Everyone held their breath, pricked up their ears, and focused every ounce of attention on the room ahead. But all they heard was the faint, rhythmic sound of footsteps getting closer.
Then, creeeaak.
The door handle turned, and the door swung open.
"!"
Except for Tom and Ariana, everyone else instantly broke into a cold sweat.
From their perspective, this was a disaster. They were a bunch of kids huddled in a doorway, draped under a conspicuous white bedsheet. They might as well have been holding a neon sign that screamed: "WE ARE SPYING ON YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS."
If it had been any other professor—even Snape—they might have talked their way out of it. But this was Quirrell, the very man they suspected of being up to no good.
If he caught them...
Should we just run?
The thought flashed through everyone's mind simultaneously.
But before they could move, the door opened fully. Professor Quirrell stepped out, his face grim and shadowed. His eyes swept across the corridor, scanning the empty space.
And then... nothing. He frowned, looking right through them as if they weren't there, then stepped back inside and shut the door.
"What just happened? Did Quirrell not see us?"
"No way. This sheet is huge. How could he miss it? I swear he looked me right in the eye!"
"Then why didn't he say anything? Is the professor actually innocent?"
Hearing Harry and Ron's frantic whispering, Tom rolled his eyes. Are these kids dense or just pretending? After everything they'd been through, were they really still questioning the power of Tom the Great? If they kept this up, he was going to revoke their membership to the cool kids' club.
Hermione, watching Tom and Ariana's calm reaction, put the pieces together.
"Tom, Quirrell didn't see us... did you do something?"
[Naturally.]
Tom nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He waved a paw dismissively.
[Alright, enough about my greatness. Aren't you curious about what Quirrell is actually up to?]
Still wearing the bedsheet, Tom marched right up to the door and pressed his ear against the wood.
"Mas... no..."
The sounds were muffled and broken. He couldn't make out a thing. The kids frowned, straining their ears, but they couldn't hear anything either—not even Ariana.
Seeing Tom's expectant look, the ghost girl floated closer and whispered, "It won't work. The classroom is warded against ghosts passing through or listening in."
Tom looked a little disappointed, but not surprised. Quirrell was a Ravenclaw graduate, after all; the guy had basic security protocols down.
However, even the best magical security meant nothing when you had access to Toon Force.
Tom reached into his fur, rummaged around for a second, and pulled out...
"A stethoscope?!"
Hermione's eyes went wide. First a hairdryer, now a stethoscope? Was Tom secretly a cat from a doctor's family?
I wonder what face that family made when their cat got a Hogwarts acceptance letter, Hermione thought, suppressing a giggle as she imagined the scene.
Tom ignored their bewilderment. He expertly placed the earpieces in his ears and pressed the diaphragm against the door.
He didn't know if a normal stethoscope was supposed to work through solid oak, but who cared about physics? He could hear Jerry the Mouse's heartbeat through a brick wall; hearing a conversation was child's play.
"Master, there really is no one outside!"
Quirrell's voice was trembling, bordering on a sob.
"Are you doubting my senses?!"
A second voice answered—cold, high-pitched, and raspy, though it sounded weak.
"I wouldn't dare! But Master, maybe the students just... left?" Quirrell stammered.
The other voice was silent for a moment before hissing, "...You useless waste. If you weren't so incompetent, I wouldn't have drained the last of my magical reserves just to hide us!"
A sound of pain followed, as if Quirrell had been struck. Even through the door, Harry and the others heard it clearly.
Tom winced and pulled the stethoscope away for a second—he didn't need his eardrums blasted.
"M-Master, it really isn't my fault! It's that wretched cat! That beast broke through your servant's concealment charms! It's because of him that you had to use your own magic to hide!"
"Heh. A cat?" The cold voice sneered. "First half-giants, then werewolves, and now beasts are roaming the halls? Dumbledore, that old fool... he's truly lost his mind."
"Yes, Master! It's all Dumbledore's fault. If he hadn't let that cat into the school, none of this would have happened! But Master... now that the students are suspicious of me, if Dumbledore finds out who we are... won't that delay your resurrection?"
"Master? Resurrection?!"
Outside the door, the young wizards—who had now borrowed spare stethoscopes from Tom—looked at each other in horror.
They had their theories, but hearing it confirmed out loud made their stomachs drop.
They forced themselves to stay calm and keep listening. They needed to know who this "Master" was and what they wanted.
Harry, in particular, felt a jolt. When that cold voice spoke, his scar gave a sharp prick of pain, leaving a burning sensation behind. It was a strange, terrifying feeling that made his heart race.
"Relax, Master," Quirrell promised, his voice regaining some confidence. "I've set up wards. Even ghosts cannot hear what we say!"
True, ghosts can't, Tom thought with a smirk. But that rule doesn't apply to cats and wizards with medical equipment.
Then he glanced at Ariana, who was also holding a stethoscope against the door. Correction: apparently, with the right tools, even ghosts can hear you.
Voldemort, unaware of the eavesdropping party outside, cut Quirrell off impatiently.
"Enough. The Sorcerer's Stone is the key. We must secure it before Halloween. You know the consequences if we fail!"
"B-but Master, the three-headed dog..."
"Silence!"
Voldemort's voice spiked, filled with violence and irritation.
"That is a problem for you to solve! I already intervened once at Gringotts, and you still failed to retrieve it! If I have to do everything myself, what use are you as a servant? This is your last chance. When I wake next, I expect the Stone to be in hand. Do you understand?!"
"Y-yes... yes, Master. I understand." Quirrell sounded terrified.
"Good. Now, I need rest to recover my strength. Get out."
The room fell silent. The oppressive, cold aura seemed to fade. A moment later, footsteps began moving toward the door.
The group exchanged wide-eyed glances and scrambled backward, retreating into the shadows of the corner.
Quirrell opened the door cautiously. He looked left, then right, double-checking the corridor. Seeing no one, he hurried away, disappearing around the corner at the end of the hall.