A flock of luminous, chirping birds—over a dozen in all—fluttered toward Snape, their "cheep cheep cheep" calls as harmless as a toddler's toy.
Faced with such feeble magic, Snape's displeasure was plain. He simply closed his fist in the air, and the glowing birds winked out of existence, as if they'd never been there at all.
"No wonder Malfoy keeps complaining to me, hoping his father will get you sacked… Is this really the best you can do, Professor Quirrell? The great Defense Against the Dark Arts master?"
"What are you… what are you going to do?" Quirrell stammered, eyes wide with terror as he backed away.
His panic was so complete that, not watching his feet, he tripped on his own robes and crashed to the floor. Snape's lips curled in a sneer—he was about to say something cutting when he noticed a sudden, intense focus in Quirrell's eyes.
Silent casting!
Snape's instincts screamed a warning. He spun around just in time to feel a wave of heat at his back.
The glowing birds had reappeared, merging together in a blaze—a phoenix's rebirth—until they became a massive fireball. The air shimmered and twisted around it, fiery tails streaming behind like a meteor streaking across the sky, hurtling straight for the wooden door.
"Finite Incantatem!" Snape snapped.
The fireball flickered, nearly snuffed out—then, with a surge of magic, it swelled even larger. Quirrell was already casting again.
Everything happened in a blur. Flames devoured the door, and savage barking erupted from within.
Three enormous canine heads burst through the doorway, each maw gaping with jagged fangs, snapping viciously.
Even with Snape's lightning reflexes, he couldn't avoid one of the heads. The three-headed dog's teeth sank deep into his calf, and it growled—a guttural, menacing sound.
Quirrell's face twisted in shock. "A three-headed dog? There's one of those monsters in the school?!"
Now armed with this vital information, he wasted no time. Scrambling to his feet, he made to bolt.
But Snape's wand whipped through the air, his face a mask of cold fury. "Depulso!"
With a thunderous bang, an invisible force slammed into the beast. The three-headed dog was hurled backwards, crashing into the stone wall with a yelp that shook the corridor.
Gritting his teeth, Snape forced himself upright, blood streaming from his wounded leg. The dog, dazed, caught sight of Snape's icy glare and shuddered, growling a warning but not daring to attack again.
With a sweep of his wand, Snape conjured an iron door, sealing the beast back inside.
"Think you can run?" he snarled, only to see Quirrell had already fled a fair distance.
Ignoring the agony in his calf, Snape raised his wand and slashed it upward. "Sectumsempra!"
The moment Quirrell heard Snape's voice, a chill of mortal danger shot through him.
He spun, flinging up his wand and babbling spells in a panic: "Protego! Protego! Protego Totalum! Protego Totalum!"
…
Layer upon layer of invisible shields sprang up, merging into a solid, gray magical barrier. But the sense of doom only intensified. He could do nothing but pile on protections and pray.
Then the strange, silent curse struck.
No sound—just a sudden, devastating impact. The barrier shattered instantly, and a tremendous force slammed into Quirrell, flinging him through the air like a ragdoll. His arms flailed, terror frozen on his face.
CRASH!
He smashed into the wall. Plaster exploded, dust and debris billowed out in a choking cloud.
"Cough… cough…" Quirrell hacked up blood, dizzy and half-blind with pain. It felt as if a dragon had trampled him—every inch of his body howled in protest.
"Quirinus Quirrell!" Snape's voice was like a blade of ice as he limped forward, wand trembling in his grip, emerald sparks dripping from the tip to staunch the bleeding in his leg.
With every step, the threat of death pressed closer.
Quirrell forced himself to stay calm, stammering, "Professor Snape, this is all… all a misunderstanding!"
He raised his wand, trying to smile. "Really, just a misunderstanding! My wand backfired! My wand backfired!"
"That's why my magic went wild and burned through the door! Thank goodness you're… you're all right!"
"You're still acting—" The words caught on Snape's tongue. He stopped himself.
Because his true target wasn't Quirrell, but the shadow lurking behind him—Voldemort.
Voldemort was the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. If the Dark Lord truly lived, every move Snape made now could decide his fate later.
Even beyond that, there were other calculations. These were peaceful times; any killing at Hogwarts would draw the Ministry's full attention. And as a Death Eater, any violence—even with Dumbledore's backing—would be nearly impossible to explain away.
Worse, if Dumbledore intervened, it would expose the connection between them, making it harder for Snape to ever return to Voldemort's ranks.
He thought of his past—always walking the grey line, always paying the price. Lily, Hogwarts, Harry Potter, Voldemort, the Death Eaters… Faces and memories flickered before his eyes. That smile he could never forget seemed almost within reach.
He drew a deep, ragged breath, forcing the words out through clenched teeth: "Quirinus Quirrell! What are you doing? Are you working for… someone?"
Quirrell raised both hands and managed a feeble, nervous laugh. "I'm just a professor—what else could I be doing? Of course I'm working for Headmaster Dumbledore…"
Suddenly, sharp cries echoed up the stairwell, followed by tremors and thunderous crashes.
In a flash, Snape raised a shimmering magical shield.
"What have you done now?" he growled, leveling his wand at Quirrell's head.
"I—I don't know!" Quirrell protested, hands spread wide.
They stood in tense silence until the voices of three boys drifted up:
"Whoo-hoo! Wyzett, those fireworks you helped us with are brilliant!"
"This year's Halloween feast is the best ever—I love it!"
"Can you two be serious? This is dangerous! Fred, watch out!"
Then came a clear, steady voice: "Accio Fred!"
"What's going on?" Quirrell's face twisted with anxiety as he scrambled to his feet. "Why is Wyzett being targeted by the troll?"
Snape seized the moment, flicking his wand to conjure ropes that bound Quirrell tight.
Trussed up, Quirrell grew frantic, pleading, "Snape, please—let me go…"
"Oh?" Snape arched an eyebrow, snatching Quirrell's wand. "You seem rather concerned."
More shouts echoed from below: "Wyzett, run! It's after you! Get out of there!"
Quirrell begged, "If that child tries to fight the troll, his Obscurus will go berserk… We have to stop him—please!"
A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw. With a flick, he vanished the ropes.
"Thank you! Thank you!" Quirrell scrambled up, not even bothering to grab his wand as he bolted down the stairs.
Snape watched him go, his expression unreadable, then—gritting his teeth—hurried after him.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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