"I was wrong… Master…"
In the dimly lit office, Quirrell was kneeling on the floor, his forehead pressed tight against the ground. His expression was terrified, his mouth gaping like a dying fish.
Even though the fireplace was blazing red-hot, cold sweat mixed with uncontrollable drool flowed steadily onto the floor, pooling into a small, nauseating puddle.
The scarf that usually wrapped tightly around him now lay on the messy desk, and on the bare back of his head, a deathly pale face with two points of crimson glowed."What were you trying to do — warn Dumbledore?"
"But you didn't expect… Dumbledore didn't go."
Quirrell's body convulsed violently under that sharp, thin voice, but his head seemed stuck to the floor as if glued there — he looked just like a loach nailed to a chopping board.
Ten minutes, maybe longer — Quirrell finally lost the strength to struggle. Only then did those two blood-red gleams flicker again.
"Master… Master…"
His sycophantic voice was so faint it was barely a whisper, but it made that face in the back of his head twist into a grotesque smile. After letting the dog-like Quirrell rest for a moment, the thick scarf was wrapped back around him.
"You told me it was absolutely safe!"
In Dumbledore's office, Snape glared fiercely, eyes locked onto Dumbledore.
"Minerva's been keeping watch over there all along — besides, you agreed too, Severus."
"That was because you told me the Dark Lord would never do anything else under the temptation of the Stone!"
"I stand by my view. You and I both know our 'friend' well enough — what he wants now is the Stone, not Harry."
"But he's already attacked him."
"I think it's just to sow chaos, to make it easier to steal the Stone. He won't kill Harry — at least not have someone else kill him."
"But the only one who's gone through the Stone's traps is Quirrell!"
Snape stomped his foot in frustration, but the determined look on his face twisted into something darker.
"He will go himself — because he trusts no one else. All these years, this is the closest we've ever been to him, the closest to catching him. You must keep the pressure on Quirinus, Severus."
Dumbledore's normally gentle face looked terrifyingly stern."Only then can we drag him out of hiding — and end this once and for all. I've already prepared the final cage."
"…Fine."
Snape's expression twisted, but he eventually accepted Dumbledore's plan. Still, before leaving, he turned back one last time.
"Then what about the Defense Against the Dark Arts class? You're just going to let Harry sit in that classroom unprotected?"
"That's why I'm auditing it — and I must say, Quirinus's teaching really is dreadful."
Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile.
'So annoying… so annoying…'
Andrew kept a look of focused attentiveness on his face, but his mind had long since wandered elsewhere.
This regular meeting was both tedious and long-winded, with not a shred of originality. If it weren't for picking up some standard document formats, these two hours would've been a complete waste.
But he had to admit, for all their extremism, the club did manage to get their hands on genuine documents — unimportant Ministry originals, form letters for prefects, expired confidential notices between the school and the Ministry…
In short, they looked intimidating but were mostly useless junk — though they were meant to train club members' writing skills and improve their acceptance rates, they greatly facilitated Andrew's plan to hide in plain sight.
And this convenient environment also let Andrew calm down. That mysterious man was the mysterious man, and Quirrell was Quirrell — their insane behavior could be explained in another very magical way, besides them simply being lunatics.
That was that Quirrell had temporarily broken free of control — like under the Imperius Curse.
Even from a speedrun, Andrew remembered the rants about the Imperius Curse — that terrible commentator had gone on about it for nearly half a minute in the voiceover, making it unforgettable — second only to the Polyjuice Potion rants in sheer impact.
This theory made Andrew feel a bit calmer, though only slightly — Quirrell needed to be reported. If he could report him, he would. Not for one minute would he procrastinate.
Days without Quirrell and the Noseless One would be good days. Then he could freely study magic in the castle, practice flying without suddenly losing control of his broom — how could life go on otherwise?
He quickly found an old issue of the Daily Prophet, then slipped into an unused classroom underground, lit a lamp, and got to work.
Even though his left-handed handwriting would be easy to trace, the detective novel method of cutting up newspapers was different — Andrew simply tapped the letters in the paper, and the printed text danced onto a fresh piece of parchment.
"Quirrell is hiding a mysterious figure on the back of his head."
Andrew looked at the sentence and weighed how credible an anonymous tip about a professor would be. He decided to add more detail.
"His target is the Philosopher's Stone hidden on Hogwarts' third floor — the one Dumbledore hid in the Mirror."
Andrew didn't know exactly which mirror, but the clue was enough to prove it.
Letter done, sealed up — Andrew began transforming his appearance with Transfiguration — hair style, hair color, added height, a different house crest on his robes, a bit of freckling on his face, a paper-thin layer to add a flush, transformed contact lenses, a nose bridge reshaped with transformed material (though he couldn't do full human transfiguration, those beauty blogger costume tricks were easy to reproduce).
"Okay, good — now I'm a first-year Hufflepuff…"
After picking a name for himself, the new Hufflepuff cheerfully headed for the owlery. He disguised the tip as an official report and sent it to Professor McGonagall.
'One of the rare actual uses of the club.'
That was Andrew's verdict before he left — if not for the club, he wouldn't have thought of this angle. Compared to impersonating a supplier, this Hufflepuff disguise was far less likely to get traced back to him. What did a letter from a Hufflepuff have to do with him, anyway?
Leaving the owlery, Andrew — playing it safe — swung by the Black Lake to find a secluded spot to remove the disguise.
Everything went just as planned — removed the makeup, took a roundabout route back, dodged the portraits, reentered the library, then openly left the library, ate dinner, and went to bed.
'Now I can sleep well…'
Andrew said to himself before drifting off.
T/N: For twenty chapters ahead on all my fics become a P@tron at [email protected]/LordHipposApostle