Hermione's clean, ruthless shot left Harry and Ron staring in stunned respect.
Big sister is terrifying… absolutely unprovokable.
And yet—that was Hermione.
To friends, she was warm like springtime. She could even feel pity for house-elves.
But against truly vicious enemies?
Hermione showed zero mercy.
Theodore smiled faintly. Then he felt a subtle wash of fortune/merit settle over him, and his heart stirred.
So the Nail-Head Seven Arrows Book is already working…?
He couldn't help wondering what Quirrell and Voldemort were feeling right now.
…
At that same moment, inside Quirrell's office, he was enthusiastically continuing his "ambush plan" breakdown to Voldemort.
"Adults against children—this is our first advantage."
"Unrestrained dark wizards against Hogwarts students who hesitate—this is our second advantage."
"Werewolves against humans—this is our third advantage."
"We have three victories; Theodore has zero—this is our fourth victory."
"We have four victories; Theodore has zero—this is our fifth victory."
"As the saying goes—victory breeds victory…"
Quirrell's eyes gleamed.
"The advantage is ours!"
Right as he finished—when Voldemort's expression was turning pleased—
A sudden agony like an arrow piercing his skull exploded in Quirrell's head.
His vision went black.
He clutched his head, hit the floor, and rolled, screaming.
"My head—!"
"It hurts! It hurts so much—like someone is shooting arrows into my brain!"
Voldemort's mind jolted.
He could control Quirrell's body at any moment; naturally, he could monitor Quirrell's condition.
And Voldemort had performed countless dangerous dark transformations on himself—he understood pain more deeply than anyone alive.
Yet even he couldn't tell where this violent head pain was coming from.
"A curse?" Voldemort muttered. "Only a curse manifests like this."
"The unicorn curse? No. I already suppressed it temporarily. It shouldn't erupt this quickly."
"And the unicorn curse doesn't behave like this…"
A cold shadow passed through Voldemort's eyes.
"We were just discussing striking Theodore Ashbourne… and then this curse appears."
"Could it be that child?"
"No—impossible. Curses are a specialized field. No matter how gifted he is, he can't have mastered something this bizarre."
"This curse is so strange I can't see its source at a glance. It can't be him."
Voldemort had absolute confidence in curses.
The Defence Against the Dark Arts post had been empty for years—whose curse could be stronger than his?
And back at Hogwarts, he'd had the skill to place a vicious curse on Marvolo Gaunt's ring—one so lethal that even Dumbledore touching it would mean certain death.
"Then it's obvious," Voldemort said softly, voice dripping with malice. "Dumbledore."
"And using curses in front of me… even if it's you, Dumbledore, it's arrogance."
He coldly addressed Quirrell.
"Why are you screaming?"
"With me here, do you think a mere curse can kill you?"
Then Voldemort seized control—wand flashing as he cast curse-breaking spell after curse-breaking spell.
The pain spiked—like an arrow being ripped out of Quirrell's brain—his whole body convulsed… and then the agony abruptly vanished.
Quirrell froze, then stared in disbelief.
"It's gone…?"
"My head—my head doesn't hurt anymore! My Lord… you truly are unmatched in the wizarding world!"
"Dumbledore is dust before you!"
Meanwhile, Harry made his decision too.
Hermione had acted. Against monsters plotting the Stone, anything was fair.
Thinking of the owlery burned down—and everything Hogwarts had suffered—anger boiled in Harry's chest.
He plucked the arrow from the doll's head, nocked it again, and drew.
"My turn."
He released.
The arrow struck the doll's chest and abdomen.
Instantly, Quirrell—who'd just recovered—turned corpse-white and collapsed again, rolling across the floor.
"My Lord—my chest! My stomach—!"
"It's like the arrow moved—like it's stabbed me somewhere else now!"
Voldemort froze, frowning hard.
That made no sense.
He hadn't only cast curse-removal—he'd layered multiple protections specifically against curses.
What kind of curse could break through the defenses of the greatest curse-master alive?
Worse—he still couldn't detect how it was arriving.
Did I conserve strength earlier? Was the magic too weak?
Voldemort's expression sharpened. He cast again—more precise, heavier, stronger.
After a long moment, Quirrell—sweating buckets—finally felt that invisible arrow being yanked out of his body.
The pain was indescribable…
But the relief afterward was so intense it made him nearly weep with joy.
Still, worry crept into Quirrell's eyes as he swallowed hard.
"My Lord… what if the curse comes back again?"
Voldemort snorted.
"Relax. This time I spent strength. I pushed the protections to their maximum."
"Even if it's Dumbledore's curse, at most you'll feel slight discomfort. It will not break through my wards."
Sure enough, over the next few minutes, Quirrell felt faint pain across his arms and legs—like being scraped by a sharp edge.
But it was nothing compared to the earlier torment. He could endure it.
Only then did he truly calm down.
At the same time, Ron's face had already turned crimson under the increasingly weird looks from the others.
Hermione stared at him.
"Ron, you are a boy, right?"
"Haven't you ever played an archery game?"
"This many shots and you're still just… outlining the target?"
Harry wore a helpless bro, I can't even defend you expression.
"Uh… Ron. Maybe stand a bit closer?"
Ron inhaled deeply, yanked an arrow out of the wall beside the doll, and forced a stiff laugh.
"Bad hand today. Forget it. Forget it."
Then he simply gripped the arrow in his fist and drove it straight into the doll—right between the legs.
"I'm a kind man," Ron said grimly. "I'm letting him off easy."
Back in Quirrell's office, Voldemort had just settled in to sink into sleep again—
When Quirrell unleashed an absolutely piercing shriek.
His legs snapped shut, his face went purple, and foam practically bubbled at the corners of his mouth.
"M-My Lord…!"
"It hurts! This curse—it fights dirty!"
"Save me!"
Voldemort fell into a long, suspicious silence.
What curse is this?
He still couldn't sense a single thread of its mechanism.
He'd used every curse-defense he knew—and it still pierced through this quickly?
After a moment, under Quirrell's desperate, pleading gaze, Voldemort said in a hollow voice:
"…Go get Madam Pomfrey."
"Oh—and bring Snape too."
"Let the experts consult."
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 60 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/StrawHatStudios