"What is this?"
Dumbledore frowned deeply as he stared at a puddle of water on the floor.
Snape walked over, looked at it with some confusion, and said, "Isn't it just a puddle of water?"
"There shouldn't be any water here, Severus." Dumbledore crouched, dipped his fingers into it, and sniffed. "Not saliva."
He picked up a few loose bricks that had fallen from the wall and examined the cut surfaces carefully.
"Look."
Dumbledore pointed at the stone. "These have clear traces of water erosion."
"You mean…" Snape's expression hardened, suspicion dawning.
"Clearly, someone deliberately weakened this wall. That's the only reason Fluffy was able to break through and attack you."
Dumbledore set the bricks down again. "Someone helped him, and not just anyone. But what puzzles me most is how they managed to guide Fluffy all the way to the Great Hall."
"Could it have been a coincidence?"
"Impossible." Snape immediately rejected the idea. "Quirrell was obviously trying to frame me, which is why I was chased by that beast all the way to the hall."
"That makes it even stranger…"
For a long moment, both Dumbledore and Snape fell silent, each lost in thought.
---
Late that night, in a side room of the Room of Requirement.
"Master, the task you entrusted me with is complete."
Chuan knelt on one knee, reporting to Louis, who was busy finishing up with a piece of enchanted stage cloth.
"Well done. Quite the spectacle." Louis hung up the cloth, which had absorbed the power of the Rat Talisman, to dry. "But next time, remember to clean up the traces."
"The wounds inside the three-headed dog's ears will be the biggest giveaway—they might realize it was all man-made."
"Master… I fear it won't be possible to conceal everything," Chuan admitted with some embarrassment.
"Oh? Explain." Louis asked casually.
"I helped Fluffy break through the wall. There are bound to be remnants left behind."
"Ah, the wall. True enough—there's no way that mutt could have broken Hogwarts' walls on its own. If it got out, that means someone intervened. And since Quirrell was in the Great Hall the whole time, suspicion will inevitably fall elsewhere."
Louis tilted his head, thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Forget it. If they find out, they find out. As if they could actually trace it back to us?"
With that, he returned to fiddling with his magical cloth, unconcerned.
"Oh, Master," Chuan continued, "Quirrell and Voldemort gave me quite a handsome payment in exchange for my assistance."
"Payment? How much?" Louis asked, offhand.
"About three thousand Galleons." Chuan gestured toward the large sack piled in the corner of the room.
"Three thousand? Not bad—seems they aren't exactly short on coin," Louis muttered, then added with a faint smile, "Well done."
"To be of use to you is my greatest honor."
Chuan, pleased at the praise, even allowed a faint smile to slip onto her face, her cheeks tinged with pink.
"Oh, and Master, there's one more thing—"
Louis' brows twitched, his hand faltering; the enchanted cloth nearly slipped from his grip.
"Chuan, next time just say everything at once. Even if you suddenly remember something later, don't use that cursed phrase." Louis said gravely.
Ever since learning Dark Qi magic, every time he heard that particular catchphrase—one favored by a certain old man—he felt an involuntary chill run down his spine.
Chuan looked completely bewildered, but even if she didn't understand the reason, she was obedient.
"Yes, Master, I understand," she replied quickly, learning fast as always. "It's like this… I was wondering if you might be interested in the Philosopher's Stone?"
"The Philosopher's Stone?" Louis lifted his head to look at her. "You got your hands on it?"
"I did, but I worried about alerting suspicion, so I put it back. If you need it, Master, I can fetch it anytime."
"The Philosopher's Stone, huh…" Louis thought for a moment. "Here's what we'll do: every night, you take it out, and before dawn, you return it."
He wanted to study the Stone, but he couldn't risk being caught. Who knew if Dumbledore might decide to check on it unexpectedly?
"Yes, Master. Then what about tonight?"
"Forget tonight. Speaking of the Philosopher's Stone reminds me of that snitch Quirrell." Louis waved his hand dismissively. "Tonight, I'll just pay him a little visit in his dreams."
"Understood, Master." Chuan nodded. "I'll take my leave."
With Louis' permission, her body dissolved into flowing water, scattering in all directions until she vanished.
Louis, meanwhile, carefully stored away the enchanted stage cloth he had finished refining, then turned and unfolded his Nightmare Vision.
Dream after dream flickered before his eyes until he quickly locked onto Quirrell's.
Quirrell's dream was utterly unappetizing—pitch black, filled with endless serpents writhing and slithering. A nightmare built entirely out of terror, despair, and snakes.
Louis stepped forward, crossing into the dream, and found Quirrell huddled in the middle of that pit of serpents, clutching his head, trembling violently.
"Quirinus Quirrell!" Louis shouted. "Wake up!"
Of course, he didn't mean literally wake up from sleep—he meant awakening Quirrell's self-consciousness.
Louis had no interest in wrestling with a chaotic subconscious—that was exhausting and sanity-draining. (Case in point: the bizarre Mahjong incident last time, when he ended up stuck with a single waiting tile against a table full of imaginary opponents.)
With the Nightmare's power pressing down, Quirrell's self-awareness soon surfaced in the dream. He looked around blankly, and then his eyes locked onto Louis' nightmare form.
"Y-you… hello… you must be Mr. Wilson, right?" Quirrell stammered, his body shaking with excitement. "Please, I beg you—please save me!"
"Save you? Why? Do we even know each other that well?" Louis rolled his eyes. "Not after sitting through your sorry excuse for lessons."
"I…" Quirrell's face crumpled miserably. "Mr. Wilson, I never meant to slack off! But Voldemort's taken over my body—I don't have the strength to teach properly."
"And how exactly does that have anything to do with me saving you?" Louis spread his hands. "Got anything else to say? If not, I'm leaving."
"W-wait! Mr. Wilson! Don't you care that all the villains of the world are banding together into one family? I know many of their secrets—I can tell you everything!" Quirrell suddenly blurted out, seizing on the thought like a drowning man clutching at a straw.
Honestly, Louis nearly burst out laughing when Quirrell, dead serious, called it "the villains of the world uniting as one family."
Good thing being in Nightmare form let him keep his emotions under control—otherwise it would've been mortifying.
"Oh, the villains of the world… pfft… all uniting as one big family, you say?" Louis couldn't quite hold it in and snorted, though Quirrell didn't notice anything strange.
"Y-yes! I know who their members are, and they seem to have hostile intentions toward you! If you save me, I'll tell you everything I know!" Quirrell threw caution to the wind and poured out a string of half-truths and bluffs.
Don't spout nonsense like that, Louis thought. I never said I was going after myself.
Clearing his throat, he finally said aloud, "Fine. Since you seem so sincere, I'll consider helping you."
"But…"
---