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(bonus BFH)-Chapter 82: I Don’t Care What You Think, I Care What I Think
🕑 Added 2025-04-01 21:10:01 +0000 UTCWhen they had completely left the centaur settlement behind, Hagrid’s face still carried a puzzled expression he couldn’t shake. He trudged along the rarely trodden paths of the Forbidden Forest, one foot sinking deep, the other shallow, before muttering after a while:
“This shouldn’t be.”
“The centaurs know a lot—always cryptic, sure, but they’ve never been ones to spill secrets. For them to reject outsiders like this goes against everything they stand for.”
“Yeah,” Victor chimed in, equally perplexed. “And it’s the first time a magical creature’s turned me down. I’m usually pretty popular…”
“Doesn’t make sense, just doesn’t make sense.”
Hagrid repeated himself, his tone tinged with irritation and unease. He’d speak for a moment, then fall silent, staring at the ground, clearly mulling over the last centaur’s words.
A terrible success—to ensure failure.
What was that even supposed to mean?
If the centaurs would just speak plainly, Hagrid reckoned 60% of the world’s troubles could be sorted out overnight.
He shook his head in frustration, giving up on figuring it out himself—he’d never managed to crack the centaurs’ riddles, even back when they were happy to chat with him.
But then he remembered Victor’s role.
“Right, Victor!” Hagrid slapped his forehead. “What about the stars? What’d you see? If you can make sense of what the centaurs said, it’d save us a heap of trouble. Weren’t you just about to talk to them about the stars?”
“Sort of.”
Victor replied as he wove through the pitch-black thicket. While answering Hagrid, he found a gap and peered up at the night sky through the breaks in the leaves.
Above the Forbidden Forest, the sky was crisp and luminous, unmarred by any human lights. Looking up, a river of countless stars stretched across the heavens, twinkling with a faint yet undeniable glow.
Hagrid followed his gaze—but all he could see was a jumble of stars, nothing more.
After a few seconds, Victor said:
“The comet’s tail did brush past Venus, but now it’s heading toward the junction of Jupiter and Mars. In ancient times, Jupiter stood for all things positive and fortunate, while Mars was another claw of calamity.”
Victor fell silent after that.
When Hagrid didn’t hear him elaborate on success or failure after a pause, he pressed:
“So?”
“Hm? There’s no ‘so.’”
Victor said matter-of-factly, “Mars and Jupiter—that’s what I wanted to talk to them about. It means the same thing as what that centaur said.”
“Then what’s all this about success and failure?”
“Oh,” Victor shook his head, “saying too much would ruin the stars’ proper course.”
Hagrid went quiet. His lips pressed into a thin line, clearly stewing in frustration. He took a deep breath and finally said dryly:
“You oughta move into the centaurs’ woods. I reckon rejecting you was the biggest mistake they’ve ever made.”
Dealing with Victor wasn’t exactly a joyride for the soul. He might be a decent dinner companion, but when it came to serious matters, you’d best keep your distance—for the sake of your physical and mental health.
Lucky for Hagrid, he’d dealt with all sorts of magical creatures and knew their ways, so he didn’t take it too hard. After a brief silence, he adjusted quickly.
“I’ve gotta talk to Dumbledore about this. Firenze’s words aren’t just hot air.”
Taking Fang’s leash from Victor, Hagrid said as much.
“Firenze?”
“That’s the last centaur who spoke—he’s the closest to us. Dumbledore even wanted to hire him as a professor to teach some star-reading stuff.”
But Hagrid was clearly done with centaur talk. After that short explanation, he made a quick excuse and took off.
The two parted ways.
The next morning at the breakfast table, Victor handed Quirrell a box containing two untreated dead spiders.
Quirrell’s face froze mid-bite. Ignoring the curious stares around him, he snatched the box with a bit too much force and stuffed it into his cloak. His move earned a squinting, suspicious glare from Snape nearby.
Victor, expression unchanged, said casually:
“No rush. It’s just two Acromantulas.”
“Two what?”
Quirrell stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Two juvenile Acromantula corpses,” Victor said calmly. “This box has a temperature and humidity charm—keeps everything inside intact. The venom sacs can be extracted whole, potency undamaged.”
“I looked into it. That method you mentioned last time wasn’t great—too much hassle—so I switched it to venom sacs. They’re better for potion-making.”
Quirrell: “…”
He gaped at Victor for a moment, realizing what he meant—
I don’t care what you think, I care what I think.
Staring at Victor’s smug, self-assured face, Quirrell suddenly had the urge to lunge across the table and tear him apart!
Hold on—did he agree to this switch? If a Death Eater had pulled something like this back in the day, they’d have been hit with a dozen Cruciatus Curses by now!
This was just…
There was nothing he could do about Victor.
Quirrell clenched his fists, but he knew it—Victor was a Hogwarts professor, and not the type who seemed particularly bad at magic. Even the Dark Lord couldn’t risk storming in to teach him a lesson with a curse.
If Victor wouldn’t play along, Quirrell would just have to swallow the loss.
Truth be told, Quirrell had planned to use Victor from the start. Being a foreign wizard short on local knowledge, Victor might not know unicorn blood carried a curse. Trick him into killing one, and Quirrell could’ve made him a scapegoat to bear the curse.
But that simple scheme flopped.
He’d half-expected it, but Quirrell’s hands still stiffened as he tucked the box away.
“Fine, fine,” he said tersely. “But I hope you r-remember, Victor, our research is a c-cooperative effort. If it fails, all your hard work goes down the drain too.”
Since they were at the staff table, Quirrell couldn’t spell out their plot, so he hinted at Voldemort’s resurrection with “research,” trying to scare Victor into thinking he’d be implicated if it fell apart.
Victor just tilted his head, not quite catching Quirrell’s drift.
…Would it, though?
Hadn’t he already gotten what he wanted out of it?
After breakfast, under Snape’s venomous stare, Quirrell hurried off to his office. The other professors were curious about what they needed Acromantula venom sacs for, but no one asked—and Hagrid, who knew about the unicorn blood, happened to be absent.
Once back in his office, though, Quirrell’s demeanor shifted.
Facing a small shadow on his desk, he dropped to his knees with a thud.
T/N: As there have been no recent updates from the author, this novel is currently considered to be on hiatus. I will resume updating it once the author releases new chapters.
