Chapter 144 – Substituting for Quirrell
Snape was silent for a long time.
Just as Russell thought their conversation had reached its end, the professor lowered his head and spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Do not let your present actions become the regret of your future self."
There was a trace of suppressed sorrow in his tone. Russell's usual smile faded at once.
"I understand, Professor. Thank you."
Snape said nothing more. Judging by Russell's expression, the boy had already made his own calculations.
"So be it."
He handed Russell a thin booklet, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Under the pale moonlight, Russell opened it — and his heart skipped.
Inside were detailed notes on Sectumsempra, along with its counter-curse: Vulnera Sanentur.
So this was a warning.
Every spell had a counterspell. But once a choice was wrong, there might be no remedy at all.
Still, Russell did not intend to choose wrongly.
Closing the booklet, he couldn't help thinking that Snape had his own quiet way of caring for people.
Last night's incident, however, had reminded him of something important.
He needed to pay Quirrell a visit.
---
Early the next morning, Russell marched straight to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
"Professor Quirrell — why did you let the troll into the castle?"
He opened with an accusation so direct that Quirrell was momentarily stunned.
"F-Fythorne… how dare you speak to me like that?" Quirrell's expression darkened.
"Oh, please. I call you 'Professor' out of courtesy," Russell sneered. "If I didn't feel generous, I'd just call you Quirrell. We both serve the Dark Lord. Rank doesn't apply between us."
"You—!"
Quirrell's face went pale with anger; he nearly coughed up blood.
"Look at you," Russell continued coldly. "You're barely standing. How exactly do you plan to serve the Dark Lord in this condition? Two more steps and you'd collapse."
"Don't forget," Quirrell snapped, "I covered for you last night!"
"You have the nerve to mention that?" Russell's eyes flashed. He stepped forward, pointing a finger at Quirrell.
"When I returned to my tower, Snape was waiting for me. He asked where I learned that spell. His expression was… off."
Russell advanced another step. Though Quirrell was taller, the pressure in the room clearly shifted.
"That spell has something to do with him, doesn't it? I want an answer."
Quirrell faltered — and then the voice spoke from the back of his head.
"Tell him, Quirrell."
With that command from Lord Voldemort, Quirrell seemed to regain his spine.
"Yes. It does concern him. But you needn't worry. Snape was once one of us."
Russell widened his eyes in apparent shock.
"You're telling me the Head of Slytherin? The Potions Master? Is a Death Eater?"
He paused, then narrowed his gaze.
"Was? Don't tell me he's defected to Dumbledore." His voice hardened. "If he reports this to Dumbledore, we're finished."
"And yet," Quirrell replied with a thin smile, "he hasn't, has he? Otherwise Dumbledore would already be knocking on our door."
"…You're right."
Russell exhaled, though his frown remained.
"But that still doesn't explain why you released a stinking troll into the castle."
"It was merely a distraction," Quirrell said, an unhealthy flush creeping into his cheeks. "To divert attention so I could examine what lies beneath the trapdoor."
"I thought that was my responsibility."
Russell's tone carried mockery.
"Trying to curry favor with the Dark Lord? You've put in quite the effort."
"You dare say that?" Quirrell shot back. "You haven't attended a single one of my classes recently. Seeking you out would have drawn suspicion. I had no choice but to act myself."
He began coughing violently.
After lulling the three-headed dog to sleep, he had opened the trapdoor and jumped down — only to be nearly strangled by Devil's Snare. Even now, he had not fully recovered.
Drained and pressed for time, he had been forced to retreat.
"So you failed," Russell said lightly.
"Music subdues the dog. Devil's Snare beneath the trapdoor. Noted."
"I'd rather you succeed," Quirrell muttered darkly. "We serve the same master, remember."
"You needn't worry."
Russell turned to leave — but Quirrell stopped him.
"My body won't hold out much longer. I require rest. Today, you will teach Defense Against the Dark Arts in my stead."
He held out the textbook.
"It's only a first-year class. You're familiar with Professor Corvey's teaching style, aren't you?"
Russell didn't hesitate.
"Very well."
His readiness unsettled Quirrell more than resistance would have.
For a fleeting moment, Quirrell wondered—
Had he just handed the classroom to a far more dangerous predator?
Russell glanced at the timetable. Defense Against the Dark Arts was scheduled for the afternoon, which gave him ample time to gather the materials he needed.
---
"Hagrid, do you know of any mildly dangerous Dark creatures in the Forbidden Forest?" Russell asked first of all.
Rubeus Hagrid narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What d'you want 'em for?"
"Relax, Hagrid. I'm not one of the Weasley twins," Russell laughed. "Professor Quirrell asked me to substitute for Defense Against the Dark Arts. You know how he just drones through the textbook. I'm planning a practical lesson — like Professor Corvey used to do."
At the mention of Corvey, Hagrid's expression shifted several times. He muttered something under his breath before finally nodding.
"I know where there's a nest of Bundimuns. If you want, I can take yeh there now."
"No need. They're too small," Russell shook his head. "Beginners will struggle to hit something that tiny. I'm teaching the Knockback Jinx."
Hagrid scratched his beard. "Well… I've seen a few flobberworms about."
"Too harmless," Russell replied patiently. "Isn't there something bigger — but not too dangerous?"
"Then maybe try the Black Lake. The merfolk keep a few Grindylows."
That caught Russell's interest.
Grindylows were small, horned water demons with green skin and long, spindly fingers. They preyed mostly on fish, but occasionally attacked swimmers. Their strength lay in their grip — yet their fingers were fragile and easily broken. A well-placed spell or a Disarming-type jinx could free a victim quickly.
Most importantly, although classified as Dark creatures, their danger level was relatively low — and once removed from water, they weakened rapidly.
There was just one complication.
Russell had previously offended the merfolk of the Black Lake. Negotiating with them personally was not ideal.
So once again, the task fell to Hagrid.
True to form, Hagrid proved reliable. Before long, he returned to his hut carrying a large, water-filled crate.
Inside, several Grindylows floated sluggishly.
"Thanks," Russell said, checking the time. It was nearly noon. Hagrid tried to persuade him to stay for lunch, but Russell declined.
The Grindylows had apparently been fed something — they remained drowsy in the tank, which saved Russell considerable trouble.
---
That afternoon, first-year students trudged toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, many carrying gas masks.
"Another Defense class…" Ron groaned, holding a borrowed mask from the Weasley twins. "I can't stand it."
"Stay positive, Ron," Harry encouraged. Since Sirius Black had been cleared, Harry felt as though his luck had improved dramatically. Even Potions no longer felt unbearable — compared to that, Defense class was nothing.
Ron grumbled, but skipping class required a courage he didn't possess. He reluctantly donned the mask and entered.
The bell rang.
But instead of Quirinus Quirrell, a far more familiar figure stepped inside.
"Russell? Why are you here? Where's Professor Quirrell?" Ron ripped off his mask in surprise.
"Professor Quirrell is resting due to health reasons," Russell said calmly. "I'll be teaching this lesson."
The classroom erupted.
Gryffindor students weren't overly concerned — after all, at worst Russell would read from the textbook like Quirrell. At least they wouldn't have to suffocate behind gas masks.
Slytherin, however, reacted with open hostility.
Draco Malfoy leapt to his feet.
"Why should a second-year teach us? I'll tell my father Hogwarts' standards are dropping!"
Typical. He'd lost to Russell countless times and still hadn't learned.
Behind him, Wednesday's gaze darkened ominously.
"Sit down, Malfoy," Russell said evenly. "If you object, you're welcome to complain to Headmaster Dumbledore — assuming you have the courage. Now, class begins."
The authority in his voice was unmistakable.
And whether they liked it or not, every student slowly fell silent.