Bloodline chapter 14

Chapter 14 -

"Damn," Harry said, lifting his bone dry head out of the bowl in front of him. He shook his head to shake off the feeling of disorientation he got from coming out of his memory.

The bowl in front of him was no ordinary bowl. It was a Pensieve, a rare and incredibly valuable magical artefact that allowed a user to access memories. The silver bowl stood on top of a matching coloured pedestal; the bowl itself looked quite ordinary, unless you looked at the complex runes that had been engraved into it. The inside of the bowl was filled with a silvery substance that looked partway between gas and liquid, and a small, silver smoke-like vapour flowed out of it.

Harry poked his wand tip into the bowl, he lifted it, pulling out a shining, silver string which he placed against the side of his head. The string quickly flowed into him, disappearing from view as the memory returned to his head properly. A common misconception about pensieves was that they completely removed the memory from the user's head; they didn't. It was more like they took the original memory from the wizard while leaving a dull copy in the wizard's head, a fuzzy copy with none of the emotions associated with the original memory.

"Quirrell," Harry said thoughtfully. He had been looking through the memory of the Quidditch match from yesterday; he had rewatched it multiple times, and by now, he was sure that Quirrell was the one who had tried to curse Harry's broom during the Quidditch match. The memory clearly showed Quirrell was muttering just before Harry's broom started acting weird. If Harry was right, then that led to a very, very simple question: why?

Unfortunately, he suspected that the answer would be far, far more complicated than the question. Harry personally had very little to no interaction with Professor Quirrell. He had originally been the Muggle studies teacher before taking his sabbatical and returning as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry had no interest in Muggles or the Muggle studies subject, so he felt no need to interact with Professor Quirrell before. Not that man ever had much of a presence in the school, compared to the other teachers at least. Professor Sprout pulled people's attention to her with her kindness and the near-permanent smile on her face, Professor Flitwick with his cheery demeanour and all-around enthusiasm for his subject.

And the fact that he was a bouncy midget, obviously. (No offence, Professor)

Professor McGonagall commanded respect whenever she entered the room. She wasn't one to be messed with, but was fair, and the student population knew better than to mess with her. Snape was hated all around, and people paid attention to those they don't like just as much, if not more, than does that they do. But Quirrell was just always in the background; nobody outside of his class really paid attention to him.

So why was the man trying to mess with Harry now?

Harry let out a small sigh before pressing a particular rune on his pensive, shrinking it to a smaller size and placing it into his trunk. He locked it and left his room before heading down into the common room, where he saw Daphne impatiently waiting for him.

"You were supposed to be down two minutes ago," Daphne pointed out, arms crossed over her chest, her right foot tapping the ground repeatedly.

"I was busy pleasuring myself to your photos," Harry said in a bland voice.

"There are far worse things to pleasure yourself with," She said in an approving voice. "Let me know if you need more photos. Now, if you're done for today, then shall we head to breakfast?"

"I can't," Harry let out an annoyed sigh. "My little brother had chosen to make a deal with a Hufflepuff girl, regarding a personal meeting with me. She has apparently already paid him for it, and I will now have to honour the obligation he has forced upon me."

"Is that so?" Her eyes narrowed. "And where will you be meeting?" She asked lightly.

"The corridor on the fourth floor," Harry shrugged.

"Why don't you go to breakfast?" Daphne suggested. "I shall sort out your obligation for you," She said, without waiting for a response, she walked off.

"Merlin, I'm glad that worked," Harry grinned before walking out of the common room and heading towards the Great Hall. As he did so, he continued thinking about what he had learned.

Professor Quirrell, for one reason or another, had attacked him, which meant that he was a threat to him. Which was annoying, truth be told, school was irritating enough without the death threats. But the biggest problem lay within the fact that Quirrell was a confirmed threat to him, but a potential threat to his brother and sister. Was Quirrell a sympathiser for Voldemort? That didn't make sense, as he was the one who had chosen to teach Muggle studies. But then again, people weren't always logical. He knew Iris had a more than significant number of people who were interested in her due to her being the girl who lived. People wanted her for her fame, for the wealth and power that came with being a member of the Potter line. Harry had barely been in the wizarding world for a week before he had boys approaching him, asking for his sister's hand in marriage.

Whatever reason Quirrell had, it didn't really matter much to Harry. At the end of the day, the man was a threat to his family, and Harry didn't allow anyone to threaten his family and live peacefully.

"Ooh, who is it?" A voice asked, Harry noticed Tonks walking alongside him, giving him a curious look.

"What do you mean?" He asked as they continued.

"You got that 'Papa Bear is going to rip you to shreds' look in your eye, so I was wondering just whose body I'll have to help you hide," She said with a small smile.

"There won't be a body for you to hide," He said bluntly.

"Either you mean you won't be killing someone or you mean you're too good to leave a body, I'm going to go with the former," Tonks decided firmly. "Anyway, where's Princess gone? She's normally with you."

"She had an urgent matter she wanted to attend to," Harry said straight-faced.

"Oh, sweet Merlin, whose body will I have to hide?" Tonks groaned.

"I'll have you know there is no body for you to hide," Daphne said as she arrived, walking alongside them.

"So, that either means you haven't killed someone or you're too good to leave a body, I'm going with the former." Tonks quickly declared. "Now, moving on, that was a great game yesterday, Harry. You dominated the Gryffindors, I heard rumours that their captain tried to drown himself after the match."

"If he wants to kill himself after losing one match, then he deserves death," Harry replied instantly, with Daphne nodding in agreement.

"Why am I friends with you two people?" Tonks muttered to herself. "I'm nearly at the end of my school year and I genuinely still don't know."

"The answer is simple, we tried to get rid of you, but you wouldn't take the hint," Daphne said in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Short pier, long walk, bitch," Tonks said without any real heat, sticking her tongue out at Daphne, maturely, of course.

Thankfully, they arrived at the Great Hall before the conversation could get heated. Harry received a few cheers as he did so, as was common after winning a Quidditch match. He had barely sat down when Tonks looked over to a glaring, blonde first year. She remembered him as Malfoy's kid, a boy who was every bit his father's son from what she had heard. A grin appeared on her face before she waved cheerily at him.

"Hey, Cuz!" She said enthusiastically.

"What?!" Draco blurted out.

"Oh, didn't you know?" Tonks asked innocently. "I'm your cousin," She announced loudly. "Your aunt married a Muggle-born and had me," She said, loud enough that her voice carried down the Slytherin table. "That means you got a muggleborn uncle and a half-blood cousin, isn't that great?!" She said cheerily while Draco looked like he had sucked on a particularly awful lemon, his pale skin now turning a bright red as he tried not to look at his Slytherin classmates. "Let me know if you ever want to hang out." She smiled brightly at him before turning back to eat breakfast.

"You are evil," Complimented Harry with a nod of his head.

"I thank you," Tonks said with a smile.

"Great, we've corrupted the Hufflepuff," Daphne's tone suggested that the girl was unsure if she should be horrified or proud.

"I was plenty corrupt before I met you two, thank you very much," Tonks primly replied.

(.)

Late at night, Quirrell took in a deep breath as he stood in his living quarters. There was nothing out of the ordinary; he had all the essentials one would need. A bed, desk, books, chairs and so on. The only thing that was mildly interesting was the fact that he had two full-length mirrors, mirrors which he was standing between now. Dressed in a black cloak which enveloped his entire body from his shoulders to his ankles. He had put on black boots and black gloves, making sure not to wear a single piece of clothing with any other colour. The plan was simple: reduce his visibility as much as possible as he went out and blend in with the darkness.

On top of his head, he didn't wear the purple turban that he had been wearing publicly every day since he returned to Magical Britain. He remembered why he left in the first place. Since he was a young boy, he had never felt respected by his peers, no matter what he did. He was a half-blood, so naturally, a lot of people had hated him during school, especially since he had been attending Hogwarts during the Wizarding War, where divides between people felt bigger than ever. Those few who didn't dislike him because of his blood status were of the opinion that he was nothing but a timid boy. When he returned to Hogwarts as a teacher, he thought it was possible that he'd gain at least a little bit of respect, being a member of the premier school of magic. Alas, he was mistaken. Very few were interested in Muggle Studies; a lot of half-bloods and muggleborns took it as an easy class, the purebloods who lacked initiative took it as it was an easier option than Ancient Runes or Arithmancy. The people who were genuinely interested in the class were few and far between.

One subject that always interested Quirrell was Defence Against the Dark Arts; he got good grades in the subject when he was younger. He wasn't the best at the practical portion, at a barely acceptable level if he was being honest, but his knowledge of the theoretical was more than enough to carry him to one of the top in his class. Since coming back to Hogwarts, he had studied hard during his free time so that he could eventually be the one to teach the class. Once he had been sufficiently good enough to take a few more tests and get some adequately fancy awards, he had approached Professor Dumbledore and requested some time off to go around the world. The man agreed, and Quirell left Britain.

During his travels, he heard rumours that the dark lord, the man feared by the magical world, was alive. Greed had quickly overcome Quirrel along with a lust for power; the knowledge that this wizard was alive pulled at his very soul. The idea that he could learn from this man and become respected quickly overtook him, and he began searching earnestly to find him. And he did find him, in Albania, just not how he imagined. Quirrell looked at the mirror in front of him. He saw his face reflected back, but he also saw the mirror behind him, which showed the back of his bald head. Reminding him once more that he was far too deep into the rabbit hole to climb out, he saw a face on the back of his head. Not one hanging off his head, not one in front of his head. It had actually grown out of the back of his face like a giant tumour.

A mouth that appeared to be in a near-permanent snarl, a pointed nose and blood red crimson eyes. Quirrell's body was now a host to the very wizard he had tried to find. The man had tasked Quirrell with obtaining the philosopher's stone, an object created by the famed alchemist, Nicholas Flamel, an object that was here in Hogwarts, guarded on the third floor by all sorts of traps. One that Quirrell needed to steal, and would as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Until then, he was forced to slay unicorns and drink their blood in order to prevent his own body from failing. The blood that kept him and the dark lord alive was cursed; what else would come from drinking the blood of a unicorn? It hadn't been documented what would happen if you drank unicorn blood, most likely because most people weren't stupid or cruel enough to do so. But Quirrell knew now, he experienced the effects first hand and he never wanted to even think about it.

Alas, he had no option. He could feel it, even now, his body was failing him. It had been three months since he last drank unicorn blood, but he knew that his lifespan wasn't going to be very impressive if he didn't drink some more soon. As did the dark lord, who demanded that he go out at the earliest possible moment to get the blood.

"You seem to be deep in thought, Quirinus," The face on the back of his head spoke. Its voice soft and raspy, the tone deceptively warm and friendly, even using his first name as if they were truly friends.

"Forgive me, Master, my mind ran away from me," Quirrell gulped, quick to apologise.

"Don't let it run too far or I'll be forced to pull it back myself," Warned the dark lord. "Whatever you're thinking is surely not as valuable to me as the blood we need. You've still not managed to get the stone; your failure during Halloween had me weigh up the pros and cons of simply killing you for your incompetence. I am as of yet undecided. Now, hurry up before I come to a decision, cut my losses and find a new host."

"Yes, Master," Quirrell nodded quickly, turning and ready to pull his hood up when he paused as he noticed something on the window of his room. A bird was staring at him, a raven to be specific. The raven tilted its head at him before turning and flying off. Quirrell quickly dismissed it and pulled his hood up, deciding to leave before the dark lord truly got impatient.

Meanwhile, outside of the castle, a raven flew up into the owlery where Harry was. The Potter heir was sitting comfortably on a railing, his back against the wall, his right knee up to his chest, while his left leg dangled off the railing and lightly swung in the air. The raven landed on Harry's right arm, which he had placed over his knee. It stared at him before it chirped and clicked its beak, shaking his head violently. Harry's blank expression very slowly peeled away into a tightly controlled one before his green eyes quite literally glowed with rage. The bird let out a squawk before gesturing down below.

Harry looked where it gestured and just barely was able to make out a small figure running across the Hogwarts grounds and in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. The raven squawked again as if to say, 'there he is'. And looked back at Harry expectantly. Harry's left hand rose up and petted the bird, who was happy to lean into his touch. A slow whistle escaped from Harry's mouth. On the ground, several shadow-covered figures appeared.

"Hunt," Harry whispered, his voice soft and quiet. But those below had heard. Those below would obey.

(.)

In the Forbidden Forest, Quirrel raised a knife as he stared at the unicorn that he had caught and managed to magically restrain. The creature would be up and moving in ten seconds if he didn't quickly slit its throat and that was exactly what Quirrell planned to do. He dropped to his knees and was about to take the unicorn's life when he heard a decidedly unfriendly growl from behind him. His gaze quickly looked to where the sound came from, he knew it wasn't a full moon, but a part of him had considered the idea that a werewolf had somehow snuck up on him.

Exiting from the shadows was a creature that, from a distance, could probably have very easily been mistaken for a werewolf. It was a dog the size of a small bear, its fangs looked sharp enough to rip through steel, and its yellow eyes glared with such hatred that it seemed like it had a personal problem with him and wasn't simply hunting. A couple of seconds later, another dog came out, followed by a third, and a fourth and then a fifth. Soon, he was surrounded by ten very angry-looking dogs. They were not ordinary dogs, he could tell. He wasn't sure how or why, but he knew that he was surrounded by ten 'Grims', dog-like omens of death.

The unicorn got up and quickly ran away, running between a pair of the dogs, neither of which had even glanced in its direction. If they were willing to ignore such a big potential kill, then they truly weren't hunting for food. Quirrell dropped the knife and tried to pull out his wand, but he wasn't able to do so before one of the large beasts tackled him from the back, knocking him to the floor. Its teeth ripped into his shoulder, and he screamed in agony. The dogs growled, barked and charged as if that was the signal for dinner. Within seconds, he had all ten of them on top of him, biting and ripping at every part of his body they could reach. One ate his fingers as a second destroyed his wand and spat it out, a third ripped into one of his ankles, while a fourth bit into his thigh and a fifth ripped into his stomach. The sixth dog sank its teeth into his left bicep while two more went for his shoulders. He dimly heard a furious cry from his master before dogs nine and ten went for his chest and face.