The moonlight shone through the small window of the stairwell, casting a long, narrow silver glow. A hunched figure was wrapped in a thick Black robe, with a turban covering most of his face. His footsteps were light, like a cold wind, sneaking toward the fourth floor. The figure's movements were somewhat stiff, yet they betrayed a desperate urgency, as if something were chasing him from behind. It was Professor Quirrell!
Edward's pupils constricted slightly. It was so late; what was Professor Quirrell doing near this remote tower instead of sleeping in his warm dormitory?
Just then, Quirrell seemed to sense something. His footsteps stopped abruptly, and he turned his head stiffly to look at the other end of the corridor. Edward followed his gaze and saw a Black figure standing silently at the corner not far away. The hem of his Black robe hung to his ankles, and the moonlight gathered like a layer of frost on his shoulders. It was Professor Snape.
Snape's gaze was as sharp as a hawk's. From a distance of a dozen steps, he stared fixedly at Quirrell, his dark brown eyes filled with unconcealed scrutiny and suspicion.
Edward's heartbeat accelerated suddenly. These two professors, circling each other here in the dead of night, must be hiding some unspeakable secret.
Quirrell had clearly seen Snape, too. His body flinched subconsciously, as if he had been frozen. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he turned abruptly and walked toward the direction where Edward was hiding, his footsteps hurried, carrying a hint of deliberate panic.
It was too late to hide.
Edward had no choice but to bite the bullet and step out of the shadows, trying his best to put on a look of just having woken up, dazed and bewildered.
"Mr... Mr. Black?" Quirrell's voice was still that timid tone he used on weekdays, only the speed was a bit faster, with a trace of imperceptible trembling. "It's so late, why are you here?"
As he spoke, he moved closer to Edward without leaving a trace, and his voice was deliberately raised a bit, as if speaking to someone in the dark: "The... the Restricted Section access permit I signed for you before, are you finding it useful? Is there... is there any progress with your research?"
Edward's heart skipped a beat, and he understood instantly. Quirrell was doing this on purpose! He was using him to attract Snape's attention to cover up his own furtive behavior from just now!
He could only follow Quirrell's lead, bowing respectfully, his tone calm and waveless: "Thank you for your concern, Professor. Everything is going smoothly, though there are still some difficulties regarding elemental transmutation that need to be worked out."
As soon as he finished speaking, he felt a cold gaze, like a knife tempered in ice, fall upon him.
Snape had already strode over with his long legs. He was wearing a well-pressed Black robe, his face as gloomy as the sky before a storm. His gaze swept back and forth between Edward and Quirrell, finally resting on Edward's face with unconcealed scrutiny, as if he wanted to see through him from the inside out.
Quirrell seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, waving his hand hurriedly, and said with feigned gentleness: "Then you... you keep working hard. Persistence is key to academic research. I... I was just out for a walk. It's late; you two should head back early, don't catch a cold."
After speaking, he hunched his body and hurried off in the opposite direction, his footsteps so fast it was as if something worse than detention were behind him, and he vanished at the end of the corridor in the blink of an eye.
Snape watched Quirrell's back, his brows furrowed so tightly he could crush a fly. Not until Quirrell's figure had completely disappeared did he slowly turn his head, his gaze falling on Edward, his voice as cold as winter icicles: "Black."
Edward looked up, meeting Snape's bottomless eyes. His heart tightened slightly, but he still maintained his composure: "Professor Snape."
"The Hogwarts tower is not a place for you to linger late at night." There was a trace of unquestionable warning in Snape's voice. "Especially at a time when you shouldn't be, in a place where you shouldn't be."
He paused, his gaze sharp as a knife, sweeping over Edward's dust-stained robe and those slightly curled hair tips, his tone meaningful: "Stay away from Quirrell. Some professors are not as simple as they appear on the surface."
Having said that, he snorted coldly, turned, and swept away, the hem of his Black robe brushing the ground, kicking up a cold wind.
Only Edward was left in the corridor.
The night wind, carrying snow, crept in through the open window, bringing with it a biting chill that made him shiver. He stood there, his brows locked, and the doubts in his heart surged like a tide.
Quirrell's panic, Snape's warning... everything was permeated with an unease he could not quite name. Yet, no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn't figure out the key to it all. He shook his head, temporarily suppressing these chaotic thoughts - compared to the shady dealings between these professors, honing his own power was more important.
He rubbed his aching temples, dragged his exhausted body, and turned to walk toward the Slytherin dormitory.
Days continued to pass. Edward remained immersed in the honing of his fire power, only more cautious than before. Every time he finished practicing, he would carefully check his surroundings to ensure no one was there before quietly leaving the tower.
Until late at night three days later.
Edward finished an exhilarating trial - he could finally condense five wisps of flame of varying lengths from the five fingers of his right hand, like five agile fire snakes circling and intertwining in his palm. He looked with satisfaction at the flames dancing at his fingertips, then restrained his power and walked back along the corridor.
When passing the fourth-floor corridor, a series of light footsteps, mixed with hushed voices, suddenly reached his ears. Edward's footsteps stopped abruptly.
He subconsciously flashed behind a suit of armor, held his breath, and looked in the direction the sound was coming from.
Under the moonlight, three figures were sneaking toward that locked wooden door. Hermione Granger walked in front, clutching her wand, her fingertips trembling slightly, yet her eyes were fixed firmly on the door lock. She lowered her voice and cast the spell: "Alohomora!"
With a soft click, the lock sprang open, and the wooden door slowly revealed a gap.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley followed behind her, both with tense faces, their palms clenched white, their eyes full of nervousness and vigilance. Ron couldn't help but swallow and mutter softly: "Are we really going in? What if we get caught by Filch..."
"Don't talk nonsense." Hermione glared back at him, her voice lowered even further. "We must figure out the secret of the Philosopher's Stone; Snape definitely doesn't have good intentions."
The three looked at each other, no longer hesitating. Crouching down like three little beasts sneaking food, they slipped into the passage behind the door. The wooden door closed silently, as if it had never been touched by anyone.
Edward stood behind the armor, watching the closed wooden door, his pupils contracting slightly.
What secret was hidden behind that door?
The Philosopher's Stone... Hermione just mentioned the Philosopher's Stone!
And Quirrell and Snape... was their late-night circling also related to the Philosopher's Stone behind this door?
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