Of course."
"Come with me."
Bernadette wasted no words. She reached out and placed her hand on Crouch's shoulder, and together they stepped into the vivid, ink-drenched Spirit World.
A few minutes later, the two of them stepped out of thin air before an ornate cathedral filled with mechanical elements. They were in the capital of Intis — the Grand Cathedral of the Steam God in northern Trier.
Almost the instant they appeared, a tall figure stepped out from the cathedral entrance. He was strikingly handsome, with chestnut hair falling to his shoulders, dressed in a monk-like grey robe and a white apron.
At first glance, there was a faint resemblance to Bernadette in his features — but his lake-blue eyes were like the still surface of an ancient well, utterly devoid of any trace of emotion.
This was Bernadette's younger brother, and an angel of the Church of the Steam God: Bono Gustav.
To be continued…