Inside the subspace apartment at 13 Baker Street.
Allen lay sprawled facedown on the bed, as stiff as a salted fish left baking in the blazing sun.
His face was buried deep in his pillow, his limbs spread wide, and he could not be bothered to move even a finger.
"I'm exhausted... not a drop of magic left..."
Allen groaned weakly, feeling as though he could not muster any strength at all.
Just moments earlier, he had used Apparition six times in thirty seconds, racing all the way from the beach in Kent back to London.
He never wanted to experience that sensation of being stuffed into a washing machine and violently churned around again in his life.
Every Apparition had made him feel like a lump of dough being kneaded over and over, his bones and internal organs about to shift out of place.
"I should've exercised more... wait, does exercise even help wizards?"
"That fisherman should be safe now, right? I erased his memories too, so it should be fine."
As Allen's thoughts wandered, the system's screen lit up right on cue.
[Emergency mission: Eliminate the unintended consequences. Completed.] [Mission rating: S] [Issuing mission reward: Quirrell's Nonverbal Spellcasting techniques (max level).]
In an instant, a massive torrent of information surged into Allen's mind.
It contained the essentials of spellcasting that Quirrell had spent his lifetime studying, and Allen instantly mastered countless pieces of knowledge about nonverbal spells.
"So that's how it works..."
As Allen took in the vast amount of knowledge in a flash of understanding, physical and mental exhaustion washed over him at once. His head tilted to one side, and he sank into sleep.
Early the next morning.
The sky over the Wizarding World seemed shrouded in an invisible layer of dark clouds, and even the lights of Diagon Alley looked unusually dim.
In the Daily Prophet's most prominent section, a line of alarming print took up almost the entire front page:
"Dark Lord never truly dead? Possibly possessing a Hogwarts professor?"
The author of this article was not Rita Skeeter.
In fact, Rita had shut herself in her office that day and was furiously writing another, even more explosive report.
So she had given that space to a veteran editor at the newspaper.
The old editor knew nothing of the Ministry of Magic's secret arrest operation at Hogwarts the night before, nor did he have any way of learning about the fierce battle at St Margaret's Bay.
He had merely sat at home reading the copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (complete edition) that had fallen from the sky, then written this report based on his own insights and deductions.
The old editor wrote that if the contents of this book were true, then the Dark Lord, who was said to have disappeared eleven years ago, had actually remained among them all along in a chilling form.
He was possessing Hogwarts professor Quirrell, lurking in the castle as he waited for an opportunity to seize something that could restore his power.
At the end of the article, the old editor wrote in an almost accusatory tone:
"Headmaster Dumbledore, is this book utter nonsense, or is there truth to it?"
"Please come forward and tell the entire Wizarding World. Give everyone in the Wizarding World an answer."
On the streets of Diagon Alley, witches and wizards gathered in small groups, clutching the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.
"Is what he says true? You-Know-Who... is at Hogwarts?"
"I picked up a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (complete edition) yesterday! That's exactly what it says in the book. That face was growing on the back of Professor Quirrell's head..."
"Merlin, I said hello to him at the Leaky Cauldron just last week! I even complimented his turban!"
"Stop it, I've got goosebumps all over! I even dreamed about him yesterday!"
Rumours spread like wildfire.
Some said Quirrell had actually died long ago, and that what remained was merely a puppet being controlled.
Some said Dumbledore had known all along but kept quiet, playing a much bigger game.
Others said You-Know-Who would soon gather his former followers, and a second war was about to break out.
Fear of Voldemort gripped every witch and wizard's heart. No one dared speak that name, as though merely uttering it would make him crawl out of some shadow and inflict an unforgivable punishment on them.
Everyone dared refer to Voldemort only as "You-Know-Who," and for a time, panic swept through the entire Wizarding World.
Hogwarts Castle.
The Great Hall was especially lively that morning, with hundreds upon hundreds of owls circling overhead, their wings beating in a continuous flurry.
They had not merely come to deliver the usual letters. Many of the owls had Howlers tied to their legs.
Those envelopes burst open as they flew before their respective recipients, unleashing shrill, piercing roars so loud they almost lifted the ceiling:
"Pack your bags and come home immediately! Hogwarts is no longer safe! Come back at once!"
"Leave the castle today! You-Know-Who could very well be hiding in your professors' offices!"
"If you don't leave today, I'll come and get you myself! Do you hear me?"
The shouts rose one after another throughout the Great Hall. Students covered their ears, their faces pale, and several first-years nearly burst into tears.
"Oh my..." Ron gaped at the chaotic scene before him. "If my mum sends me one too..."
"She probably already has." Harry pointed sympathetically in front of Ron, where a smoking red envelope had just dropped from above.
"Oh no..." As the Howler began to roar, Ron plugged his ears in despair.
Just then, the doors to the Great Hall were pushed open.
Dumbledore walked in.
He wore deep purple robes, and his blue eyes swept calmly over the hall from behind his half-moon spectacles.
The Great Hall fell silent in an instant. Even the Howlers that had yet to burst open stopped making noise, as though someone had pressed pause.
Dumbledore walked to the central seat at the staff table and gently tapped his goblet.
The clear chime echoed through the deathly silent Great Hall, making everyone instinctively hold their breath.
"Please, rest assured."
Dumbledore spoke gently, his voice reaching every corner of the Great Hall with a strange, soothing power.
"Hogwarts is absolutely safe. I can assure you that there is no Dark Lord within this castle."
His tone was mild, and there was even a faint smile at the corners of his mouth, carrying a power that made people instinctively want to believe him.
Many students sighed in relief, and many abandoned their plans to leave Hogwarts.
But immediately afterward, a sharp-eyed Ravenclaw fifth-year raised a hand.
"Headmaster," the student asked, the voice particularly clear in the quiet Great Hall, "Professor Quirrell hasn't come to breakfast today. Where... has he gone?"
Everyone turned to look at the staff table.
Indeed, the seat of the professor who always wore a purple turban was empty that day.
Dumbledore calmly set down the goblet in his hand, his expression looking perfectly composed.
"Professor Quirrell is unwell," he said. "He needs some time to recuperate. Professor Snape will be teaching your Defence Against Dark Magic classes in his place."
Snape sat to one side, cutting the sausage on his plate without expression, as though the matter had nothing to do with him.
The Great Hall was quiet for a moment, then whispers surged like a tide from the long tables of every house.
"Unwell? Isn't that a little too convenient..."
"My mum's letter said he's the Dark Lord's vessel. That book had barely come out, and he fell ill? Does he think we're little kids?"
"I don't think he's ill at all. The Ministry of Magic arrested him, didn't they?"
"He might already be dead... I heard my dad say the Ministry sent people out last night."
"What about You-Know-Who, then? Is he dead?"
All kinds of guesses spread rapidly among the students. Frowning, Hermione whispered to Harry, "Dumbledore must be hiding something. Quirrell can't simply be ill."
"But he wouldn't lie to us, would he?" Harry replied quietly, a trace of uncertainty in his voice.
He looked up at the staff table. Snape was coldly surveying the hall, and that gaze made Harry shiver involuntarily.
"I still think Snape looks more like the mastermind," he added under his breath, successfully earning an eye roll from Hermione.
The news soon flew out of Hogwarts as though it had sprouted wings, spreading throughout the Wizarding World.
Like sharks scenting blood, reporters from the Daily Prophet gathered in packs outside Hogwarts' gates.
Holding up their Quick-Quotes Quills, they shouted at everyone entering or leaving the castle:
"Headmaster Dumbledore! Where exactly is Professor Quirrell?"
"Was he really possessed by You-Know-Who?"
"Has the Ministry of Magic begun investigating? Where is You-Know-Who now?"
During one brief appearance, Dumbledore merely smiled and repeated his earlier statement.
"Professor Quirrell has gone somewhere quiet to recuperate," he said. "He needs rest. Please do not disturb him."
"I believe you will have an opportunity to see him once he has recovered."
But when the reporters pressed him for the exact location, Dumbledore merely blinked and said, "That is a private matter. I respect every member of staff's personal space," before turning to leave.
He left a group of reporters exchanging bewildered looks in the wind, unsure where to set their Quick-Quotes Quills to work.
This evasive attitude only made the rumours surge more fiercely.
Word leaked from within the Ministry of Magic that Quirrell was already dead, his body discovered on some beach with a terrifying mark on the back of his head.
Others said he had been killed by a mysterious, powerful wizard whose identity even the Ministry of Magic could not uncover.
An even more outrageous version claimed that Dumbledore had personally executed Quirrell to eliminate any future threat, then hidden his body.
But every version pointed to the same chilling conclusion:
You-Know-Who had indeed returned, even if only as a fragment of a soul.
And the Ministry of Magic, which had once solemnly declared that You-Know-Who was finished for good, now found itself plunged into unprecedented embarrassment and panic.
Countless people surrounded the Great Britain Ministry of Magic, demanding an explanation.
"Did You-Know-Who actually die eleven years ago? The Minister for Magic must answer!"
"Is Quirrell dead? Why were the Aurors suddenly deployed last night?"
"Why did the Ministry of Magic insist on banning Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone? Does this mean the contents of the book are true?"
"Minister Fudge, give the Wizarding World an explanation!"