Hogwarts Castle, Dungeon — on the way to the Slytherin common room.
"Marcus, why are you still in the library so late?" Devon asked, holding a copy of How to Trace a Transformed Object in his hands. He turned to look at the Slytherin prefect walking beside him.
Marcus laughed. "Haha, our fifth year isn't as easy as your first year. We have to prepare for our exams. O.W.L.s are really difficult. I want to pursue medicine in the future, so I need at least six Exceeds in my N.E.W.T.s."
He smiled, balancing a book in one hand and rubbing his hair with the other in slight frustration.
"And I must get an Exceed in Potions. You know how strict Professor Snape is. You can only continue in his class if you get an Exceed in your O.W.L.s. So, I have to work extra hard!"
Though Marcus looked a bit troubled, his spirit remained high. As he spoke, he couldn't help but raise his fist in front of his chest with determination.
Devon watched his gesture with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn't expect this Slytherin prefect to have such Gryffindor-like energy.
That's right—this world had its own kind of middle school and college entrance exams. The O.W.L. seemed to be the magical equivalent of a middle school graduation exam. It wasn't easy, not even for a prefect like Marcus. The pressure must be intense.
"Oh, right," Devon said casually, remembering something. "Why were you in the Restricted Section? You had quite a stack of books related to dark magic."
"You mean these?" Marcus gestured to the books in his arms. "Professor Quirrell asked me to get them. I'm now his assistant in Defense Against the Dark Arts class."
He flipped through the books with clear interest, a smug smile appearing on his face.
"Professor Quirrell?" Devon repeated, surprised. That name wasn't easy to forget—after all, Quirrell had been possessed by Voldemort. Everything about him seemed dangerous. And in the original books, there was no mention of Quirrell ever having a student assistant.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts has a student assistant? Why didn't I see you in class before?"
Marcus's expression grew even smugger. "Haha, actually, it only started yesterday—Thursday night. Professor Quirrell approached me. At first, I wanted to say no—what with exams, being a prefect, all that—but come on, it's rare for a professor to personally invite a student to be an assistant. I couldn't say no."
Devon frowned, deep in thought.
Thursday night?
Wasn't that the night they'd talked about classes?
Right after that conversation, Quirrell had found himself an assistant and borrowed a pile of dark magic books. Was this all just coincidence?
Devon's face turned serious. He had a bad feeling.
According to the original story, Quirrell's main objective was to steal the Philosopher's Stone and eliminate Harry if needed. So why was he bothering to recruit an assistant and study dark magic so diligently?
Was he genuinely trying to improve his teaching?
That seemed extremely out of character—for both Quirrell and Voldemort.
"Why would Quirrell pick a student as a teaching assistant? Don't most professors bring in graduates?" Devon asked again, trying to confirm his suspicion.
Marcus, clearly enjoying the attention, nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! In the past, only graduates—wizards who've studied at institutions for years—could qualify to be assistants. And they had to be chosen during the summer before school started."
"Maybe because Professor Quirrell is new and doesn't know the process, he decided to pick someone from the students. It's hard to find external assistants last minute. I heard Professor Snape started as a TA, too—Dumbledore personally recommended him. I might be the first student to become a TA in fifty years!"
He beamed with pride, clearly thrilled to be recognized for something so rare.
By now, the two had reached the door to the Slytherin common room.
"Alexander, you go in first. I have to deliver these books to Professor Quirrell," Marcus said, turning to face the stone wall.
He spoke the password for the week. "Pureblood."
The stone wall slowly slid open, revealing a passage wide enough for two people to walk side by side.
"Marcus, just call me Devon. We're friends, right?" Devon smiled, looking back as he stepped inside.
Marcus grinned. "Haha, of course. Good night, Devon."
He turned and walked away, still holding the stack of Restricted Section books.
Devon watched him disappear down the corridor, his expression growing grave.
"Quirrell… Voldemort… What exactly are you plotting?"
He stood quietly for a moment, his eyes fixed on the direction Marcus had gone.
Eventually, he let out a long breath and shook his head.
"Forget it. Their main targets are either the Philosopher's Stone or Harry. I just need to keep an eye on those two. No need to worry about the rest for now."
With that thought, Devon turned and entered the Slytherin common room.
— — —
The first Sunday after the new students arrived at Hogwarts.
Fifth floor of Hogwarts Castle.
Inside the Room of Requirement.
Clearly, the space had been transformed into a full potions laboratory by today's user.
A large, black stone table stood in the center of the room, its surface cluttered with various magical tools and rare ingredients.
Around it were several high stools, each covered with soft black leather cushions.
Dozens of glass vials, metal jars, and small bowls were neatly arranged on the table, each clearly labeled. The containers were filled with vibrant liquids and mysterious powders—some of which bubbled faintly.
On one side of the lab, a massive fireplace roared with an eerie blue flame. The light it emitted was ghostly, casting dancing shadows across the room. It didn't provide warmth—perhaps because too much heat would destabilize the sensitive potion ingredients.
The fire's main purpose was illumination, keeping the entire lab aglow without disturbing the delicate processes at play.
Next to the fireplace stood heavy oak cabinets, each one crammed with potion components and magical instruments. Many of the items looked recently delivered.
There were preserved animal organs soaked in thick solutions, dried plant specimens pinned neatly to wooden boards, and a variety of rare herbs and minerals.
On the opposite wall hung a massive blackboard. Scrawled across it in white chalk were complex potion formulas, step-by-step instructions, and various diagrams.
If you looked closely, you'd see two recurring phrases:
"Polyjuice Potion"
"Single-Day Brewing Process"
Next to the central stone table, a blond young wizard—barely tall enough to reach an adult's chest—moved hurriedly between tools and ingredients, muttering to himself.
"It's too late! It's too late…"
Finally, he froze.
Clutching his head in frustration, he stared at the cauldron in front of him. A bubbling, blue liquid frothed inside.
"Damn it! Is it really impossible to complete in one day?!
FOR MORE CHAPTER
patreon.com/Jackssparrow