Chapter 34: Voldemort, If I Call You, Would You Dare Respond?

“School rules say we must wear our uniforms and keep them tidy,” another student nearby remarked.

“So we can make subtle innovations elsewhere,” Roger said, pulling out a loose-leaf notebook he always carried inside his jacket.

He opened it, tore off a sheet, tapped it lightly, and the blank paper transformed into glowing vampire fangs.

Handing it to the student beside him, he tore off another sheet and conjured Jason’s hockey mask from the 1980 classic horror film Friday the 13th.

Finally, shaking the notebook, he transformed the entire book into a pumpkin headpiece.

Some young wizards weren’t interested, but for those born of Muggles, these little creations held considerable allure.

Before turning eleven, they often dressed up for festivals, but suddenly, they had stopped, feeling somewhat out of place.

Yet people tend to follow the crowd, and since no one else was dressing up, they dared not stand out.

But now that the prophet had set the trend...

Suddenly, young wizards who had once celebrated Halloween in the Muggle world gathered around Roger.

...After a bit of chaos.

In the Hogwarts Great Hall,

A lavish array of food appeared on golden platters as the Halloween feast began. Harry glanced around; many young wizards had adorned themselves with various accessories—masks, headpieces, bandages... Though they still wore their wizard robes as uniforms, the atmosphere was unmistakably Halloween.

“So, who exactly are you dressed as? A special kind of vampire?” Harry asked, turning to Roger sitting beside him.

Roger picked up a drumstick and replied casually, “An Egyptian pharaoh who plays cards.”

“...Huh?” Harry blinked, scanning Roger up and down. Aside from a pyramid-shaped pendant at his chest, he saw nothing pharaoh-like.

Just as Roger was about to explain this futuristic “fashion” and the peak power of the Necklace of Tears,

Bang!

The Great Hall doors burst open.

“A troll! There’s a troll in the dungeons!”

“I...” Professor Quirrell had rehearsed his lines but faltered mid-sentence because his eyes caught sight of Roger nearby.

Dangling from Roger’s neck was a pyramid pendant with a dark red gemstone at its center.

...The Sorcerer’s Stone!

How could it be here?!

...

After obtaining the Sorcerer’s Stone, Roger had pondered how best to keep it safe.

In Voldemort’s understanding, it should be kept by Dumbledore on the third floor.

If he followed the original course, Roger should let Harry misunderstand Snape, let Snape tussle with Voldemort, meanwhile seek other professors’ assistance with the headmaster’s secret letter, set devilish traps involving keys, wizard’s chess, potions, and then find a substitute for the Mirror of Erised to cast the spell.

Harry still bore the protective magic left by his mother, which Voldemort could not touch. If Harry merely touched Professor Quirrell, already heavily tainted by Voldemort, he would perish instantly.

Deprived of a host, Voldemort would be forced to flee.

This would also serve as a trial for Harry.

But Roger did not want that.

Roger had been on battlefields and knew well that taking a life was no pleasant experience, especially up close.

Unless you no longer regarded the other as ‘human.’

Having Harry kill Quirrell? No way. Maybe someday Harry would face such a scene, but Roger did not want it to be at eleven years old.

Just because he had gotten wet in the rain didn’t mean he wanted to rip apart others’ umbrellas.

So Roger devised a plan.

On Halloween, Quirrell would bring a troll into the castle. In the original fate, Hermione would be hurt by Ron’s harsh words and cry in the girls’ bathroom all afternoon, prompting a worried Harry and Ron to seek her out.

They would then confront the troll attack together in the bathroom.

They used the levitation charm to subdue the troll, and from that moment of shared life-and-death experience, they became true friends.

But fate, flapped by the butterfly effect, had already been altered. Hermione’s life circumstances had subtly changed, and Harry and Ron’s ways of handling things had shifted due to their different experiences.

The girls’ bathroom battle would no longer happen.

However, Voldemort had not yet been affected by these changes; his actions should remain unchanged.

So Roger could lie in wait for him.

As expected,

Professor Quirrell, bursting into the Great Hall, was momentarily stunned when he saw the Sorcerer’s Stone hanging blatantly around Roger’s neck.

But he quickly regained composure.

When unsure of the situation, the best tactic was to act unchanged.

So he rolled his eyes and pretended to faint.

After all, his nervous demeanor this semester was well known; this reaction was not out of place.

At this time, Dumbledore had already left Britain, and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall was fully in charge.

She remained calm amid the sudden crisis.

First, she created a commotion with magic to draw the attention of the panicked young wizards below, calming them down.

Then she instructed each house prefect to lead their students back to the dormitories, ending the feast.

A troll posed little danger to a competent wizard; any prefect or most senior students could handle it.

But for inexperienced children, it was perilous.

Those who had never fought, when faced with emergencies, might not even cast spells correctly—mispronouncing them and injuring themselves would be a blessing.

Indeed, the wands in the young wizards’ hands were more threatening to them than the troll.

Thus, a safe evacuation was the wisest choice.

At McGonagall’s order, the young wizards scrambled to find their prefects.

Roger seized the moment and casually approached Professor Quirrell, casting a levitation charm to lift him, pretending to escort the ‘unconscious’ professor to the teachers’ banquet for treatment.

Quirrell showed no reaction.

But Roger felt the faintest warning signal from his instincts.

Being intimately familiar with his own abilities, Roger recognized it as the response of someone wary of threats to their power.

He ignored it, shifted his position to shield his face from others, and in the noisy hall whispered meaningfully, “Are we just going to let the matter of the Sorcerer’s Stone rest like this?”

Quirrell’s little finger twitched slightly.

“Just do it as a favor to me... Voldemort.”

Quirrell: !

Voldemort: ?!