The Message from the Eagle

Dumbledore turned his gaze to Harry, his expression inquisitive.

Harry nodded. "It's Quirrell—and Voldemort."

Hagrid shuddered, his eyes wide with fear.

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore placed his cup down.

Harry touched the scar on his forehead. "When he cast the Killing Curse at me, this hurt."

"I also heard and even saw things."

A flash of surprise flickered in Dumbledore's eyes.

"I heard my parents' voices, saw another Killing Curse, and a figure with red hair. It must've been what happened that night." Harry continued, his voice steady. "I think you know what I'm talking about."

Dumbledore offered a comforting explanation. "Perhaps the similarity triggered old memories—"

"Dumbledore!" Harry interrupted, his tone sharp. "We've talked about this twice already, and you're still treating me like a fool?"

"Maybe you should go to the Gryffindor common room and spin some bedtime fairy tales for the kids. You're good at lying to children."

"I'm not here for nonsense. I need a reason."

"This is clearly abnormal."

Harry had experienced the fleeting moments before death before—during his seventh contract. He had been hired to kill a giant crab spider terrorizing a village, but when it came time to claim his reward, the villagers turned on him. Surrounded by over twenty people, he had been stabbed with a pitchfork in the chaos.

That was when he truly understood why Geralt always said, "Pitchforks are the deadliest weapons."

Fortunately, Harry escaped in time.

That experience had not only taught him caution but also made him certain of one thing: the fleeting images before death were never as specific as what he had just seen.

Dumbledore said nothing.

"Don't blame the curse. I doubt Voldemort has any love for me." Harry sneered.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry, I have a theory, but it's just a theory. Give me some time to confirm it, will you?"

Harry didn't press further and changed the topic. "What's the significance of unicorn blood?"

"That stuff… it doesn't seem like something a unicorn should have. It's sinister, ominous, and deeply unsettling."

Dumbledore explained, "Unicorn blood is said to have the power to extend life—but only if it's willingly given."

"If it's taken by force, the blood carries a curse. The drinker will survive in a half-life state, neither truly alive nor truly dead."

"Voldemort's already half-dead," Harry quipped mockingly.

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "There's another, lesser-known property—it can create a temporary body."

Harry froze.

"Of course, it would be a body cursed by dark magic," Dumbledore added.

"The stronger the curse, the stronger the body?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "That's true for dark wizards."

Harry understood now why Quirrell had used such a method. He had been torturing the unicorn to extract blood filled with maximum hatred and the deepest curses.

"So, Voldemort is even weaker than I thought." Harry shook his head, chuckling softly. "Headmaster Dumbledore, now seems like the perfect time for you to act."

Dumbledore's eyes deepened. "Why do you think so?"

"He's weak, isn't he?" Harry met his gaze. "And you're concerned that Quirrell's control over him might not be complete."

"During the fight earlier, Voldemort could only mutter away from somewhere else…"

"Don't forget our agreement," Dumbledore reminded him.

"I've already fought him," Harry replied bluntly. "I didn't feel any protective magic shielding me."

"That's not enough, Harry. He hasn't confronted you directly." Dumbledore shook his head. "You'll need to face him again, one last time."

Harry sneered. "What do you want me to do? Stand still and take his Killing Curse?"

"That's not what I mean." Dumbledore's voice was gentle. "But you truly need to face him one more time—just once."

Harry's tone turned cold. "As long as you're here, he won't dare steal the Philosopher's Stone. In the Forbidden Forest earlier, when I sent up a signal, he panicked at the thought of you coming after him."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "If I ever need to leave Hogwarts, I'll send you a message through Hedwig."

Harry's eyes sharpened.

So, no matter what, he was expected to confront that thing?

"I'm not just Hogwarts' headmaster," Dumbledore explained. "I'm also Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. There are many matters that require my attention."

"Including late-night syrup drinking?" Harry asked pointedly.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "It's a bedtime treat."

Harry stood up. "I'll head back now."

"Wait. Shouldn't you explain why you were in the Forbidden Forest at night?" Dumbledore called after him. "At the start of term, I specifically said it was forbidden."

Without looking back, Harry waved dismissively. "I'll report to Professor McGonagall tomorrow for detention. Dock points if you like."

The next day, Harry went to Professor McGonagall on his own to accept detention.

McGonagall was momentarily stunned. While she welcomed such initiative—no professor would refuse to give extra attention to an excellent student—her mood soured when she learned it was because Harry had wandered into the Forbidden Forest.

She sentenced Harry to two months of detention, nearly up to the final exams.

McGonagall was deeply troubled.

She was growing increasingly fond of the Weasley twins. They caused mischief, yes, but at least it was noticeable.

Harry, on the other hand, operated silently, likely stirring up untold chaos behind the scenes.

Had he not voluntarily confessed, she might never have found out!

With McGonagall assigning him advanced second-year coursework and no leniency in his assignments, Harry's schedule became extremely tight.

The younger Gryffindors, however, gazed at McGonagall with newfound affection.

Who said their head of house was rigid and stern? She understood them perfectly. Knowing they couldn't all rely on Hermione's essays, she had promptly given them Harry's as well.

But this backfired by the second class.

Harry's essay included concepts from second-year Transfiguration, and Ron, while copying, failed to notice. Unlike Hermione, who used Harry's essays as reference, Ron carelessly swapped out words he thought fit better.

He made errors akin to changing "John performed a graceful double somersault" into "John performed a graceful 17.5-day-long somersault."

The Gryffindors quickly learned their lesson: those with some understanding of the material copied Harry's work, while the less knowledgeable turned to Hermione.

Despite his packed schedule, Harry continued his weekly visits to the Forbidden Forest, searching for bicorn traces. By the time exams approached, his closest find was dried bicorn dung—at least a month old.

He mapped out their activity range.

His hypothesis was correct.

The bicorns showed interest in unicorns, often lurking near their territories but occasionally wandering far to hunt other prey.

Though he often felt close, the elusive creatures remained out of sight.

But Harry didn't worry.

Hunting required patience.

Final exams left many students frazzled, but Gryffindor performed surprisingly well. While their written tests were a disaster, their practical work earned the professors' praise.

By the Black Lake, Hermione pestered Harry endlessly, reviewing answers over and over.

"Hermione, the exams are over," Ron groaned, clutching his face. "Spare Harry and me. Let's forget about all this."

"This is important," Hermione insisted, hands on her hips.

Just then, Hedwig swooped down, landing on Harry's shoulder with a leg extended. A small note was tied to it.

Harry untied it and read the neat, swirling handwriting: "Harry, I need to visit London today. I'll return by evening."

"London?" Hermione blinked. "Who's it from?"

Harry crumpled the note and stuffed it into his pocket as he stood. "Dumbledore."

Hermione stood too. "Why would he tell you that?"

"I have an agreement with him." Harry explained as he walked toward the castle. "With Dumbledore here, Quirrell won't dare steal the Philosopher's Stone. Once he leaves, Quirrell will definitely try, and I need to stop him."

Hermione and Ron froze, falling two steps behind before scrambling to catch up.

"Is he mad?" Hermione exclaimed, incredulous. "You're just a first-year!"

"Harry's already graduated, probably as top of the school," Ron muttered.

"Even if you were a second-year, this shouldn't be your responsibility!" Hermione's tone was anxious. "Ron, shut up. I know Harry better than you do."

Ron promptly closed his half-open mouth.

Harry shook his head. "It does seem absurd, but this was Dumbledore's idea. If the greatest white wizard tells me

to trust him, I suppose I should."

"Can I come with you?" Ron pulled out his wand.

Hermione didn't speak, but the anticipation in her eyes was clear.

"No," Harry said firmly.

Ron looked dejected. "Why not? I'm a first-year too."

"Quirrell is possessed by Voldemort." Harry lowered his voice as they entered the castle. "It's too dangerous for you."

Voldemort.

The name made Ron shiver and Hermione stumble slightly.

"He's insane, absolutely insane," Hermione muttered, shaking her head vehemently. "Sending you against the Dark Lord? What is he thinking?"

"I'll explain everything when I'm back." Reaching the Great Hall, Harry stopped and turned to Hermione. "Hermione, go find Professor Snape."

"Ron, go to Professor McGonagall."

He pulled the Invisibility Cloak from the Sorting Hat and draped it over himself as he headed toward the forbidden fourth-floor corridor.

The door, listed among the prohibited areas, was already open.

Someone had already gone in.

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