Chapter 82. Invisibility Potion
The third floor of the castle, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor's office.
Thick curtains completely covered the windows, letting in no light from outside.
Only an oil lamp burned in a corner of the room, providing a meagre glow.
Quirinus Quirrell stood trembling in that corner, his whole body shrouded in shadow so that one could not see him clearly.
But one could faintly make out that he had already taken off the turban from his head, exposing the uneven back of his skull.
"You useless fool!"
A hoarse voice suddenly rang out.
It was as shrill and unpleasant as sharp fingertips scraping across a rough blackboard.
Quirrell's body shook violently, his legs going weak as if the bones had been pulled out.
If not for the person on the back of his head forbidding him to move, he would probably have collapsed to the floor already.
"M–m–Master, it was just an accident," Quirrell stammered in his own defence.
"I underestimated the power of those mushrooms.
I originally thought that if I fed them a bit more, then by Hallowe'en they would be even stronger and our plan would be easier to carry out, but—but I didn't expect the spiders couldn't withstand it and all lost control..."
"Didn't that person tell you?
Each spider is to eat one-eighth each time.
By Hallowe'en that is just right to send them out of control.
Why did you make decisions on your own and do something so stupid?"
Lord Voldemort's face writhed on the back of Quirrell's head, his voice filled with rage, as though he could burst forth and kill the worthless creature before him.
He was parasitic on the back of Quirrell's head, and though his strength had recovered a little, he was still very weak and could not remain conscious at all times.
He had thought every step was planned out so that even if he fell asleep there would be no problem, but he had not expected to have a pig-headed teammate at his side.
Voldemort sighed.
He somewhat regretted choosing Quirrell; had he known, he should not have been so hasty then and ought to have waited longer.
"I still have some mushrooms here.
I'll go buy a little more from that person.
There are many magical creatures in the forest; we can use other creatures to cause a disturbance.
We still have a chance, Master..."
Quirrell racked his brains for ideas, until his head was nearly smoking.
Now he had tied his life and soul entirely to Voldemort's, with no way out.
If Voldemort abandoned him, he would truly be finished.
If he were lucky, he might spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.
If unlucky, he might die without even scraps left.
So he could only keep gambling—gambling that Voldemort would succeed, and that Voldemort would fulfil the promises he had made.
"It's too late..." Voldemort replied in a low voice.
"What about the other troll you bought from that person?"
"Master, rest assured.
I have taken very good care of it.
When the time comes, I will send it secretly into the castle through the secret passage you mentioned.
It will definitely give them a surprise and keep them from minding the room on the fourth floor," Quirrell said at once.
"When you go to feed it, you are not being discovered, are you?" Voldemort asked, not entirely at ease.
"Rest assured!" Quirrell said with confidence.
"Each time I go out I am extremely cautious.
Only after confirming that no one is around do I very carefully enter the forest, and I also erase the traces left along the way.
No one will ever discover that we are keeping a troll in the forest!"
"Mm..." Voldemort answered after a moment's thought.
Hearing Quirrell's emphatic assurances, he felt a vague unease well up inside...
"How goes what I told you—to probe the devices others have set up?"
"They're all too wary.
It's hard for me to ask much.
There are often people patrolling the fourth floor as well.
I don't quite dare go over for fear of exposing things early..." Quirrell answered awkwardly.
Ever since Dumbledore had told them to each design a safeguard, he had been trying to find out.
But the others' mouths were all tight.
No one revealed the least scrap of information, and they would not even bring up the topic.
By contrast, the troll he had arranged required Professor Kettleburn's help and ended up being leaked.
Voldemort sighed again.
He felt he would have to come up with a new plan; relying on this insect Quirrell would never see the Philosopher's Stone stolen.
The heart that Quirrell had just put down leapt back into his throat.
He carefully showed his loyalty: "Master, please don't worry too much.
Even if we fail this time, I will think of other ways to help you get the Philosopher's Stone.
I definitely won't disappoint you!"
Startled by his words, Voldemort quickly said, "Advance according to the plan I gave you.
Do not come up with any more extra ideas.
Have you remembered?"
"I remember, I remember," Quirrell answered repeatedly, breathing a sigh of relief.
He knew that today, Voldemort had decided to forgive him.
"Very good.
I hope that when I wake next time, you won't give me another surprise!"
Voldemort's voice slowly faded until it disappeared.
Quirrell softly called out to his master twice.
Hearing no response, he knew Voldemort must have fallen asleep.
He gently picked up the turban lying to the side and slowly wrapped it around his head once more.
At the same time, in the Hufflepuff dormitory.
Neville lay on his stomach on the bed, both hands clenched into fists and stretched out in front of him, while the Niffler Pro moved back and forth between his two fists.
After going back and forth about three times, Pro seemed at last to have made up its mind and reached out to pat Neville's right fist.
"Ah, how did you guess it again?
Is your luck really that good?"
Neville opened his fist in dejection, a Knut lying in his palm.
Pro happily pocketed the Knut, waved a paw, and signalled for Neville to go again.
This game had been invented by Pro, and Duncan had translated and told it to Neville.
If Pro guessed the hand with the Knut, then the Knut in that hand belonged to Pro.
If Pro guessed wrong, it lost and had to hand Neville a Galleon.
Though it sounded like Neville was taking a huge advantage, in fact it was quite the opposite.
Because Pro could sense which hand held a Knut, it would never be wrong.
From the start this game was destined to have only one winner, and that was Pro.
But even after hearing Duncan's explanation, Neville still chose to keep playing with Pro, one boy and one Niffler having a grand time.
On the other side of the room, Duncan lay on his bed, repeatedly examining a small bottle in his hand that held a pale silver liquid.
"Duncan, what potion is that?" Neville, seeing how absorbed Duncan was, could not help asking curiously.
"Oh, just an ordinary potion," Duncan answered offhandedly.
It was a potion he had just drawn.
In his field of vision, there were a few small lines of text in a box beside the potion.
[Invisibility Potion: You only need to smear a little on your body and you can become completely invisible, more convenient and practical than an Invisibility Cloak—simply the must-have for murder and robbery, for home and travel!]
[Note: If using without clothes, be sure not to get wet, unless you can face the horrifying scene of social death!]
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