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HRA# Chapter 61: Hermione’s Embrace and Voldemort’s Condition
🕑 Added 2025-03-08 19:40:32 +0000 UTCTo Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Snape, the scene before them was nothing short of hell itself—a clear indication that a life-or-death battle had just taken place.
The most striking sight was undoubtedly the two fallen troll corpses. One had been completely decapitated, its head nowhere to be seen. Beside it lay a mass of solidified stone, faintly crackling with residual arcs of electricity. The other troll’s head was still intact—but it was severed far from its body, hanging by a fragment of its exposed spine. From its gaping, unplugged neck, a torrent of blood gushed forth in an unrelenting stream.
The sheer bulk of the trolls’ bodies completely clogged the corridor, and their pooling blood had turned the stagnant water at their feet a deep crimson. As Professor Snape frantically waved his wand to shift the corpses aside, he caught sight of Hermione sitting limply in the bloodstained water. Her black robes were soaked with a dark red hue, and tear tracks lined her face.
To say that Professor McGonagall panicked would be an understatement. She immediately cast several diagnostic spells upon Hermione before finally letting out a sigh of relief.
Only after the trolls’ bodies were removed did the group finally get a full view of what lay beyond—and frankly, they almost wished they hadn’t.
It looked as if someone had attempted to demolish Hogwarts Castle itself. The entrance to the bathroom, along with the walls flanking it, had vanished entirely, leaving a gaping hole in their place. Every visible pipe within the bathroom had burst open, still spewing torrents of water from the Black Lake.
In fact, it wasn’t just the exposed pipes—those hidden within the walls of the corridor had also ruptured. The aftermath was chaos: broken debris, fragments of shattered stone, and an assortment of... fish and aquatic plants, all washed into the hallway from the lake.
Fresh from the Black Lake, some of the fish were still flopping about on the floor, splashing water everywhere.
Standing amidst the flooded corridor was a lone figure—Harry. His back faced them, his left hand gripping his wand while his right held his warhammer. Further in the distance stood the towering, reshaped form of a water elemental.
“Was it him, Harry?” Dumbledore’s gaze swept over the dark magic residue scorched into the walls and the blackened traces left by Fiendfyre. His question was vague, but he knew Harry would understand.
“Yes, Headmaster.” Harry turned to face Dumbledore, confirming his suspicions. “It’s exactly as you think—he set a trap here.”
“—Voldemort.”
“Harry!” Snape suddenly hissed in a low voice, but his expression quickly hardened into a cold mask. “Arrogant, reckless—do you think yourself so capable?”
He looked as though he wanted to storm over to Harry, but something held him back.
To be honest, Harry had never heard Snape direct such words at him before—normally, that kind of scolding was reserved for Ron.
“Oh, Merlin!” Quirrell came rushing down the stairs, his face twisting in horror at the sight of the corridor. With a strangled cry, he collapsed onto the displaced troll corpse that Dumbledore had moved aside, covering his face as he whimpered in fear.
Glancing at Quirrell, Harry then turned his gaze back to Dumbledore.
“Professor Quirrell fainted earlier, so we sent him to the hospital wing. He’s been with us this whole time,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly in response to Harry’s silent inquiry.
“I believe we need to have a private conversation,” Harry stated impassively.
“Indeed, I believe so as well,” Dumbledore agreed.
“I’m fine, Professor Snape,” Harry said, turning to face him. “If you were worried about me—thank you. But I believe some of the wizards on the floor are still alive. Could you check on them?”
“Worried?” Snape’s lips thinned into something akin to a blade. “Mr. Potter, you flatter yourself. No one worries about a reckless, brainless troll—foolhardy! Impulsive! Completely and utterly—”
Snape had to take several deep breaths to keep himself from finishing that sentence. He cast a glance at Quirrell, who was still quietly sobbing, and his expression grew even darker.
With a sharp splash, Snape stalked off to examine the fallen Dark wizards.
Harry put away his warhammer and wand before raising his hand. The totem embedded in the floor lifted itself free, and in the next moment, the pipes that had been spewing torrents of water from the Black Lake fell silent. The flow of water didn’t stop completely, but it was reduced to a natural trickle rather than an endless surge.
Even the enormous water elemental vanished—bursting into a splash of droplets before merging with the flooded floor.
“How dare you, Mr. Potter!” Professor McGonagall’s hand clenched tightly around her wand, her face deathly pale. Fury dripped from her every word. “This is not the kind of danger children should be facing—why couldn’t you, like Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom, leave matters to the professors?!”
“You should be in the warmth of your common room, chatting by the fire—not in a place like this!”
McGonagall was both terrified and livid—Harry had never seen her this angry before.
“This was a trap, Professor,” Harry repeated. “A trap set specifically for me by Voldemort. I think you should check Hermione again—when I found her, she was under Voldemort’s control. I’m not sure if there are lingering effects.”
“What?” McGonagall immediately abandoned her scolding, turning her wand on Hermione once more.
Her earlier spells had only checked for physical injuries and dark magic residue. This time, she focused on Hermione’s mind and memories.
“Her memory has been tampered with,” McGonagall said through gritted teeth. “No gaps, but the thought to hide in the bathroom was forcibly implanted. As for anything else... I can’t tell. Professor Dumbledore, you know how difficult it is to detect the traces of the Imperius Curse.”
“It’s alright, Minerva,” Dumbledore said gently. “We’ll simply need to keep an eye on her. Without continued exposure, the effects of the Imperius Curse won’t persist indefinitely.”
“That’s all we can do,” McGonagall sighed.
Harry trusted Dumbledore and McGonagall when it came to matters of magic. The water in the corridor had risen high enough to submerge their shoes. He waded through it to reach Hermione.
“How are you feeling, Hermione? Any pain in your bones?” Harry crouched beside her, concerned about her ribs—after all, he had only just grazed her in his transformed wraith-wolf state.
Though he hadn’t intended to bite her hard, the situation had been chaotic. He wasn’t sure if he had unintentionally hurt her.
After everything that had happened, Hermione felt as if she were living in a nightmare. This morning, she had fought with Pansy Parkinson in Charms class, stormed out in anger after receiving a punishment from McGonagall, and been deeply upset—though not so much that she would have hidden in the bathroom all day.
Then, she had woken up to the stench of trolls.
The battle, the dark-robed wizards, the torrents of water, the monstrous elemental, the consuming flames, the giant wolf lunging at her, the fallen trolls...
It was too much.
The moment she saw Harry, something inside her snapped.
“Harry!!” she sobbed, throwing herself into his arms, clinging to his neck with all her strength. “Thank you! Thank you!! Thank you for saving me!!!”
Harry stiffened for a moment before relaxing, patting her back in comfort.
Dumbledore beamed. Even McGonagall seemed slightly less tense.
Snape, however, was not pleased.
“They’re werewolves, Professor Dumbledore,” he said, seething. “If tonight had been a full moon, the castle would have been overrun with three rampaging werewolves!”
"They were under the Imperius Curse as well?" Dumbledore asked.
"As much as I'd like to say no, they were," Snape replied, his face dark. "I looked into their memories. These individuals were all werewolves who harbored deep hatred toward wizards."
"Someone fed them information about making a fortune, but when they gathered, they realized they were being sent to attack Hogwarts." Snape let out a cold snort. "Even werewolves aren’t that foolish. They tried to flee, but it was already too late. As for the rest of the story, you all know what happened."
"Is that so?" Dumbledore nodded. "Then, at the very least, in this matter, they are innocent… Take them to the hospital wing for now. Keep them under control, and have Madam Pomfrey keep a close watch on them."
"I hardly think that’s necessary, Professor Dumbledore," Snape's voice suddenly took on an uncharacteristically cheerful tone. "Thanks to the valiant efforts of our great Harry Potter, I doubt there's much left of them to save."
"Just to clarify, I only knocked out one at the start. The rest were actually killed by Voldemort," Harry said with a sigh as he comforted Hermione.
Judging by Snape's sarcastic tone, he was still angry with him—otherwise, he’d reserve such biting remarks for Ron instead.
One of the werewolves had been incinerated on the spot when Voldemort unleashed Fiendfyre. The flames had devoured him so swiftly that he hadn't even managed a scream.
"Regardless, you took down four Dark wizards and two trolls and protected your classmates from them," Dumbledore declared, raising his voice slightly. "For your righteous actions and unwavering courage, Gryffindor is awarded fifty points, Harry."
"As for now…" Dumbledore turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, could I trouble you to take Hermione to the hospital wing? And the rest of you, I believe the castle requires a thorough inspection."
"Of course, Professor Dumbledore."
When Dumbledore became serious, no professor could refuse his request. Soon, the corridor was left with only Harry and Dumbledore.
And with only the two of them remaining, the atmosphere in the corridor was no longer as harmonious as before. In fact, it had become downright… hostile.
Hostility directed at Dumbledore—from Harry.
"I suppose I should congratulate you, Harry. You've defeated Voldemort and protected your friends," Dumbledore said softly. "Your father and mother would be proud of you."
"Perhaps," Harry turned to face Dumbledore, his expression serious. "But you broke your promise to me, Headmaster. And you failed in your duty. If I hadn’t been here tonight, I dread to think what would have happened to Hermione."
"Voldemort wouldn’t have cared about her life, would he?"
"I'm not making excuses for myself, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "In truth, Voldemort was only waiting for two people here tonight—you and me. I believe that regardless of which of us was present, Hermione would not have been harmed."
"But I'm just a student at Hogwarts. I'm neither the headmaster nor its ruler," Harry took a deep breath. "So why haven’t you killed Quirrell yet? He should have completed his task tonight, and you’ve already gotten the information you wanted."
"Actually, I haven’t," Dumbledore replied. "I understand that you're angry, Harry, but please refrain from throwing around the word ‘kill’ so lightly. It carries a great weight." His expression turned slightly peculiar. "Besides, it seems that one of my professors was a bit too diligent tonight. He intercepted Quirrell before he could succeed."
"Who?"
"Professor Snape," Dumbledore said straightforwardly. "But I do owe you and Hermione an apology for this. However, I assure you, Hermione is safe within the school."
"Do you remember what happened on your first night at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore continued. "From the moment you crossed the Black Lake in the boats to the moment the Sorting Hat placed you into your houses, that entire process was part of a grand magical ritual. Its purpose is to ensure that young witches and wizards remain protected from fatal harm for their seven years at Hogwarts—even if it manifests in the form of sheer coincidence."
"Is that so?" Harry gave a derisive smile. "If students can't suffer fatal harm at school, then how do you explain the ghost in the second-floor girls' lavatory? She was a Hogwarts student, wasn't she? Given her age, she must have died before she graduated."
"Moaning Myrtle?" Dumbledore nodded. "That is a very good question, Harry, and one to which I do not have an answer."
Dumbledore's honesty was unexpected.
"Myrtle's death is tied to an incident from decades ago. I once pondered and investigated this matter thoroughly, but I never found a conclusive answer," he recalled. "I had two theories at the time. One was that the castle had suffered an attack or major damage, draining the ritual’s magic due to the sheer number of students being harmed."
"Clearly, the castle wasn't attacked decades ago, which led me to consider another possibility." Dumbledore shrugged. "That there was a loophole in the ritual—some way to bypass its protection and directly harm a student. But that is merely a hypothesis."
"Just a hypothesis," Harry repeated.
"Oh, Harry, I have been Hogwarts' headmaster for decades," Dumbledore said with amusement. "You cannot begin to imagine the kind of trouble young witches and wizards get into each year. I can assure you, if the ritual were not in place, Hogwarts would have been shut down long ago due to parental outrage."
Dumbledore's reasoning was so persuasive that Harry found himself unable to refute it.
He had already witnessed the incredible power and destructive potential of magic firsthand. Whether it was reality-defying Transfiguration or the vast array of spells available, he knew that Hogwarts' students, in their youthful recklessness, frequently found themselves embroiled in conflicts and fights.
Without an active protective enchantment, it was impossible to predict the chaos they might have caused over the decades.
"So… Quirrell is to be kept alive?" The urge to kill him flared up in Harry once more.
"More than Quirrell, Harry, I’d rather hear your thoughts on Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "You faced him directly tonight, did you not?"
"He only has a fragment of his soul left," Harry stated firmly. "Is that the price he paid for surviving the rebounded Killing Curse eleven years ago?"
"A fragment of his soul?" Dumbledore's surprise was evident.
"Yes, his soul is barely holding together—only the portion attached to his head remains. The rest is completely gone," Harry elaborated. "And I managed to wound his soul just now. He should be even weaker now."
Dumbledore’s expression grew even more solemn.
"You seem to already have an answer in mind," Harry raised an eyebrow. "So, is it time to kill Quirrell yet?"
"It is merely a theory, Harry—an uncertain one," Dumbledore admitted, shaking his head slightly. "I believe I need to consult some books before drawing any firm conclusions. Once I have a definitive answer, I will let you know."
Comments
Samuel S.
Damn i wanna See Dumbledores face when Harry tells him He already killed the lightning scar Fragment 😂
Vick
Harry out for blood.
