Chapter 86. The Headmaster's Office... The Door Was Blown Off
Snape stood in the silent corridor, and a light breeze brushed past.
He gave a slight shiver, suddenly feeling a chill.
He inexplicably wished he were dreaming, but after blinking hard a few times, the face before him did not change.
It was all real, with no falsehood at all.
Lord Voldemort had reappeared before him—and at Hogwarts, no less!
Snape steadied the inexpressible turmoil in his heart, forced himself to calm down, and instinctively employed Occlumency.
"Mas—Master..." Snape stammered out the form of address he had almost forgotten.
But Voldemort gave no response, his eyes still tightly shut, as though what lay on Quirrell's head were merely a mask, not a real person.
The corridor sank into silence again, leaving only the slightly heavy breathing of Quirrell and Snape.
From around the corner, Duncan watched and suddenly wondered what would happen if he were to fire a spell at Voldemort right now.
Leaving everything else aside, Snape's and Quirrell's adrenaline would absolutely spike to the highest peak either of them could reach in this lifetime!
However, Duncan hesitated for a moment and gave up on that suicidal move.
He was afraid that before Dumbledore could arrive, he would already have been killed by an enraged Voldemort.
Snape stood there on edge for more than ten seconds, and just as he was about to speak again, he suddenly saw Quirrell turn around.
"The Master is asleep and cannot hear what you're saying."
Quirrell carefully rewrapped his turban around his head as he spoke.
Seeing the stiffness on Snape's face, he felt much relieved—even a little pleased.
So it turned out that Snape's reaction upon seeing Voldemort was not much better than his own.
"But!" Quirrell saw Snape's gaze go cold again and hurried to say, "What I told you just now was all the Master's orders.
He wants you to assist me in obtaining the Philosopher's Stone to help restore him.
Do you understand, Snape?"
Snape's lips moved.
In a low voice he asked, "Are you certain?"
"What, do you think I'd dare to trifle with the Master's commands?" Quirrell challenged.
Snape let out a quiet breath and said, "What does the Master want me to do?"
"Come closer and I'll whisper it to you." Quirrell glanced around as he spoke.
Snape's brows knit.
Holding his breath, he unwillingly leaned his head in.
"Oi, let me hear as well.
Why are you whispering the moment it gets to the crucial bit?"
Duncan groused inwardly and strained his ears, but he still could not catch a word.
He did not dare move closer either.
If he got too near and Quirrell sensed something amiss, he would be finished and not even able to run.
"I understand."
After a brief whisper, Snape straightened up and took a step back.
"I will help you accomplish what you said, but I hope you haven't lied to me—that this truly is the Master's order."
Under Snape's gaze, Quirrell forced his trembling legs to be still and said, "O—of course..."
"Good." Snape inclined his head slightly, pivoted on his heel, and strode away.
Only after Snape disappeared at the far end of the corridor did Quirrell clench his fists and cheer.
He paced back and forth in excitement, muttering to himself, "Wonderful, Snape believed me—didn't suspect a thing.
With his help, I will definitely get the Philosopher's Stone, definitely.
When the Master wakes, he'll certainly praise me.
When that time comes, everything I accomplish will be thanks to your wise guidance, heh heh..."
As if already stepping onto the ladder of success, Quirrell beheld his bright future.
Grinning foolishly, he quickened his pace towards the stairs.
Duncan tailed him for a short distance and, discovering that Quirrell was heading back towards his office, abandoned the pursuit.
"What exactly does Quirrell want Snape to do?"
On his way back to the dormitory, Duncan's mind kept worrying at this question.
On the other side of the castle, Snape practically sprinted to the entrance to the Headmaster's office.
Panting, he spoke the password.
The stone figure leapt aside in haste, the wall split and slowly shifted, revealing a narrow gap.
Snape did not want to wait.
He squeezed through the gap by force, stepped onto the spiral staircase, and continued to run upward.
"Dumbledore!" Snape pounded on the door, almost roaring.
But there was no response from within.
Judging by the time, the centenarian ought to be at rest.
"Damn it!" Snape drew his wand and slashed it hard.
With a bang, the door was blasted open and flew into the room.
Snape strode in and shouted, "Dumbledore, come out at once—something momentous has happened!"
The portraits on the walls, startled awake, looked down at Snape below and began to complain in chorus.
"Boy, have you no manners?
What time do you think it is, bellowing about like this!" Phineas rebuked him.
"Shut up!" Snape glared, speaking with menace.
Phineas's eyebrows shot up, and he opened his mouth to deliver a scathing tirade.
That a mere Slytherin junior should be so rude to a former Headmaster was truly beyond forgiveness!
But before his opened mouth could produce any sound, the other portraits rushed over to cover it and tried to drag him away.
They felt the man before them seemed half-mad at the moment.
If they let Phineas provoke him, he might charge straight over and tear down their portraits.
Just then, Dumbledore—dressed in pyjamas with cartoon patterns and wearing a nightcap—came down the stairs from the innermost part of the room.
His brows were slightly drawn together, and his tone held a hint of displeasure.
"Snape, are you trying to dismantle my office?"
Snape took a step forward and said sharply, "You-Know-Who has returned!"
The room fell abruptly silent.
Even Phineas, struggling against the other portraits, calmed down, prised several hands off his face, and, together with the rest, looked downwards.
"Oh?" Dumbledore flicked the pom-pom dangling from the tip of his nightcap back over his head.
"An old man's heart cannot take too many shocks."
"I am not joking with you," Snape said.
"I saw him with my own eyes—and at Hogwarts, at that!"
"What? You-Know-Who is in the school?"
"How is that possible?"
"Boy, are you sure you're not having us on?"
Before Dumbledore could react, the portraits on the walls erupted into a clamour, like kettles coming to the boil.
"Where did you see him?" Dumbledore asked, sitting down in his chair and fixing his gaze on Snape before him.
"In the fifth-floor corridor, beside that disused classroom," Snape said after catching his breath and forcing his tone to be calm.
"After leaving you yesterday, I received a note from Quirrell asking me to meet him there."
"Originally I only meant to take a look and fulfil the task you gave me, but I never expected to see that person."
Snape paused, exhaled, and went on, "He is parasitised on the back of Quirrell's head, which is why Quirrell wears a turban all day—for fear someone will notice the oddity at the back of his head."
Dumbledore pondered for a long time, thinking of who knew what, and only after quite a while did he speak.
"What did he want of you?"
"He wants me to help him obtain the Philosopher's Stone," Snape said, his tone growing heavier.
"And he also intends to kill... Harry Potter!"
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