They arrived at the room with the flying keys.
Quirrell let out a huge sigh of relief when he saw the small keys with tiny wings.
"That's right. It's just a small trial. As expected of the kind Professor Flitwick."
Quirrell knew his Head of House well. He was certainly a kind person. Back when Quirrell was a student, he had even been invited to tea at his place and treated to little dancing cowboy cakes.
Grabbing a broom at random and mounting it, Quirrell searched for a key that matched the shape of the keyhole on the door.
He quickly spotted a silver key with sky-blue wings.
Even though he wasn't particularly skilled at Quidditch, Quirrell's flying ability was passable. After a bit of maneuvering, he managed to catch the key.
Just as he was about to land and open the door...
"Excuse me, who was the goblin general who initiated the war during the Goblin Rebellion of 1612?"
A voice, accompanied by the sound of mechanical gears turning, suddenly rang out from the key in Quirrell's hand.
He stared at it in shock. A mouth had actually formed on the handle, asking the question.
"What?"
As far as Quirrell remembered, Professor Flitwick had never mentioned anything about having to answer questions when all the professors were making the trials.
"Three."
"Two."
The key even began counting down, so Quirrell frantically searched his memory, trying to recall the History of Magic knowledge he had crammed during his school days.
"One."
Bang!
A burst of blue-white icy mist exploded from the surface of the key, splashing across Quirrell's face.
In the next instant, the key in his hand vanished.
"Arg! This…"
Quirrell wiped his face hard, suspecting that Professor Flitwick might have played a trick on him as well.
"Don't waste any more time. Find the correct key immediately!"
Lord Voldemort's slightly irritated voice echoed in his mind, making Quirrell hesitate no longer.
Quirrell replayed the question in his head, identifying the goblin general it referred to.
Only then did he resume his search, flying about the room once more.
Before long, Quirrell caught the key again, confidence surging as he prepared to answer.
"Excuse me, what do Peruvian Vipertooth dragons like to eat?"
"The goblin general is—Eh..?"
Halfway through his answer, Quirrell froze. "No—why did the question change?"
He hadn't grabbed the wrong key.
"Three."
"Two."
"Wait—"
Bang!!
The familiar blue-white mist splashed across his face again. This time, however, Quirrell felt a surge of anger.
"Ahh!! So it changed, did it? Do you really think I can't answer?"
"Do you know what a top Ravenclaw student is capable of?!"
Without even waiting for Lord Voldemort's prompting, Quirrell shot back into the air, heading straight for the sky-blue-winged key.
This time, he didn't dwell on the previous question. It was pointless anyway. He might as well focus on preparing for the next one.
Catching the key with some effort, Quirrell steadied himself and waited for its question.
"Excuse me, what do you get when you mix powdered moonstone and Hippogriff blood?"
"Three."
"Two."
"An air-tightening fluid, which can be used to brew an underwater-breathing potion."
At Quirrell's answer, the mouth on the key's surface immediately closed.
"Haha, it's not that hard after all."
"Professor Flitwick's test really does have a strong Ravenclaw flavor."
Quirrell found himself recalling his school days, when he had to answer the bronze door's riddles every time he entered or left the Ravenclaw common room.
Confidently, he inserted the key into the lock and gave it a gentle turn.
But the key didn't move.
This time, Quirrell was stunned.
"It should be correct…"
"Suppose you come to a crossroads. One path leads to the Village of Honesty, where the villagers always tell the truth, and the other leads to the Village of Lies, where the villagers always lie.
A villager stands at the crossroads. You may ask him only one question. What should you ask to find the path to the Village of Honesty?"
A voice—also accompanied by the sound of mechanical gears, but much louder—rang out.
Quirrell stared blankly at the large door before him. Not only had a huge mouth opened in its surface, but a brass-colored eyeball had also flipped out, staring straight at him.
"Three."
"Two."
Quirrell desperately searched for an answer, but there wasn't enough time.
"One."
"Idiot."
Woosh!!
The door delivered its verdict, then blasted out a torrent of icy water mixed with shards of ice, drenching Quirrell from head to toe.
This made him sneeze uncontrollably.
"Ah—ah—ah—ah—achoo!"
"Again!"
Ravenclaw's competitive spirit surged, and Quirrell could no longer endure it. He roared, his eyes bloodshot.
In the end, Quirrell proved that the Sorting Hat had indeed been right to place him in Ravenclaw.
After Quirrell left, the mouth on the key and the massive mouth and eye on the door all vanished, as though they had never existed.
When he arrived in the next room, he saw the chessboard and the oversized wizard chess pieces.
Quirrell already knew this challenge well. It required multiple people working together, with someone needing to sacrifice themselves to complete it.
However, he didn't need to do that. Simply adding another layer of Transfiguration was something he could manage.
"As long as I turn the white pieces into black pieces…"
Quirrell lightly tapped his wand, casually pointing it at one of the chess pieces.
He waited one second… two seconds… three seconds…
The piece remained exactly the same.
"Fool. Can't you see? Those chess pieces have already been enchanted with dozens of layers of Transfiguration!"
"Heh heh, impressive—truly impressive. Such mastery of Transfiguration is indeed rare in this world."
Lord Voldemort's voice echoed in his mind, pointing out the problem while at the same time offering high praise for the method used in this challenge.
"..." Quirrell listened in silence.
When he had been a student, McGonagall was already a professor, so he had naturally experienced her authority.
Now, his reverence for Professor McGonagall had deepened even further.
"Just destroy the chess pieces. Hmm, ordinary magic won't work—the pieces have also been reinforced with extremely strong defensive enchantments and alchemical methods."
"Use the Dark Arts I taught you. Quickly."
Hearing Lord Voldemort's unquestionable command, Quirrell gritted his teeth and tore a piece of flesh from his already injured left arm, throwing it onto the chessboard.
Raising his wand, he began chanting a cryptic, low, guttural incantation.
Boom!
A violent explosion suddenly erupted.
...
Meanwhile.
Harry had gathered Ron and Hermione, preparing to sneak out of the common room.
"You're planning to go out again."
A voice from the corner made the trio's hearts sink.
Neville stepped out from behind a chair, blocking Harry and the others.
"If you get caught sneaking out again, Gryffindor will be in trouble. I—I have to stop you!"
As he spoke, Neville raised his chubby little fists.
"Come on, I—I'll take you on!"
"We really have an emergency! Neville, please, move aside!"
"I won't!"
Suddenly, Hermione raised her wand.
"I'm very sorry, Neville... Petrificus Totalus!"
Neville's arms snapped to his sides, and he stood rigidly upright before toppling over, stiff as a board.
The three of them hurried out of the common room.
"Headmaster Dumbledore isn't here, and we still haven't found Lucien. The three of us wouldn't be…" Ron muttered as they walked, but Harry cut him off immediately.
"Now only we can protect the Philosopher's Stone!"
"Besides, Lucien taught us some basic Defense Against the Dark Arts. We can do this!"
…
After sacrificing a portion of flesh and blood from his left arm, Quirrell finally shattered the chess pieces.
Once he passed through the room, he paid no attention to the pieces slowly repairing themselves.
That no longer mattered. The next challenge was one he had designed himself.
Just a troll.
Although his colleagues had all tricked him in one way or another, he certainly wouldn't trick himself.
Moreover, Quirrell had secretly planted a curse inside the troll's head. With a simple flick of his wand, he could make it explode.
He cast a Bubble-Head Charm over his nose and mouth to filter out the nauseating stench.
Quirrell kicked the door open, raised his wand, and prepared for a swift confrontation.
"Gah gah gah—"
A strange howl echoed through the room as a creature hiding in the darkness slowly emerged.
Eh..?
Quirrell's eyes narrowed, and he nearly dropped his wand.
"What is that?!"
"Where's my troll?!"
________
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