HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

"Dumbledore will be at the banquet," Ian said. "But if Quirrell is really going to do something, he'll definitely try to distract him or create chaos. For example..."

The two exchanged a glance, and their thoughts came to them almost simultaneously.

"Trolls," Severus said coldly. "The underground classrooms house some trolls used for teaching and research. The guards aren't extremely tight. If Quirrell uses dark magic to provoke them and lets them break into the castle, especially during the banquet..."

"Enough to cause panic and distract the professors, especially Dumbledore."

Ian stood up, walked over to Severus, and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Moreover, the troll incident itself can further create an atmosphere of chaos and danger, which fits the situation where the 'Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor' needs to step in and handle it, giving him a reasonable excuse to leave the banquet."

"He has to act quickly." Severus grabbed Ian's hand, his fingertips were a little cold. "Possession is a two-way drain on the host. Quirrell won't last long, and the main soul's patience... is almost exhausted. Halloween is an opportunity, and he won't let it pass."

"Should we notify Dumbledore?"

Severus paused for a moment, then shook his head. "No need. He's definitely thought of that too, but he won't stop us. He'll just use it against us, reinforcing the real trap. What we need to do is ensure we don't get caught up in the middle by accident, and..."

He looked at Ian, his dark eyes filled with a familiar, heavy resolve. "If Quirrell really makes a move, and Dumbledore's plan goes awry, we must stop him before he touches the Philosopher's Stone."

Ian gripped his hand and nodded vigorously. "I understand. During the banquet, I'll be 'strolling around' the castle, paying particular attention to the basement and the fourth floor. You…"

"I'll be keeping an eye on Quirrell at the banquet," Severus said. "If he makes any unusual moves, I'll follow him. McGonagall and Flitwick can control the trolls, if that really is his diversionary tactic."

The plan took shape during a brief conversation.

Without much discussion of details, their years of tacit understanding allowed them to grasp each other's intentions and bottom lines with just a few glances and keywords.

Ian bent down and kissed Severus's forehead, then his tightly pursed lips.

"Be careful, don't get too close to him. Who knows what the main soul can still do now?"

"You too." Severus raised his hand and stroked Ian's cheek. "Don't be reckless, Ian. Our goal is to stop him from getting the stone, not to confront him directly. If things get bad, signal immediately, and we'll go find Dumbledore."

"I know." Ian smiled, his gray eyes reflecting the warm light of the fireplace. "We still have a long way to go, Professor Snape. He doesn't want to be defeated by a bodyless remnant soul and his stuttering puppet."

Severus gave a very slight upturn of his lips, which was hardly a smile, but his taut shoulders relaxed completely.

He leaned back in his chair and looked up at Ian.

"Come here," he said, his voice lowered.

Ian obediently leaned down and deepened the kiss.

As their lips met, the familiar warmth and scent, carrying the slight astringency of tea and the faint aroma of parchment, dispelled the chill that had lingered from their earlier discussion of the dark plan.

The crackling fire cast the shadows of the two embracing figures onto the stone wall, swaying gently.

……

On Halloween night, Hogwarts Great Hall was decorated like a giant pumpkin palace.

Thousands of jack-o'-lanterns with lit candles floated on the ceiling, and swarms of bats flitted among the rafters, making a rustling sound as they flapped their wings.

The long table was piled high with a feast: sizzling pumpkin pies glistened with oil, candied apples were stacked like small mountains, and steam rose from a large pot of pumpkin soup.

The air was filled with the sweet smell of spices and burnt sugar.

The students, dressed in wizard robes, chatted and laughed excitedly, the clatter of knives and forks and their laughter almost lifting the dome.

The torches burning on the four walls of the auditorium cast flickering light onto the young faces.

In the faculty section, Dumbledore sat in the center, gently surveying the room, occasionally whispering to Professor McGonagall beside him.

Severus sat on the right, his black robe standing out solemnly against the colorful decorations.

Ian sat to his right—arranged by Dumbledore, who said it was "convenient for an assistant to be close to the professor in charge."

He held a knife in his hand and was cutting a piece of golden-brown pumpkin pie from his own plate, placing it naturally into Severus's almost empty plate.

"Eat a little bit," Ian turned his head and lowered his voice, "I don't know how late it will be tonight."

Severus glanced at the extra pie, didn't touch it, but his tense face relaxed a little.

He picked up his fork and poked at the crisp edge of the pie, but his gaze swept over the empty seat in the faculty section.

Ian ladled him another spoonful of cream of mushroom soup and pushed it toward him.

Only then did he begin to slowly cut another pie, his gaze seemingly casually wandering through the Great Hall, sweeping over the excited faces before finally settling on the Gryffindor table. He paused for a moment, then looked back, his gaze landing on Severus's pale fingers holding the fork.

"I don't have much of an appetite." Severus's voice was low, almost swallowed up by the noise of the auditorium, but he still picked up the soup bowl and took a small sip.

"I know." Ian gently touched his wrist, then quickly withdrew it. "But you need warmth; the cellar is cold enough."

As he spoke, he used his fork to pick up a piece of honey-roasted ham, preparing to put it on Severus's plate.

Severus finally turned his head, his dark eyes looking at him in the flickering pumpkin lantern light, a hint of helplessness in them, and a barely perceptible hint of relief. "Ian."

"Hmm?" Ian didn't stop moving, and the ham still landed on his plate.

"...That's enough."

"The last one." Ian smiled, stopped adding water, and turned to drink his pumpkin juice, but he kept an eye on the people around him, the direction of the auditorium door, and the still empty seat.

Quirrell is not here.

Over in Gryffindor, Harry and Ron were fighting over the last piece of frosted apple, while Hermione frowned and muttered something beside them, probably criticizing their table manners.

Neville carefully avoided the mischievous elves, nearly spilling the juice.

Everything seemed lively and ordinary.

But halfway through the banquet, the hall doors were suddenly slammed open.

Quirrell stumbled in, his purple headscarf askew, his face ashen, stammering so much he could barely speak:

"Underground—the classroom! A giant monster! In the basement!"

The entire auditorium fell silent for a moment, then erupted in terrified screams and commotion.

Several first-year Hufflepuff girls burst into tears, knocking over cups on the long table and spilling pumpkin juice onto the tablecloth.

Dumbledore stood up, and a few blinding purple sparks burst from the tip of his wand, suppressing all the chaos.

"Prefect!" His voice was gentle yet loud. "Lead all students back to their dormitories immediately!"

The students stood up in a panic at the prefect's shout and pushed and shoved their way toward the exit.

McGonagall and Flitwick had already drawn their wands and were watching their surroundings.