"Oh, right. Are the Portkeys ready?" Leonard asked.
"They're ready. I made them myself. Ten in total, more than enough for those people," Midgard replied lazily. "I'm exhausted."
"Thanks for your hard work."
Leonard reached out, intending to ruffle Midgard's hair, but under her bared-teeth glare, he quietly withdrew his hand.
"So Malfoy can start his plan anytime now?" Leonard cleared his throat and changed the subject.
"That's right. Oh, and should we create a diversion? I remember you mentioning that Quirrell might make a move soon as well," Midgard said.
"Not might. Definitely will." Leonard's lips curled into a smile. "His body can't hold out anymore. If I had to guess, it'll be tonight or tomorrow night at the latest."
"Are you planning to follow him, or deal with him remotely?" Midgard asked.
"Remotely. Mainly because I'm also very interested in the Philosopher's Stone," Leonard said, rubbing his chin.
Midgard fell silent for a few seconds before speaking again.
"Don't mess this up. The Philosopher's Stone is something Dumbledore keeps a very close eye on. If he notices…"
"Why do you think I'm waiting for Quirrell to make his move first?" Leonard grinned slyly. "He's the perfect scapegoat. I take the benefits, he takes the blame."
"Oh, wait. A dead man can't take the blame," Leonard added casually. "So naturally, the blame will fall on the mysterious figure instead."
...
"Cough… cough…"
In the dead of night, Quirrell struggled to suppress his coughing as he pushed open the eastern gate of Hogwarts Castle and stepped into the courtyard.
Hogwarts at night was always eerie, like a vampire castle straight out of a horror story. Moonlight washed over Quirrell's pale face, making him look like a vengeful spirit.
Quirrell felt that the only difference between himself and a ghost was the last breath still clinging to his chest.
Tonight was the final deadline. If he couldn't find a unicorn to prolong his life, this would be his last day alive.
He didn't want to die. He still wanted to uncover the secrets of dark magic. He wanted to become someone as infamous as the Dark Lord himself.
With death pressing in, Quirrell no longer bothered restraining his thoughts. He staggered out of the courtyard and headed toward the Forbidden Forest.
He was assigned night patrol duty tonight, so he wasn't worried about anyone noticing his absence.
As he left, a not-too-tall figure stood atop the clock tower, watching Quirrell's small silhouette fade into the distance.
"Who's there?"
A sudden shout rang out. Filch, a regular member of the night patrol, sprang out from the shadows, lifting his kerosene lamp and scanning the surroundings.
The dim light illuminated the interior of the massive clock, but it was completely empty.
After finding nothing, Filch cursed under his breath and stomped away.
"I'll catch you eventually, you nasty little brats!"
Once Filch was gone, a figure suddenly appeared before the previously empty clock face.
Moonlight illuminated Leonard's expressionless face as he watched Filch leave. Then he headed toward the staircase from the opposite direction.
Leonard walked straight to the dilapidated wooden door at the end of the third-floor corridor.
He poured the pre-prepared scent-erasing potion over himself, then cast the Disillusionment Charm.
Before entering, Leonard opened the Marauder's Map and checked the position of every professor.
All of them were quietly staying in their offices. Until curfew ended, they needed to remain on standby to prevent any unexpected incidents.
In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore was pacing back and forth. By now, he should have realized that Quirrell was missing, but he had no idea where Quirrell had gone.
Had he left Hogwarts to search for unicorns in the Forbidden Forest?
Or… had he entered the hidden chambers guarding the Philosopher's Stone?
The castle's portraits were limited to the moving staircases and the corridors outside the Great Hall. Many areas were blind spots in the castle's "surveillance," so even Dumbledore wasn't omniscient.
Still, once Dumbledore noticed that Quirrell, the professor on night patrol, never appeared near the moving staircases, he would have guessed that Quirrell had slipped away on his own.
Naturally, Dumbledore would assume Quirrell had gone after unicorns, and would loosen his guard over the Philosopher's Stone.
That was Leonard's opportunity, fleeting and precious.
After confirming that everyone was where they should be, Leonard pried open the rickety wooden door and stepped inside.
The massive three-headed dog lay on the floor, half-asleep. When it heard the door creak open, it suddenly lifted its head, all three enormous skulls staring straight at the doorway.
But there was nothing there.
Confused, the beast sniffed the air carefully, yet detected nothing at all.
The scent-erasing potion Leonard used came from Midgard. Even transformed werewolves couldn't detect smells masked by it.
The three-headed dog was no exception.
Since the creature wasn't timid, Leonard couldn't use the same method he had used on Yaya. Eliminating his scent was the only way to avoid being discovered.
Once he confirmed that the three-headed dog hadn't noticed him, Leonard tossed a small pebble and snapped his fingers.
The pebble transformed the instant it hit the ground, turning into a harp that began playing a beautiful melody under the influence of magic.
Soothed by the music, the vigilant beast slowly relaxed. Its three massive heads drooped one after another, and soon it fell into a deep sleep.
Leonard walked over to the trapdoor, snapped his fingers to open it, and jumped down without hesitation.
Green light filled his eyes.
Through the countless Devil's Snare below, he "saw" himself, and vine after vine rose up to catch him, gently lowering him to the bottom.
At your service.
This was the talent of a Friend of Plants. Even plants he didn't cultivate himself could be lightly commanded to assist him.
In just a few minutes, Leonard cleared the obstacle that had stumped Quirrell. There was no panic at all. Everything went exactly according to plan.
He hadn't even wrinkled his clothes.
Leonard looked up at the Devil's Snare reaching out toward him, smiled, and waved before turning his gaze forward.
From ahead came the sound of countless wings flapping, like a flock of birds taking flight.
"So this is Professor Flitwick's trial?" Leonard chuckled. "Does Professor Flitwick really have such a playful side?"
He stepped forward and immediately saw winged keys filling the air, along with an old, battered broomstick.
"Honestly, what kind of defensive trial just hands you the tools to pass it?" Leonard shook his head helplessly, once again marveling at the professors' strange sense of humor.
These trials were basically an amusement park built for Harry Potter, weren't they?
They looked dangerous, but in reality, they were all just toys.
Leonard couldn't help but think maliciously that maybe the professors simply enjoyed watching Harry Potter tackle these childish trials with a completely serious expression.