Chapter 96 – Quirrell's Choice
It was now 2:30—thirty minutes before the scheduled end of Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
There was still a full hour left before Herbology. That amount of free time was an unexpected luxury for Harry and the others.
They returned to the common room together, chatting about the dramatic events in class as they walked.
But Alexander Smith was lost in thought. He sighed inwardly—Quirrell still hadn't seized his final opportunity.
While Alexander's little prank appeared spontaneous, it had actually been carefully calculated. He'd planned out multiple contingencies before carrying it out.
He had even considered the possibility of being exposed and had worked out ways to avoid detection. At the same time, in an effort to give Quirrell a real chance, he had chosen a precise moment—when Dumbledore was confirmed to be in the castle and not out on business.
Alexander had subtly manipulated things—students Quirrell encountered along his route casually mentioned that Dumbledore had just been seen in the library on the fourth floor. That little hint was intended to lead Quirrell directly to the Headmaster.
Even the magical outburst that stunned Quirrell had been carefully timed—exactly ten minutes, just long enough for him to recover and still catch up to Dumbledore.
And when Quirrell awoke, sure enough, he had traced Dumbledore's footsteps to the fourth floor.
That was the closest he'd ever been.
But… for some unknown reason, after discovering Dumbledore's location, Quirrell hesitated for a few seconds and then turned away, heading down to the first floor instead.
He had walked away from the path Alexander had laid out for him.
---
"Gryffindor really is nice," Ron muttered as they walked toward the greenhouses. "Nearly Headless Nick always helps out the lost first-years. That Gray Lady barely acknowledges anyone."
"Ron," Harry said, worried, "do you think I'll keep having episodes like this? I can't control my power. Even Peeves avoids me now."
"That was just Quirrell being Quirrell," Ron replied, trying to reassure him. "If it weren't for you, we might've all passed out."
"Yeah," Neville added, shaking his round face with a grin. "We'd still be reeking of garlic, like Seamus after his Defense class earlier."
"Harry, I think your pronunciation might be off," Hermione chimed in, poking her head out. "You need to hit the 'm' in Periculum harder, and the beginning should be quicker."
It had to be said—Hermione had completely adapted to life in Ravenclaw. Her habit of quoting textbooks constantly, once an annoyance, was now seen as a virtue by her new Housemates.
Harry and Ron took her advice in stride, and the Ravenclaws appreciated her studious nature. Hermione had become someone they respected.
And since coming to Ravenclaw, Harry, Ron, and Alexander had lived like reclusive ladies in a boudoir—going to class and returning straight to their dorm. They avoided trouble, giving Hermione ample opportunity to "preach."
Alexander had also noticed something surprising—Snape's usual loathing toward Harry had softened.
After all, Harry now had none of the reckless behavior that reminded Snape of James Potter. He wasn't in Gryffindor, didn't sneak out at night, and wasn't constantly in danger.
To Snape, this version of Harry was far less aggravating. Perhaps this restraint was the price of Lily's love.
Snape's reasons for disliking Harry had always been complicated:
He was good at Quidditch, attention-grabbing (if unintentionally), and reckless.
He was mediocre at Potions and didn't seem to share any of Lily's brilliance.
He looked exactly like James.
Even more ironically, the so-called "Golden Trio" had fragments of Lily Evans in each of them.
Harry had Lily's emerald eyes.
Ron had red hair like hers, though longer in the back.
Hermione shared Lily's intelligence and passion for study.
How could Snape not be conflicted?
Yet, Alexander knew the relationship between Snape and Harry had once had a chance to improve.
Back in their first year, when Harry learned Snape had protected him out of a life-debt to James, he started to grudgingly respect him.
But later, when Harry repeated that theory to Snape, Snape snapped. He believed it diminished the truth of his loyalty to Lily, and Harry assumed he was insulting his father.
From then on, their fragile truce collapsed.
In fifth year, when Snape taught Harry Occlumency, their mental connection could've led to mutual understanding. Harry even saw the truth about James.
But then came Dumbledore's secret orders—Snape was forced to kill him.
The relationship spiraled into icy hatred once more.
Ironically, it was these same extreme highs and lows that eventually allowed Harry to listen to Snape's final confession calmly.
In another timeline, Snape could've survived. Had he passed on the Sword of Gryffindor and the truth to Harry earlier, as Dumbledore wished, he might have remained at Hogwarts, and even rebelled against Voldemort in time.
But Snape chose death, taking on the assassination of Nagini. His arrogance cost him everything.
Slytherins, especially the loyal ones, could be prideful to a fault. Even Draco Malfoy—who often suppressed his sympathy to maintain face—was no exception.
Speaking of Draco...
From a distance, Malfoy strolled over, clearly looking for trouble again. He wore the same superior expression as always, though this time, he kept his voice low—likely to avoid drawing Professor Sprout's attention.
"Potter, I heard you got into trouble again," Draco said mockingly. "It must be awful. I'm so concerned for you."
"This has nothing to do with you, Malfoy," Harry replied coldly.
"What, are you going to hex me again? I'm terrified." He clutched his chest dramatically. "You've broken my heart."
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron snapped, unable to contain himself.
"Mr. Weasley, is there a problem?" Professor Sprout asked, raising an eyebrow as she demonstrated soil-loosening techniques.
"N-No, Professor." Ron blushed furiously and turned back to the plants, shooting a glare at Draco.
Malfoy burst into silent laughter, elbowing Crabbe and Goyle and giggling behind his hand.
---
By 4:00 p.m., class ended, and they had a 30-minute break.
"Malfoy, you absolute weasel," Ron growled, stepping toward him. "Why are you always bothering Harry?"
"Bothering?" Malfoy blinked innocently. "I was showing concern."
"If you've got nothing to say, then don't say anything at all, Malfoy!"
"How'd you get into Ravenclaw, Weasley?" Malfoy sneered. "Did you beg the Sorting Hat to follow Potter? You're practically broke. What kind of brain could you have?"
"Ron's worth ten of you," Harry said sharply. "I know exactly who my real friends are."
At that, Malfoy's smirk vanished.
He stared at Harry for a moment—expression unreadable—before turning away and melting back into the Slytherin crowd.
---
"Ron, Malfoy just wanted to get under your skin," Hermione said. "You need to learn not to take the bait. Luckily, Professor Sprout didn't take any points off."
Alexander was quietly impressed. In the past, Hermione would have scolded them thoroughly about house points, but something had clearly shifted. Perhaps the laid-back Ravenclaw atmosphere had mellowed her out.
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