windkaze
patreon
BFH# Chapter 63: The Price is the Night
🕑 Added 2025-02-18 06:49:11 +0000 UTC"We still do not know exactly what happened at that moment. All we know is that, with a startled cry, Professor Quirinus Quirrell was found unconscious on the ground by Cedric of Hufflepuff. Had someone else discovered him, the course of events might have been drastically different."
—Excerpt from the revised edition of Hogwarts: A History.
...
If Quirrell had ever seen those words, his life might have turned out completely different. But unfortunately, at this moment, he was still listening to the Dark Lord, hoping that one day he would rise above all in the wizarding world and escape to a life of glory.
And when he heard Viktor say, "What are you willing to offer?" he couldn't help but admire the Dark Lord’s foresight—he had seen through Viktor’s nature at a glance.
Viktor had brought up their cooperation multiple times before. He must have been testing him!
But outwardly, Quirrell still acted meek and submissive, replying:
“I—I don’t have much to offer, Professor Viktor. A few thousand Galleons—I can guarantee that—but beyond that, I really can’t manage. However, I can procure a d-dragon egg.”
“That is not what I want.”
Viktor spoke slowly.
“Then what do you want…?”
Before Quirrell could finish, Viktor moved closer to him and extended his hand, making a gesture as if for a handshake. At the same time, he said:
“Professor Quirrell, I want your nights.”
“Nights? W-what do you mean?”
“I will help you complete this formula. But from this day forward, every time the sun sets and the moon rises over the horizon, your consciousness will sink into a long, unbroken darkness. You will never again know anything of the night. Only when the sun rises the next morning will you be able to open your eyes again.”
“—Are you willing to pay this price?”
As Viktor spoke, his hollow, pitch-black eyes bore into Quirrell’s, sending an inexplicable chill down his spine.
Quirrell’s pupils contracted slightly. He had not expected such a price—his expression remained unchanged, but the slight gulping motion of his throat and the subtle shift in his gaze betrayed his inner turmoil.
After a few seconds, he said dryly:
“…Is this something that can even be t-traded? Professor Viktor, can you tell me what magic you intend to use to achieve this? An Unbreakable Vow?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Viktor replied indifferently.
Quirrell fell silent.
But Viktor did not press him. He simply stood there, hand outstretched, waiting patiently.
He was experienced—Ursula had once told him that when you want someone to pay a price, you must never rush them. The more impatient you are, the more suspicious they become, and the less likely they are to agree.
At times like this, patience was key.
Sure enough, after hesitating for a while, Quirrell’s trembling hand finally reached out. As he did, he murmured, “...In principle, I agree, Professor Viktor, but we need to discuss the specifics further…”
Did he want this deal? Of course not!
Truthfully, he had joined the Dark Lord’s ranks purely for personal gain, not out of blind loyalty. And now, he had yet to gain anything, yet was already being drawn into an eerie transaction.
—He was certain that whatever magic could achieve this effect had to be Dark Magic.
But with his master looming in the back of his mind, he had no room to maneuver.
No… He needed to think of something. He needed to stall for time…
With that thought, Quirrell clasped Viktor’s hand—he assumed it was just a simple handshake, a symbolic gesture of agreement. But in the next moment—
He realized he couldn’t move.
His eyes widened in shock as his turban trembled slightly, as if it wanted to be carried away by the wind. But in the still corridor, it ultimately remained motionless.
Then, Quirrell’s eyes grew even wider.
From the hand that touched Viktor’s, an eerie black feather sprouted from his arm—as if it had emerged from his very veins. Its edges were tinged with a faint trace of blood.
At the same time, a searing pain coursed through Quirrell’s bloodstream, spreading from his arm straight to his heart. In just a second, the agony overwhelmed him, and he collapsed to his knees.
Then came a second feather. A third…
As Quirrell’s bloodshot eyes widened further in horror, he saw the feathers spreading across his arm, swelling the fabric of his robe’s sleeve. Then they crept up his neck, down his legs…
The pain was excruciating—he wanted to scream, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a cascade of black feathers!
It was as if his very voice had vanished.
Dizzy and overwhelmed by pain, Quirrell’s consciousness began to fade. The world around him blurred…
His last memory before losing consciousness was Viktor finally releasing his arm, looking down at him from above.
Through his blurred vision, Viktor appeared as nothing more than a tall, gaunt shadow, with only those pitch-black eyes visible, and the faintest hint of a grin.
Viktor spoke:
“Your wish has been granted.”
“But remember—from this moment on, you must bathe in sunlight every day. If you go three days without seeing even a sliver of daylight, then at the first gust of night’s wind, you will crumble into dust.”
And with that, Quirrell’s consciousness plunged into darkness.
...
“…No visible changes… I don’t know… why this happened…”
“…Then let him rest properly…”
Quirrell’s mind floated in a sea of darkness, his awareness slowly surfacing as a series of indistinct voices reached his ears.
At first, they were muffled, but as time passed, they became clearer.
“…Then I’ll leave him in your care, Madam Pomfrey,” said Dumbledore’s voice. “I will check with the nearby students and Filch to ensure that no security concerns are involved.”
“No problem, Professor,” Madam Pomfrey replied. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Though Professor Quirrell’s collapse was rather odd, he does show signs of severe exhaustion. His fainting may well be due to overwork.”
“I hope so. He has indeed spent much time dealing with the troll incident lately.”
“Then I’ll leave him to you, Madam Pomfrey.”
“Of course, Professor.”
The voices gradually faded, followed by the sound of a door closing with a thud. The room fell into silence.
Lying on the hospital bed, his face deathly pale and his cheeks sunken, Quirinus Quirrell slowly opened his eyes.
