"I was wrong... Master..."
In the dim office, Quirrell knelt on the floor, his forehead pressed against it, his expression terrified and his mouth gaping like a dying fish.
Although the fire in the fireplace burned red-hot, cold sweat and uncontrollable drool streamed onto the floor, pooling into a small patch of nauseating liquid.
The scarf he usually kept wrapped tightly around his head now lay on his cluttered desk. On the exposed, bald back of his head, a deathly white face bore two scarlet eyes. "What were you trying to do? Warn Dumbledore?"
"But you didn't expect this, did you... Dumbledore didn't go."
Quirrell's body thrashed wildly at that high, thin voice, but his head seemed glued in place, making him look exactly like a loach nailed to a chopping board.
Ten minutes passed, or perhaps longer. Only after Quirrell had lost the strength to struggle did those two blood-red lights flicker again.
"Master... Master..."
His fawning voice was barely a whisper, drawing a twisted smile from the face where no face should have been. After letting Quirrell rest for a while, limp as a dead dog, he wrapped the thick scarf around his head again.
"You told me it was completely safe!"
In Dumbledore's office, Snape stared fixedly at Dumbledore, his eyes fierce.
"Minerva was watching the whole time—and didn't you agree to it as well, Severus?"
"That was because you told me the Dark Lord absolutely wouldn't do anything else with the Philosopher's Stone there to tempt him!"
"I still stand by my opinion. You and I both know our friend—what he wants now is the Philosopher's Stone, not Harry."
"But he's already attacked him."
"I believe that was an attempt to create confusion so he could steal the Philosopher's Stone. He won't kill Harry—at the