Quirrell Weeps

Charlie also bid farewell to the others and returned to his own dormitory.

Ernie and Justin were already sleeping like logs. Charlie tiptoed through his washing up and climbed into bed.

Two days passed in the blink of an eye. Come Friday, Charlie groggily crawled out of bed.

After washing up, a hearty breakfast prepared by Billy was already waiting on his bedside table.

Steaming fried eggs and bacon, along with freshly baked toast—the aroma was mouthwatering.

"Really thoughtful," Charlie sighed as he ate, marveling at Billy's service quality.

[Your Majesty indulges in pleasure. Tyrant Points +1]

Hey, can't Imperial We enjoy things a bit?

Full and satisfied, Charlie swayed his way to the Potions classroom.

In class, Snape was as usual picking on Harry and Charlie.

He always lurked silently behind the two of them, using his distinctive tone to seize on their minor mistakes and deduct points ruthlessly.

The lesson that day covered a new potion: the Confusing Concoction.

In truth, Charlie had been drawing prizes these past days and happened to master a perfect Confusing Concoction formula, one even more refined than the textbook version.

Twenty minutes later, Charlie's cauldron was emitting standard silver-white steam, the potion's surface shimmering with a subtle pearlescent sheen.

Snape walked over to Charlie's desk and looked down at the potion in the cauldron.

A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes, but his face remained utterly expressionless.

Oh, if anyone said Professor Snape could show emotion, This Humble One would definitely give them a good kick and tell them to stop telling sci-fi stories.

"Hmph, barely passable."

"But brewing too fast is clearly a sign of rushing for results. Hufflepuff loses one point."

Charlie had grown numb to this routine.

He just wanted to see what new tricks Snape could pull each time, what excuse he'd find to deduct points.

The bell rang, and students packed up with relief, ready to leave.

Just as Charlie was about to walk out of the classroom, Fred and George mysteriously appeared at the door.

The two raised their eyebrows at Charlie, their eyes brimming with excitement.

Charlie understood—the props were ready.

"How is it?" Charlie asked in a low voice.

"All set." Fred grinned mysteriously.

In an empty corridor.

Earlier, Charlie had observed that Quirrell passed through this corridor every day, so he had the twins make an Automatic Hook.

They installed the hook in the corridor, and when Quirrell passed by, it would snag his turban.

Fred pulled an intricate mechanical hook from his robes.

The top of the hook was connected to a thin rope, and the whole device glowed with faint magical light.

"Did you test this thing? How's the effect?" Charlie examined the little contraption curiously.

George patted him on the shoulder, looking smug:

"Relax, brother. Just watch my hook."

"The working principle is simple." Fred explained as he installed the device on the ceiling.

"The sensing magic detects the target approaching, then automatically releases the hook."

"The hook locks onto the turban's position precisely, fast enough that no one can react."

Charlie nodded. These two brothers really had good craftsmanship.

The device was cleverly hidden behind the decorative carvings on the ceiling, completely inconspicuous.

The three of them ambushed at the corner of the corridor.

Before long, familiar footsteps sounded from afar.

Charlie peeked out and saw Professor Quirrell.

He still had that timid look, his purple turban wrapped tightly, his walk trembling.

"Here he comes, here he comes." George rubbed his hands excitedly.

"Get ready for the show." Fred's eyes sparkled with cunning.

Quirrell stepped step by step into the trap zone, completely unaware of the danger above his head.

Charlie held his breath, a strange sense of anticipation stirring within him. He wondered how many Tyrant Points this wave would net him.

When Quirrell walked directly beneath the device, a hook shot out from the ceiling with precision, landing right behind him and catching the corner of his purple turban.

Click!

The hook yanked upward sharply.

But then, something unexpected happened.

The turban clung to the back of Quirrell's head as if glued on, stuck fast.

The hook pulled with all its might, stretching Quirrell's entire rear skull out of shape, like taffy being elongated.

"Aaaaaah!"

A piercing, miserable scream echoed through the corridor.

The cry didn't sound like Quirrell's usual timid voice at all; instead, it carried a cold, hoarse rasp, like the sound a snake might make.

Charlie winced in sympathy.

Just how much force was that, to warp a person's head like that?

[Your Majesty torments a teacher with brutal excess, Tyrant Points +50]

That much? Pulling off a turban shouldn't warrant that.

Now the sympathy was gone, replaced by a little satisfaction.

Quirrell quickly recovered, reaching up to grab the hook and yanking the turban free.

After adjusting his turban back into place, he scanned his surroundings, his eyes now sharp with vigilance.

That timid expression was gone, replaced by a cold, wary alertness.

He hurried away from the scene.

Once they were sure Quirrell was far off, the three emerged from their hiding spot.

"What a shame," Fred said, full of regret.

"We still didn't get to see the back of Professor Quirrell's head."

"That turban was stuck way too tight," George mused, stroking his chin.

"You don't think he got possessed by a female ghost in Egypt, do you? Hiding her in the back of his head?"

Charlie snorted with laughter. "Then that ghost must stink, reeking of garlic."

They retrieved the device, Fred looking dejected.

George hung his head too. "Looks like we'll have to come up with something else."

Charlie, on the other hand, was in high spirits. The 50 Tyrant Points from the system notification had him grinning from ear to ear.

This was way more satisfying than the usual petty pranks.

"No worries, take it slow," Charlie said, patting both of them on the shoulder.

The twins exchanged a glance, both seeing the reluctance in each other's eyes.

How could their grand prank career be thwarted by a mere turban?

No way. They'd have to step it up.

"Alright, I'm off. I need to report to Professor McGonagall."

Charlie waved, walking cheerfully toward Professor McGonagall's office.

It was Friday, which meant detention with Professor McGonagall.

Elsewhere, Quirrell rushed frantically back to his office, slamming the door shut with a bang.

He leaned against the door, panting heavily, his purple turban slightly askew.

"My master, someone just attacked me..." Quirrell's voice trembled.

A cold voice came from the back of his head, laced with obvious fury:

"You useless fool! Ambushed by students!"

"It's my incompetence, master!" Quirrell dropped to his knees with a thud.

"I truly didn't expect anyone to..."

"Shut up." Voldemort's voice was chilling enough to freeze the blood.

"A grown Wizard, and you're being toyed with by a few students. I am deeply disappointed in you."

Quirrell felt a piercing pain at the back of his skull, like countless needles stabbing into him.

"Aaaah, master, spare me."

He writhed on the floor in agony, clutching his head with both hands.

"I've already given you a chance, Quirrell," Voldemort's voice dripped with disgust.

"If I didn't still need this body of yours, you'd have died countless times already."

"I was wrong, I was wrong. Please, master, spare your loyal servant." Quirrell sobbed uncontrollably.

"You'd better pray there are no more blunders like this." Voldemort snorted coldly.

"Otherwise, the next punishment will make you wish you were dead."

The pain finally stopped. Quirrell collapsed to the floor, his face a mess of tears and snot.

At that moment, Charlie was organizing books in Professor McGonagall's office.

[Your Majesty's willful behavior has caused a teacher to weep bitterly. Tyrant Points +2]

Charlie froze.

What the hell?

Who was weeping bitterly?

He turned to look at Professor McGonagall.

No, she wasn't. She was just grading homework.

[Ding! System notification: Your Majesty's willful behavior has caused a teacher to weep bitterly. Tyrant Points +2]

Again?

Who was this teacher?

It couldn't be Quirrell, could it?

Was Professor Quirrell really that fragile? Crying in his own office?