In the dead of night, beneath a moonlit sky scattered with stars, a lone crow glided over one of Hogwarts' towers, its harsh "caw, caw" slicing through the silence.
Down among the castle's shadowed corridors, a dark figure crept soundlessly to a door on the third floor and placed something at its threshold.
It was a hastily crumpled paper package—at first glance, it looked like nothing more than a bit of trash discarded by a careless student. If Filch had seen it, he'd surely have unleashed a tirade.
But at this hour, Filch was patrolling elsewhere, nowhere near this particular corridor.
The figure, after setting down the paper bundle, retreated a few steps and paused. From his robe pocket, he produced a palm-sized wooden puppet.
The puppet was crude—clearly whittled from a random scrap of wood, its surface rough and unpolished, bark still clinging in places. It hadn't so much as seen a drop of paint.
Its most striking feature was its oversized head, giving it the look of a potato with limbs.
The shadow placed the puppet gently on the floor, fussed with its position until it faced the door, then drew his wand. He whispered a spell—just a single, clipped syllable—and tapped the puppet's "potato" head.
With that, the ugly little puppet began to move.
It was agonizingly slow—each step took several seconds, and every stride covered barely an inch. But it pressed on, inch by inch, toward the door.
The shadow watched the puppet's determined march, nodded almost imperceptibly, and slipped away as silently as he had arrived, vanishing around a corner.
The puppet continued its journey, inching closer to its destination. Ten minutes later, it encountered a formidable obstacle—a towering wooden plank that, from its perspective, stretched to the sky. Stymied, it changed tactics, thumping its oversized head repeatedly against the door: thud, thud, thud.
Creak!
The door swung open from within, and the puppet, thrown off balance, toppled flat onto the floor.
A head, haphazardly wrapped in a turban and brimming with anger, poked out. The room's occupant was none other than Professor Quirrell, Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
He peered down the corridor, found it empty, and muttered a string of stuttering curses under his breath.
Just as he was about to close the door, he noticed the puppet struggling at his feet—and the crumpled paper bundle beside it.
He bent down, picked up both items, and examined them with wary suspicion before unwrapping the paper.
Inside was a small, transparent glass vial filled with a pale green liquid.
On the wrinkled wrapping paper, a single line was scrawled: "Forever loyal to the Dark Lord!"
Quirrell's pupils contracted. For a moment, shock and uncertainty flickered across his face. He glanced around wildly, wand drawn.
But even with all the tracking spells at his disposal, he saw only the vaguest traces—a shadow with no discernible identity. Nothing more.
…
The shadow, of course, was Qin Yu.
Now, lying in his dormitory bed, he replayed the night's operation in his mind.
There were plenty of flaws, he had to admit—it had all been a bit rushed.
After days of preparation, the whole point was to deliver that paper bundle to Quirrell's door. Inside the bundle: a glass vial of Acromantula venom, subtly doctored by Qin Yu himself.
He was fairly certain by now—after careful observation and piecing together various clues—that Quirrell (or rather, the Voldemort hiding behind him) was the mysterious buyer who'd been desperate for venom. The timeline of the supply cut-off matched perfectly with Quirrell's sudden, bizarre behavior.
But why did Quirrell need so much venom?
Qin Yu's best guess was that it had something to do with the "Witch God's Blood" he'd accidentally stumbled upon last Christmas. He'd even asked Dumbledore about its whereabouts, and it seemed the stuff had already made its way into Death Eater circles.
Maybe Voldemort was trying to use it for his resurrection? Maybe something had gone wrong, leaving Quirrell half-zombified—just like those mice Professor Swinton had injected with Witch God's Blood.
Either way, everything pointed to Quirrell. And even if he was wrong, it didn't really matter.
He had no idea how Quirrell or Voldemort would handle this crisis, but it was clear they were desperate for Acromantula venom—desperate enough to break into Hagrid's hut.
If Quirrell kept searching, the next targets would likely be the Weasley twins or Qin Yu himself.
So, to head off that danger, Qin Yu had decided to muddy the waters.
Would Quirrell dare use the venom? Would he realize it had been tampered with? Qin Yu couldn't predict.
But he knew this move would make Quirrell intensely suspicious—wondering who had left the bundle, whether they were friend or foe, and how much they knew.
As long as Quirrell stopped focusing on a few "utterly clueless little brats," Qin Yu's plan would be a success.
"I've done all I can. No point worrying now. I'm knackered…"
With that, Qin Yu pulled up his blanket and drifted off to sleep.
…
The next day, everything seemed business as usual.
From the morning on, Qin Yu kept a discreet eye on Professor Quirrell. He was much the same as before—slow, stiff, occasionally lost in anxious thought.
"Judging by that, the package must have reached him," Qin Yu concluded.
As for whether Quirrell would actually use the venom—that was anybody's guess. All Qin Yu could do was wait and see.
He quietly warned George and Fred to be careful—don't wander off to deserted places, just in case.
"You think the thief who broke into Hagrid's place might come after us?" one of the twins asked, both frowning in unison.
They weren't idiots. Qin Yu wouldn't have asked for a vial of venom for no reason. With everything that had happened, it was easy to connect the dots.
"Yeah," Qin Yu admitted. "I've made some arrangements, but I don't know if they'll work. So stay alert, but don't act nervous or you'll tip your hand. Got it?"
"Sort of… got it."
"So we just pretend to be calm and totally clueless about your plan, right?"
"We really don't know anything, anyway."
"So, just act natural. Easy!" The twins grinned, a spark of excitement in their eyes.
…
Well, most people would be anxious in the face of danger. These two just found it exhilarating.
Qin Yu could only shake his head.
Still, excitement aside, the twins weren't reckless. They stuck to crowds during the day, and made sure to be back in Gryffindor Tower early every night.
That said, when Qin Yu saw them accidentally cover Professor Quirrell's turban in feathers during a prank, he broke out in a cold sweat.
Honestly, if that isn't "acting natural," what is?
Even if the Acromantula venom business had never happened, Qin Yu couldn't help but marvel at Quirrell's—or rather, Voldemort's—restraint. Not killing these two took a special kind of patience.
Truly, those destined for greatness can endure what most would find unbearable.
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