Tewell still didn't know what Cedric and the others were thinking. After dinner, he set out once again on the path to Hogsmeade. Tonight was the day he and Quirrell had agreed upon. Pulling his hood over his head once more, Tewell strolled into the Hog's Head Inn.
It was as dingy and crowded as ever, filled with all sorts of wizards just past dusk. Many wore hoods, but none stood out quite like Quirrell. He lounged conspicuously in the center, emanating an aura of simmering anger. Despite his stillness, no one dared disturb his sour mood; even the bartender hesitated to approach him.
Quirrell wasn't exactly angry. Even the Dark Lord had slipped up, so it was normal for him to make mistakes too. It's just that the Dark Lord had been quite furious lately, unable to figure out how to deal with Fluffy despite several attempts. If it came to a showdown, he was confident he could handle the three-headed dog, but one wrong move could escalate things significantly. It was the fourth floor of the castle after all, with Dumbledore above and the professors below. Making a scene would be difficult to explain to any of them.
So, even though he knew he might be taken advantage of tonight, he had to sit tight and wait for that bastard to come over.
"You're early. Have you had dinner?" Tewell asked, unfazed by Quirrell's menacing gaze that even the hood couldn't hide, casually taking a seat opposite him, as if it were just an ordinary chat between old friends.
Quirrell placed his right hand on the table, tapping it rhythmically with his fingernails, trying to exert some pressure on Tewell.
"I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time!" he said, gritting his teeth.
Tewell smiled lightly and turned to Aberforth, who was approaching from behind, saying, "A bottle of butterbeer for me and the gentleman across from me."
Aberforth glanced at him deeply before replying coolly, "And for you?"
Thinking of last week's butterbeer, Tewell quickly shook his head. "I'll pass."
Quirrell couldn't help but laugh. Tewell was showing off again. To be able to sense someone behind him in such a noisy environment, whether it was keen observation or simply strong magical perception, was not something an ordinary wizard could do. At least, he couldn't before being possessed by the Dark Lord. But now, with the Dark Lord's help, Chilo didn't care about such petty tricks. If Tewell knew what he was thinking, he would probably roll his eyes directly. "You're playing tricks on me yourself."
After the small interlude, as soon as Aberforth left, Quirrell couldn't wait to say, "Name your price, tell me the weakness of the three-headed dog. This kind of deal, nobody but me would make with you."
"I thought you'd choose to ask the big guy. He seems easier to communicate with than me," Tewell retorted sarcastically, implying that only he would straightforwardly provide an answer to such a question.
Quirrell paused for a moment. "That's even better. One buyer, one seller. As long as your price is reasonable, I don't mind paying you now."
Tewell immediately raised a finger and shook it in front of him. "No, you can't afford what I'm asking for right now."
Can't afford it? Quirrell laughed again, the loud snort reaching Tewell's ears clearly. He raised his other hand, holding a black bag, casually tossing it in front of Tewell, making a dull thud as it landed. It seemed heavy.
"Ten times, ten times the price of last week! There are two hundred Galleons here, enough to buy your life!"
At that moment, Aberforth came with a bottle of butterbeer, slamming it heavily in front of Quirrell.
"One Galleon."
"Are you out of your mind?" Quirrell's incredulity was palpable even under the hood. "One Galleon for this bottle of beer? Why don't you just rob Gringotts?!"
Aberforth snorted disdainfully. "Back in early August, some idiot tried to rob Gringotts and failed. Now he's still wanted. How can there be comfort in providing a place for black market transactions here?"
Quirrell was speechless, his mouth twitched slightly. For a moment, he didn't know how to retort. Thankfully, he wore a hood, so no one could see his embarrassed expression. But Tewell couldn't help but chuckle at Aberforth's words, whether he realized Chilo's identity or just unintentionally came up with such a remark.
Seeing Aberforth's outstretched hand, Tewell took out a golden Galleon from his pouch and gently placed it on Aberforth's palm, satisfying him.
"Now you've only got 199 Galleons left. Tell me the answer, or you won't leave this place today," Quirrell said sternly.
Tewell simply pushed the pouch back. "As I said, you can't afford my price right now."
"Bang!" Quirrell slammed his hand on the table, creating a loud noise that caused the wizards in the bar to stop and look strangely at them. While there were many black market transactions at the Hog's Head Inn, it was the first time they had seen such a heated argument.
Ignoring the attention, Quirrell turned to Tewell resentfully. "What's your price then? Let me see if I really can't afford it!"
But Tewell didn't want to keep drawing attention. He cast a Muffliato charm around the table, blocking out the sounds from outside.
Afterward, he extended a finger again, but this time, instead of shaking it, he wrote two words in the air, about half an inch above the table's surface.
"Philosopher's Stone."
As Tewell made his move, the words "Philosopher's Stone" also appeared on the table, but as thin as a layer of mist on glass, disappearing the next second. However, it was enough for Quirrell to see clearly.
His right hand subtly hovered near the position of his wand as he deeply glanced at Tewell, his demeanor suddenly becoming calm.
"Who are you really? How do you know about that thing's existence?" He had made up his mind; no matter what answer Tewell gave, he would find a way to eliminate this threat and prevent himself from being exposed!
Tewell glanced at Quirrell's subtle movement and chuckled lightly. "If you can know about that thing's existence, why can't I know about it, you little fool who failed to rob Gringotts?"
The existence of the Philosopher's Stone was indeed not a secret; those with ulterior motives could detect some clues, so it wasn't uncommon for wizards at Hogwarts to speculate about its whereabouts. However, they all assumed that Dumbledore kept the Philosopher's Stone close to him, which extinguished any thoughts of robbery. Azkaban's death row inmates wouldn't be foolish enough to try to steal something guarded by Dumbledore himself.
"But the question is, how did you know about my target?" Quirrell's voice grew calmer.
Tewell spread his hands and shrugged. "Of course, I deduced it from various clues." Then, leaning forward until he was less than five inches from Quirrell, he whispered softly, "Isn't that right, Professor Quirrell?"