Chapter 95: Quirrell Fainted
In a quiet classroom, Professor Quirrell was stumbling through his lecture.
His mind was clearly elsewhere. He recited the course material half-heartedly, mechanically, while his thoughts wandered.
According to the Dark Lord, Harry Potter was just a lucky boy who survived thanks to his mother's sacrificial protection.
Although Quirrell nodded along when Voldemort spoke, deep down, a trace of doubt remained.
Truthfully, Quirrell was a remarkably skilled wizard. His mastery of Occlumency allowed him to shield parts of his mind from Voldemort's probing, keeping some secrets even while being possessed. That alone had earned him Voldemort's temporary trust—and life. Voldemort simply dismissed his quirks and hesitation as cowardice.
But something odd had shaken Quirrell's original resolve to follow the Dark Lord's plans without question.
Peeves, the ancient poltergeist, refused to go anywhere near Harry Potter.
Puzzled and suspicious, Quirrell decided to conduct a small test during his class.
"Everyone," he began, stammering as usual, "have you all learned the red sparks spell we discussed today?"
"I'll repeat it once more. The incantation is Periculum. Be sure to aim your wand at the sky when you cast it. It's a basic distress signal—an essential spell for any young wizard in the wild."
He glanced at one of his students. "Mr. Potter, come demonstrate for us."
Harry walked to the front of the class, raised his wand, and said clearly, "Periculum!"
A red beam of light shot from his wand, bursting into fireworks overhead.
But then—
"AHHH! What is that?!"
The red sparks scattered across the room like embers. As a few touched Professor Quirrell, he staggered back with a cry. His skin reddened and swelled where the sparks landed. He dropped his wand, collapsed to the ground, and lost consciousness from the pain.
But to everyone else, the sparks felt… refreshing.
Students in the front row—Hermione, Neville, Padma, and others—blinked, then smiled as a refreshing scent filled the room. The air felt crisp, like a meadow after rain.
"What just happened?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Harry, you just…" Ron started, staring in amazement.
"Why did Professor Quirrell react like that? It felt kind of… nice to me," Hermione said, puzzled. Her bushy hair frizzed slightly from the static, and her expression was one of genuine confusion.
"I feel so awake now. The air's totally changed," Neville said, inhaling deeply.
"Yeah! It smells amazing!" Padma said, breaking into a rare smile.
"Harry, how did you do that?" Hermione asked. "That spell—did you modify it? It smells like the air was purified."
As Ravenclaw students murmured and speculated, theories began flying.
"Could it be that Professor Quirrell was under a curse?" Hermione guessed aloud. "And Harry's spell somehow purified it, so it hurt him?"
Suddenly, Ron cried out, "Wait! Professor Quirrell!"
Quirrell was still lying unconscious on the floor, his face swollen and twitching.
"Don't interrupt me, Ron, I'm thinking," Hermione muttered, still deep in thought.
"No, I really think I'm forgetting something important. Something about… smell? Garlic? Wait—Professor Quirrell! He's right there on the floor!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed, standing up.
"I'll go get Madam Pomfrey!" Harry dashed out of the room.
"I'm coming too! What floor is she on?" asked Michael Corner, eager to help.
Harry skidded to a stop. "Wait—I don't know!"
"I do!" said Anthony Goldstein. "It was on that map Penelope Clearwater gave us. It's at the end of the corridor on the second floor!"
"Michael, Terry—help me carry Professor Quirrell," Anthony ordered quickly. "Let's move!"
But before they could reach him, Quirrell stirred.
"No need, Mr. Goldstein… It's the vampire curse again. I'll return to the staff lounge and rest."
He struggled to his feet, his face still swollen and red.
"Mr. Potter… five points to Ravenclaw. Class dismissed," Quirrell muttered, limping away alone.
"Harry, Professor Quirrell is totally losing it," Ron whispered.
"No," Hermione said slowly, "I think my guess is right. Your spell activated some kind of protective magic, Harry. It purified whatever curse was on him."
But Alexander Smith, sitting quietly among the Ravenclaws, simply smiled to himself.
Harry probably believed he'd done it all himself. That feeling he had while casting the spell—the strange warmth, the surge of magic—wasn't just his imagination.
In truth, this miraculous effect stemmed from three intertwined forces:
First, the power of love that still slept within Harry—the legacy of Lily Evans' sacrifice. Alexander had sensed that dormant magic and, using his own spellwork tied to the same force, gently awakened it. That love had responded, recognizing danger.
Second, the soul fragment of Voldemort buried in Harry. It reacted instinctively to the proximity of the main soul, Quirrell's parasitic host.
And third, Harry himself. His honest revulsion toward Quirrell's foul scent—especially the overwhelming garlic—subconsciously intensified the spell's effects, purifying the air around him and unintentionally damaging Quirrell.
Even if Dumbledore later heard of this, he would likely interpret it as a mere activation of Lily's ancient protective magic in response to Voldemort's proximity.
Even a thorough magical trace would show only those three forces. Alexander, always careful and quiet, left no magical footprint. He would remain unnoticed.
For now, Voldemort's consciousness within Quirrell would be suppressed. And perhaps this brief window of freedom would allow Quirrell to come clean to Dumbledore—to confess, and maybe, be saved.
Despite Quirrell's cowardice and faults, Alexander still saw some value in him.
In the original timeline, Quirrell's actions at the Quidditch match—ostensibly trying to kill Harry—had in truth been a desperate attempt to draw attention to himself, to expose the possession. He was a weak man, yes, but also one with a shred of conscience.
Sadly, perhaps due to the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse Voldemort had left behind, Quirrell died before he could be saved.
From the moment he was possessed, his path was sealed. Dumbledore, always one to offer redemption, had likely sensed that no one could help him anymore… except perhaps himself.
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