Bring a fairy tale to Hogwarts!

What happened?

This thought first appeared in Qiluo Numb's mind.

Fainting suddenly is a very peculiar feeling. At first, it's like being freed from a long and painful dream, but when you open your eyes again, you'll first feel a moment of disorientation, followed by a deep-seated fatigue and phantom pain as your body reacts.

That was exactly the case for Quirrell.

He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the curtains above his head. Every bed in the school clinic was covered by white curtains to ensure that patients could rest peacefully. Looking out through the gaps in the curtains, he could see the dim white walls of the school clinic and a little bit of dim yellow light coming in from the windows.

It is dusk.

The room was empty.

Two or three seconds later, when Quirrell regained his senses, he suddenly remembered everything.

Just by shaking hands with Victor, he inexplicably grew feathers all over his body and then fainted from the pain. Victor said something like, "Your wish has been fulfilled."

Yes, feathers!

Quirrell shuddered and hurriedly touched his left and right arms...

But all he touched was a smooth patch of skin.

He looked up at himself in disbelief and found that his feeling was not wrong—his skin had returned to normal, smooth as if the black feathers had never existed.

The pain seemed like an illusion, receding like a tide after he regained consciousness.

This is impossible!

"What's impossible?"

A sharp, angry voice came from behind him.

Upon hearing this, Quirrell shuddered and jumped out of bed, touching his head—thankfully, the headscarf was still there.

"...Ha, what's the point of checking now? If it weren't here, would you even be here? You'd be in Azkaban the moment you opened your eyes!"

The shrill voice spoke angrily.

Quirrell trembled again, no longer daring to lie on the bed, and quickly got up, bowing his head as he said:

"I'm sorry, Master, I didn't mean to—I didn't know—he's too cunning!"

Victor set a trap for him!

In the blink of an eye, Victor's magic had already taken effect with just a handshake, catching him completely off guard. As a Ravenclaw, Quirrell was considered well-read, but he had never seen magic like this before.

What exactly happened back then?

Has he now lost his 'night'?

Quirrell thought with a mixture of shock and anger.

He never actually intended to agree to that bizarre request—he just wanted to discuss it with Victor, and if all else failed, find a way to steal the formula and herbs. How could he possibly offer up his "night"?!

But a few seconds later, the shrill voice came from the back of his head again:

"It's too late to regret it now."

His voice was cold and resolute, as if he could read Quirrell's thoughts at any moment.

"I didn't think you were that stupid, Quirinus. Even if you chose the stupidest subject at Hogwarts, I thought you could at least see the obvious conspiracy on that person's face."

"I never expected you to let me down again."

"I'm so sorry, Master." Quirrell's face contorted with fear. "I will try my best to make amends."

"Oh? What are your thoughts?"

"Give him hints about your identity? He always pinpoints exactly what we want, so he must have some suspicions about you. We can bring things up, force him to join our side, and then get the stuff back..."

"madness!"

The shrill voice was provoked once again.

But his strength was still extremely weak, and after roaring, he remained silent for a long time, seemingly panting. During this pause, Quirrell cowered on the ground in fear, large beads of cold sweat streaming down his forehead.

Fortunately, he didn't receive the Cruciatus Curse.

A few seconds later, the shrill voice continued wearily:

"Foolish. Can't you see that his magic is full of strangeness? There must be a secret behind him. We must not act rashly before we figure out what he can do!"

"Besides... do you really think I'm in a state where I can intimidate him?"

"Look at me, look at myself in the mirror! The once infamous Dark Lord is now nothing but a shadow and steam. I can only have a physical form when I share a body with someone else... I can no longer frighten him."

"What should I do?"

Voldemort said coldly, "Just continue as you are. He is not our enemy."

"Ah, that's right. He's just like my former disloyal subordinates, wanting security but also hedging his bets. He offered us help, but as long as we don't tell anyone, he'll always be a good professor at Hogwarts."

"You mean—you mean he already wants to join us?"

Quirrell crawled on his stomach, asking tremblingly and incredulously.

"That's right, otherwise why would he give us the formula? Although the contents of the formula are unheard of, it can't be fake... because it was given to me. He deliberately let me hear it."

The shrill voice spoke coldly, with a hint of arrogance in its tone, as if the whole world served him.

Then, his voice trailed off weakly for a moment before he spoke again:

"But as long as the formula works, it doesn't matter if you really lose every night... Consider it a reward I'm giving him in advance. The Dark Lord will never treat anyone who helps him unfairly."

"But don't expose that unspoken truth... You absolutely cannot be foolish enough to hand over leverage to that obviously problematic guy..."

"Hmph, he's definitely a dark wizard, I can sense it."

"Dumbledore must be senile to let someone like that into the house..."

The shrill voice grew fainter and fainter, and the silence lasted longer and longer, until finally the voice became somewhat chaotic and then completely disappeared into the air.

Voldemort was running out of strength.

He fell back into a deep sleep.

Only when he could no longer feel any movement did Quirrell shakily raise his head, his face pale and covered in cold sweat.

But he dared not say anything else, and slowly climbed back onto his hospital bed.

He dared not think about it, nor dared to say anything more, for fear of angering the Dark Lord who could know his thoughts at any time.

……

A few minutes later, the door to the school clinic was knocked on again and then pushed open.

Mrs. Pomfrey came over carrying a bowl of medicine.

Quirrell lay pale on the hospital bed, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. When Madame Pomfrey entered, he weakly turned to look at her, his lips devoid of color.

"Good heavens, Quirinas," Madam Pomfrey hurried over and touched his forehead with her wand, "I've only been gone a short while, how did you get yourself into this state?"

"I'm sorry."

Quirrell said weakly.

The tip of the wand pressed against his forehead quickly emitted a faint yellow light, seemingly some kind of detection magic. After seeing the color, Madam Pomfrey withdrew the wand and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thankfully, I don't have a fever," she said.

"If you have a fever, you'll need to drink another potion, but for now, just drink the calming potion. Although the reason you fainted is still unclear, I suspect it's because you've been busy with that troll for too long. Oh, and there are also some symptoms of excessive fright—"

Mrs. Pomfrey put down her wand and began to ramble on.

"But Quirinas, why don't you take that headscarf off? Keeping it on might make you sick."

"No-no need, I'm still a little worried about those vampires," Quirrell stammered.

Mrs. Pomfrey sighed again.

"Okay, I knew you'd say that."

As Mrs. Pomfrey spoke, she turned around and stirred the bowl of dark medicine that had just been brought in.

A pungent, bitter taste suddenly spread through the air.

"Here, drink this bowl of calming medicine. You'll feel better once you drink it."

Mrs. Pomfrey was about to hand the medicine to Quirrell, but when she looked back, Quirrell had suddenly fallen asleep and was lying silently on the hospital bed.

Mrs. Pomfrey paused for a moment.

"...Quirinas, at least drink your medicine before you go to sleep."

"Quirinas?"

No matter how she called out to him, Quirrell lay on the bed with his eyes tightly closed, as if he had fainted again.

—Outside the window, the last rays of the setting sun disappeared below the horizon.