Ch: 91-98
Chapter 91: Quirrell Who Failed to Get in Line
Early the next morning, Quirrell was jolted awake by a violent shaking. The magic in the folding bed he had created with Transfiguration had run out, reverting it into a sour-smelling trash can, and he tumbled onto the ground in a sorry state.
He struggled to lift his head and found that the crowd around him was already stirring; the Slug & Jiggers Apothecary had opened its doors.
The line, like a giant awakening python, began to slither forward.
"Hey! Don't push!" A tall, fat Witch pressed down hard on Quirrell's shoulder from behind. Her massive weight made him feel like he was suffocating, and the turban on his head was nearly knocked off.
Just then, a huge commotion erupted from the front of the line.
"I won! Merlin's beard! I won the chance to buy unicorn blood!"
A wealthy-looking Wizard held up a gold-embossed card, stammering with excitement.
These words were like a spark hitting dry kindling, instantly igniting the emotions of everyone present.
You really can buy it!
The crowd went completely mad.
Quirrell felt himself being pushed forward by an irresistible force, like a leaf in a tsunami, completely unable to control his own body.
Galleons were slammed onto the counter like worthless Knutss, creating a series of crisp and pleasant clinking sounds.
The shopkeeper's fat face beamed like a blooming sunflower as he nimbly collected money and packed items, all while shouting, "Don't push! Don't push! There's enough for everyone, stay in line!"
Quirrell protected his turban with all his might, fearing it would be knocked off by the frantic crowd.
On the back of his head, Lord Voldemort's will pierced his nerves like an icicle once again.
"Useless! What are you waiting for? Get to the front! Use the Imperio curse if you have to!"
"M-Master... there are too many people. This is Diagon Alley, there are Aurors everywhere, I don't dare..." Quirrell wailed inwardly.
"I don't care what method you use, get to the front, you fool!"
Quirrell gritted his teeth, clutching the coin purse in his robes tightly; it contained almost his entire net worth, gathered after mugging several unlucky souls.
He watched helplessly as the silver, shimmering vials on the counter disappeared one by one, his heart burning with anxiety.
Fifty bottles left... forty bottles... thirty bottles... Finally, when there was only one Wizard left in front of him, Quirrell saw hope. On the counter, the last eighteen bottles of Felix Felicis sat alone.
He had even pulled out his coin purse, ready to rush forward the moment the man finished his purchase.
However, that rather portly Wizard slowly counted out exactly nine hundred Galleons and said to the shopkeeper, "I'll take all the rest."
His luck wasn't quite good enough to draw the unicorn blood, though.
The shopkeeper quickly packed the last eighteen vials and handed them over. Then, he raised his hands high, and in a tone that was apologetic yet immensely proud, announced loudly to the expectant crowd:
"Ladies and gentlemen! I am very sorry! Today's stock of five hundred bottles of Felix Felicis is completely sold out! Please come back early tomorrow!"
Boom—
Quirrell felt as if his head had been struck hard by a Troll's club; his mind went blank instantly.
Sold... sold out?
He watched the Wizard leave contentedly with the potions; he saw the frustrated or envious expressions of the surrounding wizards; he saw the empty counter and felt the sudden, deathly silence from the back of his head.
A bone-chilling despair, like a cold current in the dead of winter, spread from the soles of his feet to every part of his body.
He had failed again.
The crowd in Diagon Alley gradually dispersed, leaving behind a mess on the ground and a lingering air of disappointment.
Quirrell stood there despondently, like a statue whose soul had been snatched away.
The deathly silence from the back of his head filled him with more terror than any malicious curse.
"Follow him."
The cold voice rang out again, calm and without a ripple, as if merely stating a fact, yet it made Quirrell's blood nearly freeze.
Quirrell snapped back to his senses and looked up. The portly Wizard who had bought the unicorn blood was humming a tune and, under the envious and jealous gazes of the crowd, turned contentedly into a quiet side alley.
Without any hesitation, Quirrell immediately lowered the brim of his cloak, following silently like a grey shadow.
The light in the alley was dim, and the air was thick with a damp, musty smell.
The Wizard walked with a light step, completely unaware of the danger following him like a shadow. He even let out a foolish chuckle.
That's it!
Quirrell's hand reached for his wand, the tip almost poking through his old robes.
However, just as he was about to act, a slender figure emerged without warning from the shadows deep in the alley, blocking the Wizard's path.
The man leaned on an ornate snake-head cane. His long platinum-blonde hair still shone in the dim light, and every silver button on his well-tailored black robes gleamed with a cold light.
Quirrell's pupils shrank suddenly, and his jaw nearly dropped.
Lucius Malfoy!
Why was he here?
An even more unbelievable scene unfolded. The portly Wizard, who had just been so arrogant, saw Lucius and his smugness vanished instantly, replaced by a nearly fawning respect. He jogged forward, bowing and scraping, looking just like a House-elf seeing its master.
"Mr. Malfoy, I have succeeded in my mission!" the Wizard said, his tone full of the desire for credit.
Lucius nodded. "Well done. Here is your reward."
Then he tossed a heavy coin purse from his robes.
The Galleons landed on the stone pavement with a crisp clatter, sounding exceptionally piercing in the deathly quiet alley.
The Wizard scrambled to pick up the purse, weighed it, and the fat on his face crinkled into a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy! If there's another good opportunity like this, please don't forget me..."
After speaking, the Wizard clutched his coin purse and scurried out of the alley.
Lucius watched the man's retreating back and frowned, wondering if Draco had relayed the message wrong. Was it really necessary to hire a shill?
In his view, Felix Felicis would surely sell well on its own; there was no need to find a shill.
If such a thing were discovered, it would actually affect the sales of Felix Felicis.
Quirrell froze in place as if struck by lightning.
There was no unicorn blood! There was no lucky winner!
That portly Wizard was nothing more than a shill hired by Lucius!
From beginning to end, it was a complete scam! He had waited in line for a day and a night like a fool, enduring hunger and nearly being squashed into a meat pie, only to find he was watching a clumsy play!
A massive sense of shame and anger at being played overwhelmed his last shred of reason.
But a second later, the cold thought from the back of his head brought him instantly back to reality.
"Lucius... very well..."
The voice was very soft and slow, yet it contained a chill more terrifying than any previous fit of rage.
Lord Voldemort had also been deceived. Not only had he been tricked, but he had been played by his once most trusted servant.
Quirrell could even feel that the face attached to the back of his head was currently contorted with extreme rage.
He had no doubt that if his master had even the weakest of bodies right now, Lucius Malfoy would become a cold corpse in the next second.
Quirrell didn't dare stay any longer. He hunched his body and, like a frightened rat, scurried away along the shadows of the wall in a pathetic state.
He knew that his master's fury would soon find an outlet, and that outlet would likely be him.
Chapter 92: Advertorial Marketing Follows Up
Just as Quirrell was so angry he was spitting blood, "Felix Felicis" was fermenting throughout the entire Wizarding World at an incredible speed.
Mrs. Gwort was a plump Pure-blood Witch whose husband held a mid-level official position in the Ministry of Magic. Today, she was lucky enough to be among the first group of people to buy "Felix Felicis."
Returning home, she couldn't wait to open that exquisite small silver vial.
A fresh fragrance, carrying the breath of life, wafted toward her.
Without the slightest hesitation, she tilted her head back and drank the small half-bottle of potion in one gulp.
The taste... was a bit like sugared slug mucus, but it wasn't unpleasant to drink.
She smacked her lips and quietly waited for the miracle to happen.
One minute, two minutes... nothing felt different.
"Liar!" Mrs. Gwort slammed the bottle onto the table in anger. Five hundred Galleons for this? She felt like her intelligence had been insulted.
Just as she was preparing to write a letter to The Daily Prophet to complain, a sudden, surging urge to use the bathroom, like the dragon breath of a Norwegian Ridgeback, violently rose from her lower abdomen.
"Oh, Merlin!"
Clamping her legs together, she rushed toward the washroom with an agility that was completely inconsistent with her physique.
Half an hour later, Mrs. Gwort supported herself against the wall, walking out with a pale face.
She felt like she was about to collapse from exhaustion, but strangely, a surge of unprecedented lightness and vitality was flowing through her body.
She walked to the mirror and was surprised to find that her originally dull complexion now had a hint of rosy glow, and the few fine lines at the corners of her eyes seemed to have faded.
"This... this is..."
She touched her cheeks in disbelief.
"Detoxification and weight loss, rejuvenation..." The words from the promotional board surfaced in her mind.
Could it... be true?
She immediately put on her coat and rushed to her best friend's house. She wanted to tell everyone about this amazing discovery!
Similar scenes were playing out in every corner of the British Magical World.
Diagon Alley, the headquarters of The Daily Prophet.
In the Editor-in-Chief's office, an important deal was being discussed.
Behind the large desk, Editor-in-Chief Barnabas Cuffe tapped his fingers impatiently on the tabletop, his sharp gaze fixed on Rita Skeeter in front of him: "Rita, you mean Lucius Malfoy wants to book our entire lifestyle section for a whole month, just so we can interview a few Wizards he's arranged?"
The background of The Daily Prophet was very complex.
It didn't belong to any single Pure-blood families, nor was it under the direct jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic. But it indeed had countless ties to various factions in the Wizarding World; one could even say it belonged to all Pure-blood families.
Collaborating with an ancient family like the Malfoy Family was commonplace and was originally a major source of income for the newspaper.
For example, the Whitehorn family of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, the Bloom family of the Comet Trading Company, and the Ollerton family of the Cleansweep Broom Company—to suppress foreign products like flying carpets and cultivate brand loyalty among Wizards, they had always been generous with throwing money at the newspaper.
Cuffe's shrewdness lay in his understanding that the newspaper's value resided in that subtle "independence"—neither completely dependent nor completely offensive, walking a tightrope between various factions to maintain that halo of "objectivity and impartiality."
Now that Lucius Malfoy had come knocking, requesting interviews with people he had arranged, in Cuffe's view, it was just hiring a few shills to praise their family's "Felix Felicis."
But this was far too blatant; a whole month of the lifestyle section, all advertorials?
This would strip away the glittering outer layer of "objectivity and impartiality" from The Daily Prophet, leaving nothing behind.
"Editor-in-Chief," a calculating glint flashed behind Rita Skeeter's signature gold-rimmed glasses as she gently adjusted the frames, "Mr. Malfoy's side... is offering fifty thousand Galleons, just for one month of our lifestyle section."
"Pfft—cough, cough, cough!"
Even though he was the Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Prophet and used to seeing big storms, Cuffe was so startled by this figure that he spat out a mouthful of hot tea, turning his face red from choking and nearly jumping out of his high-backed chair.
"Fifty thousand?!"
The Daily Prophet's income sources were varied, even including subsidies from the Ministry of Magic, and its total annual revenue was indeed quite substantial.
But after deducting various operating expenses and interview costs, by the end of the year, the newspaper's net profit was roughly around this amount.
Fifty thousand Galleons just to interview a few shills? This sum was enough to determine the size of the entire newspaper's year-end bonuses!
"Is he... is he crazy? Is Lucius Malfoy insane?" Cuffe murmured in disbelief, his voice changing pitch.
Felix Felicis was popular, but it had only been on sale for a few days.
Lucius hadn't even made back his initial investment, and he dared to throw around this much money?
Did he really think he was selling the Elixir of Life?
Who gave him such confidence? Dumbledore?
But there were only a few Unicorns in the Forbidden Forest; their blood was limited, and the amount of Felix Felicis that could be brewed wouldn't exceed a thousand bottles at most.
At a price of fifty Galleons a bottle, he wouldn't even make back his advertising costs!
It couldn't be a scam, could it!
"I've checked; Mr. Malfoy has already prepared fifty thousand Galleons in his Gringotts account, ready for payment at any time."
Rita sat up straight, her tone certain. "According to my investigation during this period, Mr. Malfoy has withdrawn huge sums of money from various family industries for this project and has also arranged sales channels in advance, even with those gentlemen at the Ministry of Magic—Editor-in-Chief, you know Lucius Malfoy is an old fox; he would never do this without absolute certainty."
"Any news from Hogwarts?" Cuffe pressed.
"Due to the recent influx of visitors, Hogwarts has temporarily refused all visits, and Headmaster Dumbledore has also refused to make any comments on the matter." Rita curled her lips; she had contacted them personally and ended up getting rebuffed.
"But... if we do this, the bias will be too obvious." Cuffe frowned, clearly tempted to the point of no return, beginning to ponder how to swallow this hot Galleon.
"Editor-in-Chief, that's just a technical issue. As long as it's handled properly, no one will be able to tell; we'll just be doing objective reporting."
A sharp glint flashed in Rita's eyes, and her green Quick-Quotes Quill seemed to sense its master's excitement, twirling nimbly between her fingertips. "You know my writing skills. I will handle it personally, ensuring the articles written are absolutely objective and impartial, while also making Mr. Malfoy so satisfied he won't be able to find a single fault."
"But that's an entire month's worth of space! If readers see us praising Felix Felicis for a month, even a fool will see there's a problem!" Cuffe still had some doubts.
"That's easy to solve," Rita's smile became meaningful. "My dear Editor-in-Chief, Mr. Malfoy has only booked the lifestyle section, but our social section and front page are still there. We can completely publish some voices of doubters. With opposing views, even if readers see us praising Felix Felicis, they will only think it's the personal opinion of the interviewed Wizard and has nothing to do with the position of our The Daily Prophet..."
"Brilliant!" Cuffe's furrowed brows finally smoothed out, revealing a knowing smile as he slapped the table excitedly.
Rita continued: "Not only that! We can also invite some 'experts,' like Cassbert Morag, to start a special column and let them talk about potential problems with Felix Felicis! This way, our The Daily Prophetearns Malfoy's money while 'proving' our independence and professional ability to uncover the truth to everyone!"
"Yes... yes... yes, Rita, your idea is fantastic!" Cuffe's eyes sparkled with greedy light. "And we can even sell the opposing views to others, like Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, to strike at their competitors. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to pay..."
"This way, we are fair and objective, while also earning double the profit..."
Chapter 93: Ron Discovers Snape's Secret
The temperature in the Scottish Highlands in February was still cold.
But the cold wind could not extinguish the heated discussion about "Felix Felicis" in Hogwarts Castle.
As Lucius spared no expense in buying up space in major newspapers, a carefully planned storm of public opinion swept through the entire British Magical World. Mainstream media such as The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, and Daily Magic published page after page of content regarding "Felix Felicis."
The various headlines were eye-catching, and the content was even more captivating.
"Say Goodbye to Boring Dieting and Expensive Potions! Ms. Primpernelle Verifies Personally: Felix Felicis Brings More Than Just Happiness—It Brings Lightness and Rebirth!"
"Real-Life Testing of Felix Felicis! After Three Detoxes, the Body's Changes are Too Obvious!"
"Weight Loss, Beauty, and Longevity! The Professionals are Here: The Magical Little Silver Bottle from Hogwarts!"
That day, Signas didn't wake up until it was almost time for class, his head feeling groggy.
He didn't even know what time he had fallen asleep; he only felt that as soon as he closed his eyes, it was dawn.
The entire dormitory was filled with a lingering air of exhaustion; Draco also sported a pair of massive dark circles, and even his prideful hairstyle was a bit messy.
Last night, the four of them had brewed a large cauldron of Potion in the Room of Requirement.
The final result was a thousand bottles of crystal-clear "Felix Felicis."
Five hundred of them were the Standard Version priced at fifty Galleons, while the other five hundred were the "Supreme Version" with double the unicorn blood content, for which Signas set a "Premium Price" of one hundred and twenty-nine Galleons.
After being busy all night, none of the four had much energy left.
During History of Magic Class, Professor Binns' monotonous and dull voice became the most effective lullaby, and the four of them slumped over their desks, sleeping in all sorts of positions.
In the following Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, they simply changed positions and continued to catch up on sleep.
Coincidentally, Professor Quirrell also seemed to have slept poorly; his spirit was low, and his voice during class was no louder than the hum of a mosquito.
He just read from the textbook by the book, turning a blind eye to the students who were blatantly sleeping below the podium.
Sitting next to Sig was Daphne; the little Witch knew that Sig had been busy with Potions last night.
She felt very sorry for Sig and thoughtfully draped a robe over him so he wouldn't catch a cold.
Sitting next to Signas was Daphne Greengrass. The little Witch knew what Signas had been busy with last night, and seeing his exhausted sleeping face made her feel a bit uneasy. She quietly took off her own robe and gently draped it over him, for fear of disturbing his dreams.
As soon as Defense Against the Dark Arts Class was over, she expressed her support for Signas in her own way.
Daphne directly had a House-elf deliver a hundred copies of the latest issue of Witch Weekly, then distributed them for free to students and Professors in every corner of the Castle like someone handing out flyers.
Because the headline of this issue of Witch Weekly was precisely that article written by the beauty expert Ms. Primpernelle: "Say Goodbye to Boring Dieting and Expensive Potions!"
This copy of Witch Weekly, personally distributed by the young lady Daphne, spread through every corner of Hogwarts like a gust of wind.
At lunchtime, almost everyone in the Great Hall had a copy. The students no longer talked loudly as usual but instead buried their heads in the newspapers in unison, especially at the Gryffindor table.
"It's simply unbelievable!" Ron put down the half-eaten chicken leg, messily wiped the grease from his mouth with a napkin, and pointed at Ms. Primpernelle's radiant smiling face in the newspaper, his face written all over with "I don't believe it": "Just by having diarrhea a few times, one can become so... so beautiful?"
Hermione pushed aside the pile of vegetable salad in front of her that almost no one had touched; she had no appetite today.
She picked up another newspaper—The Daily Prophet—and turned to an inconspicuous column, showing it to Harry and Ron.
"Look at this; this is more persuasive than Ms. Primpernelle's flattery."
It was an analytical article written by the famous Potions Master Cassbert Morag. The wording of the article was rigorous and restrained, analyzing the ingredients of "Felix Felicis" from a professional perspective.
Cassbert admitted that the Potion did indeed contain unicorn blood, but the concentration was extremely low, and he speculated that its longevity-extending effect would be minimal.
However, he changed the subject and emphasized a certain unknown fusion technique in the formula, which cleverly combined the life energy of unicorn blood with other herbal ingredients to produce a unique effect of "purifying the body and revitalizing life."
"...This formulation approach is bold and innovative, even reminding me of a certain concept held by my old friends Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel in the field of Alchemy."
"They always try to reorganize seemingly unrelated magical substances through a core catalyst, thereby maximizing the magical effect of certain raw materials."
"'Felix Felicis' is undoubtedly the result of Dumbledore's successful application of this concept to Potions, although it has taken a somewhat less-than-respectable path toward commercialization..."
"Nicolas Flamel!" Harry and Hermione spoke the name almost simultaneously.
"Him again!" Hermione's expression became strange; she held her forehead, feeling a bit dizzy.
"That's not the point," Ron snatched the newspaper away and said sourly, "The point is, would Dumbledore cooperate with the Malfoy Family? I think it's the Malfoys spreading rumors. This unicorn blood might not even come from Hogwarts; maybe it's stolen goods... the Malfoys never tell a word of truth!"
Harry also nodded, clearly agreeing with Ron's words. In his view, how could a great Wizard like Dumbledore be involved with the Malfoy Family?
"I don't think so," Hermione shook her head; her logic was always very clear. "There really are Unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, and without Dumbledore's nod, no one could take the unicorn blood from the Forbidden Forest..."
"I think this Felix Felicis is Dumbledore's research achievement. He studied dragon blood before, so why wouldn't he study unicorn blood? Otherwise, why would he keep Unicorns in the Forbidden Forest?"
She paused and looked at Ron as if he were a fool: "And if this isn't Dumbledore's masterpiece, then who else could it be? Draco?"
Even Hermione herself didn't think the joke was funny.
Even though the analysis was well-founded, Ron still didn't agree.
He stiffened his neck and argued, "That's impossible! Dumbledore would never associate with the Malfoy Family. The Malfoys used to be supporters of You-Know-Who... I'd rather believe it's Snape. He happens to be a Potions Master and was also once a follower of You-Know-Who..."
At this point, Ron's voice stopped abruptly. He felt as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning, his eyes widening.
Felix Felicis, longevity, the Philosopher's Stone, the Elixir of Life, and You-Know-Who... a crystal-clear chain of logic instantly formed in his mind.
"I've got it, it must be so... Snape is the one pulling the strings behind the scenes!" Ron's voice lowered, yet it was filled with uncontrollable excitement. "He must be researching the Elixir of Life for his master, the Dark Lord, which is why he wants to steal the Philosopher's Stone... Felix Felicis is the result of his research without using the Philosopher's Stone!"
"And to cover his tracks, he's spreading these vague rumors everywhere to draw everyone's attention to the Principal. He can then keep a close eye on the Philosopher's Stone from the shadows, waiting for his chance to strike..."
Harry nodded repeatedly as he listened. Ron now felt as if he were a master detective, and the more he spoke, the more he felt he had discovered the truth: "Whether it's researching Potions or stealing the Philosopher's Stone, both require a lot of funding, which is why he put Felix Felicis out to make money..."
In just a few minutes, Harry and Ron had "uncovered" the entire "truth."
Chapter 94: Even Enjoying the Taste of Bogies
Hermione was still flipping through that issue of Witch Weekly, appearing to have made a new discovery.
She pointed to a photo on a middle page, where an impossibly handsome Wizard was holding up a bottle of "Felix Felicis," flashing a standard eight-tooth smile, his purple Wizard robes shimmering under the flashbulbs.
"Look, even Gilderoy Lockhart is recommending Felix Felicis. It says here that buying Felix Felicis gives you a chance to get his signed photo..."
"Lockhart?!" Ron, still having the temperament of a young boy, had his attention instantly drawn over.
He snatched the magazine away, his eyes widening like two Galleons. "Merlin's beard! They've really planned this out, even bringing in Lockhart! If my mum sees this, she'll definitely have to go buy a bottle of Felix Felicis!"
"Who is he?" Harry asked blankly. Having grown up in the Muggle world, he wasn't familiar with celebrities in the Wizarding World.
"Who is he?" Ron looked at Harry as if he were an alien. "Harry, you actually don't know Gilderoy Lockhart? He's... he's..." Ron was at a loss for words for a moment, seemingly searching for a suitable way to describe him.
"Five-time winner of Witch Weekly's 'Most Charming Smile Award,'" Hermione added calmly; she had clearly done her homework beforehand. "A famous author and adventurer. His works include Break with a Banshee, Gadding with Ghouls, Holidays with Hags, Travels with Trolls, Voyages with Vampires, Wanderings with Werewolves, A Year with the Yeti... almost every one of them is a bestseller."
Ron nodded repeatedly like a chicken pecking at grain, adding, "My mum says he's an amazing hero! He personally banished the Bandon Banshee and single-handedly resolved the Wagga Wagga Werewolfcrisis!"
Harry listened, stunned. Looking at the preening Wizard with the brilliant smile in the magazine, he couldn't connect him with the word "hero" at all.
"But why would he work for the Malfoy Family?" Harry asked the most critical question.
"Is that even a question? The Malfoy Family must have given him a huge pile of Galleons!" Ron curled his lip, looking disdainful. "Regardless of how effective this Felix Felicis is, or whether it contains unicorn blood, as long as Lockhart is endorsing it, plenty of people will definitely buy it, even including my mum..."
"So what do we do?" Harry stared at his two friends, his expression turning serious. "Are we just going to stand by and watch Snape succeed?"
"No, we must take action. We absolutely cannot let Snape make money from Felix Felicis..." Harryclenched his fists, filled with a fighting passion.
Ron stared at Harry and asked in a lowered voice, "What do you plan to do?"
Harry pondered for a moment, frowning as he said, "Let's go steal Snape's Potion ingredients. That way, he won't be able to brew enough Felix Felicis. Whatever plan he has, we'll stop it!"
"What?" Hermione looked around nervously and lowered her voice. "Harry, are you crazy? That's Snape's office! We'll be expelled!"
"Being expelled is better than letting Snape get the Philosopher's Stone!" Harry's tone was firm.
Ron nodded vigorously beside him, as if Harry had uttered some profound truth. "Exactly! As long as we empty Snape's private ingredient stores, his plan will definitely fail!"
Hermione held her forehead, feeling her temples throbbing.
After spending so much time with these two impulsive guys, she felt utterly exhausted.
Harry's gaze was resolute; once he set his mind on something, nothing could pull him back.
"Isn't there any other way?" She took a deep breath. "For example, trying to make it so Felix Felicisdoesn't sell..."
...By evening, Signas finally recovered from his groggy state, feeling a deep soreness in his bones.
By this time, the Castle was filled with discussions about Felix Felicis, and there were even rumors about Dumbledore being involved.
Just as Signas was calculating his dividends, Headmaster Dumbledore's summons arrived as expected.
On the way to the Principal's office, Sig suddenly thought, could the summons be because of those rumors?
However, from beginning to end, no one except Draco and his father knew that the Felix Felicis matter was related to him.
No matter how powerful Dumbledore was, it was impossible for him to trace it back to a first-year student so quickly.
So, the Principal was most likely looking for him regarding the Quirrell matter.
At this moment, the atmosphere in the Principal's office was indeed not very good.
Dumbledore believed that Lord Voldemort had not truly died on that Halloween night eleven years ago.
Because Lord Voldemort had left no body, he had simply vanished. This was unlike any known form of death.
The scar on Harry Potter's forehead and the Dark Marks on the Death Eaters' arms that had never disappeared were all evidence that Lord Voldemort was not dead.
Thus, for eleven years, Dumbledore had been secretly monitoring all sorts of suspicious information.
This year, Dumbledore had taken the opportunity to carefully set a trap.
Yet at this critical juncture requiring full concentration, Lucius Malfoy had jumped out and secretly stirred up such a huge storm.
It was hard to say there wasn't some strange connection involved.
This gave Dumbledore a sense of losing control, which was very uncomfortable.
"Knock, knock, knock!"
"Come in!"
Signas pushed the door open and entered, immediately spotting the old man behind the desk. He keenly sensed that Dumbledore seemed a bit different today.
His bright blue eyes were bloodshot, and even his silver-white beard, usually meticulously groomed, seemed to have lost some of its luster; clearly, he hadn't been sleeping well lately.
"Hello, Principal!"
"Sit down, Signas." Dumbledore pointed to the chair opposite him, then smilingly pushed over a colorful candy jar. "Try this, Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. The ones you gave me last time had a very unique taste."
Unique?
Could a booger flavor be anything but unique!
"Thank you, Principal, but I don't really like snacks." Sig grinned and pushed it back.
You've got to be kidding; it's booger flavor. Whoever likes it can eat it, but I'm definitely not.
Dumbledore didn't insist. He picked one up himself and tossed it into his mouth with an elegant posture.
In the next second, his kind smile froze on his face for half a second, and a flicker of extremely complex and indescribable light flashed in his bright blue eyes.
However, Dumbledore simply chewed and swallowed as if nothing had happened, then picked up another one and tossed it into his mouth, even nodding approvingly. "Mmm, the flavor is rich, well-layered, and has a long-lasting aftertaste. Thank you for your Christmas gift..."
Signas's lip twitched violently.
Good grief, as expected of the White Lord; he even eats booger-flavored beans with relish...
Chapter 95: Dumbledore's Manipulation
Dumbledore had intended to wait a bit longer before getting to the point, but the booger-flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean was simply too foul. He really didn't want to eat another one, so he cleared his throat and decided to cut to the chase, asking about Professor Quirrell's recent situation.
After hearing the report, a nearly imperceptible ripple flickered in Dumbledore's deep blue eyes, and his brow furrowed into a knot. His right hand subconsciously reached toward that jar of colorful Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans again.
At this point, Sig couldn't help but want to speak up.
He had accepted benefits from Quirrell, so naturally, he wouldn't report him directly.
But reporting the theft of the Philosopher's Stone and unicorn blood was one thing; exposing Lord Voldemort's secret was quite another.
The right to interpret this deal lay in Signas's hands.
"Headmaster, I'm afraid Professor Quirrell is in great danger right now. He's been groaning in pain for several nights. Please, you must save him!"
Dumbledore remained frowning, subconsciously picking another Every Flavor Bean and tossing it into his mouth as if it were a delicacy.
Signas watched as that aged hand pinched another bean and elegantly delivered it to his mouth, as if tasting some peerless vintage wine.
"???"
What kind of reaction was this?
"Headmaster, Professor Quirrell mentioned it himself," Signas decided to add more fuel to the fire. "He said he visited the Black Forest in Albania during the holidays. Could he have caught something there..."
Dumbledore's chewing motion stiffened for half a second. He waved his hand, forcefully swallowing the indescribable taste in his mouth, and interrupted Signas: "I see, Signas. You have done very well."
He then asked, "What have you been busy with lately?"
Sig instantly recalled the events of the past two months. Going to the Forbidden Forest to help the Unicorn with bloodletting and brewing Felix Felicis in the Room of Requirement were things he obviously couldn't mention, so there wasn't much left to say.
He casually made up a few interesting anecdotes he'd read in the library, then subtly steered the conversation back: "Speaking of which, Professor Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts Class is getting more and more boring. We haven't learned anything."
"But I heard from the older students that he used to be a recognized top student in Ravenclaw. He shouldn't be at this level..."
This time, Dumbledore surprisingly didn't evade the subject. He fell silent for a moment, silently pushed that cursed jar of Every Flavor Beans aside, and then conjured a plate of lemon dropss out of thin air, clearly intending to use that sweet and sour taste to wash his battered taste buds.
"Hogwarts is different from Durmstrang; we do not offer separate Dark Arts courses." He pinched a lemon drops, his voice sounding distant. "But Defense Against the Dark Arts is, in a sense, the most direct Dark Arts class."
"It allows you to see the Dark Arts and master the knowledge to deal with them. But in this process, those who gaze into the abyss are inevitably attracted by it."
"And as the Professor of this course, one is at the forefront... Wizards are easily influenced by the Dark Arts; that is where the problem lies."
"Mmm!" Dumbledore popped another lemon drops into his mouth. The rich, sweet aroma instantly dispelled the previous strange taste. He squinted his eyes in comfort, relaxing significantly.
"So, I believe your Professor Quirrell may be deeply troubled by the Dark Arts, which is why I keep a close watch on him." Dumbledore finally offered an explanation.
"Therefore, I have a very bold idea." He pinched another lemon drops, and behind those half-moon spectacles, his eyes sparkled with the light of wisdom.
He stared at Signas and said, word by word, "Perhaps... Professor Quirrell should spend more time with young Wizards like you who grew up in the Muggle world. Perhaps it might influence him, lead him slightly away from the influence of the Dark Arts, and improve his situation."
"Pfft— *Cough!*"
Signas took a sharp breath and nearly choked on his own saliva, shocked beyond measure.
"You... you think too highly of me, don't you?" He widened his eyes, feeling that the old man was either joking or going mad.
"I'm just a child!" Signas held out his hands, gesturing in front of himself. "I'm only eleven years old!"
Good grief! Truly good grief!
As the saying goes, 'He who touches vermilion becomes red, and he who touches ink becomes black.' Dumbledore actually considered him the 'vermilion' that could turn Quirrell 'red'?
But what was clinging to Quirrell was the 'blackest ink' in the history of the Magical World—Lord Voldemort!
How did his mind even work?
The old Headmaster seemed not to notice Signas's shock. He conjured two glasses of honey lemon water, poured them for both of them, and then said slowly, "You don't need to do anything deliberate. Just give Professor Quirrell more respect and recognition. This was my oversight; I have been busy with too many affairs and haven't had enough time to care for every Professor in the school."
Seeing Signas's "You've got to be kidding me" expression, Dumbledore shrugged helplessly. "Take recently, for example; you must have heard those rumors. Dealing with such gossip every year is enough to give me a headache..."
"Any action of mine will be infinitely magnified by the outside world, eventually leading to unpredictable results. So, even though I know I have enough influence, there are many times when I must remain silent."
Dumbledore spoke with a serious expression.
Signas actually believed this.
For a great figure of Dumbledore's caliber, every word and action affected the nerves of the entire Magical World; it was indeed inconvenient for him to express his own thoughts and attitudes.
In Sig's view, Dumbledore had previously recognized Quirrell quite well; otherwise, he wouldn't have promoted a regular teacher to a Professor.
It was just that Quirrell himself probably hadn't felt that cultivation and care.
"I have always believed that love and courage can awaken the beauty deep within everyone's heart; this is our most powerful weapon against the Dark Arts."
Dumbledore said slowly in his magnetic voice, "Quirrell has always craved recognition, and the recognition and respect of a student will surely move him!"
Signas swallowed hard, complaining wildly in his mind!
The key issue is that I don't recognize him, and I certainly don't respect him!
I just want to farm resentment points from him!
"You... are sure I can do it?"
"Of course," Dumbledore winked, a hint of mischief in his smile. "My judgment has always been very accurate."
"Thud!"
When the heavy wooden door of the Headmaster's office closed behind him, Signas stood on the spiral staircase, still completely dazed.
He looked down at his hands, then recalled the conversation just now, and suddenly it clicked.
Had he just been... manipulated by Dumbledore?
He'd been assigned another task, and in the end, he hadn't gained any benefits?
However... Signas rubbed his chin, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.
Since Dumbledore wasn't giving anything, he would just have to go and ask Professor Quirrell for it!
That should be quite reasonable...
Chapter 96: Losing Money Must Not Stop
In the study of Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy was flipping through account books. His usually composed face was now as tight as a fully drawn bow.
"Seventy thousand Galleons," he said, his voice trembling slightly.
In just one month, to build hype for that damned 'Felix Felicis,' the Malfoy Family's vault had seemingly sprung a leak, with Galleons pouring out in torrents.
According to the intentions of that messenger, Mr. Shalk, this expense was only the beginning; continuous investment was required to achieve long-term dominance over the pages of all major newspapers.
Lucius tapped the smooth tabletop with his knuckles, producing a dull thud.
Crazy, truly crazy.
When did the Potion business, especially high-end Potions, ever need such grandstanding and shouting?
This wasn't selling butterbeer!
Good Potions had always been a seller's market; Wizards would swarm toward them like flies smelling blood.
Moreover, 'Felix Felicis' contained unicorn blood! Even if it was only a single drop, it was still unicorn blood!
There were plenty of people willing to come to the door with bags of gold to beg for a purchase. Was it really necessary to throw money by the handful at The Daily Prophet and that empty-headed Gilderoy Lockhart?
Lucius did a quick mental calculation. Even if every batch of 'Felix Felicis' released was sold out, after deducting channel costs, raw material costs, bribes for Ministry of Magic officials, and various taxes, they would still need to sell at least ten thousand more bottles just to barely break even.
And that was assuming all the profits belonged to the Malfoy Family. If Dumbledore's side also took a large cut, the day they broke even would be practically out of reach.
A more critical question was: how much unicorn blood did Dumbledore actually have in his hands?
This stuff wasn't like leeks that would grow back after being harvested.
There were only a few Unicorns in the Hogwarts Forbidden Forest. Lucius had asked Draco to inquire indirectly, but the message that came back was just a light 'Don't worry.'
How could he not worry!
The more Lucius calculated, the more alarmed he became. If Dumbledore truly lacked money, he would be more than happy to provide a generous sponsorship for the great cause of 'Love and Courage' in exchange for a chance to enter the inner circle of the moderates.
Why start such a project and send shiny Galleons into the pockets of the media and people like Lockhart?
After calculating back and forth, Lucius was certain he would lose tens of thousands of Galleons. After that, it would be a bottomless pit losing tens of thousands every six months.
To be safe, Lucius decided to temporarily halt the subsequent marketing expenses.
If the other side asked, he would say the advertisements had already been placed and then use a set of fake accounts to deal with it.
Yes, that's how it should be done; that was the style of the House of Malfoy.
Thinking of this, his heart felt slightly more at ease. He pulled out another fresh roll of parchment and began to devise how to make a seamless set of fake accounts.
Just then—
"Bang!"
In the study's fireplace, green flames shot up, and a head abruptly popped out of the fire!
The loud bang gave Lucius a jolt; the peacock quill in his hand dropped onto the table with a 'clatter,' and ink splattered across the ledger where he had just written a few numbers.
The face in the flames was Albus Dumbledore.
He looked calm, possessing a natural authority without being angry.
But those eyes, which should have been azure, were now bloodshot. Against the backdrop of the dancing flames, they actually revealed a hint of... wickedness that Lucius had only felt from a certain powerful Dark Wizard.
"Head... Headmaster Dumbledore?!" Lucius's voice cracked instantly, and he nearly jumped out of his chair.
He had always thought it was inconvenient for Dumbledore to contact him, which was why he used Signas as a secret line. Who would have thought the other party would use the Floo Network to come straight to his door!
Lucius forced down the storm in his heart, quickly straightened his appearance, squared his shoulders, and greeted him in his most standard and sincere aristocratic tone: "I... I... didn't expect you to contact me personally, I..."
"I believe it is not suitable for us to contact each other; after all, our positions and identities are very sensitive..."
Dumbledore's voice came through the flames, calm and steady, yet it made Lucius's heart sink abruptly.
He heard a trace of dissatisfaction in those words.
Oh no!
Dumbledore stared with those bloodshot eyes, and an invisible, mountain-like pressure surged through the Floo Network. Lucius even felt his breathing become difficult; he subconsciously took two steps back, nearly bumping into the bookshelf behind him.
Lucius's expression changed. "The Malfoy Family is worthy of your trust..."
"But you!" Dumbledore's voice remained calm. "Seem to be plotting... something unspeakable again."
His eyes were full of deep meaning as they locked onto Lucius. "You know very well what I am talking about, and what it means."
Lucius's mind exploded with a 'boom,' going completely blank for a moment.
He knows!
How could he know?!
He had only just had the thought; he hadn't even finished a single page of the fake accounts!
Could he have placed some damned monitoring charm on Malfoy Manor?
"But... Headmaster Dumbledore, I... I didn't..." Lucius tried to explain, cold sweat already soaking the back of his shirt.
"No need to explain, Lucius." Dumbledore interrupted him directly. His voice wasn't loud, but that unquestionable authority made Lucius feel as if he had returned to the days when he faced the Dark Lord.
"I haven't... I really haven't..." Lucius still wanted to struggle a bit.
"You know it in your heart." Dumbledore's eyes shifted slightly, still maintaining that unruffled appearance. "But my patience is limited. I hope there won't be a next time... I hope you can see your situation clearly!"
With those words, the flames in the fireplace extinguished with a 'pop,' returning to normal.
The study fell into a deathly silence.
Lucius froze in place as if hit by a Petrificus Totalus; even his breathing stopped.
His gray eyes stared fixedly at the empty fireplace, as if Dumbledore's bloodshot face was still imprinted in the air.
Cold sweat emerged from his platinum-blond hairline, slid down his forehead, and dripped onto his unfinished fake accounts, blurring a small patch of ink.
He knows!
He actually knows everything!
He had only just moved a tiny bit... a small thought belonging to the traditional Malfoy Family craft, hadn't even finished writing a single digit, and Dumbledore had come to his door!
Those bloodshot eyes were simply more terrifying than Voldemort's green light!
Is this Divination?
He felt like a field mouse being stared at by an eagle.
"I hope you can see your situation clearly!"
Dumbledore's final words rang in his ears like a death knell.
However, right after this deadly pressure, a completely opposite, volcano-like eruption of ecstasy suddenly surged from the depths of his heart!
Lucius's stiff body actually began to tremble uncontrollably, but this time, it wasn't from fear—it was from excitement!
He understood! He understood completely!
This wasn't a business deal at all! This was a test! A grand test of loyalty from Dumbledore to him and the entire Malfoy Family!
Dumbledore didn't care about money at all! Would he be short of money?
He was Albus Dumbledore! If he really wanted money, there were plenty of ways. Why would he need to make things so complicated?
What he truly cared about was his attitude in handling matters! Whether the Malfoy Family was still holding onto that old mentality of being opportunistic and playing both sides!
He had actually been thinking about making fake accounts and cutting marketing costs just now? He was stupid to the core! That was joking with the future of the House of Malfoy!
Having thought this through, Lucius was no longer afraid; instead, a surge of narrow-escape ecstasy and excitement welled up. He snapped his back straight, an unnatural flush appearing on his pale face.
Money is nothing!
As long as he could latch onto Dumbledore's leg—which was thicker than a Norwegian Ridgeback's—let alone losing tens of thousands of Galleons, he would even donate half of the Malfoy Family's estate!
Lose money! He must lose money! And it had to be earth-shattering, so everyone would know, so Dumbledore couldn't find a single fault!
The subsequent marketing expenses not only couldn't stop, they had to be doubled! They must be doubled!
Lucius took a deep breath, as if shedding a thousand-pound burden. He sat back down in the high-backed chair and picked up the peacock quill... "Those small newspapers must also keep up! Yes, all the small newspapers! Although not many people read them, their combined quotes aren't as expensive as one Daily Prophet. But this will show that we are meticulous and thoughtful!"
The tip of his pen scribbled rapidly across a new sheet of parchment.
"The Quibbler? Run by that crazy Lovegood family? Invest! Must invest! Anyway, a few hundred Galleons can get a yearly subscription. Maybe Dumbledore likes to read this kind of different stuff!"
"And the Wizarding Wireless Network! Yes, this definitely cannot be missed! And it must be during prime time! Headmaster Dumbledore is getting old, his eyesight might not be good, maybe the old gentleman usually likes listening to the radio... we have to write the slogans to be catchy, to make the old gentleman happy when he hears them!"
Once Lucius's ideas opened up, they couldn't be stopped.
"We can also sponsor the Hogwarts Quidditch teams! Give them team robes printed with the 'Felix Felicis' logo! No, one house isn't enough, all four houses must be sponsored! Especially Gryffindor... to show the broad-mindedness of our Malfoy Family!"
"Right, and Gilderoy Lockhart! That show-off might be annoying, but he's popular among witches! We must add another sum of money to have him not just recommend it, but personally distribute 'Felix Felicis' at his book signings!"
"Also," Lucius thought more and more excitedly, his mind spinning fast: "We must get a professional certification from the Ministry of Magic, then find a few experts to praise the remarkable efficacy of Felix Felicis in the newspapers every day, praising how advanced this Potion formula is..."
"Dobby!"
With a 'pop,' the House-elf appeared in the study, looking fearfully at its master's face, which was so excited it was slightly distorted.
"Master?"
"Go do it immediately!" Lucius slapped the parchment filled with crazy plans onto the table, commanding in a tone that allowed no rebuttal. "Contact all the newspapers and radio stations and tell them that the Malfoy Family wants to book all their advertising space for the next three months! Money is not an issue!"
"Also, go take out those cases of aged Firewhisky from the manor and send them to the various Department Heads of the Ministry of Magic... no, sending whisky is too common, send Galleons directly, in bags..."
Dobby stared with its tennis-ball-like eyes, taking the parchment with trembling hands, thinking its master must have gone mad.
But Lucius was clearer than ever before. He looked at the gloomy sky outside the window, a confident smile curling his lips.
Voldemort, that brute who only knew how to rule through fear and slaughter—how could he compare to a master like Dumbledore who played with people's hearts in the palm of his hand?
He, Lucius Malfoy, had bet correctly this time!
Chapter 97: Are Hogwarts Professors This Poor? (Back to two updates a day)
Hogwarts, Quirrell's office.
Quirrell felt like he was going crazy.
Ever since he discovered that Lucius Malfoy had hired shills that day, he had fallen into an unprecedented despair.
Although the Master on the back of his head didn't lash out immediately, that deathly silence terrified him more than any torture.
Lord Voldemort's silence was like the calm before a storm, brewing a thunderous rage enough to tear him into pieces.
He had to get unicorn blood before his Master's patience ran out.
But when he returned to Diagon Alley, he realized how wrong he had been.
"Felix Felicis" had become a complete sensation.
The lifestyle section of The Daily Prophet was almost entirely taken over by various "real-life tests" and "expert analyses" of "Felix Felicis."
Those "test subjects" hired by Lucius with large sums of money tearfully recounted in the newspaper how they had said goodbye to years of obesity struggles and regained their youth and confidence with the help of "Felix Felicis."
In the photos, they were radiant with bright smiles, as if they had grown twenty years younger.
Even worse, Rita Skeeter's damned Quick-Quotes Quill had painted their stories so poignantly that they were tear-jerking, with lines like "the look in my husband's eyes has become passionate again" and "I, who have been excluded from the Pure-blood circles for years, have finally straightened my back." Every word was filled with the inspirational tone of female independence, making countless witches empathize and willingly part with their Galleons.
It can help with weight loss!
It can calm the nerves!
It can even enhance beauty!
Since it actually contains unicorn blood, drinking it frequently even has the effect of prolonging life!
This beautifully packaged, highly-hyped little silver bottle had already become the most sought-after luxury item in the entire British Magical World.
Consequently, the line at the door of Slug & Jiggers Apothecary was longer than a Troll's foot.
Quirrell wrapped himself in his cloak, hiding in the shadows, and lined up before dawn for three consecutive days. But every time, he was jostled so much that he couldn't even touch the sign at the shop's entrance.
Those House-elves sent by Pure-blood families, taking advantage of their small stature, darted through the crowd like loaches and always managed to grab the foremost positions.
Some Wizards simply used magic to conjure tents and lounge chairs, setting up camp at the shop's entrance to fight a long-term battle.
Quirrell tried to use a Confundo to make the people in front leave the line in a daze, but he was surrounded by vigilant Wizards and patrolling Aurors. As soon as he raised his wand, a dozen wary gazes shot toward him simultaneously, scaring him into quickly pulling his hand back.
"Useless! You can't even get in line! How did I choose such a worthless thing like you!" On the back of his head, Lord Voldemort was very weak, but he forced himself to explode in anger.
"Master... I... I really tried my best..." In the office, Quirrell wailed in his heart, feeling very wronged.
This Felix Felicis was too hard to buy; it would be better to just go to the Forbidden Forest and poach a Unicorn.
"Then go and steal it! Find anyone who bought it, and an Imperio will solve it! Do I have to teach you even such a small matter?"
Quirrell's face instantly turned pale.
Steal? It was easier said than done!
To prevent scalping and black market circulation, the Malfoy Family came up with a brilliant but wicked trick—real-name purchases, on-site lotteries, and a daily limit of thirty bottles.
Every Wizard purchasing "Felix Felicis" had to sign their name on a magical contract and then could draw for eligibility at any time.
Under this model, it was clear who had the eligibility to buy unicorn blood, and it was non-transferable.
Even if Quirrell successfully stole someone else's "Felix Felicis," the name on the magical contract wouldn't be his, making it impossible to participate in the lottery.
Unless he could use an Imperio to control a Wizard who had just bought the potion right in front of everyone and make them draw for him.
But with so many Aurors and specialists from the Ministry of Magic's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on site, how was that any different from suicide?
Moreover, Quirrell felt that the people who could buy unicorn blood were probably all shills found by Lucius. Others had no chance at all!
"Master... this... this won't work..."
"Then go steal Galleons! Go steal more! Get enough money to hire people to wait in line for me! I don't believe you won't get a spot!" Lord Voldemort's voice was filled with desperate madness.
Quirrell's heart sank to the bottom.
Actually, this method was indeed feasible.
Because there were indeed people lining up and then selling their spots.
But just a spot in line was worth a full five hundred Galleons, and that was the price for spots after the thirtieth.
For every spot further ahead, the price would increase by thirty percent! And the closer to the front, the larger the increase!
In other words, Magical World scalpers who wait in line for others were everywhere.
To reliably buy Felix Felicis, one had to be in at least the top ten, but that price was terrifying; it wasn't something that could be solved by robbing one or two wealthy wizards—this would require robbing Gringotts, damn it!
At that moment, Quirrell saw Signas walking over from the direction of the tower outside the window.
He was wearing a brand-new set of dark green robes, well-tailored and making him look tall and upright.
That young face wore a warm smile, looking harmless to humans and animals alike.
"Professor, hello!" Signas pushed the door open and entered, his familiar tone making it seem as if the two were old friends who hadn't seen each other in years.
It was time for Sig's monthly visit to collect money. Quirrell hurriedly pulled a bag of Galleons from his robes, just wanting to settle the matter quickly and make this bringer of misfortune get lost as soon as possible.
But Sig didn't reach out to take it!
He shook his head, his smile unchanged: "I'm here today because I want to talk to you about increasing the fee."
"What do you mean by that?" Quirrell's body suddenly stiffened. One hundred and fifty Galleons a month wasn't enough? He wanted a raise?!
Signas spread his hands, looking as if it were only natural: "I think our previous agreement might need... a little adjustment."
Quirrell stared at him intently, squeezing out a few words through his teeth: "What... do you want?"
Signas held up five fingers and waved them in front of him.
"Five hundred Galleons," he said with a smile. "Starting from this month, five hundred Galleons every month."
"Pfft—"
Quirrell felt a sweetness in his throat and almost spat out a mouthful of old blood.
Five hundred Galleons? Why didn't he just go and rob someone!
Right now, every single Knuts on him was stolen; where would he get the money for this bastard who was taking advantage of the situation!
"You... this is extortion!" Quirrell's voice was trembling.
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +55!]
"You can't put it that way, Professor." Signas's smile turned a bit cold. "This is cooperation. I am helping you steal the Philosopher's Stone, so of course, there's a price to pay!"
"But you haven't given me any substantial help..."
"How can you say that? I've been keeping your secret the whole time," Signas spread his hands. "Do you know how hard it is for me to keep this secret? Every day I have to deal with Dean Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore, on edge and afraid of letting it slip. The mental stress is huge! Five hundred Galleons a month is very reasonable!"
Quirrell's face twisted into a knot.
He could feel that on the back of his head, that terrifying will that had been silent for many days was awakening at an unprecedented speed.
That mental storm, mixed with rage, humiliation, and murderous intent, was almost enough to completely tear his sanity apart.
He had no doubt that if they weren't in Hogwarts right now, his Master would have properly taught this little devil in front of him a lesson.
"But I... I have no money..." Quirrell's voice took on a sobbing tone; this part was the truth.
"No money?" Signas raised an eyebrow, his face showing a "you've got to be kidding me" expression.
Sig thought about it; Quirrell really was poor. After all, his monthly salary was only so much, and it's not like Snape, who has professional skills and can earn some extra money from time to time.
So he nodded slightly: "The Professor does indeed seem very poor..."
A child is just a child, so easy to fool.
Quirrell sneered in his heart. Although those words were hard to hear, he wanted Sig to think that way so he wouldn't ask for an exorbitant price.
Chapter 98: The Separation Charm
"You can also pay with items..."
Signas looked around, his gaze like a searchlight, scanning the office for valuable items. He hadn't forgotten the Space Pouch hanging on the cabinet last time.
His gaze finally landed on the row of bookshelves against the wall, which were stuffed with various parchment scrolls, magic notes, and thick magic books. Many of the books' covers were worn and curled from years of flipping.
These things couldn't be bought outside even with Galleons.
"Just these, they look pretty good too..."
Signas muttered to himself, ignoring Quirrell's face that looked like it was about to cry. He directly took out the Space Pouch he had 'borrowed' last time and, like a mouse that had broken into a granary, excitedly began to sweep the items from the shelves into it.
His movements were nimble and unceremonious.
"'Records of the Unusual in the Albanian Black Forest'? Professor, your notes are quite detailed. I'll take a look at them for you later."
"'On the Social Differences Between Vampires and Werewolves'? Tsk, this topic is novel enough. I like it."
"And this one... 'Muggle Studies—A Wizard's Fieldwork Journal'. Oh, this must be your life's work, right?"
Quirrell's heart bled with every comment Signas made. This wasn't extortion; this was clearly a home invasion robbery!
Those were all materials he had collected over years of traveling the world, notes he had personally recorded on astronomy, geography, magical creatures, and magical plants.
Every single one was a unique, one-of-a-kind copy.
He had originally intended to follow Newt Scamander's example, organizing them to publish a monograph that would gain him both fame and a considerable amount of royalties.
Now, it was all ruined.
Like a hardworking mover, Signas emptied the bookshelf against the wall in no time.
"Th-this... these... but..." Quirrell's lips trembled, wanting to say something but unable to utter a single word. He took back his previous assessment of Signas; how was this kid easy to fool? This was a damn bandit in a student's skin!
After finishing his gathering, Signas satisfiedly patted the dust off his hands, weighed the heavy Space Pouch, and turned to walk toward the door. Before leaving, he didn't forget to look back and add, "Professor, I'll be back next month. You'd better prepare in advance. I won't agree if there's nothing for me, haha."
The moment the door closed, Quirrell's face became as hideous as a demon's.
The door closed with a "click".
The office fell into a deathly silence. Quirrell's face twisted in the shadows, looking as hideous as a demon.
"Unwrap that damn, foul-smelling turban of yours!"
A cold, hoarse voice growled from deep within his mind.
Quirrell shuddered and hurriedly unwrapped his turban, crawling like a lowly worm toward the large full-length mirror in the corner.
In the mirror, on the back of his head, the terrifying face belonging to Lord Voldemort slowly emerged.
That face was so pale it lacked even a trace of blood, and a raging fire burned in those snake-like eyes, looking more withered and weak than ever before.
"Heh... hehehe..." Lord Voldemort let out a series of hair-raising cold laughs. "In all these years, I never thought that one day I would be threatened and extorted by a first-year brat from Hogwarts."
"Master, why didn't we just subdue him just now?" Quirrell remained in a prone position, his voice filled with confusion. "We could have completely used Imperio to control him! Then we'd have a helper when stealing the Philosopher's Stone later!"
Quirrell had clearly felt Lord Voldemort's towering rage just now. He thought his master would strike regardless of the consequences and tear that little brat to pieces. But he had actually held back.
He was just a first-year little Wizard. Even if there was some Dark Wizard backing him, would the Master actually be afraid of him?
"Fool!" Lord Voldemort's curse was like a heavy hammer, smashing hard against Quirrell's soul. "Didn't you see that kid coming down from the Eighth Floor? Whose office is that? Do you really think he came to find you for no reason?"
"That old fox Dumbledore must be watching from behind! If you touched him, wouldn't that be directly telling Dumbledore that we have a problem? Can you use that brain of yours that's stuffed with garlic when you do things!"
Lord Voldemort was frustrated by his lack of competence. A fool like this, in the past, wouldn't even be fit to polish the shoes of his subordinates, let alone become one of his followers.
But now his power was weak and he had no one to use, so he could only hold his nose and use this idiot.
Of course, there was another more important reason: it was Quirrell who was bleeding, and Lord Voldemort himself didn't lose anything.
As long as it didn't affect his great plan to steal the Philosopher's Stone and be resurrected, what did this little humiliation matter?
When he returned resurrected, he would settle all these accounts one by one, with interest!
"Keep that Shalk steady for now. No need to feel bad about those scraps of yours," Lord Voldemort said absentmindedly. "After I am resurrected, you will receive a thousandfold return. As for that Shalk... I promise I will settle the final account with him."
"Your priority now is to get me unicorn blood! I am too weak now. Even if the Philosopher's Stone were placed right in front of me, I wouldn't have enough strength to start the resurrection ritual..."
The trapdoor mechanism Dumbledore added on the Fourth Floor was far more troublesome than he had imagined.
After several failed attempts to open it, he had instead consumed most of his already meager strength.
Recently, he could only rely on sleeping to drain Quirrell's life force to maintain his existence, often sleeping for two or three days just to be awake for one.
So when Lord Voldemort was awake, Quirrell's spirit was better.
Quirrell submissively agreed, his mind full of the empty promises Lord Voldemort had made—once his master was resurrected, he would become a superior person, and everything he gave up today would be returned to him manifold!
Thinking of this, Quirrell's motivation returned: "Master, I saw that Lucius designed such complex rules and even found shills to demonstrate the lottery qualifications. It's obvious he doesn't really want to sell unicorn blood..."
"But the 'Felix Felicis' he sells, since it claims to have added unicorn blood, can we... separate the unicorn blood from a large amount of 'Felix Felicis'?"
"Getting 'Felix Felicis' is much easier than buying unicorn blood directly! Just target some unlucky fellow who just bought the Potion, and we can easily get a dozen or even dozens of bottles!"
After hearing this, Lord Voldemort rarely refrained from calling Quirrell a fool and instead fell into deep thought.
He was vastly knowledgeable and seemed to be searching his massive memory bank for ancient knowledge regarding separating Potion ingredients and quickly judging its feasibility.
"Hmm... I do remember a Separation Charm," Lord Voldemort's voice carried a hint of surprise. "It can be used to separate ingredients in a Potion, but there will be significant loss, and the ingredients cannot be completely separated."
"Then as long as there's enough 'Felix Felicis', we will definitely be able to separate enough unicorn blood!" Quirrell added cautiously. "Moreover, didn't the Malfoy Family release some high-end version of 'Felix Felicis'? They claim it has even more unicorn blood and is more powerful! If we can get that kind, we won't have to fear a little loss!"
"You've finally used your brain for once," Lord Voldemort gave a rare affirmation.
As he spoke, a quill on the nearby table floated up automatically and wrote down that ancient and complex Separation Charm on a clean piece of parchment.
"Then go and do it quickly! Once I recover some strength, I can provide you with help. Perhaps then we can find a way to open that trapdoor mechanism..."