Chapter 34: Ignorance and Arrogance
"…"
He stopped pretending.
Melvin silently observed Quirrell.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor clearly wasn't paying attention to the Devil's Snare, indifferent to the plant's growth and eager to move on. He was far more worried about the intricate spell Professor Flitwick had set up than about the seemingly trivial trap of vines.
When he discovered that the second chamber contained nothing more than flying keys, Quirrell actually felt relieved even a little disdainful.
Real keys mixed among thousands of fakes? So what? The false ones didn't attack, didn't sound alarms, and no matter how many there were, they were meaningless.
A Transfiguration chessboard a carefully planned endgame?
Quirrell laughed to himself. Not even worth mentioning.
When they entered the fourth chamber, a rancid stench filled his nostrils rough and nauseating. A massive mountain troll sat slumped in the corner.
Before it could even bare its fangs, Quirrell quickly cast a Stunner, then struck a dramatic pose to inspect it, assuring the others the troll was fine.
Dumbledore said nothing, and the rest, unwilling to linger, hurried into the next room.
Snape's setup went smoothly. He refilled the table with seven potions and placed a parchment upon it, intending to reignite the magical flames that blocked the doors as he left.
Quirrell glanced over the parchment puzzle, his mind a swirl of confusion he couldn't solve it. He memorized it anyway, planning to study it later.
Snape seemed to notice and sneered.
"A venom carefully brewed by me, fueled by enchanted flames… Should some unfortunate fool choose the wrong potion, even a dragon would be reduced to kindling."
Quirrell froze. His right hand trembled slightly. Instinctively, he grabbed his turban, holding it tight until his breathing steadied.
Dumbledore's eyes flicked toward him briefly, then moved away.
"There's only one room left," Dumbledore said mildly. "I hadn't planned to decorate it… but Melvin inspired me."
The professors turned toward Melvin. He lifted his case and smiled brightly. "The things inside are rather dangerous and a bit messy. So, I won't be inviting you in."
Dumbledore nodded. "Melvin and I will go in and tidy up. We won't take long. Please wait here."
"These nocturnal moths hide in corners," Melvin's voice echoed faintly from inside the chamber. "The phosphorescent glow in the room offers only faint light enough to keep intruders from complete darkness. But if anyone rashly lights a lamp or casts Lumos… the sound alone will alert the monsters hidden in the dark.
"The sloped floor and swaying suspension bridge will disrupt one's sense of balance. Constantly adjusting the body's center of gravity leaves both body and mind suspended. Sudden shocks trigger adrenaline release, quickly leading to exhaustion. Hands and feet begin to tremble. Anxiety and panic wrap themselves around every thought.
"The next phase involves psychology the uncanny valley effect, the Zeigarnik effect… Ordinary objects placed here evoke subtle dissonance, and from that dissonance comes unease.
"True terror exists in the balance between loss of control and immersion. As I've said before, we use the environment to gradually strip the intruder of rational thought step by step, guiding them back to humanity's most primitive instinct: fear of the unknown."
"…"
The young professor's voice echoed through the corridor brimming with uncontrollable excitement.
Adrenaline. Psychological manipulation.
The other professors instinctively looked at Snape. They didn't fully understand the terms, but Melvin's reasoning, blending magic and Muggle science, was impressive.
Despair. Strangeness. Dread.
Flitwick and Professor Sprout exchanged glances and moved a little closer. The dungeon's chill air now seemed thick with a creeping atmosphere of fear.
Quirrell once again grasped his turban, seeking comfort. But this time, unable to see what was happening inside, he couldn't relax at all. He could only repeat the Dark Lord's power in his mind to steady himself.
"The sensory overload will shatter the intruder's sanity.
"Insignificant drops of water will induce psychological suffocation.
"High-intensity shocks alternating with low-intensity suppression…
"The intruder will never adapt to the abyss of fear…"
Melvin's words seeped through the door like a demon's whisper swirling within a confined space.
The inner chamber, where the Philosopher's Stone would be kept, now felt like a gloomy, cursed hell filled with unseen horrors.
Quirrell clutched his scarf tightly, heart still restless.
The Quidditch pitch was unusually lively that weekend.
The sky was clear, and the morning fog had lifted quickly, leaving perfect visibility. New brooms gleamed under the sunlight, waiting for riders.
Harry eagerly invited a few roommates to play and, out of courtesy, invited Granger as well.
As expected, Granger declined.
She had planned to spend the morning in the library, choosing a few hefty books to memorize her idea of "relaxing" after a demanding week of study.
Harry and Neville were full of admiration.
Seamus and Dean looked horrified.
Only Ron rolled his eyes and muttered something odd. "We're not playing just for fun! We're practicing our flying skills! Who knows there might be a flying exam at the end of term. I remember a certain young lady who was very reluctant to take off."
Hermione thought about it for a moment and admitted he had a point.
So she agreed to join.
With that, the group grew larger. Hermione took the lead, guiding the team as she explained broomstick improvements and the evolution of Quidditch from the earliest brooms to the first official matches, even detailing the origin of several game rules.
Harry and the others were genuinely interested, gradually warming up to the know-it-all girl as they walked.
"She's been talking forever," Ron muttered impatiently.
Sharing five Nimbus 2000s among six people was already tight and now, he was even more annoyed.
Drawing on his childhood experience with Quidditch, Ron sneered, "Little Muggle-born witch what do you know about Quidditch? For all we know, you're making it up."
Hermione looked at him coolly. She didn't argue. Instead, she pulled a large book from her satchel. "Quidditch Through the Ages."
Ron frowned. "Who's even heard of that?"
"The author is Kenilworthy Whisp," Hermione said, pointing to the spine. "A respected Quidditch expert. You've probably seen his card in the Chocolate Frog collection."
"…"
He had.
Ron's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Hermione tucked the heavy book away and continued walking face calm, pace brisk.
And yes, for anyone wondering
Hermione would not fall in love with Ron.
(End of Chapter)