Late into the quiet night, his two roommates, brimming with energy, debated for ages—how to get Snape to take over Defence Against the Dark Arts. They brainstormed at least seven or eight methods before finally settling down, satisfied.
Only then did Wayne finally have time to check the system notifications that had been pinging in his head all day.
Ever since the little badgers had handed in their letters, the system panel had lit up with multiple alerts.
[Detected host's initial display of prowess, spreading chaotic delight through Hogwarts. Major event initiating…]
[Ding! Major event 'The Power of the Badgers' configuration complete. Final rewards will be assessed based on event influence and outcomes.]
[Ding! Chain quest 'The Fallen Professor' initiated. Rewards will be determined by Quirrell's degree of wretchedness.]
[Note: 'The Power of the Badgers' is the first major event since the system upgrade. Final rewards will receive a tenfold critical hit. Host, please continue your efforts to bring colour to this dull world~]
Wayne was no stranger to what the system termed 'major events'—most of his accumulated points had been earned through such occurrences.
Not only were the point rewards substantial, but there were also final event prizes.
This time, the system had even generously granted a tenfold critical hit, meaning the rewards would undoubtedly be extraordinary.
Unfortunately, Wayne knew Quirrell was unlikely to leave Hogwarts, which would diminish the rewards somewhat. Still, he who is contented is always happy.
The fleeting thought of regret passed through Wayne's mind before vanishing. A tenfold critical hit was already a massive windfall.
As for the second quest, it was practically handed to him on a platter—though he'd still need to put in some effort regarding Quirrell's 'degree of wretchedness'.
Glancing at his panel, though the event hadn't fully concluded and the final rewards hadn't been generated, he saw that his points had already skyrocketed by over two thousand in a single day.
Moreover, the ripple effects were still ongoing—tomorrow would bring another wave.
Wayne decided to hold onto his points for now, waiting until everything was settled before spending them.
...
True to Wayne's expectations, the event's repercussions continued to unfold. His actions seemed to have flipped some bizarre switch.
By morning, the Gryffindor tables were nearly empty, and Quirrell was conspicuously absent from the Great Hall.
Rumour had it he'd called in sick.
After Snape triumphantly taught two Defence Against the Dark Arts classes that morning, he was summoned to the Headmaster's office by noon, alongside Professor McGonagall.
Half an hour later, the two emerged, both looking thoroughly displeased.
Professor McGonagall retrieved a small vial of potion from her robe pocket and downed it. "Would you like some, Professor Snape? Madam Pomfrey brewed this for me. It helps with that... constricted feeling and rapid heartbeat."
"No, thank you," Snape refused curtly. "If you could control those audacious dunderheads of yours, it would be more effective than any potion."
With that, he strode off without another word.
Professor McGonagall ground her teeth in frustration, though not at Snape, but at her own house's... idiots.
They'd actually reported Snape. Not just one or two students. Nearly the entire house!
When Dumbledore showed her those letters, McGonagall could have sunk through the floor in mortification.
How could they compare Snape to Quirrell?
Setting aside that Snape was the youngest Head of House in Slytherin's history with strong ties to numerous pure-blood families...
His mastery of potions alone meant Hogwarts could never hope to replace him with anyone of comparable skill if he were dismissed.
This was entirely different from Quirrell—that fraud who'd only ever read from textbooks.
For these very reasons, even knowing Snape showed favouritism towards his own house, none of the staff ever made an issue of it.
So the little lions had truly kicked an iron plate this time. The already meagre house points were directly slashed by the vindictive Snape, who deducted a precise sixty-six points.
Why such an odd number?
Because that was all Gryffindor had left. To save face for Professor McGonagall, he deliberately spared five points.
Hmm, Potter had Potions class the day after tomorrow—those five points probably wouldn't last either.
...
Seeing the nearly empty points board, the young lions were on the verge of tears.
"Stop laughing!"
Hermione pinched Wayne furiously. In her eyes, he was revelling in their misfortune.
If he hadn't set such a terrible example, the others wouldn't have followed suit and written complaint letters. That guy was practically leading them to their doom without a shred of remorse.
"Ow, ow, ow—hands off!" Wayne dodged her small fingers. No matter how pretty the hand, a pinch still hurts.
"I was just happy for you, that's all."
"With no points left, you've got nothing to lose. Now Snape can't target you even if he wants to, right?"
Wayne's nonsense was so convincing that some actually bought it. The Weasley twins' eyes lit up, exchanging glances before breaking into eerie snickers.
"Looks like we're free, George."
"Ah, now we can really let loose, Fred."
Hermione was dumbfounded.
What kind of house had she been sorted into? Useless at everything, but first-rate at causing trouble!
...
On the fourth floor, inside the Defence Against the Dark Arts office.
Under the cover of a Silencing Charm, Quirrell trembled as he grovelled on the floor, letting out agonised screams and moans.
"Master, please, calm yourself!"
"Spare me this once! I was only following your orders, deliberately holding back!"
"Who could've predicted that Lawrence would be so brazen, rallying so many to report me!"
At this moment, Quirrell loathed Wayne with every fibre of his being.
If not for him, he wouldn't be suffering the Dark Lord's punishment, nor would he be cowering in his office like a rat, too afraid to show his face anywhere.
"Are you implying this is my fault?" Voldemort's murderous voice echoed in Quirrell's mind.
"N-no, Master!" Quirrell scrambled to defend himself.
"It's all Lawrence's doing! That damned Mudblood ruined your plans!"
"All I see is your incompetence." Voldemort's face twisted grotesquely, and Quirrell writhed as excruciating pain lanced through his body, his screams rising anew.
The torment lasted a long while before finally subsiding, leaving Quirrell drenched in sweat.
"I don't care how you do it—get me dragon blood, Mandrake juice, and venom from a Swooping Evil. Now."
"Wh-what are you planning?"
"Hmph. Dumbledore will summon you soon. I must hide deeper to evade his detection."
Voldemort refused to leave Hogwarts. He would obtain the Philosopher's Stone.
Not daring to delay, Quirrell left the school through the office fireplace.
After spending his entire savings and even robbing a few Dark Wizards in Knockturn Alley, he barely scraped together enough gold to purchase the required ingredients.
...
By dawn, Quirrell returned to Hogwarts.
Not long after, a knock sounded at his office door, Snape's voice drifting through.
"Quirrell, I know you're in there. Dumbledore wants to see you."
Standing outside, Snape wore an amused expression. He was curious to see how Quirrell would wriggle out of this one.
Would he finally reveal his true colours?
Two minutes later, the office door swung open, and Quirrell emerged with a calm expression.
"Let's go, Professor Snape."
Observing his demeanour, Snape frowned slightly. "I thought you said you had a cold?"
"Thank you for your concern, but I bought some medicine yesterday and feel much better now."
Snape eyed him darkly. "If you ever need potions in the future, don't hesitate to come to me. Free of charge."
"That won't be necessary. I can manage on my own." Quirrell cursed inwardly.
Asking you for potions? Who knew what strange ingredients might be slipped in—Veritaserum, for instance.
Ever since the term began, Snape had been monitoring his movements, overtly or covertly, to the point where he still hadn't managed to gather concrete details about the fourth floor. As a result, he'd been berated by Voldemort countless times. Quirrell loathed Snape almost as much as he loathed Wayne.
The two reached the eighth floor, and once Quirrell was delivered, Snape left.
The gargoyle, having been instructed in advance, opened the passage without requiring a password. Forcing himself to stay composed, Quirrell clenched his fists and stepped inside.
"Quirinus, I'm glad to see you've recovered from your cold."
Dumbledore was as affable as ever, but Quirrell was on high alert.
This was his first private meeting with Dumbledore since being appointed as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Frankly, he was nervous.
What if Dumbledore suddenly lashed out and apprehended him on the spot?
Even as Voldemort's vessel, in his current state, his master was no match for this white-bearded old man.
"I took some medicine twice and feel much better, Professor," Quirrell replied softly, deliberately avoiding those piercing eyes.
Dumbledore nodded. "That's a relief."
"You must have heard about recent events?"
"I'm aware of everything," Quirrell answered as Voldemort had coached him. "The Ghouls' and Vampire's curses continue to gnaw at my mind. Sometimes, my reactions are a bit slow."
"I do apologise for the impact on the students."
"So, what do you intend to do about it?" Dumbledore followed up. "The curses of Dark creatures are indeed tenacious. Even I must handle them with extreme caution."
"I sympathise with your plight, but the students' Defence Against the Dark Arts education cannot be neglected."
"Quirinus, my suggestion is that you take some time off to recuperate." Dumbledore poured Quirrell a cup of hot tea. "The other professors can take turns covering your classes. Once you've fully recovered, you can return."
Quirrell immediately grasped the subtext.
If you remain in this state, you won't be teaching anymore.
Cursing Wayne vehemently in his mind, Quirrell forced a weak smile. "Professor, I don't think that's necessary. Within Hogwarts, I'm safest. You know I've been evading those creatures."
"As for the classes, please don't worry. I'll do everything in my power to help the students."
"Oh?"
Dumbledore's expression grew markedly more serious as he studied Quirrell. "Are you certain? If there are any more complaints, I'm afraid your departure won't be very dignified."
"I understand," Quirrell steadied himself. "But I still need some help to suppress the curse."
Dumbledore remained noncommittal: "What do you want? Snape's potions?"
"No, I need Phoenix tears."
Silence fell over the office. Neither spoke further, save for Fawkes letting out a couple of disgruntled chirps.
Quirrell was sweating bullets.
Everything he'd said had been taught to him by Voldemort.
To ensure he could stay at Hogwarts, Voldemort had gone all out. Defence Against the Dark Arts? Fine—he'd teach it himself!
His failed application for the position years ago had always rankled Voldemort, deepening his hatred for Dumbledore.
Now, in a twisted way, he was fulfilling that dream.
Using the curse as an excuse to explain Quirrell's sudden change in demeanour would dispel Dumbledore's suspicions. The only issue was energy consumption.
Though he could control Quirrell's body, it wouldn't last long. Voldemort planned to first swindle some Phoenix tears from Dumbledore as a stopgap, then head to the Forbidden Forest to hunt Unicorns—their blood would restore his strength.
Compared to White Magic, Dark Magic worked faster and suited Voldemort's tastes far better. To conceal himself completely, Voldemort had sunk into deep slumber before arriving.
Now, Quirrell was on edge, unsure whether Dumbledore would agree.
"Very well. For the sake of your health, I suppose Fawkes will have to endure it."
Dumbledore finally spoke, then approached the Phoenix, gently stroking its feathers.
Though displeased, Fawkes reluctantly squeezed out a small vial of tears before turning his backside pointedly at the old Headmaster and fluttering out the window to play with Ho-Oh. It was safe to assume Fawkes wouldn't be giving his master any warm looks anytime soon.
Elated, Quirrell took the tears and left, promising to resume teaching normally after one more day of rest.
...
Not long after, Snape arrived. "What did you make of it?"
"Much, and yet little," Dumbledore replied cryptically.
"Quirrell asked for Phoenix tears—or rather, Tom did."
Snape's expression darkened, his body tensing. "And you gave them to him?"
"I did," Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with wisdom. "Had I refused, he would have resorted to more extreme measures to achieve his goal."
"Better to lend a hand than let Quirrell act in ways we cannot foresee."
"At least this way, the situation remains within our control."
"Couldn't we just arrest him?" Snape pressed his hands together irritably. "A dose of Veritaserum, and I guarantee he'd spill everything."
"The result matters as much as the process, Severus."
Dumbledore drained the untouched tea that Quirrell had left behind.
"Without completely resolving Tom, capturing Quirrell will only force him into hiding once more."
"I am old now. Someone new must step forward."
In Dumbledore's eyes, the current Tom and Quirrell were nothing more than a whetstone, meant to sharpen Harry. Wayne could serve the same purpose.
His task was to control the hardness of this whetstone, ensuring it didn't damage the blade.
Dumbledore had no rigid insistence on assembling the trio. He merely wanted Harry to have more friends, more allies.
That way, when the time truly came to face Voldemort, Harry would have reliable support by his side.
Wayne was the ideal candidate in his eyes.
Had Wayne been sorted into Gryffindor, things would have been far simpler. Unfortunately, the boy seemed to embody more of Hufflepuff's qualities.
Snape, too, was well aware of Dumbledore's expectations for Harry. Though he wished to shield Harry from the turmoil, he was powerless to intervene.
Once Dumbledore made a decision, it was as unshakable as one made by Voldemort. No one could defy it.
Noticing Snape's displeased expression, Dumbledore chuckled lightly in reassurance. "Severus, don't dwell on it too much.
"You'll have to handle tomorrow's Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Let's wait and see what kind of surprise Quirrell has in store for us."