By the time he left Dumbledore's office, the sky had quietly turned dark.
Anton went to the dining hall on the first floor of the castle, feeling a bit hungry.
The dining hall was bustling, with everyone talking about the troll, and many had gathered around the Gryffindor long table, listening to Ron vividly recount his heroic deeds.
Harry seemed a bit shy, but after noticing Draco watching them with jealousy from a distance, he also joined in the storytelling.
Hermione had clearly made up with the two of them, sitting to the side and listening to their embellishments with a pout.
Normally, she would have reprimanded them for their smug attitude after breaking school rules.
In any case, it was exceptionally lively.
But the liveliness was theirs.
Anton, carrying a huge book, came to the Slytherin long table, found an empty corner, and quietly enjoyed his meal.
Basically, as long as he carried a book, no one would bother him.
This was a rule, especially among the younger Slytherins.
When it came to reading, Anton was famously more like a Ravenclaw than a Ravenclaw.
Of course, if someone disturbed his reading, he would become more Slytherin than a Slytherin.
"It's nothing special, right?" Draco said to Anton, quite displeased, well, a dear roommate always had some privileges.
"Mountain trolls are the strongest among the troll species of humanoid creatures, so clearly, my little cousin has good courage and great strength," Anton said with a smile.
"Damn it, I can't stand listening to his smug talk." Draco rolled his eyes and left with his two cronies.
Anton chuckled softly and paid him no mind.
Pat.
A hand gently patted his shoulder.
"..."
Anton paused for a moment, then looked up, it was Professor Quirrell.
"Ma... maybe... maybe we can... t-talk... talk a bit."
It really was Professor Quirrell, which was strange, this man never actively sought him out, it was always Old Voldy.
Anton pointed to the huge book beside him, "I need to go back to the dormitory to put this away, it's a bit inconvenient to carry around."
Quirrell twitched the corner of his mouth, trying hard to express some goodwill, "N-no... no problem, take... take your time eating, come to my... my... my office later."
Anton smiled and nodded.
Quirrell walked towards the professors' table, and Anton squinted at his back.
He wouldn't forget that this scumbag Quirrell had intended to kill him, just last night, how could he forget so soon!
And now he's coming to find me?
And with a fawning tone?
Anton's brain was working rapidly.
After returning to the dormitory, Anton placed the magic book in a small chest by the windowsill.
This was probably the safest place he could think of, there were few records of Slytherin dorms being broken into.
Besides, a cute little plant was being raised under the windowsill.
Draco had once complained about Anton keeping these dangerous plants in the dormitory, but after a friendly and cordial exchange, he had readily agreed.
This dear roommate, adhering to the principle of 'if you can't beat them, join them', also placed a chest by the windowsill to store his own little trinkets that he didn't want others to know about.
"It will protect my chest too, right?"
Anton nodded with a smile, "I don't mind sharing."
Thus, the task of feeding the little plant chunks of meat and fresh blood twice a week fell to Goyle.
Both were very satisfied, a win-win.
After taking a shower and changing his clothes, Anton finally adjusted his mindset and slowly made his way to Professor Quirrell's office.
"You were looking for me?" Anton sat down unceremoniously in the chair in front of the desk.
If it weren't for Voldemort being a parasite on the back of Quirrell's head, Anton would definitely be trying to kill or maim this guy right now.
Don't think he only had dark magic at his disposal, his knowledge of potions was his real trump card.
Instant death, sudden death a month later, paralysis, feigned death into a vegetative state, missing limbs...
A variety of packages to choose from.
Did you think the old wizard's potion research was focused on saving lives?
Anton could absolutely guarantee that these potions had a first-class taste and a pleasant aftertaste.
When it came to taste, Anton considered himself better than both the old wizard and Snape!
Quirrell didn't mind his rudeness, he stared fixedly at Anton, and the two remained silent for a long time.
When it came to a contest of patience, Quirrell had clearly picked the wrong person.
Anton could sit with him until the end of time.
If people didn't need to eat and poop, he could sit opposite Quirrell for at least a year, he was just that resilient.
"I need your help," Quirrell said.
Apparently, everyone was an actor these days, he wasn't actually the terrified, stuttering person he appeared to be.
Anton didn't answer, just lowered his head and continued to fiddle with his fingers.
"I need your help, that three-headed dog, I saw you, you have a way to deal with it! I also need someone to keep watch, to help me block any unexpected situations!"
Only then did Anton raise his eyelids, staring at him coldly, "You tried to kill me then, you think I'll help you?"
"You must help me!" Quirrell's voice rose, "The Dark Lo..."
He paused, clenched his fists tightly, stood up, and looked down at Anton, "I didn't mean to! I was terrified at the time, Snape is so powerful, I had to get the thing in that room, I was so desperate."
His lips trembled, "You don't know how desperate I was!"
"Heh heh." Anton sneered, lowered his head, and continued to play with his fingers.
Crafting a reasonable excuse for one's actions, positioning oneself as the victim, and emphasizing how helpless one was—he had long since outgrown such elementary tactics.
As his power grew step by step, he had begun to tire of this kind of self-deprecating deception.
Trying to pull this trick in front of me?
You're still a bit too green.
Quirrell paced back and forth behind the desk, finally staring at him, "You must help me, I mean, I taught you so much knowledge!"
Anton was still playing with his fingers.
He sneered inwardly.
Was it you who taught me?
It was Voldemort, you taught me jack shit!
But this also reminded him that obtaining the Philosopher's Stone was a goal Voldemort was determined to achieve, and having come this far, he could no longer get out of it with a simple complaint.
Some things were no longer up for negotiation.
"Everything has a price, Professor, you taught me so much, and then you tried to kill me, the score has long been settled."
He couldn't outplay Voldemort, but he could outplay this guy?
Hah?
You want my help, fine, either you really bring out the Dark Lord, and I'll help without a second word.
If you don't dare, then show some sincerity!
Quirrell was very unwilling, he reached up to touch his turban, hesitated, then lowered his hand, merely repeating, "You must help me!"
"Then..." Anton said faintly, "what is the price?"
"!!!"
Quirrell was stunned and let out a cry, his sharp tone echoing in the office, "You're actually demanding benefits from me, don't you know, we are doing this for..."