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Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 150
🕑 Added 2025-11-20 09:22:12 +0000 UTCChapter 150: Unlucky Quirrell, The Magic of Love
Quirrell’s final, delirious murmur left Leonardo silent.
Poor man. Truly unlucky.
If Quirrell had never gone into that dark forest, if he had never met Voldemort, if he had never been seduced by him…
He would have gone on as a Hogwarts professor, gone on delving into magic, gone on as an outstanding Ravenclaw graduate forever chasing knowledge.
But there were no ifs.
The black vortices in Leonardo’s eyes turned slowly as he gazed at Quirrell’s shattered, collapsing magical pathways.
Quirrell’s breath was already a thread, his life and soul both reaching their ends.
Leonardo watched the light fade from his eyes and shook his head slightly.
“Aurelius.”
At his signal, red‑gold fire swept over Quirrell’s body, purifying ruined flesh and soul alike.
“Thank you…”
A voice like a hallucination drifted out of the cleansing flames, as if in thanks for ending his suffering.
Leonardo took the phoenix tail feather from his pocket and let the flame lick up it until it crumbled to ash.
Two or three seconds later, scarlet fire burst into being in midair.
A tall wizard with silver hair and beard stepped out at Leonardo’s side. Through his half‑moon spectacles, Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes swept the room.
He took in the wreckage, the unconscious Harry on the floor, and the warped, unstable dragon nearby.
The dragon made Dumbledore’s gaze pause. It was a long moment before he looked away.
“Let us get Harry to the hospital wing first,” he said.
Leonardo agreed at once.
After a quick tidy‑up, Fawkes flared around them, and all three of them appeared in the hospital wing.
Leonardo opened his eyes to see a witch in white robes and hat standing by a bed, wand moving gently as she spoke in a soothing tone.
“It is all right. Your friend has only been knocked out. A bump to the head. He will be fine soon.”
“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey…” Ron lay on the bed with his eyes shut, while Hermione spoke anxiously with her.
Both of them turned as they sensed Dumbledore and Leonardo arrive.
“Merlin’s beard, another one?” Madam Pomfrey said, face tightening. “Dumbledore, you have Dark wizards sneaking into your school. As Headmaster, you should be keeping these children safe!”
She had been all gentleness a moment ago. At the sight of Dumbledore and Harry floating beside him, her expression iced over and the scolding came sharp and fast.
“Poppy, I am sorry. This was my mistake. I will leave Harry in your care,” Dumbledore said.
He did not need to say it. She already had her wand up, lowering Harry gently onto the bed beside Ron’s.
Hermione opened her mouth to speak to Leonardo, but Dumbledore was already steering him out of the ward.
Once they were far enough down the corridor, Dumbledore stroked his beard with a rueful look.
“Madam Pomfrey is an excellent, dedicated healer,” he said. “When she is treating patients, she insists everyone obey the rules. Even me.”
Before Leonardo could answer, Professor McGonagall came hurrying around the corner.
“Dumbledore! You are back!”
“I heard from Longbottom that Harry and the others went after the Stone. This is… this is…” She trailed off, looking to him as if he were the only solid thing left in the world.
Dumbledore nodded. “Harry and his friends did the right thing. And they were very brave. Thanks to them…”
He glanced at Leonardo, then went on.
“The children protected the Stone. They kept it from falling to Quirrell’s plot.”
At that name, McGonagall stared. “Quirrell? How could it be him?”
“And Harry and the others? Are they hurt?” she demanded.
“Do not worry, Minerva. Madam Pomfrey is taking care of them now.”
That did not relax her at all. If anything, she quickened her step toward the hospital wing.
She noticed Leonardo at Dumbledore’s side, but seeing the boy whole, robes neat and clean, she did not think to connect him with the night’s events. She gave him a brief nod and swept past.
Dumbledore led Leonardo back to the Headmaster’s office. The starlight outside had thinned to a faint scatter, falling in through the windows.
“Leonardo, this must be a night you will not soon forget,” he said.
This time he did not conjure drinks or sweets. He simply laced his fingers together and watched the boy quietly.
“Yes. Seeing Voldemort with my own eyes is hard to forget,” Leonardo replied.
At the unflinching use of the name, Dumbledore’s brows rose.
“Heh. There are not many in the wizarding world who dare say ‘Voldemort’ aloud.”
“It is only a name,” Leonardo said, tone light. “Is it not?”
Dumbledore nodded, approval in his gaze. “So it is. Only a name. Yet many still cannot accept that. They cling to their fear.”
“Tom… Voldemort was once a student here too,” he went on. “Before you, Leonardo, he was the finest, most brilliant student Hogwarts had seen.”
Leonardo tilted his head with a touch of appropriate puzzlement. “Tom? That was also Voldemort’s name?”
“Yes. Tom. Tom Riddle. His original name, from his father’s line,” Dumbledore said.
“I saw a plaque in the trophy room,” Leonardo added. “A Special Award for Services to the School. The name on it was Tom Riddle, so…”
Dumbledore glanced out at the thin spray of stars, then sighed.
“Yes. That Tom Riddle.”
“He loathed where he came from, so he changed his name, tried to cut himself off from his past.
“His talent was exceptional. His tongue even more so. There was a certain charm about him. With it, he gathered a circle of ‘friends’—or followers, if we are honest.
“Unfortunately, the road Tom took after that…”
Leonardo listened in silence to the reminiscence. It was the perfect, reasonable way for him to know Voldemort’s real name and history.
“Tom is very skilled at manipulating hearts,” Dumbledore said. “He knows how to use people’s desires and longings, and turn them into chains.”
When he had finished the outline of Tom’s past, his voice grew solemn.
“Leonardo, thank you. For your help, and for standing in the way of Tom’s plans.”
“In the end it was Harry who struck the blow,” Leonardo said. “He defeated Quirrell—or Voldemort, rather.”
Privately he added, Harry did the hitting; he had provided the Harry. Fair enough.
“Headmaster, the way Harry beat Voldemort was… unusual,” he went on. “Just touching him caused terrible damage. What was that?”
His curiosity and hunger for knowledge were exactly what they ought to be.
Dumbledore did not hedge. “Love,” he said simply. “That was the magic of love.”
