(T/N: There is now a p.atreon for this work, check it out for an early release of up to 30 chapters edited smoothly.
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Inside Quirrell's office, a scene of abject misery unfolded.
"Master... Master, I was wrong. Please, give me another chance..."
Quirrell lay sprawled across the floor in a disheveled heap, his expression twisted in agony.
His entire body trembled with the aftershocks of intense pain.
Every few moments, a wretched wail escaped his throat, sounds that somehow conveyed even greater suffering than when Erwin had struck him with the [Cruciatus Curse] during the Quidditch match.
"Master... spare me," Quirrell gasped between ragged breaths.
"This time, someone cast the [Cruciatus Curse] on me. I couldn't complete the task because of it."
"Next time, I swear, next time I will deal with Harry Potter!"
The classroom stood empty save for Quirrell himself, yet his mournful pleas for mercy filled the space with an oppressive, unsettling atmosphere that made the very air feel heavy and cold.
Slowly, almost deliberately, the scarf wrapped around Quirrell's head began to loosen and slip away.
What it revealed was not the back of a normal human skull.
Instead, a grotesque face materialized, pale, serpentine, utterly lacking nostrils.
Red eyes gleamed with malevolent intelligence.
It was Voldemort.
The Dark Lord ceased his torment, though Quirrell's body continued to twitch involuntarily, muscles spasming from the lingering effects of pain.
"I'll overlook this failure," Voldemort hissed, his voice cold and remorseless.
"But if you fail again, you won't live to see tomorrow's sunrise. Do I make myself clear?"
Even Voldemort had to acknowledge that Quirrell had genuinely been struck by the [Cruciatus Curse].
Moreover, the practitioner's technique had been remarkably sophisticated, so skillful that even he couldn't trace the curse back to its source.
Several minutes passed before Quirrell managed to rise from the floor, his robes drenched with sweat, his movements unsteady.
"Great Master," Quirrell asked weakly, his voice hoarse, "do you know who cast the [Cruciatus Curse] on me? Could it have been Snape?"
"Heh! Snape?" A disdainful snort emerged from Voldemort's twisted features. "With his level of Dark Magic skill, he lacks the finesse to cast it so perfectly that even I cannot detect the source."
He paused, considering.
"It must have been Dumbledore. Besides him, who else at Hogwarts possesses such capability?"
"Dumbledore?" Quirrell's tone carried genuine confusion. "But isn't he supposed to be a White Wizard?"
"Do you really believe so naively that Dumbledore is merely a benevolent White Wizard focused on Transfiguration?" Voldemort's voice dripped with scorn, though beneath the mockery lurked something deeper, a note of barely concealed wariness. "His mastery of the Dark Arts rivals my own. Perhaps even exceeds it in certain areas. He's nothing but a sanctimonious old hypocrite."
Quirrell didn't dare contradict his master.
Instead, he asked carefully, "Then what do you believe his purpose was in cursing me?"
"Fool. Your previous actions were far too obvious; you practically advertised your intentions. You made him suspicious. This curse was merely a small warning, a demonstration of what he could do if he chose."
Voldemort's certainty was absolute.
"It must be so. There can be no other explanation."
****
Meanwhile, in a secluded corner of the castle, Hermione had cornered Erwin with an expression of fierce determination.
"Snape hates Harry," she declared firmly.
"It must have been Snape's curse that nearly made Harry fall to his death during the match! Ron and I both saw him; his lips were moving, chanting something."
She'd stopped Erwin on his way to the library, pulling him into this quiet corner to present her theory with the confidence of someone who believed they'd solved a mystery.
Erwin listened patiently, then shook his head.
"Hermione, your conclusion is too hasty. Snape has taught at Hogwarts for years. If he had any intention of murdering students, Dumbledore would have dismissed him long ago."
Of course, Erwin had no intention of revealing the truth to the trio.
First, he couldn't explain how he possessed such detailed knowledge of events.
Second, this was clearly the first challenge Dumbledore had orchestrated for Harry, a test designed to prepare the boy for greater dangers ahead.
If Erwin intervened directly and disrupted everything, he'd be undermining those carefully laid plans without good reason.
Besides, Erwin was already planning to involve himself in the crucial final moment.
He wanted to see if he could somehow obtain the Philosopher's Stone for himself.
The ultimate product of alchemical achievement fascinated him deeply.
His studies in Ancient Runes had progressed considerably, and he'd recently begun researching magical patterns and spell circles.
Understanding the distinction was important: spells and spell formulas operated differently. The advanced applications of magical pattern theory led to spell circles and alchemy, two interconnected disciplines that represented the pinnacle of theoretical magic.
If he could acquire the Philosopher's Stone, even temporarily, Erwin believed his research would advance by leaps and bounds.
Seeing that Erwin didn't believe her, Hermione's expression shifted to one of clear annoyance.
She pouted, genuinely frustrated.
Part of her resented that Erwin trusted Snape's innocence over her judgment, despite her careful observations and logical deductions.
Although she wanted to get closer to Erwin, the young witch resolved that when she, Harry, and Ron uncovered conclusive evidence, she would make Erwin admit his mistake and apologize properly.
Thinking of that future moment of vindication, a smirk appeared on Hermione's expressive face.
The expression was almost mischievous.
Erwin regarded the little witch with mild bewilderment.
He had no idea what thoughts were running through her mind, but whatever they were had transformed her expression into something rather silly-looking.
However, he had no time to investigate the mysteries of Hermione's thought processes.
His schedule was packed with demanding work, magical pattern theory proved remarkably complex, and he was attempting to study alchemy simultaneously.
There simply weren't enough hours in the day.
With that consideration in mind, he didn't linger.
Nodding politely to Hermione, he turned and walked toward the library.
Hermione snapped back to awareness just in time to see Erwin's form disappearing around the corner of the corridor. She hurried after him immediately.
"Erwin. Wait. Slow down, I'm going to the library too."
****
Days passed in their usual rhythm, and soon it was time for another Potions class.
Snape tormented Harry Potter with his customary vindictiveness, critiquing the boy's potion work with scathing commentary until he'd thoroughly demolished whatever confidence Harry might have possessed.
Then, looking satisfied with his handiwork, the Potions Master dismissed the class.
After the incident with the troll, Snape had requested that Erwin visit his office after their next Potions lesson.
Therefore, unlike the other students, Erwin didn't pack his belongings and leave with Harry and the others.
Snape glanced at him briefly, a look that conveyed both acknowledgment and instruction.
With a slight gesture indicating that Erwin should follow, the professor turned and departed the classroom.
His robes billowed dramatically as he strode toward his office, not bothering to check if Erwin was following; he simply assumed the boy would comply.