Chapter 62
Chapter 62
Suer nervously ate his way through the Easter ham, roast lamb, fish and chips served at the feast.
Every so often, he glanced towards the staff table. The peculiar Professor Kettleburn merely chuckled like a foolish old man from time to time and showed no sign of causing trouble.
The principal culprit, Voldemort Quirrell, sat properly in his place, cutting into a leg of lamb and occasionally speaking to the professor beside him. Apart from his excessively pale face, nothing seemed amiss.
Harry and Ron were safely playing the egg-collision game with nearby friends. Hermione was reading. Neville was staring into space.
Would the night truly pass in peace?
Suer put the final piece of rich fruitcake into his mouth and nodded to himself. If nobody caused trouble, he could enjoy a good night’s sleep.
Nothing could stand between a young badger and his soft bed.
When the final dessert vanished from the tables, Professor McGonagall rose to announce the end of the feast and the beginning of the holiday.
Something was wrong.
Before Suer could work out why Professor McGonagall had made the announcement, the students began filing from the hall.
Only after crawling into the barrel passage did he suddenly realise that he had not seen Headmaster Dumbledore anywhere in the castle that evening.
“Why didn’t Headmaster Dumbledore attend the feast?”
“Oh, I heard he left to deal with some business for the International Confederation of Wizards,” an older witch behind Suer replied after overhearing his murmur.
…
“Strange. Why are there so many eggs in the common room?” As soon as he entered, Suer noticed several grey, stone-coloured eggs in the corner, daubed with bright paint.
“The house-elves probably put out Easter eggs,” Justin said. “Want a game of wizard chess?”
“Ask Morn.” Suer had no interest in playing such a dreadful chess player. Crushing a novice was no fun at all.
“I’ll read for a while and then sleep. I’m tired. If today’s loser has to fetch a late-night snack from the kitchens, bring me a piece of rich fruitcake with plenty of strawberries. Thanks.”
“Fine, fine, you false Hufflepuff,” Justin muttered, abandoning Suer to seek Morn for a battle between men.
No one knew which of them would end up on top.
Suer fell deeply asleep before Justin and Morn decided a victor. He was simply exhausted.
Ask no questions. Hermione was to blame.
Night deepened. Young animals and old animals alike sank into sleep.
Not the owls, of course. Nor the diligent caretaker Filch and his cat.
Filch carried his lamp through the castle, swaying with every step. His shadow stretched and shrank in rhythm.
Hiss…
The sound of scales brushing cracks in the flagstones reached his ears with perfect clarity.
“Who’s there?” Filch stopped. Thin lids narrowed over his protruding, bloodshot eyes, and something sharp gleamed within the slits.
“Which little wizard is hiding there? Come out!”
He paced rapidly up and down the corridor, excitement faintly visible in every movement.
Filch found nothing.
“Damn you. Ran fast, did you?” he muttered, slowing again–only to collide around the next corner with a black-robed figure.
“Ha! Caught you!” Filch’s talon-like hand seized the shape concealed in darkness.
“Let’s see who you are.”
He lifted the lamp, narrowed his eyes and leaned closer.
Clatter.
The lamp fell to the floor.
“P-Professor Kettleburn?” Filch said in astonishment.
“What are you…”
“No. Something’s wrong…” After countless years working in the castle, Filch immediately sensed that the professor before him was not right at all. Kettleburn appeared frozen in the expression and posture of a single instant.
“Magic?”
“This is serious. I must tell Professor McGonagall at once. Has an outsider entered the castle? Damn it, and Dumbledore isn’t here tonight.”
Filch was alarmed but methodical. Magic lay beyond his ability; he had to find the one person currently in charge of the castle.
As he bent to retrieve the lamp, a spell shot from an oblique angle and struck his elderly body.
“We can’t have that…” Another figure hurried forward. “Filch, your work is finished for today. You know nothing about what happens next. Return to your office.”
Joy mingled with the confusion in Filch’s eyes.
“Oh, my work is finished.”
“The castle is peaceful tonight.”
“Exactly. Go back. You should rest.”
Filch blankly lifted his lamp and swayed away down the corridor.
“Hiss… Fool! Why did you not kill him?” A pair of vivid red slit-pupilled eyes opened in the darkness.
“Master…” The black-robed man immediately threw himself to the floor, bowing before the snake that glided from the shadows. “I believe… this is not the proper time for violence. Any death before we achieve our objective would damage the plan.”
“Do you presume to instruct me? Hiss…”
“N-no. Never, Master–ah!”
The grey snake sank its fangs into him. The robed man rolled in agony, yet dared not cry out loudly enough to attract attention.
His hood fell away, revealing beneath the dim wall-lamp a gleaming…
Boiled egg?
It was Quirinus Quirrell.
Fortunately, compared with the Cruciatus Curse he had endured before, this pain remained tolerable.
When the snake released him, it immediately crumbled into a handful of ash that scattered across the floor.
Upon the back of Quirinus Quirrell’s bald head appeared a protruding face with sunken eyes and no nose. Any young wizard who happened upon it would suffer nightmares for days.
“Hurry, Quirinus. Bring me the Stone. When I rise again, I shall grant you the power you desire–and the immortality mankind has always dreamed of…”
“Your time is running out.”
Quirrell remained prone, pressing his body as close to the floor as possible while forcing the back of his head upwards in an exceedingly awkward posture.
“Yes, Master. Thanks to that old fool Kettleburn, we would never otherwise have gained such a perfect opportunity so soon…”
“I do not care how. I care only for results!”
“Yes… yes, Master…”