"What a novel experience."
"Indeed — I never imagined we'd be paying a midnight visit to Hogwarts after retirement…"
"Mad-Eye — this job doesn't need to stay secret, does it?"
On a clearing near Hogsmeade, three elderly men — hair gone gray, each missing a part here or there — were chatting cheerfully, looking as relaxed as if they were just meeting for tea.
"I'm not entirely sure yet," Moody said, his good eye fixed on the speaker while his magical eye roamed the landscape. "But what's certain is — this is a big one."
"Even better. Though in the middle of the night, it's bound to be something hush-hush again — shouldn't they be here by now? Any later and we'll miss our window."
"Almost here."
Moody's expression stayed calm — Dumbledore was someone he could trust.
Sure enough, not five minutes later, Dumbledore's figure appeared.
"I hope I'm not late — to be honest, waking up the Thestrals in the middle of the night is never pleasant. Hagrid had quite the time calming them down."
"No, no…"
Quirrell jolted awake again.
He couldn't remember the details of the nightmare — just that Snape had him pinned with his wand… then a flash of green light.
"Get out of my way, you fool…"
The hoarse voice rasped out. Quirrell's body shrank even further in fear — he rolled over and pressed down on that dreadful…
"Master…"
He carefully turned his head — for a long time now, he'd either slept face-down or on his side; lying flat was never an option.
"You fool, stay on your stomach… I need proper rest."
"Yes — ah!"
BANG!
A massive explosion erupted at the door, followed by spells tearing through the darkness — whoever cast them knew the layout of the room well. Every curse targeted the bed.
As a purple spell shot toward Quirrell's face, his hand had just barely touched his wand!
THOOM—!
A long, resonant impact rang out — a pale silver shield sprang up in front of the spell. Hastily cast, it instantly cracked under the powerful magic.
"Now!"
It was the first time Quirrell had ever heard that voice so urgent — but it did him no good. The second and third spells struck in quick succession, smashing the silver shield to pieces. As Quirrell rolled to dodge, agony shot up his left leg.
But the next wave of spells was already coming — he barely managed to slap on a Shield Charm before he had to cast a Levitation Charm to lift the entire bed, hoping for a moment's cover.
But the incoming magic simply melted the bed away, as if his attackers had predicted his every move. The second wave slammed into his Shield Charm, shattering what he had once been proud of.
He didn't even get the chance to trigger the room's protective wards before the third round hit — his assailants worked in perfect unison, giving him no chance to counter.
"Escape… the window!"
That desperate thought flashed through his mind. Clinging to it like a drowning man to a straw, Quirrell didn't even bother defending himself — he took two spells directly to the body while narrowly dodging the others.
He felt his lungs burning — but it didn't matter. The window was close…
With one last swing of his wand, Quirrell fired off his most vicious curse and lunged for the window — but the expected crash never came. He slammed into something thick and sticky, trapped like an insect in resin.
Something's wrong…
He struggled, but a whirlpool formed within the gelatinous mass, prying his fingers apart. His wand slipped away like a slick eel.
No!
Dread flooded him. He tried to appeal to the presence at the back of his head — but there was nothing. No response, as if it didn't exist.
It's over…
Helpless, he could only watch himself being dragged to the center of the room. Hundreds of tiny lights flared to life, flooding the office-slash-bedroom with bright illumination.
And in that harsh light, the first thing Quirrell saw was the person he feared most — an old man with a severe, guarded expression.
"Don't drop your guard — I don't have him under control yet."
Dumbledore stared at Quirrell, but his wand never stopped moving. At its subtle flick, chairs, pillows, blankets, the fire in the hearth, the books on the shelves — everything sprouted hands and feet, awkwardly surrounding Quirrell.
The Aurors he'd called in didn't relax either — their Shield Charms and Bubble-Head Charms never dropped for a second.
I deserve this…
That was the last half-formed thought in Quirrell's mind — then he felt the serpent-like face at the back of his head blaze like burning coal.
BANG!
The gelatinous mass made from window and curtain exploded at the center of the room. Amid a burst of red and white sparks, something nearly invisible shot out like an arrow toward the open, drafty window.
But the animated objects intercepted it at once, as if perfectly prepared — the almost transparent figure slipped through them, but its speed dropped bit by bit.
A sickly green spell paused for an instant, then darted after it. The evil green light struck, producing a shrill, soul-piercing screech.
"Again!"
Moody's roar cut through the chaos. A new volley of sickly green curses chased after the figure, now slowed even more, as it howled in agony.
At the same time, three more spells — each a different color — caught up with the shadow. One violet curse missed slightly, its tail grazing the floor.
The fine wooden floor immediately began to rot and crumble, the corruption spreading like wildfire. When the Aurors' next spells whipped up a gust of wind, huge patches flaked away, revealing the ancient, magically reinforced stonework beneath the castle.
Yet even this onslaught only made the shadow's screams grow shriller.
"Keep going!"
Moody swung his wand again — but truthfully, his orders were barely needed. The other Aurors had already launched the next wave of their devastatingly well-practiced attacks.
T/N: For twenty chapters ahead on all my fics become a P@tron at [email protected]/LordHipposApostle