Chapter 47 Return to Hogwarts
The Hogwarts Express, spewing its last plume of white smoke, slowly pulled into the station. The deep winter chill instantly replaced the warmth inside the carriage, and students, bundling up in their robes, noisily surged towards the carriages.
Rong and Hermione followed the crowd off the platform. The castle, silhouetted against the distant mountains, appeared even darker and more solemn, a stark contrast to the warm yellow lights and lingering scent of baked pie in the air at the Granger family home in London. An invisible pressure seemed to descend again with each breath.
"I'm going to find Harry and Ron first," Hermione tightened her scarf, looking at Rong, "They must have a lot to say. What about you?"
"I'm going to the Dungeons," Rong replied calmly, "Professor Snape has been 'concerned' about my Potionessay for more than just a day or two." He used an excuse they both understood—the so-called "essay" was more likely a pretext to check his physical condition after the holidays.
Hermione nodded knowingly, her fingers unconsciously brushing the jasmine brooch pinned to her collar; the cool metal touch reassured her. "See you at the library later?"
"Okay."
The two parted ways in the entrance hall, one heading towards Gryffindor Tower, the other turning to descend the cold stairs leading to the Dungeons.
In the Slytherin common room fireplace, the fire burned brightly, but it couldn't dispel the inherent chill of the stone.
"Damn it, this place is ridiculously cold." Rong couldn't help but tighten his cuffs.
When Rong walked in, the Uchiha Quartet seemed to have been waiting for a long time.
"Chief! Happy holidays?" Chang was the first to clamor over, a curious smile plastered on his face, his gaze sweeping over Rong as if trying to find some "post-holiday after-effects."
Lin stood a little further away, arms crossed, merely nodding slightly, her eyes as calm as ever.
Qian pushed up his non-existent glasses, his tone flat with a barely perceptible hint of teasing: "Based on a preliminary assessment of your physiological signs and mental state, the air in London seems more conducive to your recovery than the Potion fumes in the Dungeons."
Lan, leaning by the fireplace, smiled radiantly: "It seems our Chief's Christmas holiday… was quite fruitful?"
Rong glanced at them, his face expressionless, simply taking out an old-looking cloth bag from his ninja pouch and casually tossing it onto the table. "Hmm, fruitful. I brought you 'gifts'."
Chang eagerly opened the package. Inside were several neatly folded sets of dark blue clothing, the fabric thick and cool to the touch, with a subtle Uchiha fan clan crest pattern on the back. Each set included a cloak and a hunting jacket.
"This is…" Chang picked up one, held it up, and found it to be surprisingly form-fitting.
"Custom-made clan robes from Madam Malkin," Rong said flatly, "Seeing as you're always so 'concerned' about me, I specifically got these for you. I hope you 'like' them." He emphasized "concerned" and "like." "You'd better like them, because this stuff is very expensive."
The scene was momentarily silent.
Lan was the first to laugh, picking up a set and holding it against herself: "Oh my, how… uniquely mysterious. The Chief's aesthetic is truly one of a kind."
Qian, expressionless, picked up a set and meticulously examined the stitching and clan crest: "Analysis of the textile craftsmanship and dye composition confirms these are custom items of some value. While practicality is questionable, thank…"
Before he could finish, Lin had already swiftly put her set on over her school robes. The wide cloak almost completely enveloped her, leaving only her stern face visible, but she seemed not to care, simply stating, "Warm. Thank you, Rong."
Chang looked at Lin, scratched his head, and then, chuckling, squeezed himself into another set, looking like a child secretly wearing adult clothes. "Not bad, not bad! I feel like my Chakra is flowing more smoothly! Rong, am I handsome now?" (He was not.)
Rong looked at this group of clan members, dressed like… well, like that, and his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Fine, at least… the warmth factor was achieved.
After the jokes, the atmosphere became slightly more serious. Lin was the first to speak, her voice muffled from within the wide collar: "Chief, during your absence, Professor Quirrell made seven nocturnal excursions, five of which were confirmed to be to the Restricted Section. Professor Snape seemed to have noticed, and 'coincidentally' met Quirrell at the Dungeons entrance on Tuesday morning. They had a brief conversation, the content unknown, but the atmosphere was tense."
Qian added: "The magic fluctuations on Quirrell have been extremely unstable recently, sometimes strong, sometimes weak. When weak, it's like a candle in the wind; when strong… it's unsettling. And he often carries a scent of decay beyond what Polyjuice Potion can conceal."
After listening, Rong pondered for a moment: "Continue to observe, but the priority is to ensure you are not discovered. If his target is that thing on the third floor, he will eventually lose patience."
…When the Dungeons office door was knocked, Professor Snape was frowning at a Potion in a crystal vial that was reacting violently and emitting ominous green smoke.
"Come in," he said without looking up, his voice colder than the Dungeons air.
Rong pushed the door open, and the familiar pungent smell of wormwood mixed with Potion ingredients assailed him.
Snape lifted his eyelids, his dark eyes like two deep pools, quickly scanning Rong, lingering for a moment on his eyes and slightly flushed complexion. "It seems the Granger family didn't completely corrupt your already meager Potion talent with sickly sweet Christmas pudding and useless revelry, Uchiha Rong."
He spoke acerbically, yet didn't press about his health, as if Rong's recovery was entirely within his expectations. "Where is your essay? If you dare to fob me off with a foolish excuse like 'happy holidays,' I don't mind making you review classroom discipline by cleaning pus from scabies Potion."
Rong, without changing his expression, handed over a roll of parchment—his essay on the mechanism of moonstone powder in soothing agents, which he had rushed to finish the night before his departure (and which Hermione had kindly checked for numerous errors).
Snape took it, quickly skimmed through it, and snorted coldly: "Barely reaching mediocre, enough to prove your brain wasn't entirely filled with dittany during the holidays." He tossed the essay onto the table like trash, then stared at Rong, "So, besides this… thing, what else do you have to 'report'? For example, some… unusual 'concerns'?"
Rong immediately understood he was referring to the Uchiha Quartet's surveillance report. He carefully chose his words and began: "There seems to be some restless aura in the castle… especially at night, in the direction of the Restricted Section."
Snape's eyes suddenly sharpened, like a hawk locking onto its prey. "Be clear."
"Just… some vague feelings," Rong tried his best to summarize, "It seems someone is… overly zealous about knowledge that doesn't belong to him. And that aura is unsettling, unstable, like it's… decaying."
Snape stared intently at him, seemingly judging the truthfulness and depth of his words. The office fell silent, with only the Potion on the table still gurgling ominously with green bubbles.
After a long while, Snape slowly leaned back in his chair, fingertips pressed together. "Mind your own business, Potter," he muttered, as if he hadn't noticed Rong was still there.
Rong: So, am I part of your and Potter's play?
Then, he turned to Rong, his voice low, "Although Albusmight ask you to do something, you'd best stay away from places you shouldn't go and restrain your… 'feelings.' If I find you once again on the verge of death due to some foolish curiosity, wasting my Potion ingredients…" He didn't finish, but the threat was palpable.
However, Rong caught a hint of tacit approval and… a reminder in his seemingly warning words. Snape knew who he was talking about and was already on high alert.
"Yes, Professor," Rong lowered his gaze.
"Get out," Snape redirected his attention to the strange Potion, as if Rong no longer existed.
Rong turned and left, gently closing the door. The chill of the Dungeons corridor invigorated him. The meeting with Snape, though as venomous as ever, had conveyed the information. Now, it was up to this "toxic healer" how he would act.
When he arrived at the designated area in the library, he saw Hermione, Harry, and Ron huddled together from afar, their expressions excited and mysterious.
"…Absolutely true!" Ron's voice was hushed with excitement, "It was hidden under the Invisibility Cloak! We almost got caught by Filch, thanks to it!"
Harry also nodded vigorously, his face flushed: "We also saw the Mirror of Erised! I saw my family…" His voice trailed off, tinged with nostalgia, but quickly brightened again, "And, most importantly, we found this under the mirror frame!" He carefully pulled out a worn, crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, with a name written in an ancient script: Nicolas Flamel.
Hermione looked at the note, a complex expression on her face. She already knew, but at this moment, she had to act just the right amount of surprise. "Merlin's beard! It really is him! Nicolas Flamel from 'Achievements in Alchemy'! So, what Fluffy is guarding is—"
"The Philosopher's Stone!" Harry and Ron whispered in unison, their faces filled with the pride and excitement of solving a mystery.
"Snape must be trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone!" Ron declared emphatically, "To revive You-Know-Who!"
Hermione opened her mouth, instinctively wanting to refute, but remembering Rong's admonition, she bit her tongue. She merely frowned: "This is too dangerous! You were out at night with the Invisibility Cloak, what if…"
"But now we know!" Harry said eagerly, "We have to do something! We can't let him succeed!"
Just then, they saw Rong approaching. Harry and Ronimmediately fell silent, their excitement not yet faded, but now mixed with the wariness and awkwardness they felt when facing a Slytherin.
Hermione immediately stood up and went to meet Rong, her voice carrying a subtle hint of plea and worry: "Rong, you're back. They… they found something very important." She quickly whispered Harry and Ron's discoveries and deductions to him.
Rong listened quietly, his gaze sweeping over the note in Harry's hand, then to the two Gryffindors with their "we're going to save the world" expressions, and finally resting on Hermione's worry-filled face.
"So," he began slowly, his voice calm and even, "what do you plan to do? Go directly and tell Professor Quirrell that you know his secret?" His tone was unreadable, neither approval nor sarcasm.
Harry and Ron froze. Hermione, however, instantly understood Rong's intention—he was pointing out the absurdity and huge risks involved in the most direct way.
"We… we can tell Professor Dumbledore!" Harry argued.
"Then go," Rong said simply, "if you think it's important enough." He neither stopped nor encouraged them, simply offering them a more reasonable (but possibly slower) option, while cleverly avoiding the minefield of directly defending Snape.
Rong: You've fallen into a self-proving trap!
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, clearly swayed by the suggestion, but also a little reluctant to give up their plan of a personal "adventure."
Hermione looked at Rong and took a soft breath. She understood that Rong wouldn't say it directly, but he was trying in his own way to curb Harry and Ron's impulsiveness and steer the problem towards safer channels for resolution. She tugged on Harry's sleeve: "Rong is right, this must be told to the Headmaster. Let's go to the Headmaster's office to find Professor Dumbledore now!"
Watching Hermione pull the still-arguing Harry and Ronas they hurried away from the library, Rong's gaze became calm.
Undercurrents were already stirring, and secrets were surfacing. The existence of the Philosopher's Stone had been exposed, and Quirrell (Voldemort)'s actions would only become more frequent and intense. The warm tranquility of the Christmas holiday had completely become a thing of the past.
He raised his hand and gently touched the Christmas card from Hermione, inscribed with "Wishing you well," in his inner chest pocket (secretly pleased), then turned and walked towards the shelves in the deeper part of the library, where books on ancient defensive magic were kept.
Before the storm arrives, it's always good to be as prepared as possible.
(Hello, darlings, Fluttering Moth has something to say. Darlings with free time can move to the author's note.)
Chapter 48: Quirrell's Invitation
The ancient dust of the library slowly floated in the afternoon sunbeams, and Rong's fingertips traced the rough pages, though his mind wasn't entirely immersed in the book.
"Ugh, a bit sleepy… *cough*."
Hermione and the others had been gone to find Headmaster Dumbledore for a while now, and the castleremained quiet, as if nothing had happened, but this calm made him uneasy.
He closed the book, deciding to get something to eat first. Not long after he left the library, at a secluded corridor corner, a smell mixing garlic and a deeper decay abruptly assailed his nostrils.
Rong's steps paused. It was Quirrell.
What was he doing here?
He subconsciously tensed his nerves, but his expression remained calm as he continued forward.
Sure enough, Professor Quirrell was staggering from the opposite direction, clutching several thick, black-bound books that could knock someone out. His huge turban seemed tighter than usual, almost covering half his head, with flickering eyes visible beneath.
"P-Professor." Rong stopped, nodding perfunctorily, his voice flat.
"Oh! R-Ravenclaw's... no, it's, it's Slytherin's Rong, student Rong!" Quirrell seemed startled, the books in his arms nearly slipping. He fumbled to hold them tight, his stutter worsening.
His gaze darted away, not daring to meet Rong's eyes, yet like damp moss, it vaguely swept over Rong's eyes and neck.
Rong swore that deep within those eyes was a cold, greedy scrutiny, certainly not the look a cowardly Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor would have.
It was the look of a hunter observing prey.
"H-Happy holidays?" Quirrell tried to force a smile, but it appeared exceptionally stiff and twisted. "H-Heard you went to M-Muggle London? That's... a brave choice."
The word "Muggle" in his speech carried a subtle but unmistakable hint of disdain and disgust.
"Very happy, thank you for your concern, Professor." Rong's reply was brief and restrained, not wanting to say more. He tried to walk around him.
Just then, Quirrell seemed to lose his footing, stumbling forward, and the books in his arms scattered with a clatter. He himself nearly fell onto Rong.
Rong's reaction was faster than an ordinary person's; he instinctively slid back half a step, and at the same time, his right hand seemingly casually flicked, precisely parrying Quirrell's hand reaching for his arm.
There seemed to be some dark red stain embedded in the fingernails of that hand, looking so ominous.
The action happened in a flash of lightning, and the only sound in the corridor seemed to be the echo of books hitting the floor.
Quirrell missed, clutching the cold stone wall to steady himself, looking disheveled.
He looked up, and a fleeting flash of extreme astonishment and... offended malice crossed his eyes as he looked at Rong, though it was immediately covered by timidity.
"Professor Quirrell, are you alright?" Rong's voice remained steady, as if he had merely instinctively stretched his joints.
"N-No... my l-legs... are a b-bit inconvenient..." Quirrellgasped, his eyes vaguely drifting to the books on the floor.
One of them lay open, its inner pages filled with twisted, bizarre Dark Arts symbols, and even an illustration depicting a ritual of sucking Unicorn blood.
It was him that night, after all! Rong's eyes sharpened, his Chakra and magic slowly began to circulate, nightshadewas held tightly in his hand within his sleeve, the only drawback being that he hadn't brought his kunai today.
Rong: If only I could do it over...
Just at this awkward and tense moment, a gentle but resonant voice sounded from not far away.
"Oh? Quirinus, do you need help?" Headmaster Dumbledore appeared at the other end of the corridor, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles sharply scanning the pages on the floor, then resting on Quirrell. His face bore his usual benevolent smile, but there was no amusement deep in his eyes.
"This old man's smile is terrifying," Rong shivered involuntarily. "The strongest in the world is truly like this!"
Quirrell flinched as if burned, suddenly squatting down, fumbling to gather the dangerous books haphazardly into his arms. "N-No need, Headmaster! I, I can manage myself!
I just... just accidentally slipped... Th-Thank you, student Rong... for h-helping me up..." He stammered incoherently, his voice growing softer, almost wanting to shrink into his turban.
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on Rong for a moment, seeming to nod slightly, and then he said to Quirrell, "That's good. However, Quirinus, these books... seem overly profound for first-year students. It's best to keep them properly stored." His tone was still gentle, but carried an undeniable warning.
"Y-Yes, Headmaster! I, I'll take them back to my office right away!" Quirrell replied repeatedly, almost fleeing with the books, his stumbling figure quickly disappearing at the end of the corridor.
Dumbledore then looked at Rong, blinking, "It seems our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor... is quite diligent in his lesson preparation, wouldn't you say?" He said humorously, but then his tone became slightly more serious, "You weren't hurt, child?"
"No, Headmaster." Rong replied. He knew Dumbledore's appearance was no accident.
"That's good. How was your Christmas holiday? Miss Hermione just came to see me with Harry and Ron, and we discussed some... very interesting discoveries."
Dumbledore spoke as if casually chatting, yet he conveyed a message to Rong: Hermione and the others had indeed come, and he had known about it all along.
Rong understood: "Very interesting, Headmaster."
"Life is always full of surprises, and we need to remain vigilant and wise to discern them."
Dumbledore said meaningfully, patting Rong's shoulder, "Go call your friends for dinner, child. The HogwartsHouse-elves have prepared a nice stew."
With that, he ambled away, as if it truly was just a chance encounter.
However, not long after, as Rong was preparing to head to the Great Hall, a small, dazed-looking bat fluttered its wings and delivered a note. The handwriting was crooked and shaky, the ink heavy, as if the writer was enduring great pain or pressure:
[Student Rong: Thank you for your help today. I have long heard of your talent in Defense Against the Dark Arts(especially your reactions to sudden situations).
My office houses some rare books on the preservation of ancient magical artifacts, which might answer some of your questions outside of class. If interested, you may come for a discussion tomorrow evening. — Quirinus Quirrell]
This invitation was extremely clumsy, with too many obvious attempts to conceal its true purpose.
"Preservation of ancient magical artifacts" was almost a direct hint at the Philosopher's Stone. And "questions outside of class" and "reactions to sudden situations" seemed more like a test, or even a threat.
Rong crumpled the note, his eyes completely cold. Quirrell, or rather, the one on the back of his head, finally couldn't hold back and turned his attention to him, the "Slytheringenius."
Without the slightest hesitation, he turned and walked away, placing the note in his bag, forming hand seals.
"Summoning Jutsu!" Night Feather suddenly appeared before him. "Caw! Caw!" It flapped its wings twice, as if expressing dissatisfaction.
"Alright, alright, take this to Cheng and the others, and then lead them to me, understood? Go."
...A moment later, inside the familiar abandoned broom closet.
"This is absolutely a trap!" Hermione's voice was filled with barely suppressed anxiety. She practically snatched the note, repeatedly examining the words. "'Preservation of ancient magical artifacts'? He's practically saying, 'I know you're interested in the Philosopher's Stone'!
He also mentioned today's 'sudden situation'; he must have noticed something unusual about you! You can't go, Rong!"
"Chief, Miss Hermione is right." Rin said, her arms crossed, her voice coming from the collar of her new cloak, colder than usual. "Quirrell's aura is extremely unstable, full of malice. This invitation, its intention is unclear, and the risk is extremely high."
Xian calmly analyzed: "Judging from the behavioral pattern, this invitation is very likely for direct coercion or control, with a small probability of being a test, and unlikely for other unknown purposes.
Regardless, it's extremely unfavorable to you. It would be safer to tell Dumbledore."
Rong shook his head: "Dumbledore's control over the castle is firmer than you or I imagine. If he thought I shouldn't go, that note wouldn't even have reached me."
Lan played with a strand of her hair, her smile gone, unusually serious: "What does he want to do? Recruit him? Or does he want to see what makes a Slytherin student have such quick reactions?
Or... does he need a younger, more promising... temporary vessel?" This conjecture instantly chilled the atmosphere.
Cheng slammed a hand on the table (luckily, the table wasn't very old): "Screw that *******! Rong, we'll go with you! If he dares to have ill intentions, we'll..." He made a throat-slitting gesture. "I don't believe five Sharingan can't suppress one person!"
"No." Rong immediately refused. "Too many people make too big a target, which would alert him. Besides, if he really... is possessed by that thing, all of you going together would be useless." He was referring to Voldemort.
"Then you absolutely cannot go alone!" Hermione said anxiously, her fingers tightly clutching the jasmine brooch on her collar.
Rong was silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over each worried face before him. He knew their concerns were all valid. But he also knew that some opportunities were fleeting.
"This is an opportunity." He spoke slowly, calm and composed. "An opportunity to observe him up close, confirm his condition, and perhaps even glean his plans. Avoidance and fear won't solve the problem; they'll only allow him to hide in the shadows, preparing more sinister schemes."
He looked at Hermione, his eyes firm: "I know the risks. But I have a reason I must go." Not just to protect the Philosopher's Stone, but for... that slim hope of returning home that required both "killing Voldemort" and "becoming the strongest." This sentence, he could only keep in his heart.
"I will be fully prepared." He continued, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Rin, Xian, I want you to find all the information you can on soul magic, possession, and Dark Arts contract backfire, as quickly as possible.
Lan, keep an eye on Professor Snape's movements. If necessary... I need a plausible excuse to interrupt this 'meeting.'
Cheng, guard near the third-floor corridor. If there's any unusual movement inside, or if I don't come out after the agreed time, immediately cause a commotion in the loudest way possible."
His instructions were clear and swift, instantly shifting everyone's mood into execution mode.
Finally, he looked at Hermione, his voice softening slightly: "Hermione, your task is the most important. Guard the secrets we know, watch over Harry and Ron, and don't let them act impulsively."
"If... something truly unexpected happens to me, you are the only one who can clearly tell Headmaster Dumbledorewhat occurred."
Hermione's lips trembled. She wanted to argue, to stop him, but looking into Rong's deep, resolute black eyes, all words caught in her throat.
She understood that he had made his choice.
She nodded vigorously, her eyes a little red, but her gaze also became firm: "You... must be careful. Absolutely, absolutely nothing must happen to you!"
"Mm." Rong responded softly, his gaze falling once again on the ominous invitation.
"Ah! Rin-jie, why did you hit me?" Cheng covered the back of his head, speaking aggrievedly.
The four:?
Uchiha Rin showed a "peaceful" and "gentle" smile: "You just swore, didn't you?"
The four: Oh~ so that's it...
The venomous snake had bared its fangs and extended an invitation. The hunter decided to use himself as bait to investigate.
A hint of madness curved Rong's lips.
The most evil Dark Wizard? Have you ever seen a naturally evil Uchiha?
The thorny path was already laid out, and every step would be on the edge of a blade.
Chapter 49: Invitation
The next night, Hogwarts Castle was enveloped in silence. The torches in the corridors flickered, casting long, short, and ghostly shadows.
Rong walked alone on the way to Quirrell's office. He had changed into the blue hunting attire with his family crest. nightshade was tucked securely behind his waist, and every item in his ninja tool pouch was within reach.
His fingertips unconsciously brushed against the cold jasmine brooch under his collar—Hermione "borrowed" it. Hermione's worried gaze and the solemn expressions of the quartet seemed to still be before his eyes. He took a deep breath, suppressing all distractions, and his eyes once again became as calm as water, without a trace of timidity.
Arriving at the door with the huge lock, the pervasive garlic smell in the air was almost suffocating, trying to mask the increasingly clear scent of decay and deterioration beneath it. He knocked on the door.
The door was almost immediately pulled open a crack, revealing Quirrell's terrified face.
"Rong, Rong, student! You, you really came… Come, come in quickly!"
He stammered, stepping aside, his eyes quickly scanning both sides of the corridor, then swiftly closing the door, even a faint click of the lock could be heard.
The office was even stuffier than the corridor, and the smell of garlic was almost suffocating.
All sorts of strange silver objects, runic cloths, and ancient-looking books were piled everywhere in disarray.
A dim oil lamp was the main light source, casting distorted shadows on the walls.
"Please, please sit." Quirrell pointed to a chair piled with scrolls, fumbling to clear it, his movements comical and neurotic.
Rong did not sit down, but stood in the center of the room, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over the piled "collections," but in reality, he was quickly assessing the environment.
"Professor invited me here, I wonder what 'questions outside of class' he wishes to discuss?" He went straight to the point, his tone flat, betraying no emotion.
Quirrell rubbed his hands, forcing a smile that was uglier than a cry: "Ye, yes… I, I have always admired you, Student Rong. A ra, rare talented and… steady student in Slytherin.
Unlike some people, rash, impulsive, and rude." He seemed to be alluding to a certain lion from Gryffindor. "I, I think, you deserve… more, more in-depth guidance.
For example, about how to… pr, protect powerful magicitems, from, from covetousness…"
His words were fragmented and chaotic, his eyes darting around, as if reciting a script he himself didn't believe. Rong listened patiently, not interrupting, but his entire perception had been heightened to the extreme.
He could feel that beneath this timid exterior, a cold, greedy, and impatient consciousness was stirring.
Quirrell was still stammering empty words about "power," "ancient knowledge," "pure-blood glory," trying to make a clumsy overture.
Suddenly, he twitched violently, as if struck by an invisible whip, and his words abruptly stopped. The cowardice and fake smile on his face instantly vanished, replaced by an extreme pain and fear.
His eyes widened, pupils constricted to a pinpoint.
A cold and hoarse voice suddenly resounded from the back of Quirrell's head, filled with unquestionable authority and a sickening malice:
"Enough, you stupid fool! Your performance is nauseating! Let me speak to the boy!"
"But, Master, you haven't recovered yet…"
"I still have that much strength, you idiot!"
Quirrell seemed to have all his strength drained in an instant, letting out a pained whimper, his body slumping softly onto a nearby chair, hands covering his face, trembling violently.
Rong's heart tightened, but his face remained impassive. He knew the main player had arrived. His gaze sharply fell on the back of Quirrell's head, the huge turban now looking like an evil altar.
Before long, Quirrell tremblingly untied his turban, and the face on the back of his head was indeed hideous (not) and terrifying (human-like).
"Uchiha… Rong." The cold voice sounded again, slowly chewing on his name, with an interest like examining an object.
"A very unique surname.
Quirrell, that fool, is incompetent, but his feelings are occasionally right. You… are very special. Not just your reaction speed. Your soul… smells very different. Fresh, and yet… hungry."
Voldemort seemed a bit greedy for his body.
Rong remained silent, neither admitting nor denying, but all his muscles had quietly tensed, and Chakra flowed silently within him.
"No need to be nervous." Voldemort's voice seemed to carry a hint of mockery, "I always have… patience for promising young people.
Especially, a young man in Slytherin who doesn't seem to be completely swayed by Dumbledore's hypocritical 'love' and 'justice.'"
"What do you wish to say, my Lord?" Rong finally spoke, his voice steady, even using a respectful address, but without a trace of reverence in his tone, only calm inquiry.
"Power!" Voldemort's voice suddenly rose, with a fanaticism, "True power! Not these child's games taught at Hogwarts!
I can feel it, you crave it, you need it! Why bury yourself in mediocrity? Why entrust your fate to those… hypocritical protectors?"
If I say I need this power to kill you, will you let me walk out of here? Rong lowered his head slightly, pretending to ponder.
"Power is indeed important." Rong said slowly, choosing his words extremely carefully, "But I do not serve empty promises."
"Empty?" Voldemort hissed with laughter, "I can give you something tangible! Knowledge? Lost Dark Arts, ancient rituals, the art of immortality… Will Dumbledore give you these?
Power? When the pure-blood world is reshaped, capable young people like you will stand above all others! Even… I can help you solve some… 'small' troubles.
For example, in your interesting eyes, there seem to be unhealed scars hidden?"
He did indeed detect the Sharingan and possibly something deeper! Rong's heart sank, but at the same time, he confirmed the other party's current state—
His perception was astonishing, but his power was far from recovered; otherwise, there would be no need for idle talk, direct possession or torture would be more in line with his style.
He was now enticing, investing.
It seemed that too long a silence made Tom think Rong was somewhat tempted, so he intensified his efforts: "Assist me! I can let you and your friends use the power of the Obscurus without reservation!"
It was a good thing he hadn't thought that Chakra was a power that deviated from the magic system; otherwise, whether he could get out would be a difficult question to answer. Rong quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Sounds very tempting." Rong followed his words, his tone betraying no true or false emotion, "But we need something more concrete. For example, how do you intend to achieve… 'immortality'?
The Philosopher's Stone is indeed powerful, but as far as I know, the Elixir of Life it produces is not without cost and requires continuous consumption." He deliberately led the conversation to the Philosopher's Stone, both as a test and a delay.
Quirrell's body trembled violently.
Voldemort's voice was silent for a moment, and when it sounded again, it carried a deeper, snake-like interest: "You are very perceptive… good. The Philosopher's Stone is just the first step, a tool to ensure I can… regain my form.
True immortality involves more profound magic, the mysteries of the soul… These, I can teach you, as long as you prove your… worth and loyalty."
"How is worth proven?"
"Help me get the Stone." Voldemort's voice became direct and full of temptation, "You are very clever, skilled, and a Slytherin, not easily arousing suspicion.
Keep an eye on Dumbledore's and Snape's movements for me, and if necessary… open a passage for me. After it's done, you will receive rewards far beyond your imagination."
"My Lord," Rong's voice remained unperturbed, "To conspire with a tiger, one must see if its fangs are sharp. Your current state… does not seem to be advantageous.
How can I trust your promise and not risk for an illusory bubble?"
This was an extremely bold counter-question, almost a provocation! He was testing Voldemort's bottom line and the true extent of his current strength.
The air in the office instantly solidified. Quirrell was so frightened he almost fainted.
After a long pause, the cold voice sounded again, filled with suppressed anger and a terrifying calm: "You are very brave, boy… but also very bold. Are you questioning my power?"
"I am evaluating the risks and rewards of an investment, my Lord." Rong retorted without flinching, "Showing sincerity should be mutual.
Perhaps… you could first show me a 'down payment'? For example, a solution to a small problem that has troubled me for a long time?"
He threw out a vague request, continuing to parley.
"…Very good." Voldemort's voice was as if frozen, "You have ambition, and you have courage… This is very interesting. I will let you see my 'sincerity.' But now… someone is coming."
Just then, clear footsteps and a dragging voice came from outside the office—it was Snape!
"Quirinus? I hear voices inside. So late, who are you talking to?" Snape's voice sounded from outside the door, with an undeniable interrogative tone.
Quirrell instantly panicked, turning his head helplessly towards the door.
"Send him away!" Voldemort commanded sharply, his voice audible only to Quirrell and Rong.
Rong immediately took a step back, his face instantly switching to a slightly nervous and confused student expression, as if he had just been receiving a normal after-class tutoring; Quirrell also quickly re-wrapped his turban.
Quirrell scrambled to open the door, stammering even more: "Severus! No, nothing! Just, just giving Student Rong extra, extra lessons… Defense Against the Dark Arts… He, he's very interested…"
Rong, facing Snape, blinked unreservedly.
Snape's tall figure blocked the doorway, his dark eyes sweeping the office like searchlights, finally landing on Rong, then looking at the pale Quirrell, his brows furrowed tightly, his face full of suspicion and displeasure.
"Extra lessons?" he repeated coldly, drawing out the word, "At this hour? About… what 'Defense' topics, Quirinus? Perhaps I should… learn a thing or two as well."
Rong knew that the first dangerous probe had temporarily ended. But Voldemort's attention, like cold spider silk, was firmly wrapped around him.
The fish had taken the bait.
It was just unfortunate that the one on the hook was a shark; only an American landing net could catch this delicious big fish.
This deadly dance of feigned cooperation had just begun.
Chapter 50 The Dark Lord's Determination
Quirrell's lips trembled, barely able to form a complete syllable: "J-just some... ba-basic the-theory... pro-protective..."
"Theory?" Snape sharply interrupted him, his voice growing shrill, "Needs the door locked? Needs to be before curfew? Needs your student--" His gaze fixated back on Rong, "--to wear that... expression as if he'd just witnessed an Unforgivable Curse?"
Rong:? Me?
Rong said nothing. He maintained the perfect expression on his face, a mix of helplessness and blankness after being harshly questioned by a Professor, lowering his gaze slightly, not answering immediately.
"Se-Severus! You-you misunderstood..." Quirrell tried to explain, his voice weak.
"Misunderstood?" Snape sneered, finally taking a step forward, his tall figure almost completely blocking the doorway, his wand tip seemingly pointed at Quirrell, intentionally or not.
"Then let me also hear this profound 'theory'. Student Rong, which spell did Professor Quirrell just demonstrate? Or... which passage of 'Ancient Runes' did he interpret?" He tossed the question to Rong, the pressure instantly shifting.
This was a test. Whatever Rong answered, Snape would be able to deduce the situation from Quirrell's reaction and subsequent probing.
Rong raised his eyes, his gaze quickly and discreetly sweeping over Quirrell's terrified face, then looking at Snape:
"Professor mainly... introduced some concepts of protecting ancient magic items. For example... how to identify the magic characteristics of certain Dark Arts traps... It sounds very abstract."
Hmm, I'm telling the truth.
Behind Quirrell, Rong rattled off a bunch of fallacies he himself didn't believe.
Quirrell's body visibly trembled again.
Snape's pupils contracted slightly; Rong's answer seemed to both confirm some of his suspicions and offer no substantial handle.
He stared intently at Rong for a few seconds, as if trying to pry open his skull to see his thoughts, then glanced with disgust at Quirrell, who was almost cowering.
"It seems our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor... has finally begun to delve into the substance of 'defense', although his teaching methods... are not commendable."
Snape's voice was icy cold, "However, given your teaching record, Quirinus, I think these 'deepened tutorials' should stop here. Rong, come with me. As for you,"
He gave Quirrell one last scathing look, "If I find you 'tutoring' my students late at night again, I wouldn't mind suggesting to Professor Dumbledore... a thorough review of your teaching qualifications and your... 'collections'."
Having said that, he spun around abruptly, his black robe swirling in a decisive arc, and commanded in an unquestionable tone: "Follow, Uchiha!"
The suffocating door of Quirrell's office closed behind them, but it didn't cut off the invisible pressure. Snape's black robe billowed, like a moving storm cloud, as he silently swept Rong along the cold Dungeons corridor.
The scent of wormwood and Potions replaced the nauseating garlic smell, giving Rong a strange sense of 'freshness'.
They didn't go to the Head of House's office but turned into a more secluded side path.
Snape abruptly stopped, turned, and his tall figure almost completely enveloped Rong in shadow. The torchlight on the wall flickered across his sharply defined face, making his black eyes appear like bottomless cold pools.
"Explain." His voice was very low, yet it scraped like cold steel wire against a stone wall, "What made your brain, stuffed with Gillyweed, think that accepting 'tutoring' from Quirinus Quirrell alone late at night was a wise decision?"
Rong raised his eyes, his face still maintaining the perfect amount of confusion and a hint of innocence: "Professor, I don't understand what you mean. Professor Quirrell might just have some unique insights into Ancient Runesprotection and wanted to share them with me."
"Unique insights?" Snape scoffed, his voice filled with venomous sarcasm, "Yes, about how to most foolishly deliver oneself to a Dark Wizard's dinner table, his insights are indeed 'unique'! You think your pathetic vigilance can fool anyone? That nauseating stench from his office can be smelled three corridors away!"
That's true.
He stepped closer, almost gritting his teeth: "Did I not warn you to mind your own business? Or has your Gryffindor-style heroism finally corrupted your last shred of Slytherin-style self-preservation instinct, making you eager to become a sacrifice?"
Although the words were extremely vicious, Rong accurately caught the hidden message beneath the anger: Snape knew Quirrell had a problem and was extremely wary of him; his anger now was more like... a lingering fear.
"I assume," Snape's voice grew even colder, "he showed you some... 'interesting' books? Or promised some... 'knowledge' beyond your year?"
His gaze was sharp as a knife, trying to dissect every subtle change in Rong's expression.
Rong was silent for a moment, deciding to reveal part of the truth to gain trust. "He mentioned... the protection of the Philosopher's Stone." He said softly, seeing Snape's pupils suddenly contract, "And... the importance of power. He said... a Slytherin like me shouldn't be buried by mediocrity."
Snape's expression instantly became extremely ugly, as if he had swallowed a large mouthful of expired Potion for scrofula. "So, you were tempted?" He hissed, the disappointment in his tone almost palpable.
"I was evaluating, Professor." Rong met his gaze, his tone calm but firm, "Evaluating risks, evaluating value, evaluating... whether the speaker truly possesses the power he claims. Playing with a tiger, after all, there's something to gain, isn't there?"
This almost ruthless calculation made Snape pause.
He scrutinized Rong, as if truly seeing this student he had been treating and observing for the first time.
This was not a fool blinded by temptation, but a gambler calmly weighing gains and losses on a knife's edge. This was worse than he expected, or rather, more complex.
"...An extremely foolish gamble." Snape finally snorted coldly, the sharpness in his tone fading slightly, replaced by an extreme gravity, "You have no idea what you're facing. That thing... is far older and more evil than you imagine. Any promise it gives you will cost you your soul."
He abruptly pulled out a slender, small crystal vial containing a deep purple liquid from inside his robe and roughly shoved it into Rong's hand. "Take it!"
Rong took the vial, the liquid inside glowing ominously in the dim light.
"Powerful antidote and sedative," Snape said quickly, his voice even lower, "It can resist most known magic toxins and... mental enthrallment. Next time if you can't control your damned curiosity, or feel anything... amiss, drink it immediately! At least it'll buy you time to scream, instead of being dragged away like a lamb to the slaughter!"
This was an almost naked admission and protection. Rong gripped the cold crystal vial in his hand, feeling the powerful magic contained within. "Thank you, Professor."
"Don't thank me!" Snape fiercely interrupted him, his face full of disgust, "I'm just reducing the future waste of my precious Potion ingredients! Now, immediately, get back to your common room! If I catch you within a hundred meters of Quirrell's office again, I'll give you detention until you graduate! Do you hear me?!"
"Yes, Professor." Rong nodded compliantly.
Snape gave him one last glare, as if wanting to burn two holes through him with his eyes, before abruptly flicking his black robe and striding away, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor like suppressed thunder.
Rong watched his back disappear before slowly letting out a breath. He looked down at the crystal vial in his hand, then touched the jasmine brooch beneath his collar.
One layer was Hermione's concern, the other was Snape's venomous amulet. This feeling... was very peculiar.
(Rong: Old bat, you wouldn't be lusting after my body too, would you?)
He didn't delay, immediately turning to the agreed-upon abandoned broom closet. The four Uchiha and Hermionewere already anxiously waiting there.
"Rong!"
"Chief!"
Seeing him safe and sound, everyone visibly relaxed. Hermione almost wanted to rush over, but she forcibly stopped herself, only nervously scrutinizing him up and down.
Rong succinctly recounted everything that happened in the office (except for Voldemort's specific recruitment terms) and his conversation with Snape.
"...So, he really is trying to win you over? With the Philosopher's Stone and power?" Hermione's voice held an incredible horror, "And you even... haggled with him?" She found Rong's calmness almost insane.
"It's the quickest way to get information." Rong replied calmly, "He's very weak now and needs help; that's his biggest weakness. But his perception is strong, and... he's extremely dangerous." He emphasized the last point.
"Here, the brooch, it's yours again." Rong tried to pin the brooch on Hermione.
"Professor Snape's words were harsh, but he's right, it's too dangerous!" Hermione said urgently, "We should tell Professor Dumbledore everything!"
Rong couldn't pin it on, so he just put it in Hermione's pocket.
"We already told him indirectly." Rong looked at her, "Snape is the best messenger. Now the Professors will be more vigilant; that in itself is a form of protection. As for us..." His gaze swept over everyone present, "We need to change our strategy."
"Lurk." Lin summarized succinctly.
"Bingo." Rong nodded, "Quirrell and... the thing behind him, their attention will now be more on me. We will temporarily stop all active monitoring. Lan, stop observing Snape. Xian, continue to watch Quirrell's movements, but the person you report to will be Snape. Cheng..."
Rong looked at the eager Cheng with mixed emotions, "Lin, keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't go near the third floor, hmm."
"What about you?" Hermione pressed, her hand unconsciously touching the brooch again.
"Me?" Rong's eyes became calm, "I will act like a student who has settled down after a stern warning from the Head of House. I will wait for his next move. Since he cast out the bait, he will be eager to reel it in."
He looked out the window, the night dark as ink.
"The storm has only paused, not ended. He is weighing me, and I..." Rong's voice deepened, carrying a hint of icy determination, "am also waiting for him to reveal more flaws."
Deep in the Dungeons, inside Quirrell's office.
A suppressed roar, full of pain and anger, faintly echoed behind the door.
"That meddling traitor! He ruined everything!"
"...Quiet, you fool." A cold voice, weary but still authoritative, said, "That boy... is more interesting than I imagined. He has ambition, courage, and even... a little bit like me."
"But Master..."
"He needs another knock, and also... a real taste of sweetness. He'll come around... After all, he's a Slytherin, isn't he?"
The voice subsided, turning into an eerie whisper, like a venomous snake coiling in the darkness, waiting for the opportune moment to strike again.
"He wants to see my power, so let's give him a lesson he won't forget! Quirrell! I will teach the next class!"
A new game of chess had already begun.
Chapter 51: Voldemort's Defense Against the Dark Arts Class
On Monday morning, even before the bell for Defense Against the Dark Arts class rang, an unsettling atmosphere had already permeated the classroom in the East Tower of the castle.
The Gryffindor students walked in with their textbooks, instinctively frowning as soon as they crossed the threshold—besides Professor Quirrell's signature garlic smell, there was also a faint, elusive chill in the air.
"Achoo!" Ron's nose tickled. "Damn it, why is it so cold?"
"What's going on? Are we having class with Slytherintoday?" Harry poked Ron's arm, his gaze sweeping over the Slytherin students already seated on the other side of the classroom.
Uchiha Rong sat by the window, his fingertips casually tracing the edge of his textbook, but his eyes remained fixed on the classroom door, as if waiting for something.
Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. Uchiha Rong's words from last night still echoed in her ears. She couldn't help but glance at Uchiha Rong twice, only to see him suddenly look up, meet her gaze across the crowd, and then gently shake his head, signaling her to remain calm.
The moment the classroom door was pushed open, all the noise ceased abruptly. Quirrell walked in, different from usual.
His steps were no longer unsteady, his back was ramrod straight, and even his usually evasive eyes had become sharp, as if he had transformed into a different person.
"Quiet." He spoke, but his voice was not the usual trembling, weak tone; instead, it was deep, clear, and carried a chilling authority.
Several whispering students instantly fell silent, even their breathing becoming shallow.
Quirrell slowly walked to the podium, his gaze sweeping across the entire classroom as if surveying his territory. When his eyes fell on Uchiha Rong, he paused for half a second, a faint, meaningful smile playing on his lips.
"Today, we will not be teaching basic defense." He tapped the podium, his voice carrying through the air to every corner. "Those superficial theories can't even stop a Troll in heat.
True defense is understanding what 'evil' is—seeing its form, understanding its weaknesses, and even... learning to use it."
At these words, a low murmur immediately arose in the classroom. Hermione suddenly stood up: "Professor! Dark Arts are forbidden! We should learn how to resist it, not 'use' it!"
Her voice was urgent, and the Gryffindor students nodded in agreement, even a few Slytherins showed hesitant expressions.
Tom, however, did not get angry; instead, he turned to look at Hermione, his eyes holding a hint of mocking scrutiny: "Miss Granger, isn't it? Dumbledore's proud little Phoenix?"
He paused, tapping his fingertips lightly on the podium. "Do you think 'forbidden' can stop it? Like you think if you cage a venomous snake, it won't bite through the bars? Naive."
He raised his hand and waved his wand, and a grey-black beam of light shot out from its tip, landing in the open space in the center of the classroom.
After the light dissipated, a circle of twisted runes appeared on the ground, black mist entwined between the runes, and faint, fragmented wails could be heard.
All the students instinctively recoiled. Harry gripped his wand, and Ron's face turned pale.
"This is the 'Whispers of the Dead Rune,' an ancient Dark Arts trap." Tom's voice carried an almost boastful composure,
"It lures prey closer, then uses the victim's greatest fears as bait to drain their magic."
"Of course, your textbooks won't write about this, and Dumbledore won't tell you—because he fears you'll know that the power of Dark Arts is sometimes more useful than so-called 'light'." Quirrell's smile became morbid.
He walked to the rune circle, stepping on its edge. The black mist, instead of attacking him, coiled around his ankle like an obedient snake. "See, it recognizes its master."
He looked up at the students, his gaze sweeping over Gryffindor's panic, then settling on Slytherin's curiosity.
"Power has never been good or evil, only the choices of its user. Do you want to protect yourselves? Do you want to protect your friends? Do you want to stop being bullied by those stronger than you?"
His voice gradually lowered, yet it carried a strange, seductive power, seeping into everyone's ears like a gentle stream:
"Gryffindor champions, every time you face danger, don't you wish your spells were a little stronger? Slytherin elites, don't you want to possess power that makes others look up to you, without having to bow to anyone?"
Uchiha Rong sat in his seat, his fingertips slightly tightened.
Voldemort was not teaching at all; he was openly recruiting, using power as bait, stirring up the desires in the students' hearts.
He saw several Slytherin students' eyes light up, and even a few Gryffindors showed wavering expressions.
"Professor! This isn't right!" Harry suddenly stood up, his wand pointing at the podium. "Dark Arts corrupt the heart! You're teaching us to be evil!"
Tom turned to look at Harry, his eyes instantly turning cold, like a poisoned knife: "Potter's brat, what do you know?"
His voice held a hint of almost imperceptible gritting of teeth, "Your father relied on others for protection, your mother died with a foolish spell, and you… are nothing but a fledgling hiding under Dumbledore's wing.
Without power, you can't even protect yourself, let alone those around you."
Harry's face turned crimson, and the hand holding his wand trembled. Ron wanted to stand up and help Harry, but Hermione pulled him back. Hermione shook her head and mouthed to him: "Don't be impulsive, he's deliberately provoking us."
Tom seemed pleased with Harry's reaction. He scoffed, then turned and walked to the center of the classroom. With a wave of his wand, the black mist in the rune circle suddenly condensed, transforming into a giant black wolf.
The black wolf's eyes were blood red, black liquid dripped from its fangs, and it let out a low growl at the students.
"Now, let's 'practice'." Tom's voice held a hint of a smile. "Who wants to try to stop it with the 'basic defense' you've learned? Or, does anyone want to try... to control it with my method?"
The classroom was silent; no one dared to speak. The black wolf's aura made everyone feel suffocated; even the bravest Gryffindor students were frozen in their seats.
Tom's gaze swept across the classroom again, finally settling on Uchiha Rong, his tone clearly provocative: "Uchiha, you are a Slytherin Prefect, and the most ambitious student I have ever seen.
Don't you want to try?"
All eyes focused on Uchiha Rong. Hermione watched him nervously, her palms sweating. Rin, sitting next to Uchiha Rong, quietly reached out and pressed his arm, signaling him not to be impulsive.
Uchiha Rong, however, slowly stood up, his gaze calmly fixed on Tom: "Professor, controlling Dark Arts creations comes at a price, doesn't it?"
Tom raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by the question: "A price? Of course. But for truly ambitious people, any price is worth it."
He took two steps forward, lowering his voice so only Uchiha Rong could hear, "Just like the power of the Philosopher's Stone, to obtain it, one must always give up something."
Uchiha Rong did not reply, only watched him silently. He could feel Tom's aura becoming increasingly unstable, as if he were suppressing something.
Just then, a clear cry suddenly came from outside the window. Golden light streamed into the classroom, instantly dispelling the chill in the air.
Everyone looked up at the window—a Phoenix was perched on the windowsill, it was Dumbledore's Fawkes. Fawkes tilted its head, its magnificent red eyes fixed on Quirrell at the podium, letting out a sharp cry.
Tom's face instantly changed; his originally composed expression vanished without a trace, replaced by a look mixed with anger and apprehension.
He stared intensely at Fawkes, his fingers white from gripping.
Fawkes cried out again, its golden feathers gently trembling. The black mist in the classroom began to dissipate, and the black wolf also let out a wail, turning into a wisp of smoke and vanishing.
"It seems our class can only end here." Tom's voice was cold, devoid of discernible meaning, and carried a hint of reluctance. He gave Uchiha Rong a deep look, his eyes full of implication,
"Remember what I said, Uchiha. Power is there; you can have it whenever you want."
With that, he stopped looking at the other students, turned, and walked quickly towards the classroom door.
As he reached the door, his steps paused, as if he had remembered something. He then resumed his usual weak demeanor, his voice becoming shaky: "T-today's class ends here… everyone, everyone remember to review…"
Before he finished speaking, he hurried out of the classroom, as if something were chasing him.
The moment the classroom door closed, everyone let out a sigh of relief, their tense nerves finally relaxing. Harryslumped in his chair, wiping sweat from his forehead: "Was that… really Professor Quirrell? He seemed like a completely different person."
Hermione walked over to Uchiha Rong, lowering her voice: "What did he mean by what he just said to you… the Philosopher's Stone?"
Uchiha Rong nodded: "He was testing me, and also tempting me. He knows I'm interested in the Philosopher's Stone, so he wants to use that to lure me in."
He paused, then added, "Moreover, he almost exposed himself just now. Fawkes's appearance saved all of us."
"Professor Dumbledore knows?" Hermione's eyes lit up.
"He should." Uchiha Rong looked towards the classroom door. "Fawkes wouldn't appear here for no reason. Dumbledore must have noticed Quirrell's abnormality, so he sent Fawkes to warn him."
In the classroom, students were still discussing the class they had just had. Some were scared, some were curious, and some were secretly discussing the "power" Tom had mentioned.
Several Slytherin students walked over to Uchiha Rong. Malfoy's crony, Goyle, hesitantly asked: "Prefect, what the Professor just said… is it true? Can Dark Arts really make someone stronger?"
Uchiha Rong glanced at him, his tone icy: "Don't think about such things. Once you touch what was just shown, there's no turning back."
Goyle was startled by his gaze and quickly withdrew his hand. The other Slytherin students also dared not ask further and returned to their seats.
Rin walked over to Uchiha Rong and whispered: "He won't give up. The way he looked at you just now, it was as if he was sure you would take the bait."
"I know." Uchiha Rong's eyes became calm. "He's desperate for help, and I'm his best target. He'll come back for me, and next time, he'll offer an even more enticing bait."
Hermione clenched her fists: "Then what do we do? Still can't tell Professor Dumbledore?"
"Wait a little longer."
Uchiha Rong shook his head. "We have no evidence now.
Tom is very cunning; he won't leave any handles. What we can do now is continue to lie low and wait for him to reveal more weaknesses."
He paused, looking at the sky outside the window. Clouds were gathering, as if brewing a storm. "And, I have a feeling that next time he appears, it won't just be a simple class."
In the corridor, Quirrell leaned against the wall, his chest heaving violently, his face full of pain. "Master… that Phoenix just now…"
"Shut up!" Tom's voice came from within him, full of anger and unwillingness. "Dumbledore's dog! One day, I will tear it to shreds with my own hands!"
He took a deep breath, his tone turning sinister again, "However, that Uchiha Rong… is becoming more and more interesting.
He didn't immediately refuse, nor was he scared; instead, he was observing me. Very good, he has my style."
"Master, what do we do next…"
"Wait." Tom's voice held a hint of calculation. "I've already planted a seed in him; with a little more 'fertilizer,' he'll come to me willingly. The secret of the Philosopher's Stone, and the promise I gave him, he can't possibly be unmoved."
Quirrell's lips curved into a strange smile, "Next time, I will let him see with his own eyes what true power is. By then, he will willingly serve me."
With that, Quirrell straightened up, adjusted his Wizardrobes, and once again resumed his weak posture, stumbling towards his office.
In the shadows of the corridor, a black figure flashed by. Snape watched Quirrell's retreating back, his eyes cold, his hand gripping his wand tighter.
"It seems I can't wait any longer." Snape muttered to himself, turning and walking towards Dumbledore's office.
Some things must be told to the Headmaster immediately.
A larger net was quietly being woven over Hogwarts.