(34) Voldemort's Plan

Ian was just about to let his head drop and close his eyes when he suddenly felt a jab at his waist.

Ugh—

Frowning, he forced himself to open his eyes, determined to see which little rascal dared disturb his nap.

However, as soon as he saw who it was, all his irritation vanished instantly.

"Pay attention to class, and don't fall asleep," Hermione said seriously, looking at him with her usual no-nonsense expression. She held a feather quill, the culprit that had poked him.

Ian looked at Hermione, her clear eyes brimming with the words "this is for your own good."

"But Professor Binns's lectures are so hypnotic," Ian said with a pained expression. "Besides, except for the two of us, everyone else is asleep."

"You already don't like History of Magic," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "If you don't listen, you'll fail the class."

"I won't," Ian said shamelessly. "Before the finals, I can just review using your notes."

Hermione's face darkened, and she gave Ian a sharp flick on the forehead. "Ian Potter!" she hissed under her breath.

"Alright, alright, I was wrong, I was wrong!" Ian clutched his aching forehead and quickly surrendered.

"Hmph!" Hermione glanced at Ian's drowsy expression and sighed softly. "Go ahead and sleep. I'll give you my notes after class."

"I knew it—Hermione, you're the best!" Ian's face lit up with a wide grin.

Seeing Ian's cheerful expression, Hermione couldn't help but smile faintly. She huffed lightly, turning her head away to avoid his gaze. "Hurry up and sleep. Stop talking."

"Got it, got it." Ian obediently closed his eyes.

With Hermione's "permission," Ian finally felt at ease enough to sleep. As he drifted off, a hazy thought crossed his mind: Before I abolish the Statute of Secrecy, I'll make sure to spend a few years as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Once I'm in charge, my first order of business will be to retire Professor Binns and let him enjoy his afterlife…

...

Ian wasn't sure how much time had passed when he felt someone gently shaking him, accompanied by Hermione's voice. "Ian, wake up. Class is over."

Ian groggily opened his eyes, the first thing he saw being Hermione's magnified, pretty face.

"Class is over?" Ian mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

"Yes, class is over. Everyone else has already left," Hermione said as she pulled him to his feet. "Draco asked me to tell you that after lunch, you'll need to join Flint for Quidditch practice. Don't forget."

Walking alongside Hermione, Ian nodded as he replied, "Got it, I won't forget."

"Hey! By the way, Hermione, do you have anything planned this afternoon?"

"No, why?" Hermione asked.

"Do you want to come watch me practice?" Ian invited. "Today's my first official Quidditch training."

"Sure," Hermione thought for a moment and then nodded. "But I need to organize my notes first before I go."

"You could just do that tonight," Ian suggested casually.

Hermione abruptly stopped in her tracks and gave Ian a long, pointed look. "Who was it that was sleeping in class earlier? Ian Potter, are you sure you want me to organize my notes tonight instead?"

"No! I'm not sure at all!" Ian immediately felt a chill down his spine and quickly switched to full survival mode. "You should definitely organize them now—I'll wait for you."

Seeing Ian's instantly submissive demeanor, Hermione finally seemed satisfied. She withdrew her gaze and continued walking.

Ian watched her retreating figure and couldn't help but chuckle softly before hurrying to catch up.

"Hermione, slow down! Wait for me!"

"Ian, hurry up! I'm starving, and I want to get to the Great Hall for lunch."

"Coming, coming, don't worry!"

Their voices gradually faded, disappearing down the corridor.

Two pairs of eyes had been quietly watching Ian and Hermione as they walked away.

Quirrell stepped out from the shadows of the corridor, his face twisted in a mix of conflict and hesitation as he gazed in their direction.

"Master..." For once, Quirrell wasn't stuttering. "Are we really going to release a troll on Halloween?"

A cold, slick voice echoed in Quirrell's mind. "Are you questioning my decision?"

"N-no... I wouldn't dare," Quirrell's face flickered with fear. "It's just that... after the flying broom incident, Dumbledore has become more vigilant. I'm... I'm a bit worried..."

"Your task is to follow my orders, Quirrell," Voldemort's voice cut him off sharply, "not to question me."

"Y-yes, Master," Quirrell quickly nodded and bowed. "I understand."

"Hmph. I don't need you to tell me that Dumbledore is on guard," Voldemort's voice rang out again. "But don't worry. This time, I have a plan that will leave Dumbledore too preoccupied to focus on the Philosopher's Stone."

"Yes, if we can lure the two Potters near the troll, Dumbledore will certainly go to save them. He cares deeply for those two, and we'll be able to take the—"

Quirrell's words were cut short by Voldemort's cold laugh.

"Foolish! Those two Potter boys... do you think Dumbledore wouldn't use them as well?" Voldemort sneered.

"Especially the younger one. So young, yet so gifted and well-connected. Dumbledore is undoubtedly keeping a close eye on him," Voldemort said darkly. "He's always wary of exceptional Slytherin wizards, just as he was wary of me back then."

Quirrell listened to Voldemort's words, a chill running down his spine. Carefully, he asked, "Master, do you mean...?"

"The troll is just a distraction. When the time comes, I will act personally to take the Philosopher's Stone. As for those two Potters..."

Voldemort paused briefly before continuing, "We'll do as you suggested. I've noticed that the younger Potter seems quite attached to that Muggle-born Gryffindor witch. You can start with her."

"Rest assured, Master," Quirrell said with a sinister smile. "Disagreements among young wizards are quite common. With just a little guidance, our dear Miss Granger will likely end up crying because of her friends' misunderstanding..."

Hearing Quirrell's plan, Voldemort let out a satisfied hum. "Good, Quirrell. You never disappoint me. As expected of a clever Ravenclaw."

"Th-thank you for your praise, Master," Quirrell said, a trace of pride appearing on his face.

"Now, go make the necessary arrangements for the Philosopher's Stone. Don't let me down," Voldemort commanded.

"Y-yes, of course," Quirrell replied quickly, bowing low. "I'll take care of it right away."

With that, Quirrell, carrying Voldemort on the back of his head, turned and left.

Feeling Quirrell's determined stride, Voldemort's lips curled into a cold, sinister smile.

Dumbledore, you think your careful planning can protect the Philosopher's Stone?

The Stone will inevitably fall into my hands! I, Voldemort, will return!

_________

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