"Was it him we nearly ran into in the passage that night? Or Quirrell?" Daphne asked in a low voice. "Strictly speaking, it's probably the same person—Quirrell and him. Remember that big turban of Quirrell's? Maybe Voldemort's hiding in there."
"Do Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape know about this? What are they planning to do with Quirrell? Just let him run wild in the castle? Unicorn blood, the Philosopher's Stone, a shot at immortality—it all makes sense now." Daphne gave a bitter laugh.
She hadn't even considered this possibility.
Daphne's mind was racing. On one hand, the Dark Lord was back—here, in the castle. On the other, she thought of her family. Her parents, her relatives, they'd all leaned toward Voldemort before his downfall. They hadn't joined the Death Eaters, but they hadn't opposed him either, always prioritizing the Greengrass family's interests and pure-blood status.
Daphne had shared that mindset: as long as the wand wasn't pointed at her, it wasn't her problem.
But what if, one day, Voldemort's wand did point at her—or something she cared about, like now? He needed unicorn blood to cling to life, but Daphne couldn't bear the thought of a single unicorn being harmed. What then?
A sudden surge of emotion exploded inside her. She tried to suppress it, telling herself it wasn't her fight, but the anger—a sharp, directed fury—spread like wildfire.
Hatred was taking root in Daphne's heart.
The sun dipped below the valley, and the Forbidden Forest's shadows crept outward.
On the way back to the castle, Malfoy and Pansy walked with their heads down, lost in thought, silent. Edward didn't disturb them. He knew these eleven-year-olds needed time to process something so far beyond their world.
Daphne, though, was different. She seemed calm on the surface, but Edward could sense the rage simmering inside her.
Still, anger wasn't the same as recklessness.
"You faced him that night, didn't you? Alone?" Daphne asked, shifting to another topic.
"Just me," Edward said carefully, "but without Llamrei and Norbert, you might not be talking to me right now. Quirrell may act all timid, but Voldemort wouldn't possess a useless host. Plus, he's Dumbledore's pick for Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"He's skilled at dark magic."
"Dark magic's that intense?" Daphne tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as if it could help her think. "Didn't you say Norbert blasted him with dragon fire, and he ran off burning? Yet we all saw Quirrell rushing down from upstairs in the castle, looking fine."
"Maybe he's fast, but how could he not have a single scratch?"
Edward froze. That night had been so chaotic, he'd had his suspicions but hadn't had time to dwell on them. Now, it hit him—something was off.
Magical creatures were complex, especially dragons, ancient beings predating humans. Dragon blood's twelve uses were only discovered in modern times by Dumbledore. Wizards were still unraveling the mysteries of dragons.
But one thing was certain: dragon fire was devastating. No one wanted to take a direct hit, even from an injured baby dragon. And Edward knew Norbert's flames had been amplified by his courage boost, making them even stronger.
Even if Quirrell was a powerful dark wizard with Voldemort guiding him, how could he take a full blast of dragon fire and walk away unscathed?
Did Quirrell have some other trick?
Edward replayed every detail of that night. He felt he'd missed something critical—a connection between Quirrell and the "Dark Knight."
He'd assumed if Quirrell and the Dark Knight were linked, Quirrell might target him directly. But everything Edward had stumbled into lately seemed coincidental, so he hadn't thought much of it.
Now, though, he remembered something tied to the Dark Knight—something offering immense protection. Though it had been destroyed, its fragments were still being studied at the Ministry's Department of Mysteries.
The black armor worn by the attackers at Glastonbury.
Edward, who'd been sitting by the common room fire, shot to his feet. He had to talk to Dumbledore—now!
He knew Dumbledore's plan: the headmaster had hinted, subtly and not so subtly, that Harry had the power to defeat Voldemort. If Quirrell and Voldemort made a move for the Stone, passing the traps in the fourth-floor corridor, Harry—always watching—would notice. He'd try to stop them and, with that mysterious power, defeat them.
It was a perfect plan.
But what if Quirrell and Voldemort had a power Harry couldn't handle?
Edward had to warn Dumbledore immediately, or Harry's life could be in danger.
"Edward, where are you going? It's almost curfew!" Malfoy, who'd been rambling about his holiday plans by the fire, noticed Edward's urgency.
"To find Dumbledore. I'll explain later!" Edward called, throwing on his cloak and bolting out of the common room.
But he hadn't gone far when a familiar figure emerged from the flickering corridor lights.
Snape strode forward, his black robes—Edward's gift—billowing behind him.
"Bedivere, if I'm not mistaken, curfew's in a few minutes. Be glad you ran into me now and not two minutes later," Snape said, lips twisting.
"Back to your dormitory. Now."
But Edward lit up like he'd found a lifeline. "Professor, thank Merlin it's you! Can you take me to Dumbledore? I have urgent news about Quirrell, Voldemort, and the Philosopher's Stone!"
Snape's face darkened, like he'd swallowed a Flobberworm. He yanked Edward aside, jabbing a finger into his chest. "How dare you say that name! Haven't Dumbledore and I told you this is none of your business?"
"Dumbledore's in London! Now, get back to your dormitory and don't breathe a word to the other students!"
Edward's face froze in shock. Dumbledore was in London?
That meant Quirrell and Voldemort were likely making their move tonight. And Harry, who'd been keeping tabs, probably knew and was heading for the trapdoor.
"There's no time, Professor! You have to go to the fourth-floor corridor, to the trapdoor, now! Voldemort's there, and he has powers Dumbledore didn't anticipate!"
Edward couldn't explain everything to Snape, only beg him to head to the fourth floor.
Snape's dark eyes bored into Edward's green ones. After a moment, his tone, still cold, softened slightly. "I hope you're not playing games, Bedivere. I'll get Minerva and Flitwick."
"But you—stay in the common room. If I catch you breaking rules tonight, even if you ace your finals, I'll expel you myself!"
Snape swept off, his steps noticeably hurried.
Watching Snape's robes vanish around the corner, Edward sprang into action.
"Sorry, Professor. Even if you gave me full marks, I'd probably still disappoint you."
He trusted Snape and McGonagall to handle things, but he couldn't wait, couldn't bear knowing someone needed help while he did nothing.
Besides, wasn't fighting evil and upholding justice a knight's duty?
Speed was key. Edward decided to act first, taking a secret passage from the dungeons to the fourth floor to avoid Snape or other teachers.
Quirrell and Voldemort were formidable, maybe too much for him alone. But with the professors backing him up, what was there to fear?
You've got dark magic and the Dark Knight, Edward thought, but my sword's plenty sharp too.
He chose a route to dodge any professors. But just as he started down the corridor, two sneaky figures caught up with him.
Daphne and Malfoy.