Quirrell: My Colleagues Are All Trying to Screw Me Over!
We arrived at the room with the Flying Keys.
Quirrell breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the tiny keys with little wings.
That's right, just like Professor Flitwick said.
Quirrell knew his headmaster well; he was definitely a kind and honest man. Back in his school days, he'd even had tea and eaten cakes with a cowboy dance theme at his place.
He grabbed a broom at random and mounted it, Quirrell searched for a key with similar features to the keyhole on the door.
He quickly identified a silver key with sky-blue wings.
Even though he wasn't very good at Quidditch, Quirrell was quite skilled at flying and managed to grab the key after a short struggle.
Just as he was about to land and go down to open the door...
Who was the Goblin general who launched the Goblin Rebellion in 1612?
A sound mixed with the whirring of mechanical gears suddenly rang out from Quirrell's hand.
He stared intently at the key, and a mouth suddenly sprouted from the handle, uttering the question.
"What?"
In Quirrell's memory, Professor Flitwick hadn't mentioned anything about answering questions!
"Three."
"Two."
The key had even started counting down! Quirrell frantically searched his memory, trying to recall the history of History of Magic he had memorized in school.
"One."
"Bang!"
Blue and white icy mist exploded directly from the surface of the key, covering Quirrell's face.
Immediately afterwards, Quirrell realized that the key in his hand had disappeared.
"This..."
Quirrell wiped his face hard, wondering if Professor Flitwick had also lied to him.
"Don't delay any longer, find the right key quickly!"
Voldemort's slightly annoyed voice rang out, making Quirrell dare not linger.
Quirrell first recalled the question and determined who the Goblin general was.
Only then did they continue searching for and capturing the target key.
Once again, Quirrell tumbled and flipped around the room, then grabbed the key again, ready to answer with confidence.
What does the Peruvian Vipertooth like to eat?
"The Goblin general is..."
He'd only gotten halfway through his sentence when Quirrell froze, "Wait, why has the question changed?"
I didn't grab the wrong key!
"Three."
"Two."
"Etc..."
"Bang!"
The familiar blue and white paint was applied to his face again, which only fueled Quirrell's anger.
Fine, change it then. Do you really think I can't answer that?
Do you even know what it means to be a top student in Ravenclaw?
Without Voldemort's prompting, Quirrell had already taken flight, heading straight for the key with sky-blue wings.
He didn't dwell on the previous question this time; it was pointless anyway, so he might as well focus on preparing a new one.
Having already grasped the key with some practice, Quirrell awaited its questions.
What do you get when you mix moonstone powder and Graphorn blood?
"Three."
"Two."
"Air mucus can be used to craft underwater breathing potions."
Upon hearing Quirrell's answer, the mouth on the key's surface immediately shut.
"Haha, it's not that difficult."
"Professor Flitwick's test is very characteristic of Ravenclaw."
Quirrell seemed to recall the days when he was in school, and every time he entered or left the Ravenclaw Common Room, he had to answer questions about the Bronze Door.
Confidently insert the key into the hole in the door and give it a gentle twist.
But the key didn't budge.
Quirrell was stunned.
"It should be correct..."
Imagine you come to a fork in the road. One road leads to Honesty Village (where villagers always tell the truth), and the other road leads to Liar Village (where villagers always lie). A villager is standing at the fork, and you can only ask him one question. What should you ask to find the way to Honesty Village?
A similar sound, mixed with the whirring of mechanical gears, but even louder, rang out.
Quirrell stared blankly at the door before him, which not only had a gaping maw but also a brass-colored eyeball that was staring straight at him.
"Three."
"Two."
Quirrell was anxious to get an answer, but time was running out.
"One."
"Fool."
The door uttered this comment, followed by a gush of cold water mixed with ice crystals, which drenched Quirrell.
This made Quirrell sneeze.
"Aaaaaaah!"
"Again!"
Ravenclaw's competitive spirit was too much for Quirrell to bear, and he roared angrily, his eyes red.
In the end, Quirrell proved that the Sorting Hat was right to send him to Ravenclaw!
After Quirrell left, the mouth on the key, the big mouth and eyes on the door all disappeared, as if they had never existed.
Upon entering the next room, I saw the chessboard and an enlarged version of the Wizard's Chess.
Quirrell already knew about the trickery involved; it would require the cooperation and sacrifice of many to complete.
But he didn't need to do that; he could have done it simply by adding a layer of Transfiguration.
"As long as we turn the white pieces into black pieces..."
Quirrell lightly tapped his wand, pointing it randomly at a chess piece.
Waiting for one second, two seconds, three seconds...
The chess piece should be exactly as it is.
"Fool, didn't you see? Those chess pieces have been enchanted with dozens of layers of Transfiguration!"
"Hehe, amazing, amazing! Such mastery of Transfiguration is truly unparalleled in the world."
Voldemort's voice rang out, helping Quirrell point out the problem, while also generously praising the methods used in this challenge.
Quirrell listened meekly; he had experienced McGonagall's authority firsthand when McGonagall was a professor in school.
And now, my awe for Professor McGonagall has only deepened.
"Let's just destroy these chess pieces. Hmm, ordinary magic won't work. The pieces are also coated with a very strong defensive solidification—alchemy, huh?"
"Use the Dark Magic I taught you, quickly."
Hearing Voldemort's unquestionable command, Quirrell gritted his teeth, tore a piece of flesh from his already injured left arm, and threw it onto the chessboard.
He flicked his wand, uttering a low, obscure incantation.
"Boom!"
A violent explosion suddenly rang out.
On the other side.
Harry gathered Ron and Hermione, and they were about to sneak out of the common room.
"You're planning to go out again."
A voice came from the corner of the room, making the three of them skip a beat.
Neville emerged from behind the chair and blocked Harry and the others' path.
"If you get caught again, Gryffindor will be in trouble. I... I have to stop you!"
As he spoke, Neville raised his two chubby little fists.
"Come on, let's have a match!"
"We really have an emergency! Neville, get out of the way!"
"I don't!"
Suddenly, Hermione raised her wand.
"I'm so sorry, Neville."
"Petrificus Totalus"
Neville's arms snapped to his sides, and the young man fell straight down after standing at attention.
The three little ones quickly left the lounge.
"Headmaster Dumbledore isn't here, and we still haven't found Lucien. The three of us..."
Ron muttered to himself as he walked, but Harry immediately interrupted him.
"Now only we can protect the Sorcerer's Stone!"
"And Lucien also taught us some basic Defense Against the Dark Arts, that's good!"
After Quirrell sacrificed a portion of flesh from his left arm, he finally crushed the chess pieces.
After passing through the room, he didn't pay attention to the chess pieces slowly returning to their original positions.
That's alright, he designed the next level himself.
It's just a Troll.
Although his colleagues had all taken advantage of him, he wouldn't take advantage of himself.
Furthermore, Quirrell secretly planted a curse in the Troll's head, so that it could be blown up with a single point of a wand.
A Bubble-Head Charm was applied to the mouth and nose to filter out the foul and nauseating odor.
Quirrell kicked the door open and raised his wand, ready to finish the job quickly.
"Gagaga--"
A strange howl echoed in the room, and the creature hiding in the darkness slowly emerged.
Quirrell's gaze sharpened, and he nearly dropped his wand.
What is that?
Where is my Troll?!