Hogwarts Great Hall.
"Good heavens, that was too terrifying! I could only see his back at the time. He suddenly stood up, said nothing, just silently walked to the edge of the stands, and jumped without hesitation."
Hermione was speaking with a face full of lingering fear about what had happened.
At the time, Hermione had sneaked over to the teachers' stands, planning to cast a minor hex on Snape, like setting his robes on fire—anything to interrupt his actions.
But before she could make a move, Snape's motions stopped, and Harry's broom ceased trembling.
So she decided to wait a bit longer under the stands, in case Snape got any more bad ideas.
But in waiting, she witnessed Harry catching the Golden Snitch and saw Quirrell leap from the stands with her own eyes.
"It was like he was possessed," Hector said, frowning.
"Possessed? I think you're right; he might have been hit by dark magic. Remember what Quirrell said? He fought against dark magic, and his turban was a gift from some African prince," Ron said.
"Poor Quirrell. Maybe we misunderstood him before? Was he really a fighter against dark magic?"
"Or perhaps the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?" Anthony suggested.
Anthony was the most well-informed in the group; he had already heard about the DADA curse from upperclassmen.
Then everyone turned their gazes to Charlie: "Charlie, what's wrong with you?"
Charlie hadn't joined the discussion. His shoulders were slumped, and he spoke listlessly: "EMO'd."
Damn it, eating two autumn wind chocolates in a row—that twilight backlash was no joke.
Good news: the autumn wind twilight energy could now serve as one of his attack methods.
Bad news: the twilight backlash still existed, and there was no solution yet.
Perhaps Occlumency was an effective counter. Earlier during the match, Charlie hadn't held back, blowing the twilight wind toward both Snape and Quirrell.
But Snape seemed much more composed, not seeking death like Quirrell.
By that logic, perhaps Voldemort, attached to the back of Quirrell's head, wasn't affected either.
...
At this moment, on the second floor of the school, in the hospital wing.
A silent roar was erupting.
"You fool, you utter fool!"
"Mas... Master, I didn't know what happened at the time," Quirrell responded tremblingly in his mind.
"I only remember... at that moment... my mind was filled with many bad memories."
"Then you jumped, is that it?" Voldemort's voice was sinister and venomous.
Quirrell didn't dare answer. He lay on the bed, his body shaking uncontrollably from fear.
"Haven't you realized yet?" Voldemort asked angrily.
"You were attacked. A curse guided you to do that, and you were completely unaware.
Hmph, you were so focused on dropping Harry Potter to his death, but you didn't think someone wanted to drop you too."
"So... that's it," Quirrell quickly responded. "Master, your wisdom—"
"Shut your mouth; spare me the useless flattery. For the next while, behave yourself."
"Yes!"
After a moment of silence, Quirrell couldn't help but ask: "But Master, who... who could do something like that? And I've never heard of such a curse."
"Use your brain!" Voldemort's cold voice rang out.
After that, he spoke no more.
Quirrell quickly locked onto the only possible person—Dumbledore!
Yes, it had to be him.
That meant his true identity and what he was planning had already been discovered by the most powerful wizard in the world?
The thought of this outcome made Quirrell curl up in fear on the bed.
And on his back, Voldemort's eyes were tightly closed.
He actually didn't know who did it either; he had never heard of such a curse.
Dumbledore? No, only a fool like Quirrell would think of him.
Those familiar with Dumbledore knew that the old man loved hiding behind the scenes. Unless absolutely necessary, he wouldn't step into the spotlight.
And today's farce at the Quidditch pitch wasn't enough to make him act.
So there was only one answer: there was a third person in this school now.
And it was a cunning, insidious one, wielding mysterious curses...
Who could it be...
...
Afternoon, third floor of the school.
Charlie wandered around alone. If he remembered correctly, the entrance to Dumbledore's Headmaster's office tower was here.
It seemed like some gargoyle guarded the entrance, and you had to give it a bunch of candy passwords to have a chance of opening the door.
Of course, Charlie didn't plan to go into his office; he just wanted to find the entrance and deliver the letter to Dumbledore in some way.
But after searching for a long time, he couldn't find it. He recalled that in the original, the guardian was a stone monster.
But similar reliefs and sculptures were commonplace in Hogwarts; it was like finding a needle in a haystack.
"Hello, dear," Charlie said to a girl in a painting on the corridor wall.
The girl was dressed elegantly, looking like a noble's portrait or something.
The girl in the painting unfolded her fan, covering her face: "What a frivolous little wizard."
"Oh, that's just an affectionate term," Charlie smiled nonchalantly. "May I ask if you know where the entrance to Headmaster Dumbledore's office is?"
"I won't tell you," the girl rolled her eyes.
"Stingy," Charlie pouted.
The girl in the painting blushed, retorting irritably: "You're the stingy one! Merlin, can't you say something nice to coax me?
What happened to that frivolous attitude earlier? I thought you were a playboy."
"What? Me?" Charlie pointed incredulously at himself. "I'm the most innocent boy at Hogwarts."
The girl was amused by his shameless words, then closed her fan and pointed to Charlie's left: "Go that way, turn left after the second classroom, and go straight to the end of the corridor.
There's a gargoyle statue there; that's the guard for the Headmaster's office."
"I knew I didn't misjudge you; you're a kind and beautiful lady."
Charlie waved a salute to her, then followed the direction she pointed.
Soon, Charlie reached the end of the corridor she indicated.
"Password!"
The gargoyle spoke.
Gargoyles are actually terminal reliefs for drainage channels. In past , such sculptures often appeared as dragons or chiwen.
Here, in this ancient British castle, gargoyles were well-known.
They had pointed ears, ugly faces, bat wings, and crouched bodies like stone demons.
"Chocolate Frog!" Charlie said.
The next moment, accompanied by the grinding of stone on stone, the door opened.
"??"
"What? I didn't want to go in. Sorry, I just made that up." With that, Charlie pulled out a letter. "I just ask you to deliver this letter to Dumbledore."
"If every little wizard wanted to write to the greatest wizard in the world, this place would be packed," the gargoyle said as it slowly closed the door.
"Oh, but what if this is a letter from Harry Potter?"
The gargoyle's intelligence was higher than expected; it paused, seeming to ponder something.
Then it opened the door again: "Go up yourself and deliver the letter to him. Of course, you'd better make sure it's written by Harry Potter.
Deceiving me and deceiving Dumbledore are two different matters."
"Thanks." Charlie showed no sign of being warned and stepped straight in.
Though he hadn't planned to go to the Headmaster's office at first, now that the door was wide open, he certainly wouldn't refuse.
Meanwhile, shortly after he entered, a figure in swirling black robes hurried over from behind.