Ch: 99-108
Chapter 99: Lucius is a Total Profiteer
Midnight, Diagon Alley, the alleyway outside Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.
A thin, dark shadow, like ink seeping from the cracks in a wall, glided silently along the old stone pavement toward the depths of the alley.
Quirrell wrapped his faint garlic-smelling cloak tighter. His heart drummed against his chest, each beat making his ribs ache.
"Right ahead, the warehouse marked with the double-headed snake," Lord Voldemort's voice rang in his mind, hoarse and weak, yet carrying an irresistible authority.
Quirrell's teeth chattered. It wasn't that he hadn't done bad things before, but an open robbery like this was a first.
This was Diagon Alley; Ministry of Magic Aurors could appear at any moment.
Moreover, this batch of 'Felix Felicis' was currently the coveted prize the entire Magical World was watching; the Malfoy Family couldn't possibly leave it unguarded.
However, at the thought that it was the entire inventory of high-end Felix Felicis from Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, the last of Quirrell's hesitation instantly vanished.
He took a deep breath, drew his wand, and silently cast a complex Alohomora on the heavy iron doors of the warehouse.
As the spell took hold, the lock gave a slight metallic twist and popped open.
The warehouse was pitch black, and the stacked wooden crates emitted a damp wood smell.
Quirrell muttered "Lumos," and a faint light illuminated a corner where a dozen crates bearing the Malfoy Family crest were stacked—his target.
Not daring to delay, he immediately waved his wand, using a Levitation Charm to lift a crate.
The moment the crate left the ground, a piercing alarm suddenly blared through the warehouse!
Countless red lights shot from all directions, weaving together into a net that trapped him firmly in the center.
"A trap?!" Quirrell's soul nearly left his body.
He roared a spell at the light net. A burst of black fire erupted from his wand tip, instantly burning a large hole. Like a rat with its tail on fire, he shouldered the crate and bolted out.
Just as he rushed out of the warehouse, several spells flew toward him!
It was the patrolling Aurors!
"Stop! Who goes there!"
Quirrell scrambled away, blocking most of the attacks with a Shield Charm, but a Stupefy grazed his shoulder, instantly numbing half his body.
He stumbled and fell to the ground. The crate he was carrying flew out, and small silver bottles inside spilled and rolled everywhere with a clinking sound.
"Catch him!" the Aurors shouted as they closed in.
"Master, save me!" Quirrell wailed desperately in his mind.
A powerful, evil will that did not belong to him suddenly erupted, surging through his numbed nerves.
Quirrell felt his body regain control. He leaped up from the ground, and without bothering to pick up the scattered Potions, he grabbed the crate and used all his strength to perform an Apparition.
With a loud 'bang,' he vanished from the spot, leaving behind only a group of Aurors and a mess on the ground.
When Quirrell reappeared, he was already in Hogsmeade village.
He was covered in injuries. His left arm had been hit by a spell, leaving a wound deep enough to see bone, and blood soaked his robes.
But he couldn't care about that. Carrying the crate, he crossed the Forbidden Forest path and returned to the Castle.
As soon as he entered his office, Quirrell collapsed onto the floor like a pile of mud.
With trembling hands, he pulled his spoils from the crate—exactly one hundred and eight bottles of 'high-end Felix Felicis'.
I finally got these things back... "Quick! Use the method I gave you..." Lord Voldemort's voice was full of greed and impatience.
Enduring the pain, Quirrell struggled to get up, opened all the small silver bottles, and poured the Potions into a cauldron.
Then, he took out the magical materials he had prepared long ago.
This kind of Separation Charm used for Potions required the aid of magical materials to be cast.
He raised his wand toward the cauldron of silver liquid, which shimmered temptingly under the candlelight, and began to chant the ancient and complex incantation.
As the spell progressed, the surrounding magical materials melted rapidly and transferred into the Felix Felicis Potion in the cauldron.
The Felix Felicis liquid began to boil violently, its color gradually turning from silver to murky, and plumes of white smoke rose, carrying a strange scent of mixed herbs.
Quirrell's mental energy was rapidly drained. He felt as if his brain was being hollowed out, and his face grew increasingly pale.
Finally, as the last syllable fell, the boiling in the cauldron gradually subsided.
Quirrell leaned against the edge of the cauldron, panting heavily, and looked inside with anticipation.
At the bottom of the cauldron was a thick layer of blue-gray dregs, and above the dregs, there suspended quietly... two drops.
Only two drops of silver liquid, the size of a fingernail.
They emitted a holy, faint light under the candlelight, as if heartlessly mocking his robbery.
"..."
Quirrell's eyes bulged like a dead fish, and his mind went blank.
Was this the actual amount of unicorn blood in the Felix Felicis he had fought the Aurors for his life to steal?
Just these two drops?
Although the Separation Charm would have some loss, it would be at most half. Subtracting the loss from the Separation Charm, that meant in this large pot of Potion, there were originally at most three or four drops of unicorn blood?
Quirrell's body began to tremble uncontrollably. He could feel the face attached to the back of his head twisting and deforming from extreme rage.
"Profiteers, they're all absolute profiteers..." a cold, hoarse voice filled with endless malice came from the back of Quirrell's head.
The voice was soft, yet it made the temperature of the entire office seem to drop to freezing point.
For the first time, Lord Voldemort felt that deceit was such a terrible quality, and that one should be honest, especially in business.
Lucius had played everyone!
Before, Cassbert and other potioneers had studied Felix Felicis and confirmed that unicorn blood was indeed added, even assessing that the content was not much.
But what the public, including the potioneers, considered 'not much' meant putting two or three bottles of unicorn blood in a cauldron of Felix Felicis.
Not what Quirrell saw before him—a whole cauldron of Potion with only two or three drops of unicorn blood added.
Was he treating everyone like fools?!
"Ah—!!!"
Lord Voldemort could no longer suppress it and let out a shrill, inhuman roar.
After swallowing those two drops of unicorn blood, he violently waved his hand, sweeping the cauldron and other materials to the floor.
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +88!]
[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +999!]
[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +999!]
...On the system panel, a series of capped resentment points flooded the screen.
Meanwhile, in the Castle's underground dormitory, Sig was awakened by this wave of system notifications.
He pushed aside the blanket and sat up, still a bit dazed.
"Who is it in the middle of the night..."
Opening the system to take a look, goodness, rows of [+999] resentment points had almost crashed the screen.
Signas scratched his messy hair, thought for a long time, and finally connected this soaring wave of resentment to his 'zero-yuan shopping' behavior that afternoon.
"I only took a few books, is it really worth all this?"
He muttered, his face full of bewilderment.
"These two are way too petty..."
Chapter 100: Newspaper Reports Must Be Objective
The Daily Prophet's Editor-in-Chief's office.
Barnabas Cuffe's head was about to explode.
Three minutes ago, a Howler from the Burke family had exploded on his desk. A woman's scream accused her grandson of drinking that Potion and squatting in the toilet all day, nearly sitting through the toilet bowl, his face completely gaunt from diarrhea.
This was already the seventeenth one this morning.
The owls were hitting the windows like they were crazy, and the fire in the fireplace never stopped, with angry faces taking turns appearing inside, looking like a courtroom.
"Barnabas! Give me an explanation!" In the fireplace, the head of the Rosier family was roaring. "My niece only believed in 'Felix Felicis' because she saw the advertisement in The Daily Prophet, but now, other than having diarrhea, she hasn't changed at all! That was a full one hundred and twenty-nine Galleons..."
"And me!" Another head squeezed in; it was someone from the Slughorn family. "We tested it; that Potion has no weight-loss effect at all, let alone life extension! It has seriously affected our business... Just how much money did you take from the Malfoy Family?"
Cuffe had a massive headache. While he offered smiles to appease these powerful figures he couldn't afford to offend, he cursed Lucius Malfoy's ancestors eighteen generations back in his heart.
He shouldn't have taken those fifty thousand Galleons in the first place! Now, look at this—the money was earned, but the reputation the newspaper had built over decades was on the verge of being ruined.
Just then, the office door was pushed open, and Rita Skeeter walked in, swaying her hips.
Today she wore a set of bright green robes, paired with her equally green Quick-Quotes Quill, looking like a mantis come to life.
"Editor-in-Chief, it looks like we have trouble." She waved a stack of letters in her hand; they were all letters from readers, filled with complaints about "Felix Felicis."
"Trouble? This is a disaster!" Cuffe tugged at his tie irritably. "But why don't they go find that bastard Lucius? He's the one selling the stuff; we were screwed over too! Now the entire Magical World thinks we are the mouthpiece of the Malfoy Family!"
"So, we have to do something," Rita Skeeter pushed up her glasses, an excited light shimmering in the eyes behind the lenses. "Editor-in-Chief, this might be an opportunity."
"An opportunity?"
"An opportunity to make our Daily Prophet even greater!" Rita's voice was full of allure. "As long as we can dig up the inside story of Felix Felicis, the public will naturally only remember our objective stance..."
Cuffe's features twisted into a knot. He was a shrewd businessman and immediately understood what Rita meant.
"You mean... we defect?"
"It's not defecting; it's 'pursuing the truth'," Rita corrected, a cunning curve hooking the corner of her mouth. "When we took Malfoy's money, it was to 'promote' his product. But we didn't say we'd promote a problematic product. As a responsible media outlet, we certainly have an obligation to conduct an 'investigation.' This is perfectly reasonable; no one can say anything."
"But this will offend the Malfoy Family..."
"Editor-in-Chief, have you forgotten what we said before?" Rita reminded him. "We can publish both articles of praise and voices of doubt. Now, it's just that there are a few more voices of doubt, it doesn't count as offending them! Moreover, if we don't do this now, we will offend every customer except the Malfoy Family!"
"This matter likely involves Dumbledore?" Cuffe was still somewhat worried.
Rita's smile also froze, but she quickly reacted: "Mr. Malfoy never explicitly said that Felix Felicis was related to Dumbledore..."
Cuffe pondered for a moment, understanding Rita's meaning.
Even if they really found Dumbledore behind it, their newspaper wouldn't dare report that news. So the best approach was to stop at a certain point.
He made up his mind: "Fine! Let's do it! Rita, I'm leaving this to you..."
"Happy to be of service, Editor-in-Chief," Rita smiled charmingly and turned to leave.
Her Quick-Quotes Quill drew a green afterimage in the air, as if it had already caught the scent of a front-page headline... That evening, in the dormitory of Gryffindor Tower, Ron's snoring was like a Trollstuck in a staircase, rhythmically emitting a dull roar.
But Harry had no desire to sleep. He kept his eyes open, staring at the window outside the velvet curtains that was turned silver by the moonlight, his mind a mess like a batch of ruined Potion.
Snape, the Philosopher's Stone, immortality, and the one whose name he didn't dare mention... For a while, he thought of his parents he saw in the Mirror of Erised, and even the scene of his mother's tragic death.
These things were like a swarm of annoying Pixies, circling, flying, and screaming in his head, making him feel irritable and restless.
The more he forced himself not to think about it, the clearer those images became.
He could almost see Snape's sallow, hook-nosed face grinning in the shadows, seeing him greedily reach out his hand to grab that Philosopher's Stone that could grant eternal life.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt Ron's suspicion was correct.
That old bat Snape must have caused so much trouble just for the Philosopher's Stone.
That so-called "Felix Felicis" was nothing more than a front for him to raise funds for his master's grand resurrection plan!
No, he couldn't wait any longer!
He sat up abruptly from his bed, a thought becoming incredibly clear in his mind—he was going to the Forbidden Corridor on the Fourth Floor to investigate again and see what on earth Snape was up to.
He fished the Invisibility Cloak, as smooth as flowing water, out of the trunk by his bed. He decided to go to the Fourth Floor corridor to investigate again.
However, just as he reached the entrance hall on the first floor, a burst of suppressed conversation came from the nearby foyer, sounding particularly abrupt in the silent night.
"...I warned you, Quirinus! Don't test my patience!"
It was Snape! That voice was as cold as a stone in a dungeon, every word carrying an undisguised threat.
Harry's heart instantly leaped into his throat. He instinctively pressed himself against the cold suit of armor nearby, not daring to breathe. He looked toward the sound and saw the moonlight streaming through the high arched windows, casting two extremely long shadows on the ground.
He saw Snape dragging Professor Quirrell by the arm like a dead dog, pulling him toward the Castle's main gate.
Snape's face was so gloomy in the pale moonlight it looked like it could drip water, his black robes billowing behind him like an ominous dark cloud.
While Professor Quirrell was like a drenched quail, his whole body trembling, the large Turban on his head tilted to one side, his mouth stuttering something like "N-No... it wasn't me... Severus..."
They're going to the Forbidden Forest? Why go there so late?
Chapter 101: Honest and Kind Quirrell Should Even Thank Us
Harry's curiosity was like a wildly growing vine; with almost no hesitation, he moved his short legs and quietly followed behind the two.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, shadows flickered, casting menacing shapes under the pale moonlight like monsters lurking in the darkness.
Snape finally stopped. With a sudden shove, he pushed Quirrell against a thick oak tree.
With a dull thud, Quirrell hit the trunk like a broken sack and slid down.
"Now, you can speak." Snape looked down at him, his voice devoid of any warmth.
"I... I don't know... what you're talking about..." Quirrell's voice trembled like a leaf in the autumn wind.
"Don't know?" Snape let out a cold laugh. He leaned down, bringing his face close to Quirrell's ear, his voice extremely low yet filled with threat. "Do you think I don't know?"
Hiding behind a dense bush not far away, Harry leaned forward.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the moonlight was pale.
"B-b-but, Severus, I..." Quirrell stammered.
Snape's voice was full of disdain. "I suggest you get a clear grasp of the situation, Quirrell. You weren't in your room that night; where did you go..."
"No, no, actually I..."
An owl hooted loudly, giving Harry a start.
By the time he steadied himself, he heard Snape say, "...Felix Felicis, only two or three drops of unicorn blood in a whole cauldron, and the rest is all Laxative?!"
"I... I, I was just... a bit curious..."
"Curious?" Snape's tone was filled with mockery.
"I..."
Quirrell was speechless; he couldn't exactly say he had relied on Lord Voldemort's help to decompose the Felix Felicis.
"Very well!" Snape's voice grew even colder. He seemed to step closer, and the sense of pressure was something even Harry could feel. "While I am curious as to why you've suddenly taken an interest in Potions, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. After some time, I will find you again..." The threat was unmistakable.
Snape pulled his cloak over his head and strode away, leaving Quirrell alone and bewildered in the cold wind.
And all of this was heard clearly by Harry, who was hiding behind the tree.
To him, the logical chain of the entire event was now incredibly clear.
To raise funds, Snape had teamed up with the Malfoy Family to launch the counterfeit Potion 'Felix Felicis' and engaged in false advertising.
And Quirrell, this seemingly cowardly Professor, had accidentally stumbled upon the Felix Felicis scam, which was why Snape had warned him so angrily.
This discovery made Harry incredibly excited.
He felt he had grasped Snape's weakness. As long as he leaked this news, the commercial myth of Felix Felicis would collapse, and Snape's plan to resurrect the Dark Lord would fall through along with it.
The next day, in the Gryffindor Common Room.
The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, but the atmosphere around Harry's trio was more tense than the wind and snow outside.
"This is absolutely true!" Harry lowered his voice, but his tone was resolute as he told Ron and Hermione everything he had overheard at the edge of the Forbidden Forest the previous night. "Snapeadmitted it himself! There are only two or three drops of unicorn blood in a cauldron of Felix Felicis, and the rest is all Laxative! We must tell everyone this news!"
Ron listened, dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open wide enough to fit a Pumpkin pasty.
He thought of the witches who had spent a fortune on Felix Felicis, and a strong sense of justice instantly welled up in his heart.
"This is a total fraud!" Ron waved his fist indignantly.
However, Hermione was much calmer.
She furrowed her delicate brows and shifted uneasily on the sofa, asking, "But Harry, would The Daily Prophet believe us based on just an Anonymous letter?"
She found it hard to imagine that the most authoritative newspaper in the Magical World would question a Potion that was already famous nationwide based solely on a letter from an unknown sender.
"Why wouldn't they believe us? We're telling the truth!" Ron looked at Hermione with an expression that seemed to say, "How can you not understand such a simple thing?"
Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his self-righteousness. She held her forehead, trying to explain with an analogy Ron could understand: "If someone wrote you a letter telling you that Dumbledore was actually the Dark Lord, would you believe it?"
Ron was momentarily speechless, his face turning beet red.
He opened his mouth but couldn't think of a single word to argue back. After a long while, he stiffened his neck and said, thinking he was being clever, "Then... then we'll write a signed letter! Tell them who we are!"
"Just our three names?" Hermione was completely speechless, feeling her blood pressure soaring.
"Do you want me to have my Scabbers press a paw print on it too?" Ron looked puzzled, even thinking his joke was witty, and let out a silly grin.
"Ron, that's not funny!" Hermione glared at him, feeling that communicating with this guy, whose head was filled only with food and Quidditch, was more exhausting than solving a complex spell puzzle.
But Harry caught the key point from Hermione's words. He said thoughtfully, "Are you saying that the whistleblower's identity must carry a lot of weight for the newspaper to believe it and report the truth?"
"Yes!" Hermione nodded heavily, finally glad someone could keep up with her line of thought.
She explained patiently, "How could The Daily Prophet believe the word of three First-year students and publicly accuse a respected Professor and one of Britain's wealthiest Pure-blood families!? They would treat our letter as a prank and throw it directly into the fireplace to burn!"
"Why can't they believe us?" Ron still couldn't understand. "I can swear by Merlin's beard that every word I've said is true!"
Hermione gave up on communicating with Ron. She turned to Harry and said in a persuasive tone, "So, we must write this Whistleblower letter in the name of someone influential. Only then will The Daily Prophet take it seriously enough to investigate and report the truth!"
"Someone influential..." Harry fell into deep thought.
He thought of everyone he knew—Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid—but none of them seemed suitable.
Suddenly, a figure with a Large purple turban and a stutter flashed through his mind.
"I've got it!" Harry's eyes lit up, and he slapped his thigh. "How about we write the letter in Professor Quirrell's name? He was the one who discovered this in the first place! Snape even threatened him in the Forbidden Forest for it! Professor Quirrell clearly wants to report it too; he's just been intimidated by that nasty Snape!"
"What?" Hermione and Ron cried out in unison.
"In Professor Quirrell's name? Harry, wouldn't that be... too risky?" Hermione's brow furrowed into a knot. She felt the idea was a bit bold. "This isn't just a simple prank. If we don't completely take down Snape and we're found out, we could be expelled!"
"And it would also put Professor Quirrell in danger!" she added, her face full of worry. "Snape would kill him!"
Harry shook his head, a look of determination on his face that didn't match his age. "No, this is also helping him! Think about it: once Snape's conspiracy is exposed, he'll become a fraud that everyone despises. How would he dare threaten poor Professor Quirrell then?"
The more he spoke, the more he felt his plan was foolproof, and he even got a bit excited. "Besides, by then, everyone will see Professor Quirrell's honest and brave side. He'll become a hero! He'll be thanking us before we know it!"
"But..." Ron still felt the whole thing was too crazy and bold. Reporting one Professor in the name of another? It was practically blowing the lid off everything.
"No more 'buts'! It's settled!" Harry didn't give Ron any chance to argue. He jumped up from the sofa, grabbed Ron's arm, and headed out. "We're going to the Owlery right now!"
"To... to do what?"
"To write the letter! What else!"
Chapter 102: Facing Problems, Only Idiots Try to Prove Themselves
The next morning, Signas walked into the Great Hall and piled his plate with sausages and fried eggs.
Last night, Dobby delivered the first dividend—a Gringotts check—and a thank-you letter from Lucius Malfoy.
The letter's wording was humble to the extreme, overflowing with enthusiasm as if Signas were the Malfoy Family's long-lost father.
And the number on that check kept the smile on Signas's face from fading—a full ten thousand Galleons.
With his first pot of gold in hand, he had to treat himself.
As he chewed on a sausage, he calculated that those "Honesty Beans" in the Forbidden Forest should be ripe by now.
This thing was a powerful weapon; if used correctly, never mind Quirrell, even Lord Voldemort himself would have to honestly reveal where his Horcruxes were hidden after eating one.
Just as Signas was wondering whether to give one to Snape first to hear his heartfelt confession about Harry's mom, or directly to Dumbledore to see how many secrets this White Demon King was hiding, the owls flooded into the Great Hall like a tide as usual.
But today, things were a bit off.
As the latest issue of The Daily Prophet descended like snowflakes, the atmosphere in the normally noisy Hogwarts Great Hall became as eerie as if a mass Silencing Charm had been cast.
The students, who usually chattered and talked loudly, now each held a newspaper, heads bowed; even the sound of clinking cutlery had vanished.
The only sound left in the air was the "rustle" of turning pages, punctuated by the occasional irrepressible gasp from the various house tables, followed by glances repeatedly darting toward Draco.
Signas curiously unfolded the newspaper in front of him.
The next second, a bold title with a dynamic effect of dripping ink hit his eyes like a heavy punch.
"Shocking Inside Story: Uncovering the Lies and Deception Behind 'Felix Felicis'!"
"According to a source who wished to remain anonymous... a cauldron of Felix Felicis... contains only two drops of unicorn blood... the majority is just ordinary laxative ingredients... the House of Malfoy is suspected of fraudulent marketing..."
"Pfft—!"
Signas almost spat out the sausage in his mouth.
Who leaked this information?
It couldn't be the Malfoy Family, could it?
The traditional skill of double-crossing?
But on second thought, that didn't seem right.
The Malfoy Family had invested a fortune in this project and hadn't even earned back the advertising costs yet; pulling this now would be like throwing dungbombs into their own vault.
Lucius wouldn't be stupid enough to do something like this.
Then who could it be?
While he was completely baffled, the system panel in his mind suddenly flickered wildly as if it had gone crazy, emitting a "Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding—!" like a casino slot machine hitting the jackpot.
The resentment points were soaring at an unprecedented and terrifying speed!
[resentment points from... +29!]
[resentment points from... +28!]
[resentment points from... +66!]
[From...]
Thousands of messages poured down like a waterfall, causing the system interface to lag.
The numbers jumped as if under a Dancing Feet Spell; the dense [+36], [+58], and [+71] almost burst through the screen, continuing to grow at an even more terrifying rate.
Among them were even a long string of surnames from various Pure-blood families.
Signas realized that this was the resentment of the Wizards who had read the report.
His heart, which had been hanging in suspense, was instantly healed by this overwhelming wave of resentment.
Sure enough, human joys and sorrows are not shared; he only felt... they weren't making enough of a fuss yet.
Whoever was behind it didn't matter anymore.
After all, Sig himself hadn't expected such an unexpected pleasant surprise; he even wished the other party would strike again with more force.
Inside the Great Hall, expressions varied instantly.
Over at Gryffindor, Ron was gesturing excitedly to Harry with spit flying everywhere, his face full of excitement as if a plan had succeeded.
Meanwhile, the students of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had "Oh my god" expressions, clearly enjoying the drama.
It was obvious that the entire British Magical World was in an uproar because of this report in The Daily Prophet.
Draco gripped the newspaper tightly, staring at the report and reading it over and over again.
He naturally knew the recipe for Felix Felicis, so he was well aware that a cauldron of it indeed only contained two or three drops of unicorn blood.
But there was a fundamental difference between this and fraud! In their advertising, they had never publicly promised a precise amount of unicorn blood.
Felix Felicis was definitely not some low-quality Potion filled with ordinary laxatives; every single auxiliary ingredient in it was top-grade!
"This is slander, a malicious attack on us," Draco lowered his voice toward Sig, his tone filled with uncontrollable anger. "Boss, this must be some Potion shop that lost business pulling strings... those idiots from Slug and Jiggers Apothecary must be jealous! We have to fight back!"
"Boss, what should we do now?" Crabbe and Goyle also leaned in like two mountains of flesh, asking in their gruff voices.
Since their families were suppliers for some of the ingredients, this affected them as well.
Signas unhurriedly poked a piece of sausage with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth, his face showing not a hint of panic.
He even had the leisure to glance at the system panel; the resentment points on it had broken through to a whole new level, surging like floodwaters from an opened gate, making every pore in his body feel so comfortable he wanted to groan aloud.
No joke, almost half the Wizards in the British Magical World were diligently farming resentment for him—how could he stop such a wonderful thing? Don't stop!
He patted Draco's tense shoulder and shook his head indifferently. "What's the panic?"
Draco grew anxious. "Boss! How can we not panic? My father put real gold and silver into this. Are we just going to let them smear us? What if things escalate?"
"Let them make a fuss." Signas forked another fried egg, his tone as nonchalant as if discussing tomorrow's weather. "Our product has complied with Ministry of Magic regulations from the start, and we never guaranteed the specific content of unicorn blood. As long as the Ministry has no complaints, why care about this noise? Making the Potion itself well is better than anything."
Seeing Draco's expression, which looked like he was about to burst into flames from anxiety, although Signas wished things would escalate, he realized he had to consider his lackey's interests.
He pondered for a moment and added, "We don't need to prove anything ourselves; that's what idiots do. We'll make The Daily Prophet prove it."
"How?"
"Look," Signas pointed to the line 'According to a source who wished to remain anonymous' in the newspaper, a hint of mockery at the corner of his mouth. "The fatal flaw of this report is right here. It doesn't state the source, so it's clearly not from any official channel."
"Write to your father right now and tell him to firmly question The Daily Prophet's professional ethics in the name of the House of Malfoy. Accuse them of a malicious attack and defamation paid for by dark money."
"Would they dare reveal their source? They wouldn't. As long as they can't prove themselves, these accusations are just hooliganism. Naturally, they'll have no impact and will instead serve as free advertising for us!"
Draco's eyes lit up instantly. Right! Why hadn't he thought of that!
"Next," Signas held up a second finger, "ask Mr. Malfoy to increase spending—don't skimp on the money—to establish a 'Happiness Club.' Anyone who has purchased our product, regardless of the amount, can join for free. Organize regular gatherings to exchange experiences using Felix Felicis, and then provide exclusive benefits to members. Let those who support us stand up and speak for us! This is called cultivating core users, understand?"
"Finally, and most importantly," Signas's voice dropped even lower, carrying a seductive magic, "we need to immediately launch the 'Supreme Edition Felix Felicis.' Tell everyone that this is a collector's limited edition with a significantly increased unicorn blood content, specially made to reward our loyal customers!"
"Then, have your father pay a heavy sum to invite Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart to endorse us and hold a grand signing event. This way, our base will be completely solid, and we might even be able to raise the price while we're at it."
Draco's eyes shone brightly.
This combination of moves was simply a stroke of genius!
Not only did it resolve the crisis, but it also took the opportunity to launch a more expensive new product and even locked in the customers who had already bought the regular version!
Brilliant! Truly brilliant!
"I understand! I'll go write to my father right now!" Draco, as if injected with adrenaline, grabbed his bag and rushed toward the Owlery, not even caring about his favorite bacon on the plate.
Chapter 103: Stop Cursing, My System is About to Explode at Hogwarts
On the other side, at Malfoy Manor.
Lucius Malfoy's reaction was remarkably swift.
As soon as he finished reading the letter, he immediately realized this was Dumbledore's intention.
Clearly, this was another test.
But for Lucius, this was far too easy.
Mere lip service wouldn't show Lucius's true caliber; he had managed to get himself acquitted by the Wizengamot back then, so dealing with The Daily Prophet was naturally no trouble at all.
Although Dumbledore hadn't requested it, Lucius decided to perform well and showcase the true strength of the House of Malfoy.
He immediately arranged for people to publish strongly-worded statements in major newspapers, denouncing The Daily Prophet for "false reporting" and "malicious slander," while also reaching out to the Ministry of Magic to pursue legal responsibility.
At the same time, with an unprecedentedly high profile, he took the opportunity to grandly launch the "Happiness Club" and that "Supreme Edition Felix Felicis" which sounded terrifyingly expensive.
Even better, with a stroke of his pen, he added another clause to Signas's original plan—to compensate for the "misunderstanding" and "trouble" caused to the first batch of customers by the "Regular Version," all customers holding a proof of purchase for the Regular Version could enjoy a 20% discount on the "Supreme Edition" after joining the "Happiness Club"!
As soon as this news broke, the entire British Magical World was in an uproar once again.
Those Wizards who had been hesitating or angry instantly changed their tune.
What? 20% off? That's the "Supreme Edition"!
The "Supreme Edition" with a significantly increased unicorn blood content!
The Regular Version is fifty Galleons, the High-end Edition is one hundred and twenty-nine Galleons, and the Supreme Edition is one hundred and ninety-nine Galleons—with a 20% discount, it's just over a hundred.
That's equivalent to spending only fifty more Galleons to get even more "unicorn blood Power"!
This isn't a loss; it's practically a steal!
Those Wizards who had been complaining about the poor effects of the Regular Version instantly changed their faces.
"I knew it! How could Mr. Malfoy deceive us!"
"20% off! Merlin, Lucius is too generous! I'm going to stock up on ten bottles!"
"Don't fight me for it! I sent my House-elf to wait in line yesterday!"
For a time, the craze for "Felix Felicis" reached a near-frenzied level. It was no longer just a Potion, but a symbol of status and position.
At afternoon tea parties in Pure-blood circles, if you didn't pull a shimmering silver bottle of "Felix Felicis" from your gem-encrusted handbag, you'd be too embarrassed to even greet anyone.
The queue in front of Slug & Jiggers Apothecary in Diagon Alley was even more exaggerated than before.
Countless witches waved their purchase receipts and coin bags like a flock of crazed Hippogriffs, surrounding the shop entrance so tightly that not even water could trickle through.
And those Wizards who hadn't had the chance to buy the Regular Version yet were beating their chests in regret.
Their only thought now was to quickly buy a bottle of the Regular Version first to get that precious "20% off coupon"!
A trust crisis stirred up by The Daily Prophet had, under Lucius Malfoy's textbook public relations maneuvering, actually evolved into a nationwide hunger marketing carnival.
The development of events was exactly as Signas had predicted.
The "inside story" report by The Daily Prophet, far from causing sales of "Felix Felicis" to drop, was like pouring a ladle of hot oil onto a roaring fire, making it burn even more fiercely.
Wizards who were already buying Felix Felicis became even more enamored with the High-end and Supreme Editions that contained more unicorn blood.
There were also some Wizards who, because their expectations were too high and they learned the dosage of unicorn blood was so small, turned from fans to haters and began cursing Felix Felicis.
However, quite dramatically, Wizards who were originally skeptical of Felix Felicis became convinced it truly contained unicorn blood because of The Daily Prophet's report, and instead decided to join the queue outside Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.
Consequently, the line in front of Slug & Jiggers Apothecary became even longer than before. There were even many foreign Wizards who traveled specifically from all over the world on Flying carpets just to snatch a bottle of "Felix Felicis".
Meanwhile, The Daily Prophet fell into a state of total schizophrenia.
In the lifestyle section, Rita Skeeter used her venom-dipped quill to write extravagant hymns of praise—"Exclusive Interview: From Yellow-faced Hag to Ball Queen, How Felix Felicis Reshaped My Life!" Accompanied by magical photos showing a stark before-and-after contrast, it moved countless witches to tears.
The social section, however, was diametrically opposed, continuously publishing skeptical articles: "Potions Master Speaks Out Again: Beware of the Potential Addictiveness of Felix Felicis!", "Anonymous Official Reveals: Multiple Wizards Experience magic Disorder After Use".
Supporters and opponents argued incessantly, their spit practically flying through the paper.
Due to the inability to verify the information's authenticity, the opponents fell completely into a disadvantage. The schizophrenic The Daily Prophet not only failed to rebuild its image but instead fell into a complete trust crisis.
Moreover, this chaotic battle, rather than cooling down "Felix Felicis," pushed its popularity to an unprecedented peak.
So much so that Signas's system panel finally became overwhelmed—it was truly being overloaded.
In the Slytherin Common Room, Signas was comfortably nestled in a sofa by the fireplace, trying to read a notebook on the Dark Arts he had "borrowed" from Quirrell.
But he couldn't take in a single word.
Because the system panel in his mind had gone completely insane.
"Ding ding ding ding ding ding—"
That crisp notification sound was no longer a pleasant melody, but had turned into a never-ending metal storm, making his brain ache. On the system interface, the number of resentment points was skyrocketing like a stray dog off its leash, at a speed that completely defied the laws of mathematics.
[resentment points from French Witch Isabelle +55! She feels she's been waiting in line for too long, and her feet are numb!]
[resentment points from German Wizard Hans +44! He thinks this marketing method is practically an insult to his intelligence, yet he still bought three bottles!]
[resentment points from Casbert Morag +99! He can't figure out why, despite his earnest advice, Felix Felicis is selling even better?]
[resentment points from Dolores Umbridge +65! It's too expensive...]
[From...]
Thousands of messages poured down from the top of the panel like a bursting dam, the screen flickering so fast it was almost a blur.
Signas felt like he wasn't collecting resentment points, but was instead enduring a tsunami of resentment from the entire world.
He even saw a notification about a Wizard far away in Egypt studying pyramid curses who, because he couldn't snatch a bottle of Felix Felicis to give to his sweetheart as a gift, contributed a full [+88] resentment points.
This wave is taking off—global harvesting!
Just as Sig was envisioning himself doing thousands of draws and being decked out in legendary items, the flickering frequency of the system panel reached its peak. The entire interface suddenly lagged for a moment, then let out a "sizzle" as if struck by lightning, and cracks appeared across the screen.
[System Warning: resentment points inflow rate exceeds server threshold!]
[Warning: Processing core overloaded! Temperature too high!]
[Warning: System about to crash! System about to crash! Please, Host, stop the behavior of collecting resentment immediately!]
A series of bright red, constantly flashing warning boxes popped up. The piercing alarm sound was even more shrill than Filch's cat in heat.
Signas was stunned!
Crash?
Stop?
But how could he stop this?
This wasn't a faucet that could be turned off just like that.
He watched helplessly as the total number of resentment points broke through a figure he hadn't even dared to imagine.
Then, the entire system panel began to shake violently.
Sig's heart tightened, thinking, "It's not really going to explode, is it?"
"Stop cursing! My system is about to explode at Hogwarts!"
However, it was useless. With a "bang," the system went completely black.
Chapter 104: It Was All Reported by Professor Quirrell
The world was finally quiet.
Signas Shalk blinked, still a bit slow to react.
It just... exploded?
Such a powerful system was actually crushed by the resentment of Wizards all over the world?
He tried calling out in his mind a few times, but there was no response; his mind was as dead silent as Professor Binns' classroom.
Signas started to panic a little.
This was the foundation of his survival. Without the system, how was he supposed to mess around in the peril-filled Magical World?
Just as he was burning with anxiety, a line of small, golden glowing words slowly lit up in that dead silent darkness.
[Total resentment points detected to have exceeded the critical threshold...]
[System is undergoing a forced upgrade...]
[More new functions will be unlocked after the upgrade...]
[Upgrade progress: 1%...]
Just as Sig's system exploded, the head of Barnabas Cuffe, Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Prophet, was also about to explode... The Daily Prophet, Editor-in-Chief's Office.
Barnabas Cuffe felt as if someone was vigorously drilling into the back of his head with a drill bit. Bursts of sharp, stinging pain almost made him spring up from his expensive dragon-hide chair.
He stared fixedly at the official letter on his desk from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. On the parchment, in a cold, official font, it demanded a reasonable explanation within forty-eight hours regarding the "malicious slander" of Lucius Malfoy; otherwise, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would formally open an investigation.
At the end of the letter, the signature of Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, looked like a pink poisonous spider, making his eyelids twitch.
He shouldn't have listened to Rita Skeeter's nonsense in the first place!
The source of everything was that damned report letter from Quirinus Quirrell at Hogwarts.
The letter's spearhead was pointed clearly and directly at Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy.
For Cuffe, offending the latter wasn't much of a problem—media work was inherently about offending people. But offending Professor Snape was another matter entirely.
Because, who in the Magical World didn't know that Snape was Dumbledore's man?
Back when the Dark Lord fell and the Death Eaters were sent to Azkaban one by one, Snape was personally protected by Dumbledore. The reason given was that he had joined the Order of the Phoenix long ago and was a double agent lurking by the Dark Lord's side.
Now Snape was firmly seated as the Dean of Slytherin; calling him Dumbledore's confidant was an understatement.
Reporting Snape—what was the difference between that and calling Dumbledore an old fraud on the front page of the newspaper?
But that damned woman Rita had been so silver-tongued at the time that she managed to convince Cuffe.
She concealed everything in the letter regarding Snape and Hogwarts, retaining only the allegations against the Malfoy Family's "Felix Felicis" formula. She cooked up a report that seemed to expose the truth but was actually playing with fire.
Cuffe had thought it was a brilliant move at the time.
It wouldn't offend Dumbledore, and by knocking the Malfoy Family down a peg, it would demonstrate The Daily Prophet's "objectivity and fairness" to the outside world.
He was even certain that an old fox like Lucius Malfoy would, upon seeing the report, definitely choose to pay his way out of trouble and settle the matter quietly due to a guilty conscience.
Who could have expected that Lucius, instead of shrinking back, bared his fangs and took the complaint directly to the Ministry of Magic, demanding evidence!
Now, Cuffe was pacing back and forth in his office in a state of extreme anxiety.
Could this matter be brought out into the open?
Who was Snape? He was the man Dumbledore had protected against all odds, a hero of the Order of the Phoenix, and the Dean of Slytherin.
If they made that report letter public and exposed Quirrell and Snape, it would be no different from telling everyone that The Daily Prophet was openly opposing Dumbledore.
If they didn't make it public, the investigators from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would soon be sitting in his office with butterbeer, having a nice long chat with him about "libel."
"Editor-in-Chief, calm down," Rita adjusted her glasses, a sharp glint flashing behind the lenses. "Things haven't reached their worst yet. Have you forgotten? That letter... we can just publish a part of it."
"Calm down? You're telling me to calm down now?!" As soon as Cuffe saw her, his anger flared straight to the top of his head.
He grabbed the official letter and slammed it heavily onto the desk with a loud 'thwack.' "Lucius has gone to the Ministry! If we can't produce evidence, those idiots at the Ministry who only know how to drink tea and read the paper will storm into my office and throw us both into Azkaban!"
Rita Skeeter adjusted her glasses, a slight smile flickering on her face. "Editor-in-Chief, this isn't hard to deal with."
"Not hard to deal with? You'd better explain yourself clearly. If this isn't handled properly, we're both finished!"
"Things haven't reached their worst yet." Rita didn't keep him in suspense, her voice as steady as if she were discussing the weather. "Have you forgotten? That letter... we can just publish a part of it."
Cuffe panted heavily, stopping his agitated pacing in the office to turn and stare fixedly at her.
He was a shrewd businessman and immediately understood Rita's meaning. "You mean... we only throw Professor Quirrell under the bus?"
"It's not throwing him under the bus, it's just disclosing our source of information—Professor Quirrell!" Rita corrected elegantly, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. "This way, our report isn't baseless, but comes from Professor Quirrell's 'reliable source'."
"In the end, we won't have offended Dumbledore, and we'll have given the Ministry and the public an explanation!"
"As for the parts involving Snape and Hogwarts, even if the Ministry comes to inquire, I suggest we still don't disclose them. If they want more information, they can go find Professor Quirrell themselves!"
She paused, watching Cuffe's face turn from red to pale, the curve of her lips widening. "Even if it's ultimately proven that Quirinus Quirrell was slandering and spreading rumors, that's his personal problem..."
Cuffe's furrowed brow smoothed out instantly, as if brushed by a spell.
Brilliant!
This way, they would be completely removed from this storm.
To the Ministry, they had grounds and evidence; the report wasn't groundless slander.
To Dumbledore, they perfectly avoided the landmine that was Snape.
To the public, they could even transform their image, further proving the independence and objectivity of The Daily Prophet—that it wasn't the mouthpiece of the Malfoy Family!
If Lucius wanted to file a lawsuit, then let him go sue Quirinus Quirrell.
No matter the outcome, The Daily Prophet could extract itself gracefully from this turmoil and still achieve its intended goals.
As for whether Quirrell lived or died... a mere Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, in Cuffe's eyes, was probably worth less than the cursing Venus Flytrap in his office.
Sacrificing him in exchange for the reputation of The Daily Prophet—this deal was simply heavenly.
"Good! We'll do exactly that..." Cuffe slapped his thigh, the clouds of worry on his face swept away.
Chapter 105: Professor Quirrell, the Habitual Robber
Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron.
Quirrell, wrapped in a cloak, emerged from the fireplace like a groundhog.
He had his hood pulled down tight, looking as if he wanted to bury his entire face in that smelly cloak; only his eyes were visible, darting around guiltily.
His goal this time was clear—robbery.
The "air battle" between The Daily Prophet and Lucius Malfoy was intensifying. Sales of "Felix Felicis" had increased instead of decreased, and even after the launch of the higher-priced "Supreme Edition" containing more unicorn blood, it remained in short supply.
The two drops of unicorn blood that Quirrell had managed to separate from the regular version were like a drop in the bucket for Lord Voldemort's extremely weakened soul.
He desperately needed to find more unicorn blood to satisfy his master's needs; otherwise, he truly would be sucked dry by Lord Voldemort.
The "Supreme Edition" of Felix Felicis, which claimed to contain more unicorn blood, naturally became Quirrell's new target.
However, Quirrell didn't dare rob the warehouse again. After the last incident, the Slug & Jiggers Apothecary had significantly tightened its security.
Moreover, the cost of the robbery hadn't been small; the wound on his left arm was still throbbing with a dull pain.
Lord Voldemort had expended a great deal of mental energy to help him break free from control, and now he was at his weakest, unable to provide any similar assistance for a short while.
Colliding with the reinforced security again would be no different from walking into a trap.
And queuing up to buy it now wasn't easy either.
After the reports in The Daily Prophet, Quirrell had thought fewer people would buy Felix Felicis.
The reality was that the line outside the Slug & Jiggers Apothecary was even longer, long enough to kill any thought he had of purchasing it normally.
Therefore, the refined Quirrell thought long and hard and decided the only way was to pick out some unlucky fellow, wait for them to buy the "Supreme Edition Felix Felicis," then follow them and strike in one smooth motion.
For this operation, Quirrell had made careful preparations. He didn't dare Apparate directly to Diagon Alley, fearing the Ministry of Magic's monitoring system would pick up his trail, so he chose the more common Floo Network.
He even conjured an illusion of himself to walk around his office at Hogwarts, coughing occasionally to create the illusion that he was still at school.
At this moment, Quirrell was like an experienced old thief, hunching his back and sticking to the shadows of the walls, moving toward the alley near the Slug & Jiggers Apothecary with small, surreptitious steps he thought were unnoticed.
Every few steps, he would alertly scan his surroundings with eyes like a startled bird.
When he saw patrolling Aurors, he would immediately shrink into a shop porch, pretending to admire the broomsticks in the window; when he saw crowds, he would quickly lower his head, pretending to tie the laces of his worn-out boots.
Quirrell felt his disguise was flawless, like a drop of water blending into the ocean, completely failing to attract anyone's attention.
However, just as he reached the entrance of Gringotts Bank, a warm shout filled with surprise exploded over his head like a bolt from the blue.
"Ah! Are you... are you Professor Quirinus Quirrell?"
A Wizard carrying many bags, looking as if he had just withdrawn money from Gringotts, was holding a fresh copy of The Daily Prophet and pointing excitedly at Quirrell. His voice was so loud it sounded like he had used a Sonorus charm on all of Diagon Alley.
Quirrell's body froze instantly, and his brain buzzed, going completely blank.
Recognized?
How is that possible?
Am I that famous?
Quirrell's first instinct was to deny it and run away.
But the Wizard's next sentence made his outstretched leg stop dead in mid-air.
"The newspaper was right! You really do have clear and upright eyes, just like in the photo!" The Wizardwaved the paper, his face full of admiration and respect. "You are truly the conscience of our Wizarding World! A warrior who dares to swing his sword at the dark forces!"
Quirrell was completely bewildered.
Photo?
What photo?
Was I secretly photographed?
He stood there stiffly like a puppet hit by Petrificus Totalus, completely unable to comprehend the situation unfolding before him.
And that Wizard's earth-shattering shout successfully drew the attention of everyone on the street.
*Swish—*
In an instant, hundreds, even thousands of gazes focused on Quirrell like searchlights.
The noisy background sounds of Diagon Alley seemed to have been muted, falling into an eerie silence.
Then, this silence was replaced by uncontrollable gasps and discussions.
"Look! It's Professor Quirrell!"
"Oh my god, it really is him! The Daily Prophet just published his photo today!"
"It's him! He's the one who exposed the 'Felix Felicis' scam! I knew something was wrong with that stuff!"
"A hero! This is what a true Hogwarts Professor looks like!"
*Boom—*
The crowd was like a powder keg being ignited, completely exploding.
Wizards who were picking out items in shops, Wizards drinking butterbeer on the street, and even Goblins walking down the steps of Gringotts all surged toward Quirrell like a tide.
Their faces bore various complex expressions—curiosity, worship, admiration, gratitude, and mostly the excitement of a crowd seeing the subject of a news story.
"Professor Quirrell! How did you discover there was a problem with 'Felix Felicis'?" A young Wizard, also holding a newspaper, pushed desperately through the crowd.
"Professor! You must have been threatened by the Malfoy Family to dress like this, right?" A plump Witch shouted, her face flushed with excitement. "Can you tell us in detail how the Malfoy Familythreatened you? We all support you..."
"Professor Quirrell, give me an autograph! My son goes to Hogwarts too; I'll tell him to follow your example when I get back!"
Quirrell was completely at a loss facing this sudden onslaught, like a lamb thrown into a piranha pond, instantly submerged by the enthusiastic crowd.
Countless hands reached out to him; some wanted to shake his hand, some wanted to pat his shoulder, and some even tried to pull off his signature large purple turban to see the face of the "hero."
Quirrell was jostled back and forth, his feet almost leaving the ground.
The cloak he thought would provide perfect cover had now become a major hindrance, as everyone could reach out and grab him.
As a result, his hood was pushed askew, revealing a face filled with terror, bewilderment, and dullness.
Who am I?
Where am I?
What happened?
When did I ever do these things?
Quirrell's brain had completely crashed.
He didn't understand at all how he had become a great hero admired by everyone.
The Daily Prophet?
Photo?
Exposing a scam?
These words buzzed in his head like a swarm of flies, but he couldn't piece together a complete logic.
A Witch struggled to hand him a copy of The Daily Prophet from the crowd. On the front page was a magical photograph of him.
In the photo, Quirrell stood behind a Hogwarts lectern, frowning slightly with a melancholy yet determined look, appearing indeed like a scholar troubled for the sake of truth.
Below the photo was a massive, bold, black headline that almost jumped off the page—'Whistleblower: One Man's War! The Brave Voice of Hogwarts Professor Quirinus Quirrell!'
Chapter 106: The Lone Hero Professor Quirrell (Updating No Matter How Late)
PS: Please ask for updates and leave good reviews.
Quirrell's eyeballs nearly popped out of his sockets.
His hands trembled as his gaze swept across the report, which used almost nauseatingly flowery language.
The article practically treated him as Merlin reincarnated, using an aria-like tone to portray him as a lone hero who feared no power and dared to challenge capital and dark forces.
The newspaper vividly described how he "lit the only lamp in the darkness," "faced immense pressure from pure-blood nobles," and "risked the life-threatening danger of being collectively blacklisted by the giants of the Magical World" to resolutely expose the appalling "commercial inside story" of Felix Felicis to the press.
Things like "Under the silver glow of every bottle of Felix Felicis flows the blood and tears of consumers," and "When silence becomes the norm, speaking out is a responsibility."
Quirrell swore he hadn't even thought of these words in his entire life!
At the end of the article, an "editorially processed" excerpt of a whistleblowing letter was attached. Every letter on it looked like it had been branded with a hot iron, clearly displaying his name—Quirinus Quirrell.
But the problem was, this wasn't his damn handwriting!
"Pfft—"
Quirrell felt a sweetness in his throat and a churning in his chest; he nearly spat a mouthful of blood right onto the enthusiastic face of that Witch.
He forced himself to swallow the blood back down. The metallic, rusty taste mixed with terror exploded in his chest.
Who?!
Who on earth is setting me up?!
However, before Quirrell could even settle that mouthful of blood, the cheers of the surrounding Wizards flooded over him like a bursting dam.
"Look! A true warrior! Daring to face the dripping blood of capital, daring to challenge the arrogant insolence of privilege!"
"Professor Quirrell! You are the only conscience of the Magical World! You are our light!"
"Salute to you! Down with the monopolizing fat cat Malfoy!"
In the next second, Quirrell felt his feet leave the ground. He was hoisted up by several burly Wizards and thrown high into the air, just like a Golden Snitch being tossed during a Quidditch World Cupvictory celebration.
A heatwave mixed with the scent of cheap perfume hit him as Quirrell watched those fanatical, distorted smiling faces enlarge before his eyes.
"Professor, don't be afraid! We support you!"
"Even if the Malfoy Family covers the sky with one hand, we are your strong backing!"
A plump Witch even reached out excitedly, trying to touch his large turban.
Quirrell was scared out of his wits, feeling his large purple turban was about to be torn off, and instinctively protected the back of his head with his hands.
Don't touch! Don't touch my head!
He screamed like a groundhog in his mind, but this weak protest was like a mosquito in a storm, instantly swallowed by the deafening roar of the crowd.
Human joys and sorrows are not shared; they didn't think Quirrell was noisy—they just thought he was being modest.
Quirrell felt like he was about to cry.
Like a puppet, he was swept along by the crowd, "parading" through Diagon Alley.
He could even see Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, standing on tiptoes in the distance, waving a greasy rag and shouting excitedly toward him.
It's over.
Only those two words were flashing wildly in Quirrell's mind.
The mission to rob the Supreme Edition of Felix Felicis today was probably not going to happen.
And on the back of his head, Lord Voldemort's will had also fallen into an unprecedented silence.
Inside the Leaky Cauldron, the noise was deafening, the atmosphere as heated as if they were watching the Quidditch World Cup.
Quirrell was pushed into the "center stage" at the middle of the bar, like a newly unearthed statue that hadn't even been dusted off yet.
The table in front of him was piled high with various glasses. The foam of butterbeer almost overflowed onto the floor, the amber liquid of Firewhisky sparkled under the lights, and there was even a glass of Absinthe emitting an ominous green glow.
All of these were ordered for him by those "admirers" vying for his attention.
"Professor Quirrell, this glass is to your unyielding character!" A bearded brawny man raised a beer mug and gulped it down with heroic spirit.
"Professor, I am a special correspondent for Witch Weekly," a flamboyantly dressed Witch shoved a pink quill under Quirrell's nose, her gaze sharp. "May I ask what motivated you to stand up? Was it love and courage? Aren't you afraid of the Malfoy Family's retaliation?"
How could he not be afraid?
But this whole matter was eerie; Quirrell was certain it had nothing to do with him, and he had no time to attack others right now.
Perhaps after his master was resurrected, he would be happy to show off his power to a big shot like Lucius, but now, as an ordinary teacher, where would he get the guts to do such a thing?
It must be a struggle between these Pure-blood families, and they had stolen his name.
So Quirrell only felt a sense of suppressed indignation in his heart, and he wanted to open his mouth to explain.
"Don't move, you idiot."
Lord Voldemort's cold will suddenly emerged. "Don't say anything, don't do anything. Let them talk, let them make a scene."
Quirrell's hand shook, nearly spilling wine on his crotch. He didn't understand what his master meant.
"Didn't you hear? Great hero." There was actually a hint of amusement in Lord Voldemort's voice, as if he were enjoying the show. "This might be a good thing."
A good thing?
Quirrell doubted his ears.
He would definitely offend many people now; at least Lucius Malfoy, the powerful head of a Pure-blood family, would certainly hold a grudge against him.
Moreover, the entire Magical World was staring at his face; how could he work for the Dark Lord in the future?
Quirrell felt like he was being roasted on a fire.
"Who would ever suspect a great hero who dared to expose a dark secret?" Lord Voldemort A sneer.
"People will instead sympathize with you and support you. It will be much more convenient for you to go to the Forbidden Forest and the Fourth Floor of Hogwarts Castle!" Lord Voldemort's logic was terrifyingly clear.
Quirrell's heart pounded; that... seemed to make some sense.
While he was dazed, Tom the bar owner pushed through the crowd with a huge plate piled with roast chicken and pies and set it heavily in front of him.
"Professor Quirrell, your lunch! Today's meal is on me!" Old Tom smiled with a face full of wrinkles, revealing a mouth with few teeth left. "You are the pride of us all!"
Quirrell's butt felt like it was nailed to the chair; he wanted to leave, but he simply couldn't.
The surrounding Wizards were too enthusiastic—toasting him, asking for autographs, interviewing him, and even a few Witches insisted on taking photos with him, the flashbulbs nearly blinding him.
He wanted to escape, but this group of fanatical "fans" was like an impenetrable wall of people, surrounding him tightly.
"Professor, don't just sit there, eat something!" An old Wizard who looked like a retired Auror crudely stabbed a large piece of steak with a fork and stuffed it onto his plate. "Eat more, so you have the strength to fight those black-hearted Pure-blood scum!"
"Exactly! We all support you!" A Witch wearing a pink bow nearby screamed. "You must fight to the end against black-hearted merchants like the Malfoy Family!"
Cold sweat broke out on Quirrell's forehead instantly.
You lot are probably worried I won't die fast enough!
All he could do now was keep stuttering, using the most vague and ambiguous words to cope.
"Th... thank... you... every... one... I..."
Whenever someone asked a key question, like "How did you discover the secret of the Felix Felicisscandal?"
He would immediately lower his head and take a big gulp of butterbeer, then pretend to choke, coughing violently until his face was flushed and tears were almost coming out, successfully changing the subject.
This trick never failed.
The onlookers saw this "pitiful" appearance of him "obviously exhausted physically and mentally yet still forcing himself to keep up appearances," and imagined a ten-thousand-word tragic drama of "suffering persecution yet upholding justice."
They became even more convinced that he was the lone hero suppressed by power, who had grievances but couldn't speak out. Their sympathy and support for him rose to a new height.
Pro... Professor Quirrell is truly great! He has clearly endured so much, yet he refuses to say another word, for fear of involving us!
The atmosphere in the Leaky Cauldron grew more and more enthusiastic, almost like Christmas had come early.
However, outside the bar, another completely different storm was brewing...
Chapter 107: The Angry Noblewomen
On the second floor of Diagon Alley's most expensive "Galleon Tea Room," there was the most extravagant terrace on the entire commercial street.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows enchanted with a one-way vision charm, one could overlook the long line writhing frantically to snatch up "Felix Felicis."
Inside the luxurious private box of the "Happiness Club," the air was thick with the scent of expensive French perfume and a faint, slightly eerie herbal bitterness.
Seven or eight witches in haute couture robes sat around a velvet round table. They all hailed from Pure-blood families with deep backgrounds, and each held a delicate small silver bottle, as if savoring some rare vintage.
Most of their cheeks were unnaturally sunken, evidence of rapid weight loss, yet their eyes shone with a startling, morbid excitement.
"Gurgle—"
A loud and embarrassing stomach rumble broke the elegant atmosphere.
Augusta Longbottom, a stern Witch who usually measured the arch of her eyebrows with a ruler, was now clutching her lower abdomen, her complexion flickering between pale and sallow.
Yet she felt no discomfort; instead, she wore a look of intoxication.
"Listen, sisters." Augusta took a deep breath, her voice trembling but full of pride. "This is the sound of 'Felix Felicis' at work! It's forcibly flushing out forty years of toxins accumulated in my body. That feeling of lightness... oh, Merlin, it's like being a young girl again."
"Exactly right."
Beside her, Pandora Sol gracefully set down her bone china teacup, though her hands were trembling slightly—a sign of addiction from overdosing on Felix Felicis.
But for these wealthy witches, this wasn't a problem at all.
The Magical World was full of countless malicious potions—those with Dark Curses, hexes, lethal ones, toxic ones, and even those that could alter the mind.
A little addiction was nothing; to these noblewomen, it was just a negligible side effect... She daintily dabbed the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief, her eyes sweeping contemptuously over the copy of The Daily Prophet on the table. "But look at what's written in this paper?'Scam'? 'Laxative'? It's utterly absurd!"
On the front page of the newspaper, Quirrell's "melancholy and resolute" face looked particularly jarring.
"Bang!"
A hand covered in ruby rings slammed down on the newspaper, nearly shattering the crystal sugar bowl beside it.
"This is a blatant insult to our intelligence!"
Eileen Prince's sunken eyes gleamed with malicious light. Her long nails almost punctured Quirrell's photo.
"If this is a Laxative, then what are we? Fools who spent hundreds of Galleons on a Laxative?" Eileen's voice was shrill. "This stuttering Professor, what does he know about beauty? Does he know what nobility is? Has he ever seen a mountain of Galleons?"
"Reeking of garlic and can't even speak properly." Pandora fanned the air in disgust, as if the name itself carried an odor. "I saw him once at Flourish and Blotts, cowering like a frightened rat. How dare he question the Malfoy Family? I think he's jealous—jealousy has driven him mad!"
"It's not just jealousy." Augusta sneered, adjusting her lopsided hat. "Word is he's just a half-blood. Slandering the Malfoy Family's Felix Felicis... I fear there are even more sinister motives!"
These words were like a spark falling into a powder keg; the atmosphere in the box instantly exploded.
The witches' anger was precisely triggered. In the upper echelons of the Wizarding World, there was an unwritten rule: questioning Pure-bloods was more unforgivable than robbing a vault at Gringotts.
"This is too much!"
"This wickedness must be stopped!"
"So what should we do?" someone asked.
"Ruin his reputation, of course." A ruthless light flashed in Pandora's eyes; she even ignored a sharp pang in her gut due to her excitement. "Doesn't The Daily Prophet want to make him a hero? Then we'll strip him bare and turn him into a pariah!"
"My husband has some connections at the Ministry of Magic. I can have him pressure the newspaper to pull that report," Augusta immediately stated.
"Not enough!" Pandora shook her head. "Simply pulling the report isn't enough to quell our anger! We must make Quirrell pay!"
Eileen Prince suggested, "We can write a joint letter to the Hogwarts Board of Governors and demand Quirrell's dismissal!"
"Great idea!" Augusta agreed. "I know several of the governors; they will surely support us!"
"And!" Pandora added, "We must have the newspaper publish Quirrell's'scandals'!"
"Scandals?" Eileen was a bit confused. "Does he have any?"
"If not, we'll invent them!" Pandora's tone was icy. "A wizard with such a complex itinerary is definitely not clean! He must have some unknown secrets. As long as we look, we'll find something..."
"I think that purple turban of his is very suspicious!" Augusta speculated. "What normal person would wrap themselves in that thing all year round? There must be a secret hidden inside!"
"Maybe it's some disgusting contagious skin disease? The aftereffects of Dragon Pox?"
"Or maybe something grew on his head that shouldn't be there? Like a Vampire bite?"
"Or lice! Those giant magical lice that can infect students!"
These noblewomen, who usually lived in luxury, now displayed an astonishing capacity for imagination and rumor-mongering.
In their imagination, the thing hidden under Quirrell's turban had evolved from a skin disease to a Dark Arts curse, or even some unspeakable parasitic monster.
"That's a brilliant idea!" Pandora clapped her hands. "Let's say there's an evil spirit hidden in his turban... Once the parents panic, even Dumbledore won't be able to protect him!"
Just as these noblewomen were excitedly planning how to ruin Quirrell, the carved wooden door of the box was suddenly burst open.
"La... Ladies!"
A House-elf came stumbling in.
Its two large ears drooped in terror, and it nearly crashed into Pandora's expensive silk skirt.
"It's... it's bad!"
"What's the panic! You undisciplined thing!" Pandora kicked the elf away and brushed her skirt in disgust. "Straighten your tongue and speak! Is that stutterer dead?"
"N-no..." the House-elf trembled, crying out, "That Quirrell... he's downstairs! In Diagon Alley! So many people are surrounding him and cheering!"
It swallowed, stole a glance at the noblewomen's faces, and then said: "He also said... he also said that everyone who buys Felix Felicis is a fool with a head full of Fluxweed! That they're old hags who only deserve to drink slug slime, fat sheep being led around by the Malfoy Family!"
Boom—
The effect of these words was comparable to a point-blank Blasting Curse.
The box fell into a deathly silence, followed immediately by a volcanic eruption of fury.
Fat sheep? Old hags? Fluxweed?
For these Pure-blood noblewomen who valued their reputation more than life itself, these words were more vicious than the Killing Curse.
"How dare he?!" Augusta shook with rage, the bone china teacup in her fingers emitting a strained "creak," unable to maintain even a shred of her feigned elegance.
On her meticulously maintained face, muscles twisted in anger, making her look more hideous than a prisoner newly released from Azkaban.
"Sisters! We can't let this go!" Pandora's eyes widened in disbelief, her gaze looking as if she wanted to devour someone. "We're going to confront that fraud!"
"Yes! Make him apologize!"
"Let's go! Teach this arrogant stutterer a lesson!"
No longer caring about decorum, the noblewomen grabbed their wands and diamond-encrusted designer handbags, charging out of the box like a pack of enraged lionesses.
Chapter 108: Quirrell, the True Hero
Inside the Leaky Cauldron at this moment, the air was a thick mixture of the sweet cloy of butterbeer, the sharp sting of Firewhisky, and the complex scent of sweat and passion emanating from seventy or eighty Wizards.
Surrounded by the crowd, Quirrell was receiving the treatment of a hero.
He was currently being held firmly on a rickety barstool by the throng, surrounded by various toasts and voices of praise.
He felt like a slab of butter thrown into a frying pan, melting rapidly under the feverish heat, until even his bones began to soften.
Now, Quirrell didn't even want to leave.
"A toast to Professor Quirrell's courage!"
"Don't be modest, Professor! Drink!"
But every time Quirrell opened his mouth to say something, a thick arm from a bearded Wizard next to him would enthusiastically wrap around his neck, while the other hand shoved a large, foaming glass of liquid against his lips.
Quirrell could no longer remember how many glasses he had drunk.
butterbeer, Firewhisky, Goblin-made wine... He felt as if his stomach had turned into a brewery, with liquids of every flavor churning and gurgling inside him.
Alcohol, like a magical spell, quietly numbed his nerves. That panic and cowardice rising from the soles of his feet were gradually replaced by a never-before-felt, tipsy sense of floating.
He looked at the flushed, ecstatic faces around him and listened to the praises so syrupy they gave him goosebumps. In a daze, he actually developed a delusion—maybe what they were saying was true?
Maybe I really am a hero?
The moment this thought sprouted, it was like a wildly growing Devil's Snare, instantly entangling his reason.
His entire life had been lived in the shadows of inferiority, cowardice, and a lack of recognition.
At Hogwarts, he was the stuttering Professor whom even the students dared to mock behind his back; before Lord Voldemort, he was the lowly servant who could be sacrificed at any moment.
But now, he had become the focus of everyone's attention.
Every gaze directed at him was filled with respect and admiration; it was far too intoxicating for Quirrell.
The reason Quirrell had joined Lord Voldemort in the first place was to pursue this very feeling.
And now, he had it all!
He straightened his back, which had been somewhat hunched from years of bowing, and tried to imitate the 'melancholy yet resolute' expression seen in newspaper photos. Mimicking Dumbledore, he offered the crowd what he thought was a profound smile.
"Everyone's... everyone's... kind... sentiments... I... I've received them..." he stammered. That signature stutter now sounded to the crowd like a symbol of humility and sincerity.
"Look! The Professor is too modest!"
"He has clearly endured so much, yet he's unwilling to say a single extra word..."
The cheers of the crowd grew even more fervent.
Quirrell felt drunk—not from the alcohol, but from being hoisted up by this mountain-shaking tide of praise.
He began to take the initiative, frequently raising his glass to respond to the crowd's tributes.
A muscular, bearded Wizard beside him slammed a hand as large as a fan onto his back, nearly making him vomit up the Firewhisky he had just swallowed.
"Drink, Professor! Eat more!" the bearded Wizard's voice boomed like a Troll's roar as he said with concern, "You're too thin! It's because you're too thin that those people from the Malfoy Family dare to bully you! You'll be better if you're a bit heavier; only then will you have a deterrent presence!"
A bit heavier? A deterrent presence?
Quirrell looked at the other man's arm, which was thicker than his own thigh, and nodded subconsciously, thinking it made a lot of sense.
"Right... right... that... that makes sense..."
He picked up his glass and took another heavy gulp.
Just then—
BANG!
The weather-beaten wooden door of the Leaky Cauldron was slammed open by a great force. The door hit the stone wall with a dull thud, making the glasses on the bar jingle.
A young Wizard in a tattered traveling cloak rushed in, scrambling and terrified. Out of breath, he pointed outside, his voice as shrill as a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"It's... it's bad! Professor Quirrell! Run!"
The boisterous atmosphere in the bar was instantly frozen, as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over it.
Everyone's eyes snapped toward the disheveled messenger at the door.
"Outside... a large group of witches has arrived! It's those from the 'Happiness Club'!"
The young Wizard panted, his face devoid of color. "They're all holding wands, looking aggressive, and shouting something about... about 'tearing that stuttering liar's mouth apart.' They also want to... to seize you and take you to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for trial..."
"There are too many of them! The leaders are Augusta Longbottom and Pandora Sol! There are also quite a few guards from Pure-blood families! From the looks of it, they're here to get you!"
BOOM—
Quirrell's mind felt as if it had been struck by an invisible sledgehammer, instantly going blank.
His soul, which had just been floating on air from the alcohol and praise, was kicked back down from the clouds into the freezing reality by this sudden bad news.
Augusta Longbottom? Pandora Sol?
Those were noble ladies from Pure-blood families. Their husbands held high positions in the Ministry of Magic, and their connections were terrifyingly vast.
If he were truly caught by them and sent to the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, his secrets might very well be exposed!
A cold surge of fear, like a tide, rushed from his tailbone straight to the top of his head.
The flush brought on by the alcohol receded at a visible rate, replaced by a deathly pallor.
"Run... quick... must run..."
Quirrell's lips trembled. In his extreme panic, his signature stutter had returned.
He practically scrambled off the barstool on all fours, frantically trying to dive toward the fireplace. The Floo Network there was his only way out.
However, he had barely taken a step when a hand more powerful than a bear's paw pressed heavily onto his shoulder.
"Run for what, Professor?" That bearded brute now had bloodshot eyes, and his face showed not fear, but the violent rage of being provoked.
He yanked Quirrell back like a little chick. "Those pampered Pure-blood broads dare to act wild in Diagon Alley?!"
"Exactly!"
"We'll fight them!"
"We must protect Professor Quirrell!"
After a brief, deathly silence, the atmosphere in the bar was reignited in an even more violent manner.
These ordinary Wizards, their heads spinning from Felix Felicis and media rhetoric, now had only one thought—the commoner hero in their hearts was being persecuted by the Pure-blood nobility!
A sense of justice, alcohol, and long-accumulated resentment toward the elite class exploded at this moment.
CLANG!
CRASH!
Tables were overturned, bottles were snatched up, and the light of wands flickered one after another in the dim bar.
The Wizards who had just been acting like brothers to Quirrell now transformed into gladiators ready to charge into battle, spontaneously surrounding Quirrell in the center to form an indestructible human shield.
"Professor, don't be afraid! We stand with you!"
"If anyone dares to touch a hair on your head today, we'll make sure they leave on a stretcher!"
Quirrell looked at this group of murderous 'fans,' his legs shaking like sieves.
Fight them? Are you kidding me!
The ones outside weren't some street thugs; they were the wives of high-ranking Ministry officials and guards from Pure-blood families!
If he led a bunch of Wizards out to attack them, he'd be locked up in Azkaban until he rotted!