Snape's Revenge

"--Help!" Quirrell's cry for assistance echoed through the door.

Upon hearing the urgent plea, Luke furrowed his brow and lowered his wand. It seemed that he would have to abandon his plan to give the senior another chance.

"Good luck to you!" Luke gave Voldemort a disdainful look. Ignoring the other's shocked expression, he passed through the wall and vanished from the room.

Meanwhile, Quirrell remained on the ground, clutching his arm and writhing in pain.

"Stop screaming, you imbeciles! They'll find me if they come in!" Voldemort cursed, clearly frustrated. With what little magical power he had recovered, he hastily wrapped the purple turban back around his head.

"Professor Quirrell, are you alright?" At that moment, Filch, the Squib caretaker, heard the cries for help and kicked the wooden door open. Lacking magical abilities, he had to resort to a simple and brute force method to open the door.

Upon entering, Filch saw Professor Quirrell on the ground, moaning in agony. Quirrell clutched his arm and continued to shake, his nose bleeding profusely. This was the result of a less powerful Killing Curse – it inflicted pain and nosebleeds, unlike the more potent versions that left no visible injuries.

Hogwarts was under attack!

Filch, despite being a Squib, had spent decades at Hogwarts and had never witnessed any spells or curses. He knew that a genuine Killing Curse would leave no visible wounds. However, this less potent version indicated that someone had attacked the school.

Filch's cloudy eyes widened with panic. This was a significant event that required immediate reporting to Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Come on, Filch, I... I'm still alive! Take me to the infirmary, and fetch Snape!" Professor Quirrell stammered, trembling in pain. Regardless of whether Snape had sinister intentions or not, he was the Potions Master and the only one who could save Quirrell now.

---

In the bathroom on the third floor that night, Luke gazed at his trembling hands, shaken by the use of the Avada Kedavra. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret.

"It seems that these Unforgivable spells are not as easy to master as I thought."

He had studied the spells in the forbidden section of the library with Hermione, but he had never had the opportunity to put them into practice. Tonight marked the first time he had used the infamous Killing Curse.

To his surprise, the power of the spell was overwhelming, and his hand holding the wand shook uncontrollably. At least half of the green curse missed its target, only grazing Quirrell's arm.

Originally, he had intended to practice another curse, but Filch, the patrolling caretaker, unexpectedly arrived. To make matters worse, his time in this altered form was running out, as it had been almost an hour.

Luke stood in front of the bathroom mirror, watching as his height shrunk, his chubby form transformed into a lean and muscular physique, and his golden hair grew back, restoring his original appearance.

"Tonight's plan is complete," he muttered to himself. He had successfully used Peter Pettigrew's identity to disconcert Voldemort. Despite the risk, Luke remained unfazed, confident that Voldemort would eventually realize the deception. After all, as a Slytherin genius, he was well aware of the Polyjuice Potion's effects.

Tom had engaged in a conversation where he openly shared his learning experiences, acknowledging his own shortcomings and the need for dedicated study. His determination paralleled his pursuit of mastering the elusive Avada Kedavra from the world of wizardry. Fueled by this resolve, he opted to disregard the potential consequences, even Voldemort's discovery, as he strode confidently through a concealed wall.

Upon completing his task, Luke found himself fighting off drowsiness with a sleepy yawn. He made his way back to his dormitory, where he surrendered to the embrace of a particularly restful night's sleep.

Meanwhile, Quirrell and Snape, who were currently in the hospital bed, appeared utterly baffled by the recent turn of events.

"What did you say? Are you telling me that coward is still alive!?" Snape exclaimed, his usual composure forsaking him as he stared at Quirrell with wide-eyed disbelief.

"He even aspires to become the Dark Lord?" Quirrell affirmed, displaying his waxed arm as evidence of the peril he had encountered.

Following Voldemort's orders, Quirrell divulged the undeniable fact that Peter Pettigrew had somehow managed to survive.

Snape's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the implications of this revelation. It was clear that Quirrell, under Dumbledore's guidance, maintained an irrefutable connection to Voldemort. However, Quirrell's account painted Pettigrew as a Death Eater with murderous intentions, pitting the two factions against each other on this particular night.

It was evident that a visit to Dumbledore was in order, given the escalating tension. Yet, the mere fact that the mouse had not perished astonished Snape. The sense of personal vendetta overcame him as he vowed quietly, "I'll make you pay, Peter Pettigrew."

His soft, determined words resonated through the silent corridor, bathed in the gentle moonlight.

In his office, Dumbledore's expression shifted to one of deep concern upon hearing Snape's report.

"The claim that Peter Pettigrew is alive and a Death Eater, and the mention of the Merlin Medal, is indeed a substantial lie and an astonishing revelation," Snape added.

Peter Pettigrew's existence as a spy had remained a well-kept secret, even to Snape, who had spent a considerable time in the Death Eaters' ranks. It seemed that Pettigrew's surrender had taken place right on the brink of the war's conclusion, and it was then that the shocking truth had emerged.

"The one who betrayed Lily wasn't Sirius, but the cowardly mouse!" Snape ground his teeth, bitterness coursing through his voice.

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