Hearing Snape's interrogation, Professor Quirrell was momentarily stunned before sneering and replying:
"Professor Snape, as far as I know, there isn't a single Hogwarts rule that forbids a professor from walking the corridors at night."
However, the moment Quirrell finished speaking, he immediately felt Snape's grip on his throat tighten.
In an instant, Quirrell, who was already struggling to breathe, found himself gasping for air, his face flushing red.
Snape, in his usual slow and deliberate manner, spoke:
"Professor Quirrell, I daresay you weren't merely wandering the corridors, were you? What exactly were you doing at the tower? Let me think—what is kept there? Oh, yes. The Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance."
As he said this, Snape's expression grew even colder. He leaned in, his piercing gaze locking onto Quirrell's eyes, and asked in a quiet yet dangerous tone:
"Tell me, Professor Quirrell—what were you looking for?"
By now, Quirrell could barely breathe, let alone speak.
Noticing this, Snape loosened his grip slightly, and Quirrell immediately gasped for air, sucking in deep, desperate breaths.
After a long moment, once he had recovered, Quirrell glared at Snape with resentment and slowly said,
"Professor Snape, I have no idea what you're talking about. I was merely enjoying the moonlight from a higher vantage point—it was quite a lovely night, after all."
Snape, unsurprised by the denial, scrutinized Quirrell with a sharp gaze and said sternly,
"Professor Quirrell, I suggest you do not forget who you are."
For some reason, upon hearing these words, Quirrell remained silent for a moment—before suddenly letting out a low, cold chuckle.
At that very moment, Harry and Ron, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, had just rounded a corner near the confrontation. The sudden burst of laughter startled them both.
Curious, they moved cautiously toward the source of the sound—only to see Snape gripping Quirrell's throat, his wand pointed directly at him.
Quirrell sneered,
"Professor Snape, perhaps it is you who has forgotten who you are. Do you truly believe yourself to be nothing more than Hogwarts' loyal Potions Master? Have you forgotten your past—Severus Snape, the former Death Eater?"
Harry's breath caught in his throat. He knew exactly what a Death Eater was now. Hearing this revelation, realizing that a Death Eater had been at Hogwarts, right under his nose, sent a shockwave through him. He instinctively took a step back.
But in his shock, Harry forgot that he was under the Invisibility Cloak with Ron.
As he moved, Ron did not step back in time, and half of Harry's body slipped out from beneath the cloak—becoming visible.
At that very instant, a sharp, loud meow echoed through the corridor.
"Meow!"
Harry and Ron jumped in fright and quickly looked down. It was Mrs. Norris—Filch's ever-watchful cat!
At the same time, they both realized, with growing dread, that part of Harry's body was exposed. Hastily, he pulled the cloak back over himself.
But the damage was done. In the stillness of the castle at night, the sudden sound of a cat's cry was impossible to ignore.
Almost instantly, Snape released his grip on Quirrell's throat. The two professors exchanged glances before, as if by silent agreement, they turned and began walking toward Harry and Ron's direction, pretending as though nothing had happened.
Seeing this, Ron and Harry instinctively started backing away.
But just as they did, Filch's voice rang out from the corridor behind them.
"Ha! Thought you could sneak away, did you? Caught you, you little rats!"
A moment later, Filch appeared, holding a lantern aloft as he approached from the opposite direction.
Trapped.
Harry and Ron exchanged a desperate glance. With no escape route, they slowly inched backward toward the wall, pressing themselves against it, holding their breath.
Filch, meanwhile, had come face to face with Quirrell and Snape.
The moment his lantern illuminated the two professors, Filch's expression changed drastically.
He had been expecting to catch misbehaving students—not two Hogwarts professors.
Snape and Quirrell, on the other hand, subtly exhaled in relief. If a student had overheard their conversation just now, it would have been… problematic.
Filch, now standing frozen with his lantern in hand, was staring at them in bewilderment. Snape was the first to break the silence.
"What is the matter, Filch?"
Filch, clearly flustered, stammered,
"Professor Snape, Professor Quirrell—it's, er, well, there are students out of bed! I was in the middle of tracking them down."
Snape frowned. "Oh? And who might they be?"
Filch hesitated, then shook his head awkwardly. "I—I didn't actually see them, sir."
Quirrell raised an eyebrow and asked curiously,
"You didn't see them? Then how do you know someone was out of bed?"
Filch reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricately folded paper crane. He held it up for the professors to see and explained,
"Because I found this in the corridor. It wasn't there when I first patrolled earlier tonight, but when I came back, it was on the floor. That means someone must have dropped it—a student sneaking around after curfew, no doubt!"
Quirrell merely nodded indifferently, but Filch and Quirrell both noticed something odd—
Snape was staring at the paper crane.
Unmoving.
For a long moment, he stood frozen in place, eyes locked onto the tiny origami bird.
Filch blinked, convinced he must be imagining things—but for a fleeting instant, he could have sworn he saw the corners of Snape's eyes redden.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Snape finally spoke, his voice hoarse.
"Filch… where did you find this?"
Filch, though puzzled, answered promptly,
"Sixth-floor corridor, Professor Snape."
Snape nodded. Without another word, he reached out, snatched the paper crane from Filch's hand, and strode off down the corridor, his pace quick and purposeful.
"I'll take a look," he said over his shoulder.
Filch, though still confused, made no attempt to stop him.
Quirrell, on the other hand, was secretly relieved—he had been worried that once Filch left, Snape might resume his interrogation. The last thing he wanted was for those hands to close around his throat again.
In a matter of moments, the once-busy corridor had emptied, leaving behind only an eerie silence.
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