HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

Severus rose and paused slightly as he passed Dumbledore.

A glint flashed in the old headmaster's eyes. He nodded slightly to Severus, then glanced at Ian behind him before turning to the chaotic group of students, loudly directing them to maintain order.

That nod was almost like an illusion.

But Severus understood it, and so did Ian.

The plan remains unchanged.

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice came clearly through the noise, "You and Ian familiarize yourselves with the basement structure. Go and check the troll's entry route. Be careful."

"Yes, Principal." Severus's voice was cold and flat.

Ian had silently followed him to his side. The two exchanged a glance, quickly broke away from the group of teachers, and went against the flow of students, turning into a side corridor leading to the basement.

The noise from the auditorium behind them quickly faded away, leaving only the sound of their hurried footsteps echoing between the stone walls in the corridor.

The torches on the wall swayed due to the air currents created by the running, stretching and distorting their shadows.

"He went to the fourth floor," Ian said in a low voice, his footsteps never stopping.

Severus's voice echoed coldly in the empty corridor, "Dumbledore wants us to 'check the path,' meaning don't follow too closely, but make sure he can't get the stone."

"Or perhaps it didn't get the real stone," Ian added. As they rounded a bend, a dull thud and a beast-like growl came from ahead; the giant had clearly broken into some underground classroom.

Instead of turning towards the source of the sound, they rushed straight to another, more secluded staircase leading to the upper floor.

This staircase, hidden behind the gargoyles, is a shortcut used by house-elves, and it took Ian two weeks to find it.

The winding stone steps were narrow and steep, and the two walked one after the other, their footsteps being absorbed by the thick carpet.

When they reached the corner on the third floor, Severus suddenly stopped and grabbed Ian's arm.

"etc."

Ian immediately stopped and held his breath.

Above, from the direction of the fourth-floor corridor, came an extremely faint, intermittent flute melody—strange in tone, without a melody, yet carrying a certain soothing power.

The flute music lasted for less than a minute before abruptly stopping.

Immediately following was the soft scraping sound of the heavy stone door being pushed open, very faint, but clearly audible in the silence.

Then came the sound of footsteps, hurried and unsteady, belonging to Quirrell.

But there was another strange rhythm mixed in with the pace, as if it were dragging something or enduring some kind of pain.

"He went in," Severus said in a low, almost whispered voice.

Ian nodded, his hand already on the wand handle.

The two silently ascended the last few steps, disappearing into the shadows at the entrance to the fourth-floor corridor.

At the end of the corridor, the door that was usually tightly closed was ajar, and strange, ever-changing light shone through the crack—purple, green, and pale white, flashing alternately, accompanied by hissing, burning sounds and the crisp sound of objects breaking.

Quirrell is navigating through levels designed by Dumbledore.

Ian listened intently, and among the sounds were Quirrell's painful groans and suppressed, hoarse whispers that seemed to come from deep within his throat and didn't belong to him.

"His main soul is guiding him," Severus said, his dark eyes unfathomable. "But Quirrell's magic isn't enough to sustain him for long."

Sure enough, a few minutes later, a sharp scream came from inside the door—it was Quirrell's voice, filled with real pain.

Immediately following was a dull thud as a heavy object fell to the ground.

The shifting light inside the door suddenly stopped, fixing on a dim green glow.

"Now," Severus said, his voice chillingly calm.

The two shot out of the shadows behind the door like arrows, and Ian waved his wand, silently opening the half-closed door.

The scene inside the door was shocking.

This was a small stone chamber, now in complete disarray.

The floor was covered in a sticky black liquid, and there were charred burn marks on the walls.

In the center of the room, a stone platform rises from a golden base, which is completely empty.

Quirrell fell backward beside the base, his body convulsing.

The purple headscarf fell away, revealing layers of bandages underneath, stained with blood.

His face was contorted in pain, his eyes rolled back, and his lips moved, but he couldn't utter a complete syllable.

Above his forehead, a dark green, swirling mist hovered.

A distorted face was vaguely visible in the mist, Tom Riddle's face, now contorted with rage and pain.

The mist was trying to seep back under the bandage on Quirrell's forehead, but Quirrell's body violently resisted, and every touch made him scream, revealing spiderweb-like black veins beneath his skin.

"No...no..." the mist uttered in a hoarse, inhuman voice, filled with unbelievable madness, "The stone...it's fake...it's a trap..."

"It's always been a trap, Tom."

A calm voice came from the doorway.

Dumbledore stood there, his long, silvery beard perfectly straight even in the green light.

He held no wand, simply watching the struggling red mist silently.

"Quirk's loyalty, your greed, and..." The gentleness in the old man's blue eyes faded, revealing a sword-like sharpness, "My absolute insistence on the safety of the students."

The mist whistled and sprang from Quirrell's forehead, writhing in the air like a wounded snake before abruptly turning toward the doorway, seemingly trying to pounce on Dumbledore.

But the moment it moved, the old headmaster drew his wand and pointed it at him.

The air in the entire stone chamber seemed to freeze.

The magic remaining in the walls, the ground, and the air, even the light, began to contract and condense inward, converging at the tip of Dumbledore's staff to form a dazzling point of light.

The cloud of mist writhed wildly, trying to escape, but was dragged little by little towards the center of the light by Dumbledore's magic.

"No—! Dumbledore—! You can't—!"

The howling of the fog was filled with pure malice and fear.

"I can, Tom." Dumbledore's voice was soft, yet it drowned out all the noise. "Ten years ago, you failed because of the protection left by love. Ten years later, you fell into a trap because you couldn't understand the bond between loyalty and sacrifice. You have never changed, and this will be your last mistake."

He tapped his wand lightly.

The point of light vanished silently.

Vanished along with it was the struggling mist, and the last, reluctant, faint screech from within it.

The stone chamber fell completely silent.

Quirrell stopped convulsing, collapsed to the ground, unconscious, the blood seeping from the bandage on his forehead had turned dark brown.

He was still breathing, but so faintly that his chest was barely rising and falling.

The lingering dark magical energy in the air dissipated rapidly, like melting ice.

Dumbledore lowered his hand, a barely perceptible hint of fatigue flashing across his face, but he quickly regained his composure.

He walked over to Quirrell, knelt down, tapped Quirrell's chest lightly with his wand, and whispered a complex healing spell. Quirrell's breathing became slightly more even.

"Severus, Ian," Dumbledore said without turning around, "please get Professor Quirrell to the Medical Wing. Madam Pomfrey will know what to do."

Severus and Ian stepped forward.

Severus used a levitation spell to carefully lift Quirrell up.

"Headmaster," Ian looked at the empty stone base, "the Philosopher's Stone..."

"Where it belongs." Dumbledore smiled slightly, his blue eyes softening once more.

"Tonight, Hogwarts thwarted a dangerous theft and protected precious treasures, but a professor, misled by dark magic, was unfortunately injured while stopping the intruders. This will be the official story. What do you think?"

Severus and Ian exchanged a glance.

"Concise and to the point," Severus said calmly.

"A framework that conforms to the facts," Ian added.

Dumbledore's smile deepened. "Then let's deal with that poor troll and calm our frightened students. Halloween isn't over yet, and we can't let the candy from Honeyduke go to waste."

They left the stone chamber.

The door closed behind him, locking away the remaining darkness completely.

In the corridor, the muffled thud of a giant crashing into a wall and the professors' shouts of incantation could still be faintly heard in the distance, but they seemed distant and unreal.

Severus and Ian, one on each side, used a levitation spell to support the unconscious Quirrell, following behind Dumbledore down the empty corridor.

The torches on the wall burned quietly, their light and shadows even.

No one speaks.

Until they reached the third-floor stairwell, Severus suddenly spoke, his voice very soft:

"it's over?"

Dumbledore didn't stop walking, his silver hair gleaming slightly in the firelight.

"Tom Riddle's story is over," the old man said slowly. "But life goes on, Severus. Hogwarts still has a long winter ahead, your students still have papers to hand in, Ian's herbal shop still needs tending, and we..."

He turned his head to the side, his gaze sweeping over the two of them from behind his crescent-shaped glasses.

"...Finally, we can look forward to some real peace, although I suspect that for people like us, peace itself may be the greatest challenge."

They descended the stairs, leaving the darkness, the screams, and the shadows of the past decade completely behind.