"Goodbye, Sir Nicholas. And thank you—really!"
"Oh, think nothing of it. Helping a curious young student is my greatest joy!"
On the third floor of Hogwarts Castle, Lycos and Nearly Headless Nick exchanged farewells at the bend of a corridor.
Once Nick floated away, Lycos finally let out a quiet breath.
The layout of Hogwarts was ridiculously complex—one wrong turn, and you could end up in some strange corridor, or get whisked away by a moving staircase to Merlin-knows-where…
Even upper-year students, apart from the notorious twins Fred and George, rarely claimed to navigate the castle without getting lost—let alone a first-year like Lycos who had only just arrived.
Thankfully, with the help of the kindly ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, Lycos had managed to find his way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office on the third floor.
Even before stepping inside, he caught a strong whiff of garlic at the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
He knocked, feeling even more nervous than when he had gone to Snape's office.
"W-Who's there?" came Quirrell's trembling voice from within.
"Professor, it's me—Lycos Hayden," Lycos replied as calmly as possible, suppressing the anxiety in his chest.
"Come in."
Quirrell's voice abruptly dropped the stammer and turned cold.
Lycos opened the door and stepped inside.
Compared to Snape's dungeon-like office, Quirrell's was noticeably brighter, lit by numerous candles. The walls were decorated with African tribal masks, and a large bookshelf stood nearby—crammed with books, skulls, and trophies from his "year abroad."
A pale-faced man in a purple turban sat on the sofa, his gaze fixed directly on Lycos.
"You're late," Quirrell said after a long pause, his tone sharp.
"Apologies, Professor," Lycos answered evenly. "I'm unfamiliar with the layout of the castle. Took me a while to find the way."
"Understandable. I got lost my first time too," Quirrell said casually, lifting a kettle. "Would you like something to drink?"
Following the principle that less is safer, Lycos simply shook his head and remained silent.
"Very well, let's get straight to the point," Quirrell said, standing up from the sofa. "The master wishes to speak with you."
Without further warning, he raised his hand and removed the purple turban from his head, tossing it onto a nearby rug.
His bare scalp was revealed—and then, slowly, he turned around.
Lycos's pupils contracted violently.
No matter how many times the books and films had described it, nothing could prepare him for the horror of seeing that face in real life.
Where Quirrell's back of the head should have been… there was a face. A terrifying, corpse-pale face like chalk, with eyes glowing red like burning coals and slitted nostrils like those of a snake.
"Lycos, my child…" the face whispered. The voice was raspy, like the flick of a serpent's tongue.
Lycos's mind went blank.
But he knew now was not the time to freeze. He forced himself to speak, lowering his head in greeting.
"My Lord…"
"No need to be so tense, Lycos…" the face of Voldemort twisted into what might have been a benevolent expression—except it only made his features more horrifying.
"You are my most trusted child, Lycos. I told you—we're very much alike… in magical talent, in spirit, even in appearance… I've always raised you to be my successor…"
At the mention of them "looking alike," Lycos almost let out a strangled cry of panic as he stared at Voldemort's horrifying visage.
But then it hit him—he must mean his former appearance, when he was still handsome and human. That realization brought him a sliver of relief.
"I understand, my Lord," Lycos replied.
"Good… good…" Voldemort hissed. "You already know our goal—to acquire the Philosopher's Stone. Once I restore my power with it… you shall become the next Dark Lord!"
Lycos nearly scoffed.
Dream on. But on the outside, he wore a mask of reverence.
"Lycos, listen carefully… I suspect the Stone is hidden in that fourth-floor corridor Dumbledore warned about… which means it'll be heavily guarded."
"But you're only a first-year. It's critical that your identity remains hidden. I don't want you sneaking into the corridor—that job belongs to Quirrell."
"Your task is diversion—create a distraction, so Quirrell has an opportunity to move without the caretaker catching on. Understood?"
Lycos gave a small nod.
If it was just a diversion, to let Quirrell sneak off at night… that didn't seem too difficult.
A flicker of hope lit in his eyes. Maybe this could still be manageable—there might still be room to maneuver.
"Go now. Don't linger too long. We don't want Dumbledore noticing…" Voldemort rasped.
His crimson eyes slowly closed, and his face faded into Quirrell's scalp, becoming five deep, twisted wrinkles on the back of his head.
Quirrell turned around and gave Lycos a crooked smile.
"Off you go, Lycos. Enjoy your last few days of student life—while you still can."
---
When Lycos returned to the Slytherin common room, the first-years were gathered around the fireplace, led by the prefect for a welcome meeting.
Malfoy stood proudly atop a footstool, flushed with excitement, delivering a speech.
Crabbe and Goyle flanked him, occasionally clapping and cheering to boost their leader's ego. Several new girls sat on the rug nearby, listening attentively to the pure-blood heir's posturing. Cassandra sat aloof in an armchair, flipping through a book with complete disinterest.
"Hey, Hayden! Where'd you run off to?"
Malfoy spotted Lycos entering from the common room entrance and waved enthusiastically.
"Can't believe we're roommates with you—me, Crabbe, and Goyle! Guess that means you're destined to be under my protection!"
He puffed up proudly and shouted to the others:
"You lot hear that? Lycos Hayden—he's under my wing! Got it?!"
Lycos gave him one blank stare and then turned away, expression flat.
He walked straight past the group and into the dormitory corridor with the look of someone who definitely didn't know that kid.
Life-or-death missions from Voldemort.
An Unbreakable Vow.
A fake identity.
He didn't have the time—or the energy—to play house with carefree children.