Training Dummy

At the sound of Tver speaking his name, Quirrell shot to his feet, his face darkening.

He had believed that no one could possibly see through his disguise, and that was the greatest assurance allowing him to remain at Hogwarts without worry.

But now someone had called out his name so directly. What if Dumbledore had seen through him as well?

Quirrell was in a complete panic.

Honestly, he no longer wanted to deal with the person before him. He wanted to run away and scream at the Dark Lord, "I quit!"

"Calm down. If this person had told Dumbledore about you, then he would not be the one coming to see you," Voldemort's voice echoed eerily in Quirrell's mind.

"But he has still found our weakness. He could expose our identities at any time."

Voldemort gave a soft snort, though it was unclear whom he was mocking.

"Don't worry. His goal is also the Philosopher's Stone. Before he gets it, he will not choose to create unnecessary complications. On the contrary, he will 'properly' protect your identity."

Quirrell immediately understood what the Dark Lord meant and let out a relieved breath.

"You mean he intends to help us obtain the Philosopher's Stone, then snatch it from us?"

Voldemort did not reply again, but Quirrell already knew the answer. He sat back down, his confidence restored, his posture noticeably more relaxed.

"There is only one of that thing. If I give it to you, what am I supposed to do?" Quirrell asked casually.

"I can wait until you're done using it first," Tver replied even more perfunctorily.

They both knew that the moment they obtained the Philosopher's Stone would be the moment they drew their wands against each other. How could one use it first and then hand it over? Did they think it was a set of clothes?

Naturally, Quirrell understood that, so he had never expected a useful answer.

"You know my identity, but I don't know yours. That isn't fair."

Tver gave a derisive laugh and looked up at Quirrell. "Since when is there fairness in black-market dealings?"

"That's right, but there is such a thing as bargaining."

Tver immediately sat upright, staring at Quirrell's face hidden beneath his hood, puzzled by his sudden shrewdness.

"I don't need to know your identity," Quirrell said smugly, "but I need to know your progress, as well as more information about that thing."

Since this person knew that the first guardian of the Philosopher's Stone was a three-headed dog, he must have already gone inside.

But if he needed Quirrell to scout the way and retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, that meant he could not get past what lay ahead either.

So, Quirrell intended to rely on Tver's information to obtain the Philosopher's Stone as soon as possible, then flee far away.

Even if Dumbledore was furious afterward, the Dark Lord would already have been resurrected by then. What would he have to fear?

With a faint chuckle, Tver recalled the story.

"I can give you one extra piece of information—the thing is hidden by Dumbledore in the final mirror, protected by a spell he cast personally."

Quirrell's expression beneath the hood changed at once.

He had long suspected that the Philosopher's Stone's protections would not be so simple, and he had worried that Dumbledore might have cast a spell himself. He had not expected that concern to be confirmed so quickly.

"What spell did Dumbledore use?" Quirrell asked urgently.

He could not help being anxious. When it came to dark magic, the Dark Lord naturally did not fear Dumbledore. But when it came to light magic, Dumbledore could leave the Dark Lord far behind!

"You'll have to ask Dumbledore himself about that. In any case, that's all I can tell you. Whether you want to trade is up to you."

Tver was not about to spill everything at once. At the very least, he had to wait until he cleared the chessboard and Quirrell drew enough of Dumbledore's attention before he could fish in troubled waters.

Quirrell struggled with it for a while before finally thinking it through.

"Tell me. Give me the three-headed dog's weakness. It benefits both of us, doesn't it?"

Tver lightly tapped the tabletop, left behind a single word, and departed.

They were attracting far too much attention. It would be easy to draw the attention of desperate men. He was not afraid of them, but they were still troublesome—especially when he could not reveal his identity.

Quirrell glanced at the word "music," then waved his hand, making it vanish.

For the same reason, he did not linger in the tavern either.

By the time Tver returned to the castle, it was already nine in the evening. There was about an hour left before curfew began.

That was naturally no concern for a professor, but for the four students hanging upside down, there was no time to waste.

"It was my oversight. I didn't realize you hadn't learned wandless magic yet." Tver held back his laughter as he looked at the scene before him.

When Cedric and the other three had first encountered the dummy, they had hesitated over whether to fight it.

However, this training dummy looked cruder than the second-years had described. It only had basic parts like arms and legs, without even any facial features.

Its bald head made it look rather stupid. After hesitating for a while, they decided that they could not waste such a rare opportunity for combat practice.

So they boldly charged in.

They just had not expected this expressionless dummy to be even more ruthless than a real person!

Although it used ordinary spells as well, its accuracy, casting speed, and every other aspect were better than Professor Fawley's!

Of course, that was because it was only the first lesson, and the professor had gone easy on them.

But they had one thing in common: none of them could beat it!

Fortunately, the dummy was rather considerate. Even when it sent them flying, it protected them properly so they would not get hurt in the fall, allowing the second round to begin as soon as possible.

And so the cycle repeated. They were knocked away time and again, then stood before the dummy again and again.

After all, they were the four third-years with the most ideas. Having taken a beating for so long, they were not completely without counterattacks.

Before long, they learned a staggered assault—launching wave after wave of uninterrupted attacks, forcing the dummy into passive defense.

But once the dummy started repositioning, their plan fell apart.

In the end, they took advantage of the dummy's weaker senses and used Transfiguration specifically to hinder its movements.

The effect was remarkable. The dummy was nearly struck by their magic, but there was one problem—

The dummy evolved!

For the first time, it used Transfiguration—stronger Transfiguration than theirs—and instantly hung all four of them from the ceiling...

"Professor, this dummy isn't training us. It feels more like it's training itself!" George shouted indignantly after being let down.

"Ahem, how could that be? I said this was your reward."

With his little scheme exposed, Tver felt somewhat embarrassed as well.

He had made this dummy by combining the chessboard with his understanding of souls.

Not only had he infused it with memories, but also a trace of will.

It was precisely that trace of will that made the dummy seem almost conscious, allowing it to learn continuously during battle.

That was also why it had started with only memories of basic magic, yet had ultimately managed to use such powerful Transfiguration.

Hearing the faint grumbles of hunger from the four of them, Tver took out several sandwiches and a large bottle of pumpkin juice from his bag.

"You haven't had dinner yet, right? Eat something before heading back to the common room."

At the sight of this, Fred chewed on a sandwich as he complained, "Professor, your bag really has everything in it."