As Kane raised his hand to knock, Dumbledore stopped him.
"Aren't you going to prepare a fallback plan? I mean, what if Professor Quirrell does not intend to let you leave easily?"
Kane paused mid-knock. "Then why did you bring me straight here? I thought you wanted me to hurry up."
"I only meant to show you where his office is. I do not think Professor Quirrell is likely to show his hand, but one can never be too careful."
With that, Dumbledore left, putting the choice in Kane's hands.
Kane, of course, believed that listening to good advice never hurt anyone. He hurried back to the dormitory and used the Mandrake he had just acquired to craft a Pan Flute by hand.
It was not quite what he had expected. Or rather, it came with an additional and rather unusual way to use it.
Along with the physical Pan Flute he could hold in his hands, the Prestihatitator also produced a spellbook.
The instant Kane opened it, a torrent of complicated knowledge flooded his mind before he could even read a word. It taught him how to use a wand and magic to create the same hypnotic effect as the Pan Flute and play it without an instrument.
He gave it a try. His wand traced through the air like a conductor's baton, and a bizarre, eerie melody drifted from nowhere at all. On the windowsill, Huginn and Harry's Hedwig immediately curled up and fell asleep.
Ron's owl was spared. Ron was the only one in the dormitory with family, after all, and his was the only owl that needed to carry letters home.
"Huh. That's unexpectedly useful."
Kane tucked both the Pan Flute and his wand into his pocket, picked up the Feather Hat, and headed for Professor Quirrell's office.
Quirrell was standing before a mirror. Reflected within it was a ghastly, noseless face, gray-white and hideous.
This was part of his daily routine. Voldemort would first lecture Professor Quirrell on magic, then expound upon his grand ambitions. After that came the detailed plans and preparations for stealing the Philosopher's Stone.
The whole ritual concluded with ten minutes of Voldemort's personal psychological-abuse routine.
Today, however, the atmosphere between the mirror and the man before it was a little strange.
Voldemort was not known for his patience. To preserve his veneer of elegance, he took out his anger on the one servant currently available to him.
Poor Quirrell had missed his chance to lure Kane into the office and study his unusual shadow magic because Kane's talent was simply too exceptional. Now he was being berated over a mistake that was not truly his fault.
Knock, knock, knock.
Quirrell, who had been listening to Voldemort's lecture, jumped in fright.
"Answer it," Voldemort said. Then he vanished from the mirror, returning Quirrell's own reflection to the glass.
Once Dumbledore had confirmed that Quirrell was a bad man, Kane found himself genuinely curious about the professor.
What sort of remarkable villain could persuade Dumbledore to keep him at the school?
Quirrell, meanwhile, began trembling with excitement the moment he saw Kane. It was hard not to find that suspicious.
"C-come in, child."
Without waiting for an answer, Quirrell pulled Kane into the office and slammed the door shut behind him.
Professor Quirrell's household magic, or perhaps his ability to manipulate things, was quite impressive. In moments, the entire office had been tidied and arranged into a perfectly suitable place to receive a guest.
'Quirinus, do not forget your real task. Find out where that strange shadow magic comes from. Make him cast that Swamp Spell again, and I may be able to sense its secrets,' Voldemort ordered from inside Quirrell's head.
Quirrell hastily agreed. His hand paused as he poured Kane a cup of tea.
"Is there s-something wrong with that spell? The Swamp Spell?"
Kane, naturally, had no idea what schemes master and servant were entertaining. He simply took the Feather Hat from his pocket.
"I only came to give you a gift. Maybe you'd like a different hat to wear."
The last trace of excitement in Quirrell's heart immediately sank. What he wanted was Kane's magic, not a ridiculous hat.
Voldemort's reaction inside his head was entirely different.
'Take that hat. I can sense a most peculiar magic upon it.'
Quirrell had barely begun to pull a face before he forced his expression smooth again. He accepted the Feather Hat with nimble hands and a smile as wide as a man-eating tree.
Unlike Quirrell, whose mood had lurched wildly from one extreme to the other, Kane was suddenly starting to regret coming. The smell of garlic clinging to Quirrell mixed with the office's fragrance was more than an ordinary person could bear.
All the questions about magic he had planned to ask while standing outside vanished from his mind at once.
He could ask Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, or Dumbledore. Why suffer here with Professor Quirrell?
Kane stood up.
"Professor, now that I've delivered the gift, I think it's time for me to make a p-painful departure. Bye."
Unfortunately, before he could finish saying goodbye, Quirrell grabbed his arm under the threat of an imagined Cruciatus Curse.
"D-don't go. In exchange for your gift, I can e-explain some magic. Is there a spell you do not know?"
Kane turned back with an awkward smile that was not especially polite.
"It's not that I don't want to stay. I just think my nose is about to give birth."
As Quirrell considered what magical ailment could possibly make a nose give birth, and whether Kane needed to be sent to St Mungo's, Voldemort spoke again in his mind.
'Your smell, Quirinus. It is unbearable.'
Quirrell immediately understood. With a wave of his wand, he threw open the window. A breeze streamed into the office, carrying away most of the stench.
Kane's look of suffering vanished at once. All right, before the smell built up again, he could stay a little longer. He really did have a few questions about the Swamp Spell.
"About the Swamp Spell..."
Before Kane could say another word, Quirrell hurriedly replied, "C-cast it first. Then I can see what the problem is."
As Quirrell spoke, even Voldemort, who had been carefully examining the Feather Hat, withdrew his power from it and focused on Kane instead.
Kane did not hesitate. He took out his wand and gave it a flick. A swamp immediately spread across Quirrell's office.
Quirrell was still wondering why Kane's swamp was a different color from everyone else's, but Voldemort saw much more.
'I can feel that this swamp is alive. Ask him why.'
"Th-this swamp is alive?" Quirrell relayed.
Kane gave him a surprised look. This man had some skill. Of course, the person behind him might be the one with some skill.
He kept that thought to himself and continued.
"This swamp really is alive."
The instant he spoke, two spiked tentacles burst from the swamp and lashed out at everything within reach.
"My problem is that I can only summon the swamp on the ground. What I really want is to summon it on the walls and ceiling too, creating a true swamp room. Then any enemy inside would be attacked by tentacles from every direction..."
Kane abruptly trailed off when he saw Quirrell's strange expression.
"Um... forget I said anything. Goodbye, Professor Quirrell."
He moved to leave, but Quirrell grabbed his arm again.
"Wait. W-what you have in mind can be done. Take this reading list. It will help you."
Quirrell quickly scribbled down several titles on a piece of parchment.
Just as he was about to hand it over, Voldemort finally discerned the true nature of both the swamp and the Feather Hat.
'Keep him here.'