Footsteps on Christmas Night

The corridors were still bustling when the Christmas feast ended.

A winged hat flew through the entrance hall in pursuit of its owner, followed by laughter.

The professors left the Great Hall one after another. Some discussed the Christmas crackers, while others felt that Dumbledore really should not have the right to choose hats for other people.

Quirrell mingled with the crowd, shoulders hunched, forcing a smile at passing colleagues.

"M-merry Christmas."

His hands remained tucked inside his sleeves. When someone waved to him, he nodded and hid that hand a little deeper.

Nobody found it strange. Professor Quirrell had always been like this.

Only when his office door closed behind him did he stop and listen to the sounds outside.

The footsteps gradually faded. Quirrell unclenched his hand and looked down at it.

His fingertips were still trembling incessantly.

Once, he had been able to control those tremors, making himself seem timid, clumsy, and preferably just a little too ridiculous to deserve attention.

Now, he could no longer distinguish which of those things he still intended to display.

He went to the desk and took out a medicine bottle.

Several drops spilled onto the back of his hand, slipping coldly into his sleeve.

Quirrell's expression darkened.

He stared at his hand. Only after a moment did he brace his wrist against the edge of the desk and pour the medicine again.

Bitterness slid down his throat.

He closed his eyes and waited for the familiar warmth to spread through his chest. His breathing steadied a little.

Before, this medicine had at least allowed him to get through most of the night in peace.

Now, a little liquid still remained at the bottom of the cup when the oppressive tightness slowly settled over his chest again.

Quirrell set down the cup and looked out the window.

The snow in the courtyard reflected a faint light. The snowmen a few students had built during the day still stood beside the Christmas tree.

He had disliked looking at that courtyard for some time now.

On the day of the Quidditch match, he had picked his moment.

Harry Potter had been in the air, with everyone's eyes following the Golden Snitch.

But just as he was about to act, several professors had shown an unexpected sensitivity to fluctuations in magic on the pitch.

Dumbledore had been there too, and in the end, Quirrell had not spoken the incantation.

Holding back had allowed him to leave the pitch safely, but his original plan had ground to a halt.

Then there was Hagrid.

In the past, once that large man started talking about fantastic beasts, it had been difficult to stop him. Now, whenever the conversation strayed anywhere near the three-headed dog, he scratched his beard and vaguely referred the question to the headmaster.

Once might have been a coincidence. Several times in succession were enough for Quirrell to understand that someone had warned him.

But who?

Had the incident with the troll left a loose thread? Or had he aroused suspicion by sounding too eager during one of his inquiries?

How much did they actually know?

Quirrell had no answer.

He could only cross out the approaches that were no longer safe, one by one, and try to find whatever paths remained.

At that thought, the corner of his mouth suddenly twitched.

Once, he had so desperately hoped that, after returning to Hogwarts, he would earn those professors' attention.

Now, they were finally beginning to notice him.

His movements, the questions he had asked, perhaps even these hands hidden inside his sleeves.

"The medicine?"

A low, hoarse voice suddenly came from beneath his turban.

Quirrell immediately gripped the edge of the desk.

"I have already taken it, Master."

The office fell silent for a moment. Eyes lowered, he finally added the rest.

"The medicine is no longer doing much."

"Then you should obtain the Philosopher's Stone all the sooner."

The voice was perfectly calm.

Quirrell swallowed.

"Perhaps I could leave the school for a few days. I only need a little time for my body to recover..."

"You think leaving here will make you better?"

He did not answer.

The empty medicine cup was still before him on the desk. Quirrell knew there was no longer any point in continuing that request.

The Philosopher's Stone was still a hope he could cling to.

"But not tonight," he said quietly. "Several professors are still at school. They are already on their guard. If we approach that place now and trigger the protections..."

He paused.

"We might not even have a chance to leave."

This time, Voldemort did not speak immediately. Only after a moment did the voice sound again.

"Then keep yourself going for now."

"The Philosopher's Stone cannot wait any longer."

Quirrell slowly straightened.

A faint bump came from the corner. He turned and walked toward the insulated box beside the fireplace.

Opening the lid revealed the dragon egg inside.

He had gone to considerable trouble to obtain it.

He had originally planned to use his position as a professor to learn Hagrid's interests and habits, then assume a stranger's identity and let this dragon egg appear in the right place.

But now, Hagrid had learned to keep his mouth shut at crucial moments.

Quirrell checked the temperature inside the box and raised his wand.

His wrist trembled again.

He stayed still, waiting for the tremors to ease before renewing the warming magic.

The bottom of the box warmed again, and the dragon egg settled down. Quirrell closed the lid without another look.

Before leaving, he took out a clean, empty bottle, checked the stopper, and tucked it into his cloak's inner pocket.

At last, he could no longer suppress the urge to cough pressing against his chest. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief and, after a while, slowly unfolded it.

There was a small patch of dark red on the cloth.

Quirrell threw the handkerchief into the fireplace, cleaned the spilled medicine off the desk, and checked his cuffs and collar once more.

The flames gently curled around the cloth.

Standing before the door, he adjusted his breathing again. His shoulders hunched, his gaze lowered, and that familiar awkward expression returned to his face little by little.

Then he opened the door and stepped into the corridors on Christmas night.

"Harry, move again."

In the common room, Ron stared at the vanished hand, barely willing to blink.

Harry spread out the silvery-gray fabric and draped it over his shoulders.

A second later, only a floating head remained in front of Ron.

"Merlin..."

When Harry covered his head too, Ron finally could not resist reaching out to check exactly where his friend was standing.

An invisible hand suddenly caught his wrist, and Ron jerked back.

"Don't ever use this to scare me!"

A soft laugh came from beneath the Invisibility Cloak. Harry was just about to step away when his toe struck a table leg with a quiet knock.

Both of them looked down.

"Looks like it doesn't make you walk more carefully," Harry said.

It did not hide sound either.

Ron reached out to feel where the fabric covered Harry and could still touch his arm.

Once his excitement had subsided a little, Harry picked up the note again.

He knew about the Invisibility Cloak and remembered that it would come into his hands this Christmas.

But actually touching it was still different from remembering the plot.

This had once belonged to Harry's father.

Harry's fingertips lingered at the edge of the paper. Then he folded the note and carefully tucked it into his pocket.

After returning to the dormitory, he explained his plans for tonight.

"The third floor?" Ron looked at him with an expression that said he had expected as much. "So you've only just got it, and you're already planning to go out and break school rules?"

"I want to see what things are like outside the forbidden area." Harry did not put him off with an excuse about taking a stroll. "I'll only look around near the entrance. I won't touch the door or go inside."

They discussed it for a while and finally agreed that Ron would wait for him in the dormitory.

Harry had to return within an hour. If that time passed without any word from him, Ron would go to Professor Flitwick.

Ron glanced at the clock and stressed one last time, "You said it. No going inside."

Harry nodded and pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head.

The castle was much quieter during the holidays.

Christmas decorations still hung in the corridors, but the fires in the fireplaces had burned low.

Most of the portraits were asleep. Occasionally, someone turned over and muttered a complaint, their voice quickly fading again.

At first, Harry walked rather stiffly.

As he passed a portrait, the person inside suddenly stirred.

He instinctively stopped, even softening his breathing. Only after walking some distance away did he slowly relax his tense shoulders.

Clearly, knowing that other people could not see him and actually getting used to it would take a little time.

After several turns, he gradually found his rhythm.

Listen first, then walk. When he came to suits of armor or narrow spaces, he gave them a wide berth in advance.

As he approached the forbidden area on the third floor, a familiar voice stopped him.

"Hold the lamp higher."

It was Snape.

Harry immediately backed into an alcove to one side.

A suit of armor stood there, its long-handled weapon jutting out at an angle and taking up much of the space. He carefully avoided it and peered out through the Invisibility Cloak.

Snape stood before the door. Filch held the lamp, while Mrs. Norris paced slowly nearby.

The wand first touched the lock, then moved upward along the doorframe.

Several extremely faint traces of light briefly appeared, then swiftly vanished into the stone wall and wood.

Harry could sense that there was indeed ongoing magic at work there.

For now, he could not distinguish exactly what it was.

He planted his feet a little more firmly and did not approach.

Snape did not open the door either. After inspecting the bottom of the frame, he stepped back half a pace and took one final look at the lock.

"Do we follow the usual patrol arrangements during the holidays too?" Filch asked.

"As usual." Snape put away his wand. "Watch for anything unusual at night. Especially in this corridor."

Filch nodded at once, a hint of anticipation even appearing on his face.

"I'll catch those little brats sneaking out of their dormitories, Professor. They always think that once the holidays begin-"

"If you discover anything unusual, come to me first." Snape looked at him, cutting off the rest. "Do not open this door yourself."

Filch hastily agreed.

In the alcove, Harry listened quietly and felt a little relief.

The professors were still checking the protections, and Filch had received specific instructions. The Christmas holidays had not left this place carelessly guarded.

He looked again at Snape standing before the door.

At least in this matter, the Potions Professor was conscientiously maintaining the school's protections.

Tonight had already yielded something.

As for whether the Philosopher's Stone was still inside, or whether the obstacles had changed, there was no need to confirm either by touching that door.

Harry decided to return.

He waited a while.

Snape and Filch left the door, their footsteps heading toward the other end of the corridor. Only then did Harry slowly turn sideways, preparing to slip out from beside the armor.

But Mrs. Norris had not followed.

The thin cat stopped nearby, her ears twitching.

"What is it, my sweet?"

Noticing that the cat had not followed, Filch came back with his lamp.

The light swept over the stone wall and moved closer to the armor.

Harry instinctively turned sideways to avoid it, but his shoulder struck the weapon jutting out at an angle.

The metal swayed slightly. He immediately reached out to steady it, but the end of the weapon still knocked against the armor.

Clang.

The clear sound carried far down the empty corridor.

Filch abruptly raised his lamp.

"Who's there?!"

Harry immediately let go and backed toward the corner. His soles scraped against the stone floor, making a faint sound.

"Stop."

Snape's voice came from the other end.

Only after rounding the corner did Harry quicken his pace.

The lamplight behind him swayed across the wall, and Filch's footsteps came chasing close behind.

"I heard you!"

Harry did not look back.

The Invisibility Cloak concealed his body, but every step he took might point the people behind him in his direction.

He slowed at the next junction, preparing to circle back the way he had come, but Filch's voice suddenly came from the left.

That way was blocked.

Harry immediately changed direction.

The other set of footsteps was less hurried, but it never grew distant either.

As he passed a portrait, the old wizard inside began to mutter discontentedly. Harry's heart clenched; he knew that if he kept running, he would only wake more portraits.

Rounding the next junction, he saw a door.

There was no time to hesitate.

Harry grasped the door handle and gently pressed it down.

The door opened.

He immediately slipped inside, then reached out to steady the door, drawing it back little by little.

The old latch was a little stiff. Harry dared not force it shut and could only ease the door almost closed, leaving an extremely narrow gap.

Then he pressed himself behind the door and held his breath.

The footsteps outside drew closer.

A sliver of lamplight swept through the gap, lingering briefly on the floor.

Harry clutched the Invisibility Cloak, taking great care even when shifting a foot. He heard a few hushed exchanges, but through the door, he could make out only fragments of sound.

His heartbeat had not yet slowed.

One set of footsteps headed into the distance. The other gradually faded out of earshot as well.

Harry waited a little longer before pulling down the Invisibility Cloak covering his head and face.

This was an unused classroom.

Desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and light reflected off the snow outside shone through the windows, spreading a hazy layer of white across the floor.

Harry steadied his breathing, intending to wait until it was completely quiet outside before finding a chance to leave.

But then his gaze was drawn to a mirror in the room.