Harry Potter: Returns Back From Game of Thrones (ASOIAF) - 28

Chapter 28: Why So Serious?

"Merlin's beard, he's still eating. He's already consumed three entire roast chickens, a whole roast lamb, plus five plates of steak, at least five pounds of potatoes... I've lost count of how many pieces of bread—they just keep disappearing."

Quirrell reported nervously, increasingly convinced that everything about Harry Potter was fundamentally extraordinary. From their first handshake meeting at the Leaky Cauldron, he'd instinctively known this boy could probably kill him with a single punch.

Voldemort was now employing genuine Legilimency to read Quirrell's mind directly. People without advanced Occlumency training simply couldn't lie convincingly before him—their thoughts laid bare like open books.

Therefore, after his magical power had grown profound in his prime, he hadn't needed much cunning—nobody could successfully deceive him anyway.

Unfortunately, Voldemort had fallen on desperately hard times and was forced to rely on schemes and manipulation again. Stealing the Philosopher's Stone from directly under Dumbledore's watchful nose—that definitely couldn't be accomplished through brute force alone.

However, he'd been remarkably clever during his youth. Voldemort wasn't particularly worried about being outmanoeuvred by an eleven-year-old child. Ridiculous notion—he'd cast Avada Kedavra more times than this boy had cast all his spells combined.

Perhaps only after being severely humiliated by Harry's extraordinary tactical mind would Voldemort suddenly realise he was no longer as sharp as in his youth. The uncomfortable truth: he was nearly eighty years old now.

Current Voldemort represented the standard archetype of a diminished genius with increasingly clouded judgement, whilst Harry's Intelligence had reached genuinely superhuman levels through his experiences across multiple worlds.

"Is that so? Worthy of the prophesied saviour indeed, truly possessing peculiar qualities... Continue monitoring closely. If opportunity presents itself, curse him subtly and observe how he responds."

"Ah? Me?" Quirrell's voice cracked slightly with apprehension.

Before embarking on this mission, he'd felt reasonably confident, only worried about Dumbledore discovering his infiltration. Now he found himself far more concerned about the target himself—Harry Potter.

If exposed, Dumbledore seemed the type who'd prioritise subduing him alive and dispatching him to Azkaban for imprisonment. Harry Potter, despite his youth, might strike with considerably more lethal ruthlessness.

From their very first encounter, Quirrell had stopped treating Harry as an ordinary child. He felt absolutely certain Harry was someone genuinely capable of killing without hesitation when circumstances demanded.

Those approaching Harry with hostile intentions—like Quirrell himself—typically received overwhelming waves of intimidating presence upon close proximity, as if pre-battle fear had been magically stacked upon them like an oppressive weight.

"Yes, it's you. Don't be afraid, Quirrell. He hasn't even attended a single class yet. Those previous incidents were mere coincidences—you're frightening yourself unnecessarily."

"Alright... fine, Master."

Quirrell bowed his head in submission—literally trapped beneath the turban with no escape route.

Voldemort resided directly behind his skull. At this intimate distance, even Dumbledore himself probably couldn't save Quirrell if the Dark Lord decided to simply kill him.

Voldemort felt no particular concern for his servant's legitimate difficulties and fears. Quirrell only needed to convincingly deceive Dumbledore, collect useful intelligence, create difficulties for Harry Potter, and ideally survive longer than the boy. Voldemort considered far grander strategies behind the scenes.

He wondered seriously—if Harry truly proved formidable in direct combat, should the priority be eliminating him whilst still young and vulnerable or securing the Philosopher's Stone first to restore his own body and power?

Voldemort still fundamentally believed ten years ago when Harry was merely one year old that it had been a bizarre accident, nothing more. His real self—fully restored—absolutely wasn't that pathetically weak.

But the boy was definitely extraordinary—worthy of the prophesied one's designation. Couldn't allow him to mature fully. Once Harry reached adulthood and full magical development... very likely he'd become an existence even more terrifying than Dumbledore himself. Then escape or victory would prove genuinely impossible.

Dumbledore was ancient now—Voldemort could theoretically outlive him through patience. High-magical-power wizards typically lived extraordinarily long lives. If Harry grew to full maturity, he might represent another century's most powerful wizard. Voldemort refused to endure suppression for another hundred years.

Harry distinctly felt malicious intent radiating from Quirrell's direction at the High Table, but the sensation didn't affect his prodigious appetite whatsoever.

If food was available, eat abundantly. Free meals here represented an extraordinary welfare benefit not to be wasted.

He felt mildly surprised that Quirrell possessed such courage despite his obvious anxiety. The man clearly didn't feel particularly powerful—why hadn't he been sorted into Gryffindor for his apparent bravery in facing overwhelming odds?

However, the hidden presence concealed within Quirrell's absurd purple turban seemed to be some form of powerfully enchanted equipment, carrying magical power equivalent to at least one full point—

Harry's own Magic measured only 2 points currently. In the A Song of Ice and Fire world, this hadn't been particularly low. In this magical world, it probably wasn't exceptionally high either—he could only vaguely distinguish whether someone or something possessed approximately 1 point of magic. Precise measurements remained impossible, and even detection accuracy wasn't completely reliable.

After a considerable time—once everyone had eaten their fill, or more accurately, once Harry had finally stopped consuming food—the remaining dishes vanished from plates wholesale.

The golden plates became spotlessly clean again as if freshly polished. Moments later, an entirely new course materialised: desserts in extraordinary variety. Ice cream in every conceivable flavour, steaming apple pies, golden treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs with glossy icing, jam doughnuts dusted with sugar, elaborate trifles layered with cream and fruit, fresh strawberries, wobbly jellies in rainbow colours, and creamy rice pudding.

Harry selected a generous piece of treacle tart, savouring the rich sweetness. Around him, students began discussing their respective families and backgrounds.

Harry discovered quite a few half-blood young wizards amongst the new Gryffindors. Most contemporary wizards seemingly didn't concern themselves particularly with such matters—blood purity seemed less obsessively important than older texts suggested. Ron's extensive family had been thoroughly discussed during the train journey. Neville came from pureblood lineage. Hermione was proudly Muggle-born.

Perhaps because Hermione had been an exceptional top student at her Muggle primary school, terrified of falling behind and becoming a poor performer, she'd immediately begun discussing coursework requirements with older students, taking frantic notes.

Harry made discreet enquiries with other students about the concerning Professor Snape, who clearly required careful observation. All Gryffindors seemed to consider him deeply unpleasant, though they provided frustratingly little specific useful information—rather, most offered obviously false exaggerated rumours clearly born from house rivalries.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, saying nothing more that might reveal his own suspicions. This curious situation instead awakened his investigative instincts. What kind of person was Severus Snape truly beneath the hostile exterior? Why did he harbour such extraordinarily complex emotions specifically toward Harry? Was he genuinely as terrible as Gryffindors uniformly claimed?

Not that Harry wanted to rebelliously challenge popular perception simply for contrarian satisfaction—rather, he strongly preferred forming judgements through personal discoveries and direct observations rather than accepting second-hand gossip.

Finally, the magnificent feast concluded. All remaining food vanished completely. Professor Dumbledore rose gracefully to his feet once more. The Great Hall fell into attentive silence immediately.

"Ahem—now that everyone has eaten and drunk their fill most satisfactorily, I wish to say a few more words before we retire for the evening. At the term's beginning, I must mention several important points requiring your attention."

"First years particularly note: the forest on our school grounds remains strictly forbidden to all students. Some of our older students should remember this restriction particularly well too."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes swept meaningfully toward the Weasley twins' position. Harry noticed this pointed attention—clearly they were repeat offenders already noted by the Headmaster himself.

These two had earned such special administrative attention at remarkably young ages. They must possess genuinely extraordinary qualities worth cultivating. Their personalities Harry didn't particularly dislike—definitely worth recruiting eventually. Such creative talents always proved useful for something eventually.

"Additionally, Mr Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind everyone not to practise magic in corridors between scheduled classes."

Dumbledore mentioned various Quidditch-related announcements Harry found only marginally interesting. "Finally, I must inform you that anyone who does not wish to suffer an extremely painful death should absolutely not enter the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor this year."

Harry laughed heartily at this absurd theatrical warning, though he noticed only a scattered few others chuckled nervously.

"Why aren't more people laughing at that obvious dramatic exaggeration?" Harry whispered curiously to Percy beside him.

Percy explained seriously that locations Dumbledore explicitly forbade typically contained genuinely dangerous elements requiring restriction. The Forbidden Forest, for instance, housed numerous legitimately dangerous magical beasts. But having a deadly hazard directly inside the school building itself—specifically the fourth-floor corridor—made everyone profoundly confused and concerned rather than amused.

"It's just some dangerous restricted areas students aren't allowed to explore," Harry said with a slight grin. "Why so serious about obvious warnings?"