Chapter 57: Threat
February at Hogwarts remained bitterly cold.
Although the three troublesome Gryffindors already knew the secret of Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone, that did not mean they were ready to rush headfirst into the forbidden corridor on the fourth floor and court death. They were still only first-year students. Faced with that Cerberus, they felt fear far more strongly than heroism, unless some irresistible reason forced them forward.
And Tamara Riddle was the most patient kind of hunter.
She was like a spider lurking at the centre of its web, waiting quietly for prey to brush against the thread called Justice.
"No hurry."
Tamara sat in a corner of the library, turning the pages of a Defence Against the Dark Arts reference book, a cold smile resting at the corner of her mouth.
"That foolish main soul still hasn't moved."
According to the logic of that cursed system, only when Quirrell actually tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone and endangered the school would her intervention count as righteous guardianship.
So all she had to do was wait.
Wait for Quirrell to make a mistake, or wait for him to be cornered by Dumbledore's traps.
On Wednesday afternoon, Tamara had just finished Transfiguration and was walking alone through a secluded corridor leading back toward the dungeons.
"Mi Miss Riddle."
A stammering voice, thick with the smell of garlic, came from behind her.
Tamara stopped.
When she turned, she saw Professor Quirrell, swathed as always in his large purple scarf, looking as though he might collapse at any moment.
"Professor?"
She raised an eyebrow, arranging just the right amount of surprise and confusion on her face.
"Is something the matter?"
Ever since the first lesson, Quirrell had been avoiding her. He always fled the moment class ended, and they had not spoken alone in quite some time.
Quirrell stood half in shadow, his timid expression more exaggerated than ever.
But his eyes, usually so evasive, were fixed on Tamara now, and there was something cold and deeply unpleasant in them.
"I I wanted to ask you about your Charms homework."
He took a step closer, lowering his voice as though he were sharing some dark secret.
"I heard Professor Flitwick is quite impressed with you."
"It is my honour."
Tamara subtly tightened her grip on the wand hidden in her sleeve.
"Yes... an honour."
Quirrell suddenly laughed. It was a warped, ugly sound, completely unlike his usual frightened muttering.
"Then do you have any particular thoughts about that corridor on the fourth floor?"
Tamara's heart gave a sharp jolt.
He was testing her.
Or rather, the thing behind him was.
That fragmented soul was mad, but not stupid. It had sensed a threat.
"I don't understand what you mean, Professor."
Tamara took a small step back, widening the distance between them.
"That is a restricted area. Professor Dumbledore made that quite clear."
"Restricted area... heh... restricted area..."
Quirrell repeated the words under his breath, his eyes growing increasingly frenzied.
Then he lunged forward. His wand appeared in his hand as if from nowhere.
"Some truths... once discovered... can only lead to death."
The killing intent was no longer concealed.
Tamara's pupils narrowed.
The main soul actually intended to strike here, in the corridor, inside Hogwarts itself?
"Truly insane," she thought coldly.
Since he wanted to die, she was more than willing to oblige.
Her gaze turned to ice as she prepared to draw her wand and strike the reckless puppet down with a curse. The Basic Magic Potion would only restore ten minutes of her power, but that would be more than enough to deal with a half dead fragment.
And this counted as self defence. The system would have no right to interfere.
"Quirrell."
Before Tamara could move, a deep voice filled with warning came from the far end of the corridor.
Quirrell froze at once.
It was as though he had touched a live wire. He recoiled, snatching his wand back, the madness vanishing from his face in an instant and leaving behind only the old stammering coward.
Severus Snape swept down the corridor like a black thundercloud.
He stopped between them. His dark eyes passed over Tamara first, then locked coldly onto Quirrell.
"P Professor Snape?"
Quirrell fumbled at his scarf, his voice shaking.
"Y you... why are you here?"
"That is precisely what I should ask you, Quirrell."
Snape's voice was low, sharp, and full of contempt.
"Here. Alone. In the company of a first-year student. Discussing what, exactly?"
His gaze flayed over Quirrell like a blade, as though trying to strip away the ridiculous mask he wore.
"N no. It was only... only homework."
Quirrell protested in a rush, but he would not meet Snape's eyes.
"Was it?"
Snape gave a cold, cutting laugh. He did not press the matter further. Instead, he turned his back on Quirrell and faced Tamara.
"Miss Riddle."
His expression was difficult to read.
He was still full of suspicion and unease where Tamara was concerned, but Quirrell had stirred something even stronger in him. Compared to Tamara, he despised Quirrell far more.
"If you do not mind, I have a few words for you in private regarding your performance in Potions."
The excuse was transparent.
He was removing her from Quirrell. Putting himself between her and danger.
Tamara looked at Snape's back and let the faintest smile touch her lips.
She had already been prepared to cast a dark curse. It seemed that would not be necessary now.
"Of course, Professor."
She nodded obediently, then gave Quirrell a deliberate, provoking glance.
"Goodbye for now, Professor Quirrell."
Quirrell bared his teeth at Snape in pure hatred, but in the end he said nothing. He turned and hurried away like a rat fleeing light.
Only Tamara and Snape remained in the corridor.
Snape stood in silence for a moment, watching the direction Quirrell had gone, his brow furrowed deeply.
"Thank you, Professor."
Tamara spoke softly, just the right amount of gratitude in her voice.
"I do not know why, but Professor Quirrell's expression just now was rather frightening."
Snape turned sharply to look at her.
"Stay away from him."
His voice was low and stern.
"No matter what he tells you, and no matter what he promises you, do not trust him."
He did not believe Tamara was some innocent little girl. But he knew with absolute certainty that Quirrell was dangerous.
"I understand."
Tamara nodded meekly.
Inside, she found the whole thing rather amusing.
Snape probably thought Quirrell had been trying to draw her in, perhaps to recruit her or use her for some hidden purpose.
He had no idea that Quirrell had wanted to kill her because her existence threatened the standing of the main soul behind him.
"It seems you have made the correct choice, Severus," Tamara thought with quiet satisfaction as she studied Snape's stern profile.
Apparently Snape still did not know that the main soul of Lord Voldemort was hiding behind Quirrell's turban.
Which meant that when Snape had been bitten by the three-headed dog, he had acted entirely on his own, not under orders from that decaying fragment.
"Although you do not know the truth, you instinctively chose my side over that of the rotting main soul."
"Good."
"As long as you continue to show this loyalty, I may forgive your earlier offence."
Snape, of course, knew nothing of the thoughts passing through her mind.
He only felt that something about the entire exchange had been wrong.
"Return to your common room at once."
He waved a hand impatiently.
"Do not wander the corridors."
"Yes, Professor."
Tamara curtsied and turned away.
But the moment her back was to him, a cold glint passed through her eyes.
"Quirrell..."
She gave a silent, contemptuous snort.
"Even deluded by that main soul, he is still loyal to the Dark Lord. He ought to serve a stronger master, not remain the puppet of a parasite."
.....
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