"As I said, their imaginations aren't quite that vivid," Snape's figure materialized from beside a bookshelf, his sallow face darker than usual.
Having observed the entire encounter under a Disillusionment Charm, Snape had clearly heard every word of Harry's accusations against him. He was beginning to think his point deductions had been insufficient, perhaps he needed to increase his.... deterrent efforts.
"This isn't merely imagination, it's more likely reality," Dumbledore reminded him, then sighed helplessly. "If you hadn't targeted Harry so frequently, he wouldn't have listed you as his primary suspect."
Dumbledore understood Snape's complicated feelings regarding Harry, but couldn't persuade him to change his behavior.
"So what?" Snape fixed Dumbledore with his hollow stare and said flatly. "Quirrell's situation is now clear. He obviously has connections to Voldemort. What do you intend to do about him?"
Dumbledore didn't respond immediately, falling into another contemplative silence.
"You can't possibly believe those pathetic traps beneath the trapdoor will stop Quirrell or the Dark Lord?" Snape asked incredulously, then suddenly realized something more disturbing.
"Or do you mean those tests are designed for Potter and his friends?"
Snape's voice turned sardonic as he stared at Dumbledore.
"You want first-year children to navigate deadly obstacles and face the Dark Lord? What a marvelous adventure story you've concocted."
Snape's tone grew increasingly angry. He wondered if Dumbledore had been reading too many heroic novels lately, or perhaps developing dementia, how else could he conceive such an absurd plan?
"Severus!" Dumbledore interrupted sharply.
"You should understand that I cannot protect Harry indefinitely. All proper growth requires facing challenges. At least now I still possess the ability to keep dangers within manageable limits."
Dumbledore paused, his face showing additional lines of weariness.
"I'm aging, Severus. I can feel my strength gradually declining, while Tom is different. Though currently weakened, as long as he survives, he will eventually regain his power, perhaps becoming even stronger. If we don't find a way for Harry to resist death itself, we'll be helpless when that day comes."
"Manageable limits? That's Voldemort we're discussing!" Snape emphasized each word. Though he recognized Dumbledore's reasoning, he couldn't accept it emotionally.
Admittedly, Harry possessed protective magic from Lily's sacrifice, preventing Voldemort from directly touching or harming him. However, this protection wasn't absolute, Voldemort could employ indirect methods to bypass the restriction.
He could incinerate Harry from a distance without leaving ashes behind.
"Nothing is absolutely safe, Severus. You know the prophecy's contents. We must prepare for the worst scenario," Dumbledore insisted.
"Since you don't expect to survive that confrontation, you're placing hope in Sybill Trelawney's mad ramblings? With the Philosopher's Stone, you could achieve immortality and have all the time needed to resolve this properly."
Snape regarded Dumbledore with profound disappointment, unable to comprehend why the so-called greatest wizard of the age would stake everything on an eleven-year-old child. The Philosopher's Stone was here now, immortality within reach, giving Dumbledore unlimited time to handle the situation properly.
"Sometimes continued existence isn't necessarily beneficial," Dumbledore said, turning from the Mirror of Erised to face Snape directly.
"Besides, I said 'worst case scenario', perhaps events will proceed more favorably." Dumbledore adopted a lighter tone, though his furrowed brow remained tense.
The events of eleven years ago had proven the prophecy's accuracy. He couldn't help believing it, which explained his urgency in training Harry.
"I merely hope you remember our agreement," Snape concluded grimly before turning toward the office exit.
Even if Dumbledore refused to act decisively, Snape would do what he could within his capabilities.
Such as warning Quirrell directly.
---
Adrian, having left the Headmaster's office, remained unaware of the subsequent conversation inside.
Determined not to waste his enhanced abilities, Adrian found excuses to separate from Harry and the others, then made his way alone to the Room of Requirement's potions storage to begin brewing the Bloodline Fusion Potion.
Though he still lacked the crucial catalyst ingredient, the base potion required extensive brewing time, so Adrian decided to prepare what he could.
Dried nettle, black hellebore petals, Boomslang skin, powdered unicorn horn...
Adrian retrieved his carefully acquired materials from the storage cabinet, adding ingredients to his cauldron according to the system's precise instructions.
Grinding... measuring... stirring...
With his mental processing speed increased a hundredfold by his SEC, Adrian's movements were extraordinarily precise, hardly seeming like a first attempt, with no errors from beginning to end.
Adrian finally understood why Level 4 potions skill could brew advanced concoctions normally requiring Level 6 mastery while in the enhanced state. The improvement was like night and day.
Numerous precious herbs went into the cauldron, creating a chaotic, grayish mixture with a faintly pungent aroma.
This matched Adrian's expectations. The next step involved waiting for the potion to slowly clarify into water-like transparency, indicating more than half success.
The final addition of dragon's blood would complete the process.
[Remaining time:11:09...]
"About thirty minutes total," Adrian noted, checking his experience card's countdown.
The brewing had proceeded much faster than estimated, he'd been prepared to spend another hundred system points if necessary.
During the remaining eleven minutes, Adrian practiced unrestricted spells like the Transfiguration and Levitation Charms, raising his Transfiguration skill nearly to Level 4 before his enhanced state expired.
Walking through Hogwarts corridors afterward, Adrian debated between visiting the library or returning to his dormitory when he spotted two familiar figures, though their tongues were several times normal size, preventing them from closing their mouths.
"George? Fred?" Observing their comical expressions, Adrian felt an urge to laugh before suddenly remembering the Fat-Tongue Toffees he'd given them for Christmas.
So this was his fault after all.
Should he perhaps make a run for it?