Ever since the start of term, Snape had been openly or secretly watching his every move, and even now, he still hadn't managed to investigate what was going on on the fourth floor.
He'd already been scolded by Voldemort more times than he could count because of it.
Quirrell loathed Snape to the core—second only to Wayne Lawrence.
The two of them made their way to the eighth floor. Once Quirrell had been delivered, Snape turned and left.
The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance had been previously instructed and opened the passageway without needing a password.
Forcing himself to stay calm, Quirrell clenched his fists and stepped inside.
"Quirrell , I'm glad to see your cold has gotten better," Dumbledore said warmly, as genial as ever. But in Quirrell's heart, all his alarm bells were blaring.
This was the first time he was meeting Dumbledore alone since securing the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
To be honest, he was nervous.
What if Dumbledore suddenly lost his temper and decided to take him down right here?
Even though he was now Voldemort's vessel, in the Dark Lord's current condition, he was no match for this white-bearded old man.
"Just took the medicine twice, feeling much better now, Professor," Quirrell replied softly, deliberately avoiding those piercingly bright eyes.
Dumbledore nodded. "That's reassuring to hear."
"You've probably heard about everything that's happened lately, haven't you?"
"I know it all," Quirrell responded just as Voldemort had taught him to. "The curses of the ghoul and vampire have been steadily eating away at my mind. Sometimes I get a bit slow to react."
"For that, I do apologize. The students have been affected."
"And what do you plan to do about it?" Dumbledore followed up calmly. "The curses of dark creatures are indeed troublesome— even I must tread carefully around them."
"I sympathize with what you've gone through, but we can't let that hinder the students' education in Defence Against the Dark Arts…"
"My suggestion, Quirrell, is that you take some time off to properly recover."
Dumbledore poured him a cup of hot tea. "Other professors can rotate in to cover your classes for a while. There's no rush—come back when you're fully well."
Quirrell could read between the lines easily.
If he stayed like this, he'd be asked to stop teaching entirely.
Silently cursing Wayne again, Quirrell forced a smile. "Professor, I don't think that's necessary. Hogwarts is the only truly safe place for me right now."
"You know, I've been hiding from those people all this time."
"As for the classes, please don't worry. I'll do everything I can to help the students."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's expression suddenly grew serious as he examined Quirrell closely. "Are you certain?"
"If we receive more complaints, I'm afraid your departure might not be very… graceful."
"I'm certain," Quirrell said steadily. "But I will need some assistance suppressing the curse."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You're asking for a potion from Snape?"
"No. I need phoenix tears."
The room fell silent. Neither of them spoke, and only Fawkes let out two dissatisfied cries.
Quirrell's palms were damp with sweat.
Everything he had just said was taught to him by Voldemort.
Voldemort was going all out to keep him at Hogwarts.
Defence Against the Dark Arts? He'd teach it himself!
Having failed to secure the position years ago, Voldemort had always held a grudge against Dumbledore for it.
Now, in a twisted sense, he was finally fulfilling that dream.
By using the curse as an excuse to explain Quirrell's behavioral changes, he was trying to erase Dumbledore's suspicions. The only real problem now was energy consumption.
Voldemort could control Quirrell's body movements, but he couldn't sustain it for long.
The plan was to first squeeze some phoenix tears out of Dumbledore to stabilize things, and later go into the Forbidden Forest to find a unicorn and use its blood to restore his strength.
Compared to white magic, dark magic was faster in taking effect—more in line with Voldemort's preferences.
To fully conceal himself, Voldemort had put himself into deep slumber even before arriving here.
Now, Quirrell was incredibly tense, unsure whether Dumbledore would agree to his request.
"…Very well, for the sake of your body, we'll have to inconvenience Fawkes."
Dumbledore finally spoke. Then he walked over to the phoenix and gently stroked its feathers.
Fawkes, though clearly unhappy, still squeezed out a small vial of tears.
Then, with a huff, he turned his backside toward Dumbledore and flew out the window—off to play with Ho-Oh.
It was foreseeable that Fawkes wouldn't be giving his master a pleasant look anytime soon.
Quirrell, overjoyed to receive the phoenix tears, departed with them in hand and promised to resume classes properly after one more day of rest.
Not long after, Snape arrived.
"What did you see?"
"A lot… and yet, not much," Dumbledore replied cryptically.
"Quirrell asked for a vial of phoenix tears. Or rather… Tom did."
Snape's face darkened, and he shifted uncomfortably.
"And you gave it to him?"
"I did," said Dumbledore, a wise glint flashing in his eyes. "If I hadn't, he'd have certainly used more drastic means to get what he wanted."
"Better that I help him myself than let Quirrell act beyond our sight."
"At least this way, things are still within our control."
"Couldn't we just arrest him?" Snape brought his hands together in frustration. "One vial of Veritaserum, and I promise he'd spill everything."
"Both the outcome and the process matter, Severus."
Dumbledore finished off Quirrell's untouched cup of tea.
"If we can't eliminate Tom entirely, arresting Quirrell would only drive him back into hiding."
"I'm growing old. New people must rise to the task."
In Dumbledore's eyes, Tom and Quirrell were sharpening stones—tools to hone Harry… and Wayne as well.
His role was to control the hardness of that stone, so it wouldn't break the blade.
Dumbledore had no set plan to form a golden trio. He merely wanted Harry to have more friends, more allies.
That way, when he eventually faced Voldemort, he wouldn't stand alone—he'd have people he could rely on.
Wayne, in Dumbledore's view, was the best candidate for this.
If Wayne had been sorted into Gryffindor, things would've been much easier to arrange.
Unfortunately, this little fellow seemed to have far more Hufflepuff traits.
Snape clearly understood Dumbledore's hopes for Harry. He didn't want the boy to be drawn into chaos—but there was nothing he could do.
What Dumbledore decided… wasn't so different from what Voldemort decided.
Because no one could defy him.
Seeing the displeasure on Snape's face, Dumbledore chuckled softly and offered comfort:
"Severus, don't overthink things."
"Tomorrow's Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson will be your responsibility. Let's wait and see what kind of surprise Quirrell has in store."
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