Although Quirrell's instincts told him to turn and run.
Yet, under the waves of urgent prodding in his mind.
Quirrell forced down his unease and crept forward.
The noisy Living Paintings that had once covered the walls were gone.
Only empty backgrounds remained.
It was as though some madman had cast the Killing Curse on the portraits.
Moonlight shifted silently, turning his shadow.
Quirrell glanced aside without thinking.
He saw a snarling monster baring its fangs at him!
Its bulging eyes blazed with thunderous fury!
Quirrell:!!!
He felt his heart skip a beat and stumbled backward twice, instinctively raising his wand—
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Bang!"
A dazzling flash of green light struck the monster square in the head.
But "its" expression didn't change. The spell merely left a charred hole in its head.
Only then
did Quirrell realize this was, perhaps, probably... a painting?
"..."
For fuck's sake.
He thought he knew who'd done something this twisted.
[Idiot!]
A furious roar exploded in his mind, accompanied by waves of pain like knives slicing into him.
[Are you trying to bring every professor in the school here?!]
"I-I'm sorry, Master!"
Quirrell doubled over in terror and pain, trembling uncontrollably.
[Hurry to the Great Hall. These are just a few paintings!]
"Y-yes!"
Quirrell gripped his wand tightly, a flash of murderous irritation in his eyes.
Ethan Vincent... Once he'd wrung all the value out of that brat, he'd kill him with his own hands.
Knowing they were only paintings
settled Quirrell's nerves a little—no, it didn't.
Even after being hit by the Killing Curse, that wild man, looming like a guardian deity, seemed to keep glaring at him from behind.
If Quirrell let his guard down for even a moment, it would tear him in two.
Tap, tap.
Footsteps echoed through the silent corridor.
Quirrell kept glancing around.
The shadows cast by the pillars and walls seemed to conceal a pair of eyes each, all staring unblinkingly at him.
What kind of deranged mind could paint such horrifying pictures?!
On the wall was a monster whose skin looked like gray-white rubber.
It looked so real that Ethan might once have been one of them.
The gaze, the meticulous details—
even Quirrell, who had once faced them, shuddered.
...Hogwarts should thoroughly investigate Ethan's personhood!
The smell of blood flowed like a river, and the scarlet pigments seemed to run together.
They formed a vast web of flesh and blood, trapping Quirrell in its grasp.
Quirrell's breathing grew heavier. Cold sweat slicked his back, and his footsteps felt as heavy as lead.
The harder he tried not to notice the bizarre paintings, the more his gaze kept drifting toward them.
A buzzing even began to ring in his mind, like a hallucination.
Creak, tap, crunch, crunch...
Damn it!
Ethan, haven't you taken things a little too far?!
Quirrell didn't dare imagine what would happen if anyone else—a student, say—saw the bizarre paintings in this corridor. Would they be scared out of their minds?
That brat belonged in Azkaban!
He shouldn't be allowed to wreak havoc at Hogwarts!
The Dark Wizard Quirrell raged inwardly.
He looked toward the corner ahead. The distant commotion from the Great Hall was faintly audible, and his eyes lit up as he desperately quickened his pace.
—Almost there, nearly there!!
Just then,
the moonlight shifted, illuminating the wall ahead that had been hidden in shadow.
In an instant,
Quirrell stopped short.
The ferocity vanished from his eyes, and he stared blankly ahead.
Then, slowly, slowly, Quirrell's lips curled into a grin of pure ecstasy.
[Idiot! What are you doing?!]
Voldemort roared from the back of his head, magical lashes of punishment striking Quirrell.
He trembled, but didn't feel the pain at all.
"The Philosopher's Stone! It's the Philosopher's Stone, Master!" Quirrell cried in astonishment.
Even after collapsing under the punishment, he crawled forward on all fours.
His murky eyes were full of greed and craving.
He saw the Philosopher's Stone.
The crimson jewel, brimming with powerful magic, lay on the windowsill ahead, quietly reflecting the moonlight.
All he had to do was walk over and pick it up.
...No, wait. This is fake... How could it be real...
But, but...
Could a first-year student's painting really interfere with a Dark Lord's affairs?
As Quirrell's two minds wrestled with each other,
a furious shout suddenly rang out:
"Stop!"
Harry Potter, the Chosen One, was charging toward him.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light flashed.
The great Chosen One flew through the air like a kite with its strings cut, hit the ground hard, and fell silent.
"Huff, huff..."
Quirrell panted heavily, his pupils dilating.
As he felt power surge through his body, his doubts swiftly faded.
"No, please, spare me..."
Another voice called out.
Quirrell's eyes shifted, and he saw "Ethan" kneeling at his feet, begging for mercy.
Those once-proud, cool cobalt-blue eyes were now filled with fear.
Quirrell twisted his face into a cruel grin and raised his wand.
"Cruciatus Curse! Cruciatus Curse!"
Powerful Dark Magic shot effortlessly from the end of his wand.
"Ethan's" piercing screams rang in his ears as he writhed on the ground in agony.
...This was exactly what Quirrell wanted.
Power.
Power to conquer everything!
No one would dare look down on him again. He was the Master's most favored servant!
Just look at Malfoy and Snape... They weren't as clever as him, or as loyal!
"Ha, hahahaha!!!"
Quirrell couldn't hold back his wild laughter.
He didn't hear Voldemort's furious shouts from the back of his head.
Now all that remained was to offer the easily obtained Philosopher's Stone to his Master.
Quirrell crawled toward the dazzling jewel.
Its crimson glow enveloped him like a gauzy veil of moonlight.
Like a moth drawn to a flame,
closer, closer!
Quirrell's eyes widened with excitement. Holding his breath, he desperately stretched out his hand to touch the jewel.
To touch the wealth and glory that awaited him—to stand second only to one, above everyone else.
A second before Quirrell touched the jewel,
"Whoosh!"
He suddenly plunged into an endless abyss.
In the warm, brightly lit Great Hall,
Ethan was enjoying his third Pumpkin Pasty.
The pasty wasn't too sweet; it was packed with pumpkin flavor.
The crust was thin and the filling generous. One bite sent the soft, tender pumpkin spilling out.
The Great Hall had been decorated in lavish splendor.
A thousand magical bats fluttered through the air, showering the students below with piles of candy.
Pumpkins carved with faces were everywhere. Even the ghosts had dressed up, chatting enthusiastically with the students.
Ah, this was the life.
This was how Halloween ought to be celebrated.
Ethan narrowed his eyes, savoring the hot food.
Resting his chin on one hand, he watched Harry, seated across from him, with nothing better to do.
Harry had sprayed buttered peas from his mouth after the Weasley Twins told him some joke.
Since he didn't know when Quirrell would come barging in to announce that there was a Troll in the castle,
Ethan had eaten quickly.
By now, he was stuffed to the brim.
What an incompetent operation.
Why hadn't Quirrell shown up yet?
The feast was nearly halfway over.
The thought crossed Ethan's mind, but he didn't dwell on it.
He was more interested in the Portal trap he'd set up—ah, no, in his fun little game.
Ethan lifted his eyes toward the ceiling in the middle of the Great Hall, a trace of amusement in his gaze.
He'd set the Portal's exit up there.
—Who would be lucky enough to experience long-distance teleportation?
Making a dazzling entrance in front of everyone would be so much fun.
Waku waku~
Before you continue