Late at night.
Quirrell waited until dark clouds had crept across the sky and blotted out the moonlight before slipping out of his room.
Life had not been easy for him lately.
Get the Philosopher's Stone, kill Potter, capture a unicorn.
He had failed at all three tasks Voldemort had given him, and had suffered no end of torment for it.
Even more infuriatingly, the other day he had been drenched in the filthy residue of a Dungbomb during class. To avoid drawing Dumbledore's attention, he had not even dared make much of a fuss about it.
The enraged Dark Lord had nearly churned his brain into mush.
Ever since then, Voldemort had seemed a little unhinged.
He kept feeling as though the stench of a Dungbomb lingered in his nostrils.
To dispel Voldemort's imagined stench, Quirrell had to cast Scourgify on himself almost every half hour.
Today, Voldemort had started urging him to look for the Philosopher's Stone again.
To appease Voldemort's anger, Quirrell had no choice but to risk a trip to the fourth floor and try his luck.
If Fluffy happened to be asleep, he could go through the trapdoor and get the Philosopher's Stone.
Before term began, Dumbledore had made a great show of gathering several professors to set up all those obstacles beneath the trapdoor. It was obvious they were there to protect the Philosopher's Stone.
Quirrell hugged the wall as he walked, darting around a corner and down the corridor.
Just as he was approaching the room where Fluffy was kept, he suddenly saw a figure appear at the doorway.
The moonlight was dim, and Quirrell could not make out who it was.
But judging by the figure's height and robes, it was probably a first-year.
What a bold little wizard, Quirrell thought.
But