Harry Potter and the Candy Factory

The moon hung high, casting a cold light. It was late into the night when the three children lying in the school hospital finally recovered from the shock of what had happened, and as drowsiness swept over them, they drifted off to sleep. In a deserted corridor of Hogwarts, two figures cloaked in black were engaged in a confrontation.

"Quirinus Quirrell…"

Severus Snape's deep, raspy voice was unusually filled with burning rage.

His eyes, sunken into their sockets, were as sharp as a hawk's, fixed on the thin, timid man before him. Like a predator eyeing its prey, he slowly cornered him.

Finally, with a thud, Quirrell's back hit the wall. With nowhere left to retreat, he could only raise his head in a flustered manner, his eyes, filled with fear and sorrow beneath his strange turban, pleading in a low voice.

"Please… Professor Snape, I really, really didn't do it on purpose… I, I regret it so much… Please, I, I really didn't mean to harm Draco and Harry… Really."

Quirrell's acting was superb. Even if you took him out of this context and placed him in the British Muggle entertainment industry, he would be qualified to outshine a host of second-rate actors.

If anyone else had been standing before him, seeing his performance, even if they were certain in their hearts, they would have harbored some doubts. However, unfortunately, for Severus Snape, who had already seen the darkest side of the world, Quirrell's little tricks were nothing more than child's play…

"Listen…"

Suddenly, Severus raised his hand, grabbed Quirrell's collar, slammed him against the wall, and then pulled him back in front of him.

"Perhaps Dumbledore will believe your words, perhaps McGonagall will believe your words… but I certainly won't… Do you know why?"

Quirrell looked into those shadowy, somewhat dim black pupils, and felt a sudden surge of panic. He subconsciously replied,

"I, I don't know what you're talking about…"

Before he could finish speaking, the furious Severus interrupted him, angrily rebuking, "Because I smelled a scent that shouldn't be there!"

As soon as these words were spoken, Quirrell immediately felt a distinct movement at the back of his head. He knew that his master was reacting.

A drop of cold sweat slowly trickled from Quirrell's turban, flowed across his forehead, and finally dripped from the tip of his nose to the ground.

With a soft "plop," the bead of sweat landed on the ground, shattered into a splash, and then disappeared without a trace.

The surroundings returned to silence, leaving only the sound of two equally uneasy breaths.

"I… I'm sorry, Professor Snape…"

In the darkness where the moonlight couldn't reach, the muscles on Quirrell's face began to twitch slightly. A hint of ruthlessness flashed in his eyes, erasing some of the timidity from his face.

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

Quirrell's arm moved imperceptibly backward, skillfully groping for the wand he had originally placed in his pocket…

Just as he was about to touch the wand, intending to strike first and eliminate this threatening potential danger, Severus's hands, which had been gripping his collar tightly, suddenly released…

This change also stunned Quirrell for a moment. The hand that should have been reaching for the wand hovered in mid-air, without any further movement.

Snape took two steps back, gave Quirrell a long, deep look, adjusted the black robe that was being lifted by the night wind, and then turned and walked towards the other end of the corridor.

"I will write a letter to Charlie, detailing everything exactly as it happened. I hope that when you face him, you can still be as stubborn as you are when you're arguing with me."

Without looking back, he delivered this harsh remark, and Severus left directly, disappearing into the darkness, leaving only a rhythmic sound of footsteps that gradually faded away in Quirrell's ears, until it disappeared completely…

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

"This is what you call a one hundred percent successful plan!?!?!?"

After fleeing back to his room in a disheveled state, covered in sweat, Quirrell was not greeted by a moment of relief, but by a storm even more violent than Snape.

Voldemort cursed angrily, his tone sounding as if he couldn't wait to tear him into five pieces.

"I'm sorry… I'm very sorry! Master… I really didn't expect that a damn house-elf would interfere with the plan… Really, Master, please believe me, if it weren't for it…"

Quirrell trembled like a sieve as he explained, trying to obtain Voldemort's forgiveness. However, what he ultimately received was only more intense pain.

"Enough!!! Sorry! Sorry!! Sorry!!! What else can you say besides sorry!? You waste!! If it weren't for the fact that I have no other choice right now, I would definitely kill you at the first opportunity!! Turn you into a pile of garbage!!"

"Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!"

Quirrell began to convulse violently as if he had been electrocuted, and an uncontrollable pain suddenly swept through his body from his heart. Without much thought, he could be sure that this was undoubtedly Voldemort's usual trick—"Crucio (the Cruciatus Curse)!"

However, as the first cry of pain instinctively escaped his throat, Quirrell hurriedly grabbed the turban he had just thrown aside, desperately stuffing it into his mouth, muffling the sound to prevent others from discovering the abnormality.

This time, Voldemort's anger lasted exceptionally long, and the abuse Quirrell suffered naturally became even more prolonged…

After a long time, when Quirrell was like a dead dog, no longer able to give any feedback, and even his pupils had almost lost focus, faintly rolling back to reveal the whites of his eyes, Voldemort finally managed to suppress his anger and let Quirrell go, so that he wouldn't be tortured into madness like Neville's parents, Alice and Frank.

However, after Quirrell was finally freed from this long ordeal, the first thing he did was not to make himself more comfortable, but to put on a face full of joy and piously said in a kneeling position,

"My great master… Your power is still terrifyingly strong. Even though my humble body has been thoroughly washed by it, I still can't help but cheer for your successful recovery to such a state!!!"

In truth, the extent of Quirrell's humble subservience at this moment would have shocked even his fellow servant, Russell, into speechless astonishment, followed by disdainful contempt... Even old-timers like Kreacher probably weren't this extreme... He was more like a house-elf than a house-elf!

But it has to be said, this approach was very effective with Voldemort.

After having Voldemort attached to his body for so long, Quirrell had gradually figured out his temperament. He knew what Voldemort liked to hear, how to minimize his suffering, and how to thrive in his miserable state...

Indeed, listening to Quirrell's extremely obsequious flattery seemed to satisfy something in Voldemort's already twisted heart. His originally ferocious expression softened considerably...

"Hmph..."

Voldemort snorted coldly, then said dismissively,

"What would a foolish servant like you know? This is merely a fraction of my power... There is still a long... long time before I fully recover to my most perfect state."

As he said this, the remaining anger in Voldemort's heart finally subsided.

Seeming to sense the change in his tone, Quirrell couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief in secret, thinking that he had managed to save his life... As he thought this, he continued to heap praise upon Voldemort, trying to keep him in a good mood...

After a long while, seeing that the time was right, Quirrell cautiously steered the conversation back to the main topic, asking carefully,

"So... Great Master, now that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are still alive, what should we do next?"

On the back of his head, the face rose and fell, sometimes blurry, sometimes clear, as if engaged in some kind of thought.

After a moment of pause, it slowly opened its mouth, answering Quirrell's question.

"Forget it... Since we didn't kill them this time, if such accidents happen again in a short period, that old fool Albus Dumbledore will inevitably find some clues."

"You mean..." Quirrell tentatively probed.

"Let them live a few more days... Once I get the Philosopher's Stone, those who deserve to die will die! Especially that... Harry Potter."

Seeming to recall some unpleasant memories, Voldemort's hoarse voice became even more ferocious when he spoke Harry Potter's name, filled with a profound and extreme hatred... It was as if a venomous snake lurking in the darkness had remembered the name, sending chills down one's spine just thinking about it.

"As you wish, my great Master..."

After respectfully bowing his head, Quirrell hurriedly asked about his second concern.

"Then... what about Severus Snape? He said he would tell Charlie Black about this."

However, to his surprise, Voldemort displayed an extremely arrogant contempt for his question this time.

"Tch... Severus Snape? Just a dog that can't be tamed. If he wants to talk, let him talk. Anyway, that Draco Malfoy didn't die... Do you think a despicable opportunist like Charlie Black would really care so much about so-called relatives?

Don't forget, back on the battlefield, he wouldn't hesitate to cast a Blasting Curse, even if his own sister was standing in the way!"

Speaking of which, Voldemort seemed to recall many past memories, and suddenly became interested, even smacking his lips as he continued to express his feelings to Quirrell.

"They all say I am a cold-blooded and ruthless devil, an extreme monster... But in my opinion, Charlie Black and I are just two of a kind!"

"It's just that I am more sincere, more courageous, and more able to express my ambition!... And he is just hypocritically waving a ridiculous banner to conceal the desires in his heart."

"However... it must be said, the world is sometimes so ruthless... The cowardly hypocrite survived and thrived, while I—the one who almost overturned the entire wizarding world—have been reduced to this state because of a foolish prophecy, a damn curse!"

Quirrell, facing the face behind him as if it had formed some kind of obsession-like monologue, seemed to have long been accustomed to the other party's state, and simply listened quietly, saying nothing.

Until the end, after Voldemort finished speaking, he whispered in agreement.

"They will pay the price they deserve... my great Master. Before long, you will reappear before them, in a more powerful form, to reclaim what belongs to you."

"Tell me, Quirinus... what is that?"

"It is... victory, and everything!"

.........

However, Voldemort's understanding of Charlie Black ultimately contained no small error...

In Charlie Black's office, a few days later.

Having just finished processing the piles of documents, completing the arduous annual task.

Just as Charlie was preparing to rest for a while and take a good vacation for himself, three letters mailed from Hogwarts were delivered to his desk by Russell on the same day.

These three letters came from Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape, and... Albus Dumbledore, respectively.

Charlie opened them one by one, reading them silently one by one.

After the last letter from Albus Dumbledore was placed on his desk, the joy and ease that had just arisen had long since vanished, leaving only a chill, which was fully revealed in his eyes...

He caressed the ring on his hand, but his mind was surprisingly calm.

Before long, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

With a crisp "snap!" Russell instantly appeared before him.

"Good afternoon, my esteemed..."

The habitual greeting was abruptly stopped by him. Russell raised his head, looking at his master. Clearly, he had quickly discerned something from the other's expression. For a moment, unease arose in his heart, and he quickly closed his mouth.

"Go prepare... I'm going to Hogwarts again."

Without wasting words, a breath of turbid air was slowly exhaled. Charlie's voice was calm, so calm that it lacked any emotion.

However, Russell knew clearly that the calmer he was, the more it indicated the turmoil churning in Charlie's heart at this moment.

He still clearly remembered that the last time it was like this was when Dabu was carried back to the factory from America...