"I'm not entirely sure what you mean, but I understand your point."
After quietly meeting Quirrell's gaze for a few seconds, Victor spoke in an even tone. His expression remained unchanged, and his words were flat and unembellished. Yet, for a split second, Quirrell's face stiffened ever so slightly.
Victor meant exactly what he said.
He had no idea what Quirrell meant by "testing." As far as he was concerned, since arriving at Hogwarts, he had never tested anyone.
Nor was there any need to.
However, from the way Quirrell spoke, Victor could infer that the "teacher" he referred to was most likely that bloated soul from before.
At this realization, Victor was somewhat surprised to discover that Quirrell was actually trying to protect that suspicious parasite. At the same time, it seemed that the parasite had its own schemes within the school.
Now, that was interesting.
After all, Harry also had one of those souls inside him.
Victor mulled over this thought for a moment before fixing his pitch-black eyes back on Quirrell's face and asking,
"So, is there anything else you want?"
"...What?"
Quirrell was momentarily unable to connect this question to their previous conversation.
"I mean, what do you desire? Or, rather, your wish." Victor patiently clarified. "I assume you and your 'teacher' have other goals you wish to achieve, don't you? I'd be more than happy to offer my assistance again. Of course, that is, after you settle the payment for this transaction."
Wish...
At that moment, Quirrell's mind was suddenly pulled back to that day—when he had been knocked unconscious by Victor using that eerie, raven-like technique.
Just before he lost consciousness, he seemed to hear:
"Your wish has already been granted."
Quirrell's face instantly went deathly pale. His breath hitched as he stammered out hurriedly,
"N-no, that won't be necessary, P-Professor Victor. I—I think I can handle the rest on my own. There's no n-need for another deal with you."
"Besides, this transaction isn't exactly c-complete yet."
"Oh? Why not?"
"Be-because of the formula, P-Professor Victor. Even though I did my b-best to recreate it, some of the ingredients didn't produce the expected effects. We still need to f-find additional materials to compensate for the deficiencies. Something like... unicorn blood, for example."
Quirrell's voice grew softer and softer, until it was barely audible by the end.
Victor frowned slightly.
"So what you're asking for is—what's the phrase you use—after-sales service?"
"Y-yes, something like that."
After hearing Quirrell's response, Victor thought for a moment.
That phrase was actually something he had only learned after arriving in this world—because such things simply didn't exist in his fairy-tale world. If a buyer was deceived, it was their own misfortune. Likewise, if a seller ended up with a coin that magically returned to its original owner, well, that was just their bad luck.
But this situation didn't quite apply to Quirrell. Because clearly, he still had more dealings to be made.
So Victor didn't particularly mind helping out.
As for Quirrell saying the formula hadn't worked as expected?
That... was highly possible.
"Alright," Victor said. "How do you plan on acquiring these materials?"
"It's n-not too difficult," Quirrell forced a pale smile. "Everything can be found in the Forbidden Forest. The only problem is, I've been busy preparing l-lesson plans lately, so I don't have the time to search for them myself. So, could I trouble you to collect them for me?"
"Con-considering we're partners, after all."
"Sure."
Victor agreed without much hesitation, his tone calm and indifferent.
"Th-that's great, Professor Victor. I was worried you m-might refuse," Quirrell let out a nervous chuckle, the corners of his eyes twitching slightly. "It seems like my luck has been quite good lately. I have a feeling that everything I try will be a s-success."
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't realize the time—it's almost time for my c-class. Pardon me..."
Quirrell deliberately glanced at his watch before speaking, then quickly turned to leave—his goal had already been achieved, after all.
But there was another reason he was so eager to leave.
At the end of the corridor, a few students on their way to breakfast had appeared. When they passed by, they followed the exact same sequence of reactions: First, they walked past, casting a curious but unfamiliar glance at Quirrell's back. Then, a few seconds later, they suddenly realized who he was. Their eyes widened in shock, as if they had just seen a ghost, staring straight at him.
Quirrell? Without his turban?
The students immediately froze in place, unmoving.
And outside the corridor windows, the morning sun was growing brighter and brighter. More and more students would inevitably gather here, which left Quirrell with only one option—leaving.
However, just before he could go, Victor suddenly reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a thin card, handing it to him.
"What's this...?" Quirrell looked at it in confusion.
Victor replied nonchalantly, "A prediction of your luck. Didn't you just say that you feel like everything you do will succeed? So I decided to give you a reading on the outcome of whatever it is you're planning."
"For free."
...Couldn't you tell I was just being polite?!
For a moment, Quirrell's stiff face seemed to scream that very thought in bold letters.
But Victor, clearly, lacked the ability to read the room. Without another word, he simply pressed the card into Quirrell's hand.
It was a tarot card.
When Quirrell flipped it over, he realized what it was.
The front of the card was illustrated in the style of classical oil paintings, depicting a towering white structure shrouded in dark clouds. The tower looked ancient and elegant, with every intricate carving on its columns meticulously painted, lending it an air of both dreamlike beauty and sacredness.
Yet, an ominous sight disrupted its majesty—a bolt of lightning, crashing down from the storm clouds above, had struck the tower at its center.
The illustration was so detailed that even the shattered bricks from the impact were clearly depicted.
"Oh, it's 'The Tower,'" Victor remarked indifferently after glancing at the card.
His voice remained steady as ever, yet something about his calmness only irritated Quirrell further.
"What does 'The Tower' mean?" Quirrell asked cautiously.
"In tarot, The Tower usually symbolizes unforeseen change, chaos, or sudden failure. Based on your personal situation, this card might indicate that something you thought was certain will take an unexpected turn for the worse, forcing you to face numerous setbacks."
"However, this card doesn't emphasize failure itself. Rather, it highlights the causes that lead to failure."
"The dark clouds above the tower might also suggest that beneath the surface of seemingly calm events, hidden forces are quietly stirring."
Victor finished his explanation in a detached tone. Then, he extended his hand, retrieved the card from Quirrell's grasp, and looked him in the eyes as he said,
"So, be careful, Professor Quirrell."