Ch: 131-140
Chapter 131: Magical Cooking
Weekend, Hogwarts, Slytherin Common Room.
When Draco Malfoy received a letter from his owl, he froze completely. It was a spirited Eagle Owl with sleek, glossy feathers and an arrogant gaze, looking exactly like his father.
With trembling hands, he untied the letter. The handwriting was his father's familiar, flamboyant script. The content was simple, with only a few brief words telling him that he was alright and that Dracoshould focus on his studies and not cause trouble.
Draco read it over and over dozens of times until every letter was etched into his mind. The nerves that had been tense for several days finally relaxed completely at this moment.
He suddenly jumped up from the sofa, letting out a cheer that had been suppressed for a long time, sounding almost like a sob.
"My father is out! He's fine!"
He rushed over and hugged Signas, who was nearby, with such force that he almost squeezed the breath out of him. He buried his face in Signas's shoulder, his body still trembling slightly.
The surrounding little snakes looked at each other, their expressions a sight to behold.
Pansy Parkinson, who had been mocking him just a few days ago, now looked as if she had swallowed a fly. Theodore Nott gave a whistle, sounding a bit annoyed.
The Malfoy Family had actually bounced back so quickly?
"I told you, Draco, your father would definitely be fine," Signas said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as he patted Draco's back, feeling his ribs protest.
Draco let go of him, his eyes red, but the pride and spirit belonging to the Malfoy name had returned to his face. He straightened his back and surveyed the Common Room out of the corner of his eye, his chin tilted slightly upward.
"Sig, Daphne, thank you both," he turned his head and said in a low, yet incredibly sincere voice. This kindness of not being abandoned at his low point was far more precious than the hypocritical flattery of the past.
Daphne smiled and handed him a honey biscuit. "Eat something and celebrate properly."
Draco took the biscuit and took a huge bite, as if to swallow all the grievances and hunger of the past few days. This was the most delicious meal he had eaten in days.
Signas watched Draco eating ravenously, then looked down at his copy of the culinary art of magical plants, a plan suddenly forming in his mind.
Perhaps it was time to start researching that bag of "Honesty Beans."
Meanwhile, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor's office, Quirinus Quirrell was in front of a mirror, carefully readjusting his purple turban. In the mirror, his face was still deathly pale, but his eyes held a hint of sinister determination.
Lord Voldemort's voice rang coldly in his mind: "The opportunity has come. Tonight, when they are all asleep, sneak into the Slytherin dungeons. I want you to find that thing, at all costs!"
The Hogwarts kitchen is located directly beneath the Great Hall, on the same corridor as the HufflepuffCommon Room.
It is warm here year-round, with the aroma of toasted bread and stewed meat wafting through the air. Dozens of House-elves wearing tea towels printed with the Hogwarts crest were busy scurrying between massive stoves and mountains of ingredients like a swarm of happy brown bees.
When Signas slipped in carrying a small cauldron, the House-elves were not surprised.
This Mr. Shalk from Slytherin was a regular in the kitchen.
Unlike other students who came to ask for snacks, he always showed great interest in cooking itself, even discussing with them whether Ashwinder eggs or fried imp wings were more suitable as appetizers.
"Mr. Shalk, good evening! Do you need anything? A trifle or a chocolate frog?" An elderly House-elfwith pointed ears and a face full of kind wrinkles greeted him warmly.
"No, thank you, Winky," Signas greeted him familiarly. "I want to borrow your stove tonight to make a... well, a midnight snack."
He shook the small cauldron in his hand. Winky curiously stood on tiptoe to peek inside, seeing some chopped moonlight mushrooms, onions, and a few pieces of ordinary-looking beef.
Winky sniffed, smelling a faint earthy scent. This indicated that the moonlight mushrooms were freshly picked and very rich in magic.
"Of course, Mr. Shalk, please use it as you wish! Winky will clear the best stove for you right away!" Winky moved out of the way with nimble hands and feet.
Signas placed the cauldron over the fire and stirred it skillfully with his wand. As he stirred, he pulled a small bag made of dragon-hide from his pocket. He carefully opened the bag and poured out three pea-sized, pale gold beans that shimmered with a soft white light.
These were the "Honesty Beans."
He dropped two of the beans into the cauldron. As soon as they touched the boiling broth, they melted instantly without making a sound or changing the color of the soup. Signas nodded in satisfaction, moved the cauldron away from the fire, scooped up a spoonful, and brought it to his nose to sniff gently.
A rich meaty aroma mixed with a strange sweetness rushed straight to the crown of his head through his nostrils.
He felt as if a majestic vitality had been injected into his body, and the exhaustion of the past few days was swept away.
But at the same time, the magic in his body seemed to be offset by something, becoming somewhat sluggish. More critically, a strong urge to speak his mind welled up.
"This stuff is really potent," Signas couldn't help but mutter to himself. "Good thing I only smelled it. If I ate a whole pot, I'd probably confess to wetting the bed at age three."
"Hmm, this thing seems to convert magic into vitality through combustion. I didn't expect it to have this property; I must record this..."
Winky, hearing his muttering, leaned in curiously, his tennis-ball-sized eyes filled with a thirst for knowledge. "Mr. Shalk, what are you saying? Vitality? Are you researching a new recipe?"
"It's nothing," Signas immediately shut his mouth, but the desire to confide was so strong that he felt his tongue was out of control, wanting to jump up and talk as if it were under a 'Dancing Feet Spell'.
"Winky, this place is simply a heaven of gourmet food, ten thousand times more comfortable than those cold and damp Slytherin dungeons! To be honest, sometimes I really want to live in the kitchen and never leave, being woken up by the aroma of food every day—what a happy thing that would be..."
He regretted it as soon as he said it. Damn, the truth-telling effect of these beans was far too strong.
Winky and several other House-elves, hearing this heartfelt praise, were moved to tears, and their work came to a halt.
Chapter 132: Telling the Truth Is Terrifying
"Oh! Mr. Shalk, you... you are truly a good Wizard!" Winky choked up, her voice trembling. "No Wizardhas ever said such things to us! They only complain that the meat is overcooked or the pudding isn't sweet enough!"
"Yes, yes, Winky is right!" another House-elf shrieked, jumping three times in excitement. "Mr. Shalk is the best Wizard at Hogwarts, even better than Headmaster Dumbledore!"
With this high praise, Signas nearly lost his footing. He felt that if he stayed any longer, these little guys would push him onto the seat of the Minister of magic.
The next second, he was overwhelmed.
Countless bony little hands shoved all kinds of food toward him. Freshly baked, steaming rock cakes, small mountains of Treacle Tart, a large plate of Chocolate Flying Biscuits flapping their wings, and a whole roasted turkey leg drizzled with honey... "Mr. Shalk, try this! This is Dobby's best Trifle!"
"Sir, and this, fresh pumpkin juice! It's good for your skin!"
Signas coughed awkwardly twice and struggled to place the pile of food aside.
He then extinguished the fire with his wand and poured the stewed Moonlight Mushroom Bean Brothinto a thermos flask. He needed to leave this place of trouble quickly; if he kept talking, he was afraid he would spill the beans about his System.
"Thank you, Winky! Dobby! And everyone! This soup smells fantastic! I must go now!" He grabbed the thermos flask and practically fled the kitchen, followed by the reluctant farewells of the House-elves and a series of loud "pop" kissing sounds.
Sprinting out of the kitchen, Signas leaned against the cold wall of the corridor and let out a long sigh.
The magic of the Honesty Bean was too powerful. Just a simple sniff had such a massive after-effect. He felt like if he saw a passing mouse now, he would want to talk to it about life goals and, while he was at it, mention that he had a System.
He needed to get back to the dungeons quickly, before running into any 'acquaintances'.
However, Murphy's Law was always so precise. As he walked into the corridor, a familiar, grating laugh echoed from above.
"Ohoho! Look who it is? A lost Little Snake, wandering around so late! Do you want to be caught and hung upside down by Filch? Or maybe you want to try Peeves's latest Snot Slug Slime Bomb?"
Peeves!
Signas's heart sank. He looked up and saw the clown-dressed ghost floating in mid-air, holding a large water balloon filled with gooey green liquid, aiming right at his head.
Normally, Signas had a hundred ways to deal with this troublesome fellow, but now... he felt his mouth starting to twitch uncontrollably, and a strong urge to confess was crawling up his spine, rushing straight to his brain.
No, shut up!
Don't tell him the truth!
Signas screamed internally, trying to use the reins of reason to curb his runaway tongue.
"Peeves," he began, his voice unnaturally calm, every word crystal clear, carrying a chilling sincerity. "I sincerely suggest you don't throw that thing down."
Peeves paused, apparently not expecting the Little Snake to stand his ground and try to reason with him.
It gave a strange laugh and tossed the water balloon in its hand: "Oh? Why is that? I love seeing the sour faces of you Slytherins, tee-hee!"
Signas took a deep breath. He could feel his tongue fighting a battle—one part wanted to say 'get lost,' the other was stubbornly determined to reveal the most truthful, most malicious thought in his mind.
Ultimately, the latter won.
"Because, to be honest, I'm not in a good mood today," Signas stated deliberately, his eyes devoid of any threat, holding only pure, frank declaration. "If you stain this new robe of mine—which, by the way, is the latest model from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions in Diagon Alley, and cost twelve Galleons even after the discount—I swear, I will spend an entire week using the most vicious ingredients, such as Acromantula venom, Manticore tail-sting powder, and the rust scraped from The Bloody Baron's chains, to custom-make a 'True Feelings Potion' just for you."
He spoke with such sincerity and detail, clearly stating the price of the robe and the Potion's recipe, his tone sounding as if he were sharing an interesting Potion formula with a friend.
Peeves's hand, holding the water balloon, froze in mid-air. He didn't think the Little Snake was joking.
Signas's mouth simply couldn't stop.
"The effect... would probably be that when you see Dumbledore, you won't be able to stop yourself from hugging his leg and tearfully reciting a sonnet."
"You know, the ones you hide in that broken suit of armor helmet on the Fourth Floor. It could start with: 'Oh, my dear Albus, your silver beard is more beautiful than the moonlight.'"
"Trust me, my Potion mastery is definitely capable of achieving this. And the dosage can be precisely controlled to ensure the effect lasts until next semester."
"And I have many magic items, the Appearance Wand, Felix Felicis... I can absolutely make your life a living hell..."
"..."
The corridor was deathly silent.
The smile completely vanished from Peeves's face, replaced by a blank look. His azure eyes widened like two brass bells, and his mouth formed an 'O' shape large enough to fit a Quaffle.
Hugging Dumbledore's leg... reciting a love poem?
Lasting until next semester?
The mere thought of that scene sent a shiver through Peeves, and even his translucent body seemed to solidify.
He had no doubt that the Little Snake was telling the truth, because his eyes shone with sincerity! Moreover, he was too detailed, describing the Potion's name and effect clearly and without reservation. It didn't sound like bluster at all.
"I... I was just joking! Yes, just joking..."
Peeves gave two dry laughs, and his hand slipped. The huge water balloon splattered onto the floor with a "splat," green slime splashing everywhere and emitting an indescribable stench.
Then, as if he had seen a ghost, he zipped through the wall and fled, not daring to leave behind a single harsh word.
Watching Peeves's panicked retreat, Signas let out a long sigh, immediately followed by a wave of fear.
The power of the Honesty Bean was even more overbearing than Veritaserum.
Veritaserum only prevents you from lying, but this thing forces you to pour out the most truthful, most desired words in your heart, using the most sincere manner...
Chapter 133: Speaking the Truth Is Hard to Hear
Signas felt like a gas tank with its valve twisted open; if he didn't find a place to lock himself away soon, he would blow the entirety of Hogwarts sky-high sooner or later.
He kept his head down the whole way, rushing back to the Slytherin dormitory at top speed, with only one thought in his mind: don't let anyone talk to me before the Potion wears off.
However, when he uttered the password "Pure-blood" and stepped into the Common Room, it was quite lively inside.
His platinum blond hair was meticulously groomed once again, and color had returned to his pale face. With his chin held high, he was boastfully spitting out stories about how his father had "easily" settled those idiots at the Ministry of Magic.
"...That fat man Fudge, who does he think he is? My father only spoke a few words to him, and he was so scared he almost pissed himself, bowing and scraping as he escorted my father out of the Ministry! He kept saying it was all a misunderstanding!"
Draco's voice was filled with exaggerated pride as he waved his arms, acting as if he had witnessed that glorious scene with his own eyes.
Pansy Parkinson sat beside him, gazing at him with an infatuated expression, holding a plate of small cakes ready to offer him at any moment.
The little snakes around him, who only a few days ago had avoided him like the plague, were now crowding around again, their faces plastered with fawning smiles, letting out the occasional well-timed gasp or word of agreement.
The families of these little snakes had more or less heard the inside story of this incident. At the very least, one thing was certain: the Ministry of Magic had not only dropped the investigation into "Felix Felicis" but even intended to include it as a key recommended new Potion of the year, promoting it to the International Confederation of Wizards.
Without an enormous background, how could the Malfoy Family receive such great support from the Ministry of Magic?
Regardless of the process, this result only proved one thing—the Malfoy Family was going to strike it big this time!
Only Daphne sat quietly on a single sofa a little further away, holding a book, her delicate brows slightly furrowed, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with this scene of fawning adulation.
Seeing Signas enter, Daphne's eyes lit up, and she waved at him.
But Signas only wanted to hide now, to avoid saying something he shouldn't.
"Sig! You're back!" Draco spotted him instantly. He jumped up from the sofa and rushed to Signas in a few steps, his face filled with undisguised joy and excitement. He opened his arms, wanting to give Signas a warm bear hug.
"Stop!"
Signas was so startled that he quickly extended his palm, firmly pressing it against Draco's chest, and took two large steps back with a serious expression.
"Stay away from me. My current state isn't right; if I say one more word to you, you might want to pull your wand on me," Signas warned with utmost sincerity.
Draco was stunned, and the surrounding little snakes also fell silent, looking at the two of them with strange expressions.
"Sig, what's wrong with you?" Draco asked, as if he were seeing something miraculous.
Signas took a deep breath; he felt his tongue had completely broken free from the reins of reason.
It was over; the valve could no longer be held shut.
"Nothing's wrong, Draco. I just think that your current arrogant appearance, compared to when you were crying under your covers the night before last, is truly ridiculous," Signas said expressionlessly, every word crystal clear.
"..."
The entire Common Room instantly became so quiet that the faint sound of the lake water lapping against the glass windows could be heard.
The smile on Draco's face froze, then turned from flushed red to iron-blue at a speed visible to the naked eye. Pansy Parkinson's mouth fell open, and the cake in her hand fell to the floor with a "splat."
"Cygnus Sharke! What nonsense are you talking about!" Draco's voice rose an octave in shame and indignation, shrill like a cat that had its tail stepped on.
He cried? When did he cry? How could he possibly cry!
Even if he had cried, how could such a thing be said in front of so many people!
"I'm not talking nonsense." Signas calmly met Draco's angry gaze, his tone as composed as if he were stating an objective fact. "Just a few nights ago, you cried for about two hours and seven minutes, hiccuping three times in the middle. I remember it very clearly because your crying kept me from sleeping well; I even considered whether to give you a'Silencio'."
"You!" Draco was shaking with rage, his face turning the color of pig liver, and he instinctively reached for his wand.
"Don't get excited." Signas raised a hand. "I'm just stating facts. And honestly, I can understand how you felt at the time. Your father was arrested, your future was uncertain, and the whole world seemed to be collapsing. It's normal to have a cry; there's nothing shameful about it. On the contrary, don't you find it exhausting to act like you're the lord of the universe now, surrounded by a group of people who couldn't wait to step on you just a moment ago?"
Signas paused, his gaze sweeping over the awkward-looking little snakes around them, as he continued in a tone so sincere it was infuriating: "As soon as something happened to your father, they avoided you like Trolls. As soon as your father came out, they swarmed around you like flies to honey. Honestly, Draco, the way these 'friends' of yours switch positions is quite flexible."
Draco was completely dumbfounded.
His hand holding the wand froze in mid-air as he looked at Signas, then at the "friends" around him with their evasive eyes and varying expressions. His mind went blank.
"Sig, you..." Daphne also stood up and walked to Signas's side, worriedly tugging at his sleeve. She had never seen Signas like this; being sharp-tongued was his norm, but this way of speaking—showing no mercy and tearing off everyone's masks—was rare.
"I'm fine, Daphne. I just felt uncomfortable keeping certain things bottled up." Signas turned to her with a smile that carried a hint of relief and helplessness. "Besides, don't you think this is quite interesting? Look, their expressions now are even more fascinating than Professor Binns's History of Magic textbook."
Daphne looked at him, and the corners of her mouth couldn't help but curl upward; she clearly found it very interesting as well.
Draco's face went from red to white and back again, and he finally lowered his wand dejectedly.
Although Signas's words were harsh, they were like a sharp scalpel, precisely cutting open the festering sore he had wrapped in pride and vanity.
Every word was the truth... At the other end of the Castle, in the Defense Against the Dark ArtsProfessor's office, Quirinus Quirrell was in front of a mirror, checking his disguise over and over again.
Lord Voldemort's voice shrieked in his head, "Remember, only success is allowed this time, no failure... Once I recover some strength, prepare immediately to take the Philosopher's Stone..."
Chapter 134: Watch Your Mouth, Stay Safe
The air in the Common Room became as cold and hard as the stones of the dungeons due to Signas's undisguised truth.
Draco Malfoy's face flushed and then paled, eventually settling into a greyish hue of mingled shame, indignation, and bewilderment.
His hand holding the wand trembled slightly, but in the end, he lacked the courage to point it at the calm and composed Signas.
Because he knew that every word Signas spoke was like a mirror, reflecting the cowardice and vanity he was most unwilling to admit.
The 'little snakes' who had been surrounding him with flattering faces just moments ago now awkwardly turned their heads away, their gazes shifting elsewhere—some studied the patterns on the carpet, while others pretended to be fascinated by the last sparks in the fireplace.
Signas shrugged; he felt that intense urge to speak his mind slowly receding as reason reclaimed the high ground.
Looking at Draco's despondent state, he felt no guilt whatsoever; instead, he felt a sense of relief.
Some pustules need to be lanced quickly and ruthlessly; although the process is unsightly, it's better than letting them fester inside.
Sig ignored the eerie atmosphere in the Common Room and headed for the boys' dormitory without looking back.
He needed a good sleep to digest the aftereffects of the Honesty Bean and to think about how to research these beans next.
Back in the dormitory, Signas casually placed the thermos containing the moonlight mushroom Soup on his nightstand.
The bottle still carried the residual warmth of the kitchen fire, emitting a faint aroma of broth.
He cast a simple warming charm and dived into the soft bedding, soon sinking into a deep sleep.
He never imagined that in the heavily guarded Slytherin dungeons, someone would dare to steal his things.
At midnight, Hogwarts Castle fell into a deep slumber. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting mottled shadows in the corridors, where the suits of armor looked particularly menacing in the gloom.
A figure that almost blended into the darkness pressed against the wall, their footsteps falling on the stone floor without a sound.
Quirinus Quirrell was wrapped in a voluminous black cloak, his hood pulled low, revealing only a pair of eyes that flickered constantly with fear.
"Hurry up, what are you dawdling for!" Lord Voldemort's voice shrieked in his mind, like a rusty saw repeatedly cutting through his fragile nerves.
Quirrell shuddered, no longer daring to hesitate. He quickened his pace, sneaking toward the direction of the dungeons.
The entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was a bare, damp stone wall that could only be entered by speaking the correct password. For an outsider, it was an almost insurmountable barrier.
But Quirrell was no ordinary outsider.
He stopped before the stone wall, his lips moving, and as he chanted, the entrance opened.
Quirrell slipped inside instantly like a loach.
The Slytherin Common Room was silent; the fire in the fireplace had long since gone out, leaving only a few dark red embers. Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows were the deep waters of the Black Lake, where a giant shadow occasionally flashed by, adding a touch of gloom.
Quirrell held his breath and, relying on Lord Voldemort's keen perception, quickly found the dormitory where Signas was located.
He pushed open the ajar door, and a scent of old books, parchment, and a faint cool fragrance greeted him.
In the dormitory, Draco and two other Slytherin students were sleeping soundly, their breathing steady. Only Signas seemed to be sleeping fitfully, his brow slightly furrowed as if he were having an interesting dream.
Quirrell's gaze was immediately drawn to the silver thermos on the nightstand.
That's it!
Lord Voldemort's perception was screaming frantically; the surging life force emanating from the bottle was like an oasis in the desert, holding a fatal attraction for him.
Quirrell crept over, reached out a trembling hand, and carefully grasped the bottle. It was warm, like holding a heated heart.
Just as he was about to succeed, Signas on the bed suddenly rolled over and mumbled something in his sleep.
"Peeves... your love poems... are really terrible..."
Quirrell was scared out of his wits, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat. He froze in place, not daring to move a muscle, as cold sweat instantly soaked his back.
After a full half-minute, seeing no further movement from Signas, he let out a long sigh of relief.
He didn't dare delay any longer, grabbed the thermos, and fled the place that made his heart tremble with the fastest speed of his life.
Running all the way back to his garlic-scented office, Quirrell slammed the door shut and leaned against it, panting heavily. He felt as if he had just made a round trip to Azkaban.
"Quick! Open it! Open it!"
Lord Voldemort was already impatient, his voice carrying a morbid frenzy.
With trembling hands, Quirrell unscrewed the lid of the thermos.
An indescribably rich fragrance instantly filled the entire room.
It wasn't the aroma of ordinary food, but a complex scent of earthy fragrance, mushroom sweetness, and meaty richness, mixed with a breath of life that could awaken the deepest desires within a human body.
Quirrell's stomach growled traitorously.
His body had been drained of so much life force by Lord Voldemort that his mind and flesh were on the verge of collapse. Under the temptation of this fragrance, he could no longer restrain himself.
He lifted the bottle and first took a careful sip.
The warm soup slid down his throat, and a wave of heat spread from his stomach, dispelling the chill and fatigue in his bones. His parched and exhausted body felt as if it were being injected with a spring of sweet water; every cell was cheering for joy.
The taste was an even more indescribable delicacy: the freshness of the moonlight mushroom, the richness of the beef, and a sweetness he couldn't name that tasted like sunlight, all perfectly blended together.
"This is it! This is the feeling! I feel it, as if I've been reborn back into the world..."
Lord Voldemort let out a satisfied sigh in his mind.
"Quick, keep drinking! Drink it all up!"
Having received his master's command, Quirrell had no more reservations. He tilted his head back and swallowed in great gulps from the mouth of the bottle.
He drank so fast that the soup ran down the corners of his mouth, soaking his collar, but he didn't care. He only wanted to pour all of this divine soup into his stomach.
The entire bottle of soup soon reached the bottom.
Quirrell let out a long, satisfied burp.
He felt as if he had gained a new lease on life. The fatigue, fear, and pain of the past few days vanished in this moment. He even felt his magic power was much more abundant, and the lingering stinging pain at the back of his head had lessened significantly.
"Yes... I feel it... the power is returning..."
Lord Voldemort's voice was filled with ecstasy.
"And it is very strong; this is true life force! It is ten thousand times purer than Unicorn blood! With it, I feel I can open the trapdoor!"
Quirrell was also flushed with excitement. He stood up straight, feeling better than ever before.
However, just then, a strong, uncontrollable urge surged up from the bottom of his heart. It was a desire to speak out every thought in his head.
He subconsciously looked at the crooked landscape painting on the wall, which he had bought cheaply from a bankrupt Wizard.
"To be honest," he spoke as if possessed, his voice clear and loud, completely devoid of his usual stutter, "this painting is shockingly ugly, the composition is a mess, and the color matching is simply a disaster. Buying it for three Sickles was truly the stupidest investment I've ever made in my life."
After speaking, he himself was stunned.
Lord Voldemort was also stunned.
"You... what nonsense are you talking about?"
"I'm not talking nonsense, Master." Quirrell's mouth was completely out of control; he turned around and continued to the air in an incredibly sincere tone, "Moreover, to be honest, I've always felt that your resurrection plan is full of holes."
"What?!"
"First of all, choosing me as a host was a huge mistake. I am timid, cowardly, and more than capable of ruining things. You should have found a stronger, smarter Death Eater, like Lucius Malfoy; at least he has money and influence and could provide you with better logistical support."
"Secondly, this idea of attaching yourself to the back of my head is also incredibly stupid. It forces me to wear this foul-smelling turban every day, making it inconvenient even to shower, and it has seriously affected my sleep quality. Most importantly, this look is simply too unappealing; it doesn't fit your status as the Dark Lord at all, looking like a deformed conjoined twin..."
Quirrell's mouth was still rattling on, while Lord Voldemort's screams had already whipped up a tidal wave in his mind.
"Shut up! Shut up right now! You damn fool..."
Quirrell suddenly covered his mouth with both hands, his eyes filled with terror.
He felt that he suddenly really wanted to talk, and wanted to say a lot... a lot...
Chapter 135: Almost Blurted Out Daphne's Name
The next morning, Signas was startled awake by the sunlight reflecting off the waters of the Black Lakeoutside the window.
He opened his eyes, feeling refreshed; the aftereffects of last night's "outpouring of true feelings" had completely vanished.
Habitually, he reached for the bedside table to get a drink of water, but his hand met nothing.
Empty?
Signas sat up, only then realizing that the silver thermos was gone.
He frowned and checked carefully; there were no signs of a break-in in the dormitory, and the doors and windows were intact.
Then, Signas cast a suspicious glance at Draco's empty bed.
That kid had gotten up early and was nowhere to be seen.
Signas's expression turned odd; could it be that the boy, feeling slighted after being exposed, had gotten up in the middle of the night and swiped that bottle of Honesty Bean soup out of spite?
This kid really has a vengeful streak.
The atmosphere at the Slytherin table during breakfast remained at freezing point, continuing from last night.
Draco sat as far away from Signas as possible, giving him the cold shoulder. His plate was piled high with food, but he hadn't touched a bite, instead venting his frustration by sawing at a piece of bacon with his knife and fork, the noise making everyone around him uneasy.
Signas kept watching him.
It was strange; logically, after drinking that soup, he should have started blurting out the truth by now.
How was the kid still managing to keep his mouth shut? Had the magical effects of the Honesty Beans worn off overnight?
Sig quickly took out his notebook and recorded this hypothesis, planning to investigate further.
Beside him, Daphne leaned in with a freshly delivered copy of The Daily Prophet; the front-page headline was all about Lucius Malfoy.
The newspaper's wording was very clever. It first praised the Ministry of Magic for conducting a rigorous and responsible investigation into a new Potion that could potentially harm the safety of the Wizarding World under Minister Fudge's wise leadership. Then, it shifted gears to praise Mr. Malfoy, as a socially responsible entrepreneur, for his proactive cooperation with the Ministry's work.
The final result of the investigation was that "Felix Felicis" had some insignificant flaws in its labeling, such as failing to clearly state nonsense like "recommended for best results when in a pleasant mood."
Consequently, the Ministry of Magic decided to impose a symbolic fine on Mr. Malfoy and announced that "Felix Felicis" was a groundbreaking and excellent Potion that fully met the Ministry's safety standards.
Reading the whole report, the Ministry of Magic demonstrated a decisive style, the Malfoy Familycleared their name and even got an official advertisement for their product, and Minister Fudge and Lucius Malfoy both came out on top—a win-win.
The morning's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was once again shared by Slytherin and Gryffindor.
When the students walked into the classroom, everyone was stunned.
Today's Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was incredibly clean. The smell of garlic that usually permeated the air had been replaced by a fresh, woody scent, like a forest after rain.
And Professor Quirrell on the podium looked like a completely different person.
He was no longer that cowering quail who looked like he could be blown over by the wind at any moment, nor was he the scholar from a few days ago who was barely holding it together with gold-rimmed glasses and velvet robes.
His skin was now firm, the dark circles and wrinkles under his eyes had vanished without a trace, and even his gaze had become clear and sharp. His overall complexion radiated an extremely healthy, one might even say glowing, luster.
He actually looked a bit handsome!
If not for the purple turban still wrapped around the back of his head, the students would have almost thought this was Quirrell's long-lost twin brother.
"Good morning, class."
Quirrell spoke, his voice loud and full of confidence; even his signature stutter had completely disappeared.
Harry Potter excitedly straightened his back, nudged Ron with his elbow, and whispered in admiration, "See? I told you, the Professor has completely recovered! No one can take him down!"
Ron nodded in deep agreement, and Hermione also showed a relieved smile.
Signas and Daphne sat in the back row, still thinking about the Honesty Beans and looking somewhat distracted.
But then, as Quirrell looked at the group of chattering young Wizards below, he couldn't hold back a thought from his heart, and it slipped out.
His voice wasn't loud, like an unconscious murmur.
"What a bunch of idiots..."
He quickly covered his mouth with his hand, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes.
What's going on? Why did I say my true thoughts out loud?
The classroom fell silent instantly.
The young Wizards, who a second ago were full of admiration, all had their expressions frozen on their faces.
"???"
"Did... did you hear what Professor Quirrell just said?" Hermione asked in disbelief, turning to Ronbeside her.
Ron swallowed hard, looking shocked, and whispered back, "If I heard correctly, he seemed to say... we're idiots..."
"Impossible!" Harry immediately countered, though his expression was also quite odd. "How could the Professor say that about us? He definitely wasn't talking about us..."
On the podium, Professor Quirrell looked at the dozens of blank and confused eyes below, his brain working at high speed!
"Ah, what I meant was..." Quirrell thought on his feet, quickly waving his hands awkwardly. He used all his strength to swallow the words "your brains are even less useful than troll boogers" that were on the tip of his tongue and forced a sharp turn. "...What I meant was, if someone were truly an idiot, they would have no right to sit here and attend my profound course!"
Although the explanation was a bit stiff, he managed to smooth it over.
The young Wizards looked at each other and then suddenly realized.
So that's what the Professor meant! He was praising their intelligence!
The look of admiration returned to Harry and Ron's faces.
Seeing the atmosphere in the classroom return to normal, Quirrell secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
He realized that since last night, he had become somewhat bolder.
"In last week's lesson, we studied the 'Protego' charm..." Quirrell tried to keep his voice steady, attempting to pull the class back on track.
His gaze swept across the room, carrying a gentle, encouraging power. "This is a common Defense Against the Dark Arts spell and will be your most basic and reliable companion when facing danger in the future. However..."
"However, its limitations are also very obvious. It can withstand most Dark Curses, but it cannot stop the Killing Curse, nor can it stop those truly sinister and vicious ancient Dark Arts. Therefore, to truly protect yourself, relying solely on defense is far from enough."
These words actually made sense, and even Signas gave him a second look. The young Wizards below nodded repeatedly, feeling that the Professor's lecture had great depth.
Harry's eyes shone even brighter; he felt that Professor Quirrell was teaching them true life-saving techniques rather than just dryly reciting incantations from a textbook.
Seeing the students' focused expressions, Quirrell felt like he was in better form than ever. His true thoughts slipped out again unconsciously.
"So, these so-called'standard spells' promoted by the Ministry of Magic are basically toys for three-year-olds... True spells should be..."
Quirrell froze on the podium, realizing with horror that he had spoken his deepest, most genuine thoughts. He quickly swallowed the words "Dark Arts" that were about to follow.
The students below looked at each other, their faces filled with confusion.
What is Professor Quirrell saying?
Hermione Granger frowned instinctively; she felt the Professor's remarks were completely contrary to the spirit of the preface on the first page of 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1'.
But looking at the high-spirited Quirrell on the podium, she thought that perhaps a master's insights were always unconventional.
Harry and Ron, on the other hand, didn't think anything was wrong at all. In their eyes, these words weren't just fine; they were cool! This was the style of a true master—daring to question authority and defy those stale rules!
Sig had to admit that Quirrell really was capable; his mind definitely held many ancient spells and casting techniques.
Compared to those secret magical techniques, perhaps Quirrell really did think these common spells were subpar!
So, he raised his hand and asked loudly, "Professor, then what are the true spells?"
Sig wanted to dig some real knowledge out of Quirrell.
This question seemed to open the floodgates for Quirrell; he felt as if his tongue had gained a mind of its own, completely beyond his brain's control, as an urge to speak the truth crawled up his spine.
Quirrell tried to hold it in, and his face, which had just regained its color and could even be called handsome, instantly turned the color of pig liver. He bit down hard on the tip of his tongue, trying to use pain to gain a moment of clarity.
But that urge was like a bursting dam, completely unstoppable.
His hands gripped the edge of the podium tightly, his knuckles turning white from the exertion, as if he were trying to push those crucial words back into his stomach.
Chapter 136: Quirrell Knows the Dark Arts Best, Corpse-reignition
"Uh... ah... this... true magic... it... it..."
His tongue tied itself into several knots in his mouth, and his throat emitted an unintelligible "gurgle," like an old machine about to burn out, desperately trying to stop those forbidden words from rushing out.
He stammered for a full half-minute without saying a single complete sentence; that long-gone stutter seemed to have returned.
The young Wizards below were once again dazed. Harry and Ron glanced at each other, both seeing confusion in the other's eyes. What was wrong with the Professor?
Just then, Quirrell's mouth completely betrayed his brain, and in a tone filled with sincerity and eagerness, he continued with incredible fluency.
"...There are many; the world of magic is vast and profound. For example, 'Corpse-reignition'—this spell is truly wonderful. It's simply a waste that it isn't included in the standard spellbooks!"
Speaking was like diarrhea; once the first word was out, the rest flowed smoothly for a thousand miles.
Quirrell was almost crying inside. He knew he was finished, openly promoting the Dark Arts in a Hogwarts classroom.
But his mouth grew more excited as he spoke, and a sickly, blissful glow even appeared on his face, like a lecher seeing a wanton woman.
"Imagine," he spread his arms, his posture fanatical, "your enemy covered in eerie green flames, their bones being burned to ash one by one, without even a complete soul left behind. Clean, thorough, and leaving no future troubles! From the perspective of efficiency and final results, this is true magical art, isn't it?"
Boom!
If the previous words had only confused the students, then these words were like detonating a Troll's dung bomb in their heads.
Corpse-reignition?
That was one of the most vicious Dark Arts strictly forbidden by the Ministry of Magic! It was said that the victim would be burned to nothing in extreme pain, and even their soul would be cursed, never to find peace!
In the classroom, the Gryffindor students turned pale. Several timid girls even let out suppressed gasps, looking at Quirrell as if they were seeing a demon crawling out of hell.
On the Slytherin side, although they managed their expressions better, the shock in their eyes could not be hidden.
Draco Malfoy instinctively straightened his body, looking at the man talking incessantly on the podium with an expression as if he had seen a ghost.
Pure-blood families generally liked the Dark Arts, but those were things studied behind closed doors. Who would dare to say it so openly?
Is this Quirrell... insane?!
Signas's eyes were nearly popping out!
He knew Quirrell was a Dark Wizard and knew he understood the Dark Arts, but that didn't mean he could openly preach the superiority of the Dark Arts in a Hogwarts classroom!
Is this guy really not afraid that Dumbledore will twist his head off and kick it like a ball?
"Pro... Professor..."
Hermione raised her hand tremblingly. On her face, which was always full of a thirst for knowledge, an unmaskable fear and unease appeared for the first time.
"You... what you just said... was that the Dark Arts?"
"Of course it's the Dark Arts..." Quirrell blurted out, as nonchalant as if he were saying "the weather is nice today."
His mouth was completely out of control, and there was even a hint of inexplicable pride in his tone, as if he were truly sharing a profound academic insight in class.
Immediately, a surge of immense panic rose from the bottom of his heart.
No, no, no!
Can't say these things!
How can I say these things?!
"Professor, you are also a Hogwarts graduate, and the school doesn't seem to teach the Dark Arts. So, where did you learn these Dark Arts?"
Sig looked at Quirrell's face, which was rapidly turning from deathly pale to the color of pig liver, but his tone carried a perfectly measured thirst for knowledge.
This question was like adding fuel to the fire, completely ripping the topic open. These Dark Arts, besides the part he had secretly explored and learned himself, the vast majority were, of course, learned from the one on the back of his head!
Quirrell's body suddenly stiffened. His face, which had turned the color of pig liver, twitched slightly due to intense inner struggle.
He wanted to shut up, to bite off his own tongue, to immediately cast "Silencio" on himself, or even to just bash his head against the podium and die, as long as it could stop the truths about to burst forth.
But that magic was so powerful that he couldn't resist. It was like an invisible force pushing his mouth to continue. He watched helplessly as his lips moved, spitting out those "truths" that were enough to send him to Azkaban immediately.
"Where... where did I learn them?" Quirrell repeated Signas's question. His pig-liver-colored face twitched slightly from the intense internal struggle, as if he wanted to push those most critical words back into his stomach.
"Of course, I learned from a great Dark Wizard..." His mouth was like an uncontrolled fountain, gurgling out "truths" that were enough to get him sent to Azkaban immediately.
He felt his soul trembling, every cell wailing, but his body was like it was under the Imperio, completely out of control.
"Shut up, you fool! What are you saying!" Lord Voldemort's screeching voice whipped up a tidal wave in his mind.
He acted immediately, trying to use his powerful willpower to regain control of Quirrell's body, only to find that he couldn't completely control Quirrell's mouth either.
That powerful magic seemed to form an indestructible barrier, forcibly blocking his mental control.
Lord Voldemort also fell into an unprecedented panic. He had never encountered such a bizarre situation. What kind of power was this?!
Quirrell's expression at this moment was terrifyingly distorted. He gripped the podium tightly with both hands, his nails making a piercing sound against the wood, as he struggled to keep a stomach full of words from popping out of his mouth.
The Gryffindor students below were so scared they didn't even dare to breathe; everyone realized that Professor Quirrell's current situation was very wrong.
At this moment, only Sig was still concerned with knowledge. He pressed further, "Oh, then what is the honorable name of this great Dark Wizard?"
As if a switch had been flipped, Quirrell felt an unprecedented urge take over his mind, making him impatient to blurt out that name. His lips trembled, and his body leaned forward, as if he wanted to shout this shocking secret in the loudest voice possible.
"Aha, him? Actually, you know him too; he has deep ties to Hogwarts. He is..."
No... it's coming out!
Quirrell's pupils shrank suddenly. He felt that magic had broken through all his rational defenses. That name was almost at his throat, and the tip of his tongue was ready for pronunciation.
He no longer cared that he was still in class, nor did he care about the Dark Lord's orders. At this moment, the only thought in his mind was to stop that name, to stop this secret that could ruin him forever from being made public.
He suddenly raised his hands and, with all his strength, covered his mouth tightly. Then he turned abruptly and rushed toward the classroom door with an extremely frantic pace.
His pathetic back looked so terrified and helpless at this moment, like a Garden gnome being chased by dozens of Hippogriffs.
"Bang!"
The classroom door was slammed shut by Quirrell with the last of his strength, letting out a loud echo and cutting off all gazes behind him.
The entire classroom was deathly silent, with only the echo of the door hitting the wall still vibrating slightly in the air.
The students looked at each other, completely stunned by this sudden turn of events.
Outside the door, Quirrell leaned against the cold stone wall, gasping for breath like a fish thrown onto the shore... He had to find a place with no one around to stay. Otherwise, he would spill all the secrets... This thought made him shiver. He identified the direction and stumbled toward his office.
Chapter 137 – My Plan Is Very Secret
Dolores Umbridge, Director of the Department of Magical Office Coordination, was pacing anxiously outside Professor Quirrell's office.
His Ministerial robes, which should have been crisp, were now creased from worry and looked like a wrung-out rag.
He clutched a bulging paper sack; through the gaps peeked gaudy wrapping paper and ribbons whose expensive sheen clashed with Hogwarts's ancient corridor.
Minister Fudge had given him a direct order: by whatever means necessary, clean up the mess his wife had created and soothe the wounds—mental and physical—of Professor Quirrell.
If he failed, someone else would be sitting in his office by tomorrow.
And when his dear wife learned his post was on the line, though she no longer screamed about tearing Quirrell's tongue out, she certainly refused to apologize in person.
Thus the glorious, arduous mission fell to Director Umbridge himself.
Just as he was about to wear a hole in the flagstone, hurried footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Umbridge looked up, saw Quirrell, and brightened; a fawning smile flooded his face as he hurried forward.
'Oh, Professor Quirrell, you're finally back! I've been waiting ages!' His tone carried just the right note of flattery, laced with embarrassment.
He rubbed his hands, glanced about to be sure they were alone, then lowered his voice. 'I've come… to apologize on my wife's behalf.'
Minister Fudge had ordered him to fix his wife's mess at once; otherwise he'd be sacked outright.
At the mention of 'that woman', Quirrell flinched and instinctively stepped back.
He felt awful and wanted only to hide until this unnatural state passed.
Yet his mouth would not obey; a volcanic urge to voice every truth erupted again.
'Leave me alone—I want to be by myself!' he snapped, irritation bare.
Umbridge had expected this reaction; after a public beating in front of students, anyone would be furious.
Instead of retreating, he edged closer, smile growing more humble.
'Oh, my dear Professor, I completely understand; my better half was utterly out of line…' He thrust the paper bag forward. 'I come today on behalf of my wife Augusta to offer our family's profound apologies… and to ask you to assist the Ministry in investigating the Dark Lord's return. Rest assured… you're only a witness, not a suspect…'
Before he could finish, Quirrell cut him off.
'Bullshit—how could I be only a witness…'
The words startled even Quirrell himself.
There was an earnest ring to them, as though he truly knew something.
The corridor fell silent.
Umbridge's smile froze on his plump face.
He knows?
He really knows!
He might even be a victim!
Minister Fudge is brilliant; Director Scrimgeour is a genius!
Professor Quirrell is no simple lead—he denied it before out of fear… Umbridge's mind reeled.
'Shut up, you fool—what nonsense are you spouting?!' Voldemort's shriek rang out, raw with terror and weakness, as he fought to seize control of the body.
That willpower did have some effect.
Quirrell's words cut off, but he looked even worse: mouth twitching, muscles spasming, a hoarse gurgle in his throat, eyes bloodshot—agony and struggle incarnate.
To Umbridge, it all meant something else entirely.
Look!
The poor Professor is torn!
He longs to reveal the truth yet fears reprisal; justice and terror war within him, nearly ripping him apart!
Umbridge felt a surge of emotion and duty—he was witnessing a hero's painful birth.
He wrung his hands, voice trembling: 'Wonderful, Professor! So noble, so selfless—truly a credit to Hogwarts…'
'Don't be afraid; the Ministry stands behind you—no one will dare touch you! So… what is this plan to resurrect the Dark Lord? Who is involved?'
'Tell us and you'll earn both glory and a handsome reward from the Ministry!'
The question was a lit match dropped into a barrel of high explosive.
BOOM—!
Quirrell's mind went blank.
The Honesty Bean's brutal magic, doubly triggered by Umbridge's query, surged like a burst dam and shattered Voldemort's frail control.
Quirrell was completely overtaken; he ached to speak the truth.
His contorted face smoothed at once, a candid smile tugging at his lips.
He opened his mouth like a gossip bursting with secrets and rattled off:
'Of course I know!'
'I designed the plan myself, and it's very secret—no one else is involved.'
'The fewer who know, the better. You think we'd blab to every Wizard in Britain like your Ministry buffoons?'
'…' Umbridge's smile stiffened.
Quirrell rattled on, unstoppable.
'Actually it's quite simple: steal the Philosopher's Stone and use its power to restore my master. That's it, and so far it's going great…'
'My master—yes, Lord Voldemort—has already taken the treasure I stole; he's regained much of his strength, and right now he's on the back of my head… absolutely true…'
'Don't believe me? Ask him yourself!'
'No—no, no, no! Quirrell, you idiot—what have you done…'
Voldemort's despairing howl echoed through Quirrell's mind, shrill as though a hundred Dementors were kissing him at once.
Chapter 138: Still Need to Find Quirrell
Inside the Minister for Magic's office, Cornelius Fudge heavily tossed the last signed document into the "Processed" basket and let out a long sigh of relief.
It was late, and the candle lamps in the office cast a dim, yellow glow, coating the mountain of parchment piled on his desk with a filter.
He leaned back in his high-backed chair, rubbing his aching temples, feeling that his day had been more exhausting than wrestling a Dragon.
Fortunately, the Malfoy Family matter was finally handled. Although the process was alarming, the outcome was satisfactory.
He had both preserved the dignity of the Ministry of Magic and appeased Lucius, calling it a perfect political maneuver.
Fudge proudly rubbed his round belly and began calculating what he should eat for dinner.
Habitually, he cleared his throat, preparing to summon his Chief of Staff.
"Dodds!"
No one answered.
The office was quiet, save for the occasional faint rustle of parchment in the filing basket.
Fudge frowned. That Dodds fellow was usually more attentive than a House-elf. What was going on today? Had he slipped away early?
"Minister, do you have any instructions?" His secretary, Percival, poked his head in from outside the door.
"Where is Dolores Umbridge?" Fudge asked displeasedly. "Tell him to prepare my car; I'm going home."
"Director Umbridge?" Percival's expression was strange. "He went to Hogwarts early this morning, and he hasn't returned... yet."
Fudge froze.
He remembered now. Yesterday, he had assigned Dodds a task: go to Hogwarts to apologize to Professor Quirrell and, while he was there... sound him out.
He hasn't returned all day?
Fudge frowned, his heart sinking with a thud.
Could he have run into trouble?
Given Dodds' pitiful brain capacity, what if he hadn't eased relations but instead escalated the conflict?
Furthermore, Dodds' abilities were not outstanding; he only secured the position of Chief of the Minister's Office because he was one of the few people in the Ministry of Magic loyal to Fudge.
That possibility was quite high... The more Fudge thought about it, the more irritated he became!
"No, I can't rely on him for this..." Fudge paced a few steps in his office before finally making up his mind.
He couldn't go personally; that would be beneath him. He needed to find someone influential who could control the situation to act as the mediator.
After careful consideration, there was only one best candidate—Albus Dumbledore. If Dumbledoreagreed, everything would be easy.
Moreover, having him soothe a Hogwarts Professor was inherently his responsibility as Principal!
But thinking of Dumbledore, Fudge felt his spirits plastered over with the sticky bottom of a cauldron, unable to cheer up.
Because during the previous interrogation of Quirrell, Fudge hadn't felt an ounce of respect from Dumbledore for him, the Minister for Magic.
Previously, the Principal had also been quite casual in front of him, and at the time, Fudge had only considered it the prerogative of the strong.
But now, he increasingly felt that this powerful Principal was a massive obstacle to his exercise of authority.
However, at this moment, he had no choice but to rely on the Principal's support.
Thinking this, Fudge sighed heavily, walked helplessly to the fireplace, and grabbed a handful of Floo powder.
"Hogwarts, Principal's Office!"
In the evening, Dumbledore was still in his office. After understanding Fudge's purpose, he didn't even lift his head, merely shaking it: "Cornelius, it's quite clear that the so-called denunciation letter has nothing to do with Quirinus. I believe your investigation has completely strayed into the wrong area..."
That sentence again!
Fudge felt his temper flare up instantly.
First, he was told not to investigate Snape, and he tolerated it, choosing instead to investigate Lucius. Later, he was told not to take Quirrell away, and he tolerated that too, returning empty-handed. Now, he hoped Dumbledore would intervene and get Quirrell to cooperate with the investigation, but the old man was dragging his feet again.
Fudge suppressed his anger, not daring to unleash it, and found an excuse: "But he was mentioned in the denunciation letter after all, so he needs to cooperate and go through the procedures..."
"No, no, Cornelius," Dumbledore finally turned around and interrupted him. "I think your line of thinking is completely off track. Since Quirinus is not the accuser, seeking him out holds no practical meaning... You should go to the Department of Mysteries and try a Prophecy Charm or a crystal ball to first determine the true author of those two letters..."
"Off track?" Fudge's voice suddenly rose, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "I am the Minister for Magic, and I don't need you to dictate how we handle cases! This case involves Britain's national security, and no clue can be dismissed before it is verified! Furthermore, my people already went to see Quirinus today, only..."
"Someone from the Ministry of Magic came today?" Dumbledore abruptly stood up, cutting him off.
The gentle flicker of light vanished from the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles, and his tone soured, clearly because this action had not been cleared with him beforehand.
"Are you saying you sent people to Hogwarts again? Without informing me, the Principal, beforehand... Cornelius, it seems you are overstepping your boundaries..."
By the end, Dumbledore's voice even carried a hint of coldness.
He then picked up the teacup on the desk, adopting the posture of seeing a guest out.
While Fudge was being thoroughly rebuffed by Dumbledore, the Great Hall at Hogwarts was as noisy as a bird market full of mynas.
Almost every student was excitedly discussing the morning's surreal Defense Against the Dark Artsclass. The center of the discussion was naturally Professor Quirrell, who had openly advocated for Dark Arts in class before fleeing as if chased by a ghost.
At the Gryffindor long table, the atmosphere was fraught with worry. The little lions generally believed that their respectable Professor must have suffered some malicious curse.
Meanwhile, over at Slytherin, there was a chorus of gloating laughter. They thought Quirrell had gone mad, calling it undoubtedly the funniest joke of the school year.
"Should we go see Headmaster Dumbledore together?"
Signas was slowly spreading butter on a piece of bread. Hearing the question, he looked up, his gaze sweeping over the anxious faces of Harry, Ron, and Hermione in front of him.
After Professor Quirrell left that morning, he hadn't returned, and two class periods had been wasted without any explanation.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione realized that the psychological damage Professor Quirrell had suffered was far greater than anyone had imagined.
In Harry's opinion, Snape might be secretly causing trouble. Professor Quirrell must have been hit by some Dark Curse, causing him to become so mentally unstable... and they ought to do something about it!
Chapter 139: Are these three hotheads trying to deliver themselves as a snack to Death Eater?
"That's right!" Harry pulled Signas aside and lowered his voice. "I'm certain Snape is behind this... he's secretly cast a Dark Curse on Professor Quirrell..."
Hermione's brow furrowed into a tight knot, her small face filled with unease. "Professor Quirrellmentioned 'Cadaver Tongue.' I've looked it up; it's a Dark Art strictly forbidden by the Ministry of Magicand has long been lost. The most recent record of its use was when You-Know-Who used it to kill a wealthy Witch... Obviously, only Snape, who was once a Death Eater, would know such a Dark Art... Professor Quirrell must be under Snape's control..."
Ron, on the side, nodded vigorously, his mouth stuffed with mashed potatoes as he mumbled in agreement, "Yeah... yeah... Snape... bad guy!"
The three heads huddled together, their analysis sounding quite logical. They hoped Sig would go with them to the Principal to report Snape, as they knew Sig frequently visited the Headmasters Office and had a significant relationship with Headmaster Dumbledore.
Signas almost spat out his milk upon hearing their "rigorous reasoning." He knew Quirrell's situation perfectly well and naturally didn't think it had anything to do with Snape.
Dean Snape didn't like him, but there was no need for him to provoke the man. Especially while the system was still upgrading, provoking a high-level Wizard was neither wise nor beneficial; he couldn't even collect resentment points right now... Thinking about the system gave Sig a headache, as he had no clue how to finish the system upgrade sooner.
At this thought, Sig lost interest in Harry and the others' adventure game. He demurred, "I think you're overthinking it. Although Dean Snape has a sharp tongue, a sour face, and a difficult temperament... in short, he doesn't really look like a good person, but he wouldn't go so far as to backstab a colleague, would he?"
"Then... then we have to do something!" Harry said unwillingly. "We can't just stand by and watch Professor Quirrell like this!"
Seeing Harry's persistence, Signas rubbed his temples in frustration.
He realized that if he didn't find something for these three to do today, they would pester him here all night.
"Fine," he sighed, yielding. In a "there's no helping you" tone, he said, "Let's put reporting Snape aside for now; after all, we have no evidence... Why don't we go check on Professor Quirrell first? If he's really in bad shape, it won't be too late to find Dumbledore then. How about it?"
This was a compromise.
Harry and Ron exchanged a look and thought it was feasible. Hermione also nodded, agreeing it was the most appropriate course of action for now.
So, the four of them left the noisy Great Hall and headed toward the Defense Against the Dark Artsoffice on the third floor.
The corridor was empty, with only the echoes of their four sets of footsteps. The trio walked ahead with large strides, while Signas trailed at the end with his hands in his pockets, looking like a bystander forced to make up the numbers.
As they turned the corner, they saw Quirrell creeping out of his office, followed closely by a short, fat man.
The man was expressionless and stood ramrod straight, quietly following Quirrell. However, his deep green robes were stretched tight by his round body, creating comical creases like a sausage about to burst.
"Who is that?" Ron whispered.
"I remember now, he was here last time. He's from the Ministry of Magic," Hermione recognized the crest on his robes, her tone puzzled. "The newspaper said he's the Director of the Minister's Office, named... Dolores Umbridge... but what is he doing with Professor Quirrell?"
Just as Harry and the others were about to go up and say hello, they saw Quirrell and the fat official stealthily change direction and walk quickly toward the stairs leading to the Fourth Floor.
Signas and the other three exchanged glances, all feeling that something was wrong.
The scene looked strange no matter how they viewed it.
However, what Sig found strange was different from what Harry's group thought. Harry and the others felt that Professor Quirrell's distracted appearance meant he was clearly being coerced by that person named Dodds—perhaps that guy was Snape's accomplice!
"Follow them and see." Harry lowered his voice, his eyes full of youthful curiosity and impulsiveness.
Before Signas could object, Harry grabbed his arm. "Let's go..."
The four of them followed like a little tail, silently trailing behind Quirrell and Dodds.
The corridor was empty, with only a few rays of sunlight casting down from high windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
Quirrell's footsteps were staggering, and he walked very fast, as if fleeing for his life.
Meanwhile, Dodds behind him was like a piece of stubborn gum, sticking closely to him.
They passed through long corridors and climbed creaking spiral staircases, arriving all the way at the Fourth Floor restricted area.
In the eyes of Harry and the others, it looked more like Dodds was forcing Quirrell toward the Fourth Floor restricted area.
The room in the restricted area was filled with a thick, pungent smell.
Cerberus was awakened by the intruders. The six eyes on its three heads all flashed with a violent and hungry light, and a low growl rolled in its throat like muffled thunder.
"Awoooo—!"
The middle head suddenly lunged forward, the sound wave carrying a physical impact that made Quirrell's purple turban wobble.
Quirrell tremblingly raised his wand and cast the Disillusionment Charm and Deodorizing Charm on himself, followed by Dodds doing the same. Their figures then instantly vanished into the surroundings.
Cerberus's growling stopped abruptly. Its six eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for the figures from just now, and it sniffed the air forcefully but found nothing.
Outside the door, Harry blocked Hermione and Ron behind him while he pressed himself against the crack in the door, peering inside nervously.
That giant dog, its massive body almost filling the entire room, its six eyes on three heads flashing with alert light, saliva dripping from its sharp fangs and hitting the stone floor with a "splat."
On the other side of the room were Professor Quirrell and that fat person.
"The Professor looks very scared... his hands are shaking," Ron's voice trembled; the pressure from the giant dog made his legs weak.
Hermione's face was also quite pale. "That Ministry official... he's forcing Professor Quirrell toward Cerberus! Heavens... what on earth does he want to do?!"
Harry didn't speak, just pushed the door open a bit further, his palms covered in sweat.
In his eyes, Professor Quirrell's body was shaking uncontrollably, every step looking as if it took all his strength. Meanwhile, the fat person behind him was very calm, like an expressionless overseer, pressing closer with every step.
Signas stood at the very back, hands still in his pockets, looking over Harry's shoulder at the two people in the room.
From his perspective, he saw that Dodds had empty eyes and stiff movements, looking somewhat like the effect of being controlled by the Imperio.
It looked more like Quirrell was leading Dodds, carefully moving around the giant dog's massive paws.
Cerberus seemed completely unaware of their presence, which Harry's trio found extremely strange.
"Can... can't it see them?" Ron asked in a low voice.
"It's the Disillusionment Charm..." Signas's voice was very soft. "And the Deodorizing Charm. Quirrellhas hidden both their visual presence and their scent."
Signas's words made Harry and Hermione both turn to look at him.
"How do you know?" Hermione asked.
"The fluctuations of the spells are very faint, but I can feel them. These two spells aren't complicated either... it's a very clever trick!" Signas explained casually.
Once Quirrell tiptoed to the side of Cerberus's massive paw, he pulled out his wand and tapped the floor lightly. The trapdoor opened at the touch, revealing a bottomless black hole, and the two of them jumped down one after the other.
"Bang!"
Now the four of them fully understood; the other party's target must be the Philosopher's Stone inside.
However, Signas believed that Quirrell was taking that fat person to steal the Philosopher's Stone.
But what Harry's trio had in mind was another version, where it looked like Dodds was forcing Quirrellto steal the Philosopher's Stone.
"Come on, let's follow them," Harry said without hesitation.
"What?"
Signas was not happy.
Are these three hotheads trying to deliver themselves as a snack to Lord Voldemort?
Chapter 140: Principal, Professor Quirrell is in trouble
In the Headmasters Office, the atmosphere was a bit tense.
The silver instruments that had been spinning on the shelves were all silent now, not even emitting a wisp of smoke, as if frozen by their owner's expression.
Cornelius Fudge stood alone in the center of the room, feeling the collar of his brand-new Minister's robe constricting his breathing.
"Albus, I must reiterate, this is an official Ministry of Magic investigation!" Fudge's voice changed pitch, and his plump hand waved in the air, trying to sound more convincing. "Quirinus Quirrell is a key witness, and we have the right to question him!"
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his long fingers intertwined on the surface. There was no longer any trace of a smile in his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles.
"Cornelius, your people entered my school without my permission to investigate my staff…" Dumbledore's voice was soft, yet it made Fudge's facial muscles twitch.
"Now that there's a problem, you remember to come to me and ask for my assistance. Don't you think the order of things is reversed?"
"I…" Fudge's mouth opened and closed, unable to utter a single word. He felt like a student caught misbehaving in class, full of guilt and embarrassment.
"Furthermore," Dumbledore's eyes were fixed on Fudge, "you seem to have forgotten that Hogwarts is not a subordinate department of your Ministry of Magic; it is protected by powerful magic and is not obligated to accept orders from the Ministry of Magic…"
An invisible pressure surged forward, and sweat instantly broke out on Fudge's back.
He understood, of course; it was a fact. When Hogwarts was first established, the four founders cast powerful spells on the Castle, which meant that Hogwarts, if it wished, could magically shield itself from external matters, such as the Floo Network, the Wand Usage Detection Network, the Portkey Network, and magically enforced commands from the Ministry of Magic.
This was also the fundamental reason why the position of Principal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry held such a crucial status and influence in Britain.
At the same time, it was also a personal warning from Dumbledore.
Just as Fudge's legs felt a bit weak and he was pondering what excuse to use for a dignified exit, a knock sounded at the door.
Knock, knock-knock.
"Come in." Dumbledore's voice returned to its usual tone, as if the icy warning had never happened.
The door opened, and Cygnus Sharke walked in, with an expression of
As soon as he entered, he felt the almost palpable low pressure in the office.
Minister Fudge stood in the center of the room, his face purple, like a pufferfish blown up.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, sat calmly behind his desk, his expression serene, but the temperature in his blue eyes was colder than the Black Lake outside the window.
"A Slytherin student?" Fudge, who was already fuming, saw a student burst in and immediately found an outlet for his anger, his tone becoming very unkind. "Is this a place you can just come into? Don't you see we're discussing important matters?"
Sig completely ignored the Minister, as if he hadn't heard him, and said to Dumbledore, "Principal, Professor Quirrell is in trouble…"
Fudge was a bit angry, but after hearing the other person's words, his eyebrows raised.
Quirrell?
They had just been talking about Quirrell.
"What happened to him?" Dumbledore's voice was steady. "Did he faint again?"
"No…"
Signas quickly shook his head.
After discovering Quirrell and Dodds sneaking into the restricted area, Harry, as always, wanted to rush in, but Sig was unwilling to take the risk, so he found an excuse to report to Dumbledore and ran back.
Fudge, annoyed at being ignored, puffed out his round belly, and just as he was about to put on the airs of a Minister of magic, he heard Signas speak.
Signas spoke slowly, but each word was terrifyingly clear, "Professor Quirrell entered the Fourth Floorrestricted room with someone. And Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the three of them secretly followed behind…"
Boom!
Fudge felt as if his head had been hit by a Bludger, ringing loudly.
His plump face, purple with embarrassment, was instantly replaced by a flush of wild joy.
Quirrell was indeed the key person, and the person with him must be the mastermind behind it all; there was no escaping now!
Fudge came alive, slapping his plump thigh loudly, the sound particularly jarring in the quiet office.
He felt he had never been so wise and mighty.
"I knew it was related to Quirrell! Albus, did you hear that? They finally made their move, targeting the Philosopher's Stone, right?"
Fudge's volume uncontrollably rose, and saliva sprayed out with his excited emotions.
His eyes were locked on Signas, filled with urgent, burning anticipation.
No wonder Dumbledore had been so evasive; it turned out this scandal was inextricably linked to Hogwarts itself.
As long as it was confirmed that this was done by someone within Hogwarts, Dumbledore's prestige would suffer an unprecedented blow.
And he, Cornelius Fudge, would be the great Minister who stood firm against all pressure, defied authority, and foresaw everything!
From now on, he would no longer have to pander to old men like Dumbledore.
The Magical World would truly usher in the era of Fudge!
"By the way, who is the other person? Is it Snape?! You can tell me without worry…"
He almost roared it, his tone filled with absolute confidence.
Dumbledore's expression also changed the moment he heard the names Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
He rose from his chair, his tall figure casting a shadow that enveloped Fudge entirely.
The temperature in the office seemed to drop several degrees.
Signas, however, completely ignored Fudge's impatient demeanor.
He didn't even bother to lift an eyelid, merely glancing at Fudge with an expression like he was looking at an idiot, then shook his head.
His tone was as flat as if he were discussing whether dinner would be steak or meatloaf.
"Ah, Minister, you're very close in your guess, the name is indeed quite similar…"
Signas paused deliberately, seemingly enjoying the look of ecstatic triumph on Fudge's face, as if he was about to ascend to the pinnacle of power.
Fudge's heart pounded; he was almost ready to cheer.
The name is very similar!
Snape!
Who else could it be? It must be Snape!
He was right all along; that gloomy, greasy Potions Professor, who clearly wasn't a good person, was indeed a remnant Death Eater who had escaped justice!
"It really is him!" Fudge's voice became shrill with excessive excitement. "I knew it! Albus, what do you have to say now? Your Professor, your Dean, is a minion of the Dark Lord!"
He turned, facing Dumbledore with a triumphant stance, his chin held high.
"I will order his arrest…"
He shouted, rushing towards the fireplace, as if a second's delay would mean someone else stealing his glory.
Dumbledore said nothing, just watched him quietly, his blue eyes devoid of any emotion.
Signas finally, slowly, continued with the latter half of his sentence.
"…The one who went in with Professor Quirrell was Mr. Dolores Umbridge."
Signas's voice wasn't loud, but each word was like a small hammer, precisely and repeatedly striking Fudge's nerves.
"Last time you came to Hogwarts, he seemed to be following behind you, carrying your briefcase."
"…"
The office fell into a deathly silence.