Englishmen Don't Lie to Englishmen

Tom said slowly, "Let's talk about the back of your head. How are you now?"

Quirrell's expression changed. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know, on the day of the Quidditch Match, I saw you casting a spell on Harry's Flying Broomstick. You wanted to kill him, didn't you?"

Quirrell stared intently at Tom, his eyes filled with a fierce determination born of desperation, a stark contrast to his usual timid demeanor.

"Mr. Riddle, what... what are you trying to do? I... I warn you, don't... don't make wild guesses."

"Guess?" Tom chuckled, leaning forward slightly. "Professor, I never like to guess. I only say what I see and what I know."

He paused, then spoke clearly, each word like a heavy hammer blow.

"Some people are already suspecting Professor Snape. I'm responsible for suspecting you; what happens to others is none of my business."

Quirrell was stunned. "What, what did you say?"

"I said, 'I'm responsible for suspecting you; the division of labor is clear.'"

Quirrell stared at him for three seconds. "You, you're slandering the professor. That's a serious violation of school rules."

"Then go ahead and sue me. Tell Albus Dumbledore that Tom Riddle said you wanted to harm Harry Potter. Guess what Albus Dumbledore will think?"

Quirrell didn't say anything.

"On Halloween Eve, you deliberately let the Troll into the castle to create chaos, hoping to sneak into the Third Floor Corridor, didn't you?"

"Quidditch Match, you were the one who cursed Harry's Nimbus 2000, trying to make him fall off his broom and Reducto, weren't you?"

"The Gringotts vault was robbed, and the intruder was you, wasn't it?"

The three questions directly exposed all of Quirrell's pretense.

Quirrell stared at him for a long time, his eyes filled with something indescribable, like fear or anger.

Quirrell instinctively reached for his wand hidden in his robes, his eyes contorted with rage. "You... you dare spy on me?! Believe me or not..."

"Do you believe I can shout right now and summon Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape all over here to hear the story of the great master behind you?"

Tom's tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable threat. "Professor, do you think the one in your hood can still hide from Albus Dumbledore?"

Quirrell froze instantly, and the last trace of color vanished from his face.

He knew that Tom meant what he said; this boy was nothing like an eleven-year-old first-grader.

He was calm, ruthless, and meticulous, more terrifying than any of the older students at Hogwarts.

Then his expression changed, giving off a "since you know, I'll lay my cards on the table" vibe.

"Mr. Riddle, you are very clever."

"Thank you, Professor."

What do you want? Money? Or magical items?

"I want the money, and my conditions are simple." Tom smiled easily. "We'll divide the work. You continue with your work, and I'll be responsible for suspecting you, keeping an eye on you, but not interfering with your plans."

"You play the bad guy, I'll play the skeptic. The Britain don't lie to the Britain, isn't that fair?"

Quirrell was dumbfounded; he had never seen such outrageous extortion.

Do you know why I took that thing?

Quirrell took a step forward. "That thing is called the Philosopher's Stone. It can create gold and the Elixir of Life."

"With it, you can have as much money as you want, and live as long as you want. We can cooperate."

Tom looked at him. "You want to live forever?"

"No, it wasn't me. It was," Quirrell paused, swallowing hard, "That I wanted to. I wanted to live forever."

Tom leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers twice on the armrest.

"So you released the Troll to create chaos. So you tried to kill Harry during the Quidditch Match to distract him. So you loitered around the Third Floor Corridor every night, looking for a chance to get in."

Quirrell didn't say anything.

Tom pulled out a quill and parchment. "Are you telling me this to try and drag me into this?"

"Then I'll tell Albus Dumbledore everything, say that you need an assistant, and ask him to arrange something for you, how about that?"

"No! I promise you!" Quirrell was terrified and grabbed him. "Name your conditions, and I'll agree to anything!"

"It's simple." Tom put away his pen and paper, a sly smile on his face. "First, give me reasonable bonus points on tests and quizzes."

"Second, give me 100 Galleon every month as a confidentiality fee; third, you are not allowed to retaliate against me, and don't let the person behind you do anything."

"One hundred Galleon?!" Quirrell nearly fainted. "I don't even earn that much a month! This is robbery!"

"You don't want the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Unexpectedly, the Philosopher's Stone is too hot to handle; whoever touches it will be doomed."

Quirrell stared at him for a long time. "You... you're not afraid I'll kill you?"

"If you try it, it will only lead to a lose-lose situation."

Quirrell's lips twitched. "You've got guts."

"Thank you, Professor. What about the extra points and the 100 Galleon?"

"I promise! I promise!" Quirrell almost shouted, tears welling up in his eyes. "I promise you everything!"

"It would have been better if we had done this sooner." Tom patted him on the shoulder with satisfaction. "It's been a pleasure working with you. Remember, if you're doing well, I'm doing well, and if I'm not doing well, nobody else will either."

The moment Quirrell's office door closed, Tom stuffed the hundred Galleon into his pocket.

He whistled and strolled away leisurely, leaving a dejected Quirrell slumped at the table.

The corridor was quiet. Daphne leaned against the wall, waiting for him, holding two cups of hot cocoa.

In Quirrell's office, the moment the door closed, Quirrell's expression changed.

His face contorted into a grotesque grimace, like a demon. Veins bulged on his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot.

He reached out and untied his headscarf, the large purple scarf unraveling circle by circle, each circle releasing a stronger smell of garlic into the air. The last circle was finally untied.

Voldemort's face was revealed, not a complete human face, but a face embedded in the back of Quirrell's head.

Tom and Daphne ran into Hermione in the hallway after they finished packing.

"Tom, what did you talk about with Professor Quirrell?" Daphne asked, hooking her arm around his.

"Nothing, just asked a few questions," Tom lied without batting an eye. "Let's go, don't miss your Charms Class."

Hermione glanced at him suspiciously, feeling that the boy was hiding something important, but she couldn't find any evidence, so she could only follow the two of them forward.

Tom walked in the middle, with the obedient Daphne on his left and the clever Hermione on his right, feeling very pleased with himself.

With a girlfriend by his side, good friends following along, and even a villain working for him and giving him money to boost his image, life was simply too comfortable.

He was already looking forward to Quirrell obediently handing over 100 Galleon next month.

Professor Quirrell, you can't escape.