The Bait is Taken

Tver studied the proprietor with an amused look.

He was tall and thin, with long gray-white hair and beard, and pale blue eyes carrying an air of indifference.

If Tver had not known the story, he never would have associated him with Headmaster Dumbledore.

Yes, this was Dumbledore's younger brother, Aberforth Dumbledore.

The elder brother was the greatest white wizard, the renowned headmaster of Hogwarts, while the younger brother owned a shabby tavern in a small village.

Perhaps Tver had stared for too long and annoyed the owner. Aberforth impatiently repeated himself.

"Customer, what exactly do you want? Butterbeer or Firewhisky? Or are you planning to stay the night?"

"A bottle of Butterbeer will do."

Tver casually picked an empty table, positioned neither too close nor too far from Quirrell.

Quirrell had also ordered a bottle of Butterbeer and was drinking by himself.

Compared to the other taverns, this place was rather quiet. Only Hagrid was making quite a racket as he played cards and chatted with others about magical creatures.

But the moment Tver saw the bottle of Butterbeer brought to him, he immediately lost any desire to take a sip.

The grime on it was greasier than Professor Snape's hair and more nauseating than the garlic smell on Quirrell.

Aberforth had definitely done it on purpose, just to retaliate for Tver's earlier rudeness.

Both brothers got more childish with age!

Tver shook his head slightly.

As for this bottle of beer, he would pass.

Sitting in the tavern, Tver did not deliberately watch Quirrell. Instead, like him, he listened in on the conversations around them.

"I heard Gringotts was broken into by some mysterious person, and he even got away in the end."

"You're behind the times. That mysterious person emptied out Gringotts. The goblins are still scratching their heads over how to cover the losses."

"If you ask me, Gringotts staged the whole thing themselves! They secretly pocketed their depositors' property, then claimed it had been stolen!"

Tver's face twitched slightly beneath his hood.

What had I been expecting?

Quirrell seemed to feel the same way. His shoulders slumped, and impatience spread through his whole body. With one hand on the table, he looked ready to get up.

Then Hagrid suddenly said something that quickly settled Quirrell down.

"Then you've never seen a three-headed dog. I raised one for a year, and it went from this tiny," he gestured with his palm, "to as tall as the ceiling. The only problem is that the three heads like to fight."

With just that one sentence, Quirrell settled back into his seat and quietly listened to Hagrid's conversation.

But Hagrid only mentioned the three-headed dog in passing. The rest was all about his love for fire dragons, which disappointed Quirrell.

Still, it let Tver understand Quirrell's purpose that night.

So he was still troubled by the three-headed dog.

A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth. Picking up the beer he had not touched once, he moved to sit beside Hagrid.

The movement did not stand out. People had always been coming and going around Hagrid, watching them play cards.

After sitting down, Tver watched quietly for a while before suddenly speaking.

"I have a three-headed dog too, big guy. They're wild and hard to tame. I really don't know how you managed it. If I didn't know their weakness, they would have bitten me to death sooner or later."

With an opening to talk, Hagrid's enthusiasm rose as well. There were not many people willing to chat with him about magical creatures, after all, since he saw those little creatures differently.

"That's easy. Three-headed dogs like cooked meat, but they don't mind raw meat either. Just feed them raw meat normally, then give them cooked meat during training, and they'll obediently follow your instructions."

Hagrid enthusiastically rambled on about a great many things. Tver did not catch the rest clearly; he only needed to know one thing—

The prey had taken the bait.

Ever since he brought up the three-headed dog, he had felt a veiled gaze watching him.

There was no need to think about it. The only one who could keep paying attention for so long was Quirrell.

After thanking Hagrid, Tver hurriedly left the tavern, pretending to be a wizard who had learned the technique and intended to rush home to train his three-headed dog.

But after leaving the tavern, he slowed his steps slightly and walked through the empty streets toward the village entrance.

Quirrell was patient. Though he was following behind Tver, he never came forward, apparently unafraid that Tver might Apparate away.

At the village entrance, Tver ran out of patience. He struck an awkward Apparition pose.

Sure enough, Quirrell hurried out from the shadows.

"Friend, don't leave just yet." His voice carried a hint of geniality, as though he wanted Tver to lower his guard. "Could we have a chat?"

"Who are you?" Tver took two steps back in pretend surprise. "I'm in a hurry to get home, so I can't talk for long."

"Don't be so hasty, my friend." Quirrell pulled out a small pouch that jingled crisply. "Just answer one small question, and you can receive twenty Galleons. It's very simple."

Tver almost laughed aloud.

He had used a dragon egg to bribe Hagrid, but for Tver, there were only twenty Galleons.

Besides, he had no intention of telling him outright.

Pretending to be drawn in by the Galleons, Tver paused before saying, "What do you want to know? I can't promise I'll know anything too difficult."

"It's simple. Just tell me the weakness of the three-headed dog."

Quirrell temptingly shook the money pouch in his hand.

Tver folded his arms and said teasingly, "That's hardly a simple question. I imagine you've been sitting in this bar for ages and still haven't found the answer, have you?"

Quirrell's anger flared at once. Tver was obviously toying with him.

"Don't get smug. At worst, I'll go ask that big guy!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Then go ask him." Tver waved at Quirrell. "I'll be back next week. Come find me if you still haven't gotten an answer."

Before Quirrell could respond, Tver's figure flashed and vanished in an instant, without a trace of his earlier clumsiness.

Quirrell immediately realized he had been played!

That frightened act had been deliberate, meant to trick him into lowering his guard!

"You were careless." A ghostly voice sounded from within Quirrell's hood.

Quirrell immediately clasped his hands before his chest and said respectfully, "Master, it was my fault. That person was not as simple as he appeared."

"I mean, from the moment you entered the bar, you were already being watched!"

Voldemort's voice suddenly turned vicious, making Quirrell shudder all over.

"I... I don't understand what you mean, my master."

"That man had been watching you from the moment he entered the bar. He knew your every move, you fool!"

Voldemort was consumed with rage as well, because he had only just realized it himself.

He, the great Dark Lord, had actually been played by some skulking nobody!

"Come back next week. Strip that man's soul bare and let me see what exactly is inside it!"