In the dead of night, a figure dressed in black robes avoided Filch, who was patrolling, and quietly made his way to the fourth floor.
Ever since he'd encountered the Dark Lord in Albania, Quirrell's monotonous life had been completely upended.
He now had a new goal in life: to help the Dark Lord rise again.
If he could succeed, he'd ascend to heights he'd never even dared dream of before.
Like replacing that Barty Crouch who once looked down on him, becoming the new Minister of the Ministry of Magic Law Enforcement Department—or maybe, if he was bold enough... the Minister of Magic!
It wasn't impossible.
Though he wasn't one of the earliest Death Eaters, if he could steal the Philosopher's Stone and revive the Dark Lord, he'd overtake all the others and become the greatest hero.
Bellatrix, Sirius Black—they were all famous, but so what.
When the Dark Lord needed help most, where were they... In Azkaban.
Now, the only one who could help the Dark Lord rise again was him, Quirinus Quirrell!
Why should those people compete with him? Because they'd served as emergency snacks for Dementors?
And besides, the Dark Lord had promised: as long as he helped him return, he'd gain unrivaled power and endless wealth.
And most important of all... immortality!
Staring at the shabby wooden door before him, Quirrell's face suddenly flushed with a crazed excitement.
As long as he got through the professors' obstacles here, power, wealth, status... would all be within reach!
This school year, he'd probed openly and secretly so many times he'd basically figured out all the challenges except Snape's.
The most troublesome, the Three-Headed Dog, had been settled with a Dragon Egg.
To be honest, it hadn't been easy, since after last year's Oren, the Ministry of Magic had ramped up their inspection of Fantastic Beasts lately.
He'd practically emptied his life savings, paying ten times the market price to buy that Dragon Egg from a wizard in Europe.
He'd played the sucker, but as long as he could get the Philosopher's Stone, no amount of Galleons spent was too much.
Now, Dumbledore had been lured to London by a letter he sent, and Snape was still in the Forbidden Forest hunting for a Death Eater who didn't exist.
Everything was moving according to his plan—nothing could stop him now!
Quirrell pulled out a giant harp, cast a spell to make it play soothing music, and, trembling, pushed open the door.
"Sleep, big fella, get some good rest..."
As he opened the door, Quirrell suddenly froze.
The room was empty—not only was the Three-Headed Dog gone, there wasn't even a single dog hair left behind.
"Did I get the wrong room?"
Quirrell backed out, puzzled, and looked around.
No, this was the place—he remembered the axe-wielding statue across the hall, he couldn't be mistaken.
"Fool, don't waste time here!"
A different voice suddenly sounded from within Quirrell's body.
"Forgive me, master."
Quirrell didn't dare linger, and hurried into the room.
But when he saw the unprotected trapdoor, he suddenly felt a wave of heartache.
He'd saved those Galleons for more than a decade... If he'd known this would happen, he wouldn't have bought that Dragon Egg after all.
"Hurry up!" Voldemort urged again. "What are you waiting for? Dumbledore could return at any moment!"
At the mention of Dumbledore, Quirrell shuddered all over and hurriedly opened the trapdoor and jumped down.
He'd investigated—Sprout's Devil's Snare was right below, and would break his fall.
And dealing with Devil's Snare was simple: a basic Lighting Spell would do the trick.
Quirrell was quite confident.
However...
Thud!
With a dull crash, Quirrell crashed stiffly onto the hard floor.
"Ah... My leg... ah, my arm... my back..."
Quirrell curled up on the floor moaning in pain—he'd hit the ground hard, and felt agony tearing through every inch of his body.
"Damn it, Sprout actually tricked me!" Quirrell howled internally.
He was about to explain himself, when suddenly the Dark Lord's furious roar erupted!
"Fool, get up! Do you want to die here?!"
Quirrell reflexively lifted his head—and saw a pile of round things before him... Cabbages?
But who would grow cabbages here? Were they mad?
As he wondered, the "cabbage" in front of him rolled forward a bit, revealing a wide mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth!
Then the second one... the third one...
All the color drained from Quirrell's face.
He remembered. These were Chomping Cabbages—a dangerous plant, infamous alongside Poisonous Tentacles. If you got close, even two Chomping Cabbages could kill an adult wizard.
And here, there were dozens of them...
In that instant, Quirrell felt as though he'd encountered the world's greatest malice.
"Sprout... damn you!"
"Aaaaargh!"
The room echoed with Quirrell's agonized, bloodcurdling screams in the next second.
In those screams was rage, unwillingness, terror... and a truly impressive sense of penetration.
...
"Hmm?"
At the end of the corridor, in the room with the Mirror of Erised, Kael looked up from his research and asked, "Did you hear something just now?"
No one answered.
Which was reasonable, since besides himself, the only one in the room was a Niffler gazing at its own reflection in the mirror.
"What did you see..." Kael walked over and asked aloud.
The Niffler jumped, startled, and looked at Kael in alarm. It backed away a few steps, both stubby hands protectively covering its pocket.
"Hey, that's a bit much..." Kael smirked. "It's not like I'm always stealing things from you."
The Niffler protested angrily with a couple of snorts.
"Just that one time, okay? You still haven't let it go. And you'd swiped something from someone else—I was just returning it to the owner."
The Niffler turned away, ignoring Kael.
It had found that fair and square...
Amused by its attitude, Kael shook his head and said, "All right, you've had enough fun. Time to come back now."
That scream he'd heard probably wasn't his imagination. Looked like it wouldn't be long before Quirrell—or should he say, Voldemort—showed up here.
Now was not the time to be wandering outside any longer.
Still, the Niffler didn't budge. It watched him warily from where it stood.
"Relax, I'm not taking your stuff." Kael said solemnly, "And besides, in a moment someone's coming who dreams of eating a Niffler sandwich every day. And his absolute favorite is a little Niffler like you, not even a year old..."
The Niffler's eyes went wide, and in just a few quick steps it leapt into Kael's arms and burrowed into the chest by itself.