The atmosphere in Hogwarts shifted as exam season descended upon the students. The usual chatter in the corridors quieted to hurried whispers about last-minute revisions and study schedules. Even the Great Hall seemed more subdued during meal times, with students poring over their textbooks as they ate.
Arthur, seated at the Slytherin table, glanced around at his housemates. Some looked as though they hadn't slept in days, while others seemed unnervingly calm, as if they knew they had everything under control. Arthur fell somewhere in between—prepared but uneasy, especially with how things had been unraveling around him lately.
Draco Malfoy, his best friend and roommate, leaned over to him, whispering, "You've got this, Arthur. Just remember what we've been practicing."
Arthur gave a small nod, appreciating Draco's confidence in him, even if his own was wavering. The first few days of exams were a blur. Charms, Potions, Transfiguration—all subjects Arthur felt moderately confident in. He approached each paper with determined focus, pushing aside distractions and the strange occurrences that had become part of his daily life.
The DADA Exam
The hall was eerily quiet as Arthur sat down and prepared for the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. Professor Quirrell hovered at the front, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for something—or someone. Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that those eyes lingered on him just a little too long.
Beside him, Draco seemed unbothered, calmly working through his exam. Arthur envied his composure. He tried to focus on the questions in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to Quirrell. Why was he watching so closely? Was it just paranoia, or was there something more?
He scribbled his answers quickly, eager to finish and get out from under Quirrell's gaze. As soon as he handed in his parchment, he practically bolted for the door, Draco following closely behind.
Arthur and Draco headed toward the entrance of Hogwarts, eager to clear their heads, when they spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione near the doorway. Arthur considered walking over to them, but a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Reeves. Malfoy," Snape's low voice cut through the air, drawing Arthur's attention. The Potions Master stood nearby, his expression unreadable. "You've completed your exams. Go outside. Take some time to breathe."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected suggestion, but he nodded. "Yes, Professor," he muttered before stepping outside with Draco.
.....
The breeze by the Black Lake was cool and refreshing. Arthur made his way to a secluded spot by the water's edge, with Draco following suit. They sat in silence for a while, both lost in their thoughts.
Arthur stared out across the rippling surface, letting his mind wander. His mind drifted to the events of the past few weeks—Hagrid's dragon, the Forbidden Forest, and the trapdoor guarded by the Cerberus. Everything seemed interconnected, but how?
Arthur rubbed his temples, trying to piece it all together. Hagrid had gotten the dragon egg from a mysterious figure, likely in exchange for information. That had to be it. And what did Hagrid have that could be of such value? The Cerberus guarding the trapdoor.
He recalled the break-in attempt during Halloween, the urgency in Snape's voice when he'd questioned Arthur about what he saw. Could someone have learned about the trapdoor from Hagrid and now be trying to get whatever was hidden beneath it?
"What's on your mind?" Draco asked, breaking the silence.
Arthur rubbed his temples, trying to piece it all together. "Hagrid got that dragon egg from someone. It must have been in exchange for information about the Cerberus. Someone wants what's under that trapdoor."
Draco frowned, confused. "Huh? What just happened?"
Arthur sighed heavily, leaning back on his hands. "Nothing, probably. I've spent so much time thinking about this already."
Draco smirked, nudging him lightly. "If you spent this much time on reading or something useful, you could be rich."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "You're probably right."
He tilted his head back, gazing at the sky. The weather was indeed pleasant, just as Snape had noted. Arthur allowed himself a moment to enjoy it before pushing himself to his feet. "Come on, let's head back."
Draco stood, brushing off his robes. "Yeah, the weather is actually nice.
As Arthur and Draco made their way back toward the castle, they took their time, letting the cool breeze wash over them. For a moment, things almost felt normal—just two Slytherins, finished with exams, heading back to the common room without a care in the world.
But normal never lasted long for Arthur.
As they stepped through the castle doors, a voice called out from the dimly lit corridor.
"Mr. Reeves," Professor Quirrell's stuttering voice reached them before the man himself emerged from the shadows. His usual nervous expression was in place, but something about the way he stood—the stiffness in his posture—felt off.
Arthur and Draco exchanged a glance.
"Professor," Arthur said carefully.
Quirrell offered a small, forced smile. "Would you mind walking with me for a moment?" His tone was light, but Arthur could feel the weight behind the words.
Draco frowned, stepping forward slightly. "We were just heading back to the common room, Professor. Can't this wait?"
Quirrell chuckled softly. "Oh, of course, of course, Mr. Malfoy. This won't take long."
Arthur hesitated, glancing at Draco before giving a small nod. "I'll catch up," he muttered.
Draco didn't look pleased but nodded reluctantly. "Fine. Just don't take too long." With that, he turned on his heel and headed toward the dungeons, throwing one last suspicious look over his shoulder.
As soon as Draco disappeared down the hall, Quirrell turned to Arthur, his expression unreadable. "Tell me, Mr. Reeves… do you ever feel like knowledge is both a blessing and a curse?"
Arthur tensed. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. His thoughts immediately went to the letter that had mysteriously changed, the countless strange occurrences that had begun piling up around him.
"It depends," he answered cautiously. "Some knowledge is necessary. Some… should stay buried."
Arthur kept his expression neutral as he walked beside Professor Quirrell. The corridors were eerily quiet, the usual chatter of students absent now that exams had drained most of them. He didn't like this—Quirrell's tone, the way he kept glancing at him, the odd stiffness in his posture. Something was wrong.
"A wise perspective. You remind me of someone I once knew," Quirrell murmured, almost to himself.
Arthur didn't respond. His mind was already racing, trying to piece together why Quirrell had stopped him. He had a bad feeling about this.
"Exams can be exhausting, can't they?" Quirrell continued, his voice light but his fingers twitching at his sides.
Arthur subtly shifted his hand toward his wand, hidden in his robes. He didn't like where this was going.
"I'll manage," he answered carefully.
Quirrell's eyes flickered with something—interest? Amusement? Arthur couldn't tell. "Yes… I believe you will. Slytherins always find a way, don't they?"
Then it happened in a blur.
Quirrell's hand shot forward unnaturally fast, seizing Arthur's wrist before he could even reach his wand. Arthur barely had time to register the movement before pain exploded at the back of his head.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
++++++++++
Arthur's head throbbed as he came to, his vision blurry from whatever spell—or blunt force—Quirrell had used to knock him out. The cold stone beneath him sent a chill through his body, and when he tried to move, he realized his arms were bound behind his back. His wand was gone.
Damn it.
He took a slow, measured breath, forcing himself to focus. The chamber was dimly lit, with torches flickering against damp stone walls. It didn't look like a dungeon, but it sure felt like one.
Then, he heard it—soft, calculated footsteps echoing across the room. Arthur's body tensed, and he lifted his head.
Professor Quirrell stood before him, hands clasped neatly behind his back. But there was something different about him—something wrong. Gone was the nervous stammer, the meek demeanor he put on in class. Instead, he stood tall, his eyes gleaming with something unsettling.
"Ah, Mr. Reeves," Quirrell said smoothly. "I was beginning to wonder how long you would remain unconscious."
Arthur's mind raced as he tested the ropes around his wrists. "You know, there are easier ways to talk to me, Professor," he said, keeping his tone even. "A simple 'stay after class' would've worked."
Quirrell chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Yes, but somehow, I doubt you would have been so cooperative."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "And what exactly am I supposed to be cooperating with?"
Quirrell began to pace slowly, the flickering torchlight casting sharp shadows on his face. "You're quite observant, Arthur. Too observant, linger where you shouldn't. I've been watching you."
Arthur clenched his fists. "Yeah? Well, you're not the first person to say that. Should I be flattered or creeped out?"
Quirrell's lips curled into a smirk. "That depends entirely on you."
Arthur ignored the uneasy feeling in his gut. "So what is this about? Did I write an essay so good that you felt the need to abduct me? I know my work is impressive, but this is excessive, even for a fan."
Quirrell exhaled sharply through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite. "Your wit is amusing, but I assure you, Arthur, this is no joke. You are far more important than you realize."
Arthur stilled. There was something in Quirrell's tone—something that sent a chill through him.
"...What the hell are you talking about?"
Quirrell leaned slightly closer, his eyes locked onto Arthur's. "Tell me, Arthur… how much do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?"