"I-I'm fine, let's keep moving," Quirrell insisted, but his sweat-soaked brow told a different story.
Anthony frowned. "No matter what's troubling you, Professor Quirrell, perhaps you should go back up first. Visit the hospital wing. I promise I'll handle the basilisk."
Quirrell didn't respond, walking forward in silence. Anthony followed, concerned. Besides the usual garlic scent, Quirrell now emitted a strange, unsettling odor. But he was an adult, and Anthony couldn't force him to turn back.
As they approached a fork in the path, Anthony held the rope taut and called out, "Professor Quirrell? Professor! This way."
Quirrell's face twitched into a nervous smile. "Of course, you know the way, Professor Anthony."
He began rambling, asking Anthony about basilisks, how he remembered the path, and whether he had enjoyed dinner that evening.
His unease was palpable, so Anthony answered patiently, explaining that he had read extensively about basilisks and had left markers on his previous trip. As for dinner, he hadn't eaten much, but he did like the mashed potatoes, though the peas were a bit overcooked.
"Yes, yes, the peas." Quirrell muttered.
Anthony wrapped the rope around a corner as he chatted. "What's your favorite dish, Professor Quirrell?"
"Du-juniper berries," Quirrell replied without hesitation.
Anthony pondered this. "That's an unusual choice. I don't often see juniper berries in dishes. Let me think, perhaps it's because I don't eat much game."
Quirrell mumbled a half-hearted response, continuing along the damp, cold tunnel. "What do you like?"
Anthony smiled. "Quite a lot, actually. I'm a bit of a glutton, I suppose. But if you're asking what I'd like right now, it's not fancy cuisine, but the scones from the bakery near my old apartment."
"Sc-scones?"
"Yes, scones. They're cheap and delicious," Anthony promised. "If I get the chance, I'll bring you some next time I'm home for the holidays."
Perhaps thanks to the house-elves' expert baking, Hogwarts scones were always perfectly soft and slightly sweet. Yet, Anthony found himself missing those bakery scones, even with their occasional dryness.
Quirrell turned even paler.
...
They soon came to the stone wall. The viper wrapped around Anthony's wrist raised its head, hissed and spat out a letter, and looked into the emerald snake's eyes shining under the magic light.
The two stone snakes entangled with each other suddenly separated. The wall cracked and slowly slid to both sides. The room behind it was astonishingly high. Under the dim light that could barely see anything, the tall stone pillars were filled with an eerie green atmosphere, quietly waiting for Anthony and Quirrell.
Quirrell said suddenly: "Have you prepared the cock, Professor Antoine?"
Anthony was stunned for a moment and shook his head. He had told Quirrell on the way that he thought the basilisk was still dormant, and Quirrell agreed with his conjecture.
"We'd better be well prepared." Quirrell stammered, sweat dripping from his turban again. "Go and ask Hagrid for a chicken."
"That's fine." Anthony thought for a while, "Then I'll leave it to you, Professor Quirrell." Quirrell looked really frightened, but he still insisted on helping Anthony. It would be a good thing if he could be distracted to do something else.
Quirrell shook his head: "I'm not familiar with him - he. You can explain it, Professor."
"No need to go to so much trouble, just tell Hagrid that you are here to deal with the basilisk, and he will definitely help you." Anthony said.
Quirrell's face twitched, and he suddenly laughed nervously: "Go ahead, don't waste time. I don't care about the Basilisk."
He flicked his wand, making a loud sound of breaking through the air. A deep scratch suddenly appeared on the solid tunnel floor. Along with an ominous sizzling sound, the bones, mud, and stone bricks near the scratch were corroded into A streak of black smoke. If he hadn't restrained his strength, Anthony believed he could have demolished the tunnel in one fell swoop.
So Anthony accepted his offer. Perhaps Quirrell insisted on accompanying him to deal with the basilisk despite his poor health because he thought that Anthony would not be able to escape easily from the threat of the basilisk.
After all, only Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Snape were the only ones in the school who knew about his identity as a necromancer. In Quirrell's eyes, he was probably just a Muggle Studies professor who was obsessed with the study of magical theory.
Before leaving, Anthony touched the wraith rat in his pocket and left it in the tunnel. It can contact him when necessary.
.....
The resentful little mouse found its favorite corner against the wall and settled down comfortably.
It had been tasked with watching the passage and immediately alerting its summoner if any living creature – other than the pale man – appeared.
Assuming the man wasn't talking to it, he was addressing the empty tunnel.
In the darkness, it heard his faint voice echoing off the damp walls.
"I... I thought you wanted to recruit him, Master," the man with the large turban said, his voice trembling. "No... I'm sorry, Master, I'm sorry."
As if tormented by an unseen force, he shuddered and collapsed to his knees in the slimy passage. The startled mouse froze, glancing at him before scurrying to a more secluded spot.
"He... he might not have discovered... Master, Master... he said he hasn't looked yet..." the man continued haltingly, his voice filled with anguish. "If we kill him now, Dumbledore will be suspicious... Snape is already watching me... our target."
He sobbed, "Yes, Master... No, I didn't... It's just not necessary."
The invisible force seemed to torment him again. The man in the turban practically buried himself in the mud.
"No! Please don't, Master!" After a convulsion, he suddenly shouted, "I... I shouldn't have acted on my own."
But a low, raspy, and strange hissing echoed through the tunnel. The young man, covered in mud and sweat, wept in terror, seemingly unable to hear anything else.
"Forgive me, Master!" he cried. "Forgive me!" He squeezed his eyes shut, as if anticipating what was to come.
He repeated those words over and over.
A sharp voice suddenly cut through the air. "I am disappointed, Quirinus, you have lost some of my trust, but the Dark Lord is merciful, you are still useful. Close your eyes."
The young man cried out.