"ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴇxQᴜɪꜱɪᴛᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ… ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ."
― ᴇᴅɢᴀʀ ᴀʟʟᴀɴ ᴘᴏᴇ
Chapter Twenty-Six: Cassandra
Anthony Goldstein woke up early in the mornings, but everyone thought he woke up incredibly late.
This was because he liked to wait for the first year boys' dormitory to empty before he ventured out of bed and then would walk into the common room wearing mismatched socks and his shirt buttoned the wrong way, yawning and sleepy-eyed.
It was a cold January morning in the Ravenclaw common room; today, he had gotten up early because Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw prefect, had promised to lend him a book on Nicholas Flamel, as well as Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, by Newt Scamander. His father was a magizoologist and had a copy of the latter book in his study, but he always told Anthony that he was too young to read it, especially because he was prone to fanciful ideas, and that he'd have to wait until he took Care of Magical Creatures, which he strongly advised Anthony not to take on account of the professor, Silvanus Kettleburn, being much too reckless and putting foolish ideas in the students' heads. Professor Kettleburn liked the dangerous and rare kinds of magical creatures; Anthony's father liked the small and meek kinds.
Of course, Anthony had snuck many books out of his father's study. Not Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, though, because it was on the top shelf, and he wasn't tall enough yet to reach it.
"Hello," said Penelope placidly, placing the two books on the table, which Anthony hastily scooped up.
He remembered he was supposed to say thank-you (he often tended to forget things like that), and Penelope smiled in a vague sort of way, then told him not to run down the stairs when he left for class.
The book about Nicholas Flamel was very dull; apparently, he'd gone to Hogwarts in thirteen- or fourteen-something, worked as a scribe, and eventually created the philosopher's stone, which Anthony supposed was pretty interesting, but the book certainly didn't make it sound that way. Either way, he quickly turned to Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, which was a handsome book with a charcoal-coloured cover decorated with golden dragons.
Anthony immediately flipped to the table of contents to find an entry on three-headed dogs or Cerberuses (Cerberi?), but frustratingly enough, there wasn't one.
Not to be outdone and determined to prove to Hermione that he wasn't exaggerating, he resolved to read the entire book.
Soon enough, it was time to leave, and he hadn't gotten through the second chapter, What Is A Beast yet, so he asked Penelope if he could keep the book a little longer, which she agreed to, and dashed down the stairs to Transfiguration, entering the classroom with barely a minute to spare.
"Morning, Jabberwocky," said Ruby, in response to his chattering as quickly as he could about the boring part of his research, Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone.
"I don't like that book," said Anthony. "It's too confusing."
"It's supposed to be."
But before Anthony could retort that things were meant to either make sense or not exist at all, Professor McGonagall told them to sit up, stop talking, and concentrate.
He told Ruby all about Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them while Professor McGonagall wasn't paying attention to them and about how to tell the difference between a Beast and a Being, and in exchange, she told him about how there was probably a secret passage from the third-floor corridor to the Mirror room that the dogs were guarding, and behind it must be the Philosopher's Stone.
That is, until Professor McGonagall noticed that neither of them had made an ounce of progress towards turning their paperweights to songbirds and took five points off each from Slytherin and Ravenclaw for talking, so Anthony didn't get to tell Ruby about his plan to go to the third-floor corridor and find out.
Maybe they could get at the stone before Voldemort's servant, he thought, watching a couple of canaries circle around the desk.
They would probably be rewarded. Professor Dumbledore would probably make a big speech congratulating them, and then Anthony's father would finally see that he could "take things seriously and apply himself," just as he said at the end of every letter.
And maybe, said a tiny little voice in the back of Anthony's head, you can do it all yourself.
Maybe it was a good thing he didn't get to tell Ruby about his plan, after all. The best-kept secrets are the ones you tell to no one.
Perhaps this warranted a trip to Hagrid's.
Without telling anyone where he was going, after Charms with the Hufflepuffs, Anthony scooped up his books and went down to see Hagrid.
"Hi, Hagrid!" he said as the door swung open.
"Anthony?" asked Hagrid, looking down at him bemusedly. "Come in, yeh'll catch cold standin' outside. What are yeh doin' here? Haven't yeh got lessons?"
"I wanted to ask you a question," said Anthony, sitting down by the fire to warm his hands. Fang came over instantly and put his enormous, drooling head in Anthony's lap. "May I?"
Hagrid sighed. "Come on now, Fang. Don' bother our guest."
"I don't mind," said Anthony, petting Fang's head and accepting the enormous mug of tea that Hagrid offered him. "I like dogs." Then, he added, a bit slyly: "Especially three-headed ones."
Hagrid looked a little bit cross, so he took out Penelope's copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them to show him.
"There's no entry for three-headed dogs or Cerberuses. Do you think Mr. Scamander never found them? What do they eat? And where do they live?"
"If yer goin' ter be curious as a cat, yeh'd best hope yeh have nine lives, too, Anthony," rebuked Hagrid. "Harry already came an' asked me. I mustn't tell yeh. Dumbledore's orders."
"So must the person who's got to feed it," said Anthony, tapping a finger to his lips as if deep in thought and hoping Hagrid would take the bait. Harry might give up after being told no once, but he wouldn't.
"Eh, it's easy," said Hagrid, poking the fire. "He can' resist a lullaby. I jus' sing ter him, and he goes right ter sleep."
Anthony suppressed a smile. Hagrid cracked faster than he thought he would.
"But where did it come from?"
"Dunno about the others, but I got Fluffy off a Greek chappie I met in the Leaky Cauldron. Immune ter all sorts o' magic an' potions. But yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an'―"
Hagrid shut his mouth, looking guilty as if he had just remembered to keep a secret.
"And Nicholas Flamel, Hagrid. Isn't that right? Fluffy's supposed to guard the Philosopher's Stone."
Hagrid went red in the face.
"Yeh best forget all about tha', Anthony. Nonsense yeh don' want teh be fillin' yeh head wi'. Yeh worry about yeh schoolwork an' yeh friends. Let th' professors an' the Aurors deal wi' it."
"But I can help!" said Anthony, though he wasn't sure how. "I can help, Hagrid, I promise!"
"Yeh'd best get back to th' castle," said Hagrid. "I'll take yeh."
"But―"
Before he managed to get another word in, he, Hagrid and Fang were walking, not back towards the castle, but towards the Forbidden Forest in the thick, freshly-fallen snow.
"If yer goin' ter poke around," Hagrid explained, "yeh might as well see how dangerous it is ter be messin' around."
"Are we going in the Forbidden Forest?" asked Anthony.
"Don' worry," said Hagrid. "Nothin' will happen ter yeh, not wi' me an' Fang ter protect yeh. Besides, I'm on friendly terms wi' th' centaurs an' th' Acromantula."
Anthony looked at the dark, jagged row of trees. His father wouldn't want him to go in there. But he just had to see.
"I'm not scared."
And so they went in, walking the snow-covered forest path and pushing their way through brambles and tree branches. It was a strangely idyllic walk. As if time itself had stopped.
But what awaited them in the forest was not a sight for the faint of heart.
"It's a juvenile," said Anthony, going straight to the dead unicorn and kneeling next to it. Hagrid did not stop him, and Fang let out a mournful bark. "Both silver and has a horn, so it's probably about five years old, right? But what killed it? There aren't werewolves in this forest, are there?"
Hagrid did not respond.
"Are there, Hagrid?" Anthony repeated.
"No," said Hagrid. The uncharacteristic solemnness of his voice startled Anthony. "It was a witch or wizard tha' killed it. Tha' cut—" He gestured at the horrible gash in the unicorn's neck "-wasn't done wi' claws or teeth."
Anthony cupped a hand to his mouth. The cloying scent of unicorn blood was stuck in his nostrils, and his eyes were stinging with tears.
He shut his eyes, but the horrifying sight of the unicorn, its neck bent at a grotesque angle, remained.
"Who could do something like this, Hagrid?" he asked, turning towards him, distraught. "Killing a unicorn — a defenceless creature who didn't want to hurt anyone — what kind of monster would do that? It's like — it's like killing a kid! How can they live with themselves?"
Hagrid put an enormous hand on his shoulder.
That was the point he was trying to make, Anthony realized. Death Eaters did kill kids. He'd heard the stories, after all.
"Time ter go now," he said.
Their walk back to the castle was horrifically silent. Even Fang seemed in shock.
If Hagrid thought showing Anthony how evil the imposter was would stop him from investigating, he was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
It hardened Anthony's resolve.
Someone's killing unicorns to drink their blood. That means they're on the brink of death and have nothing to lose. But it's Voldemort they're trying to get the stone for.
But Voldemort's dead! What would they do with it! They can't bring him back to life.
Sure, Anthony had heard whispers about necromancy. Inferi and things like that.
Still, something was confusing about all this; something was very, very wrong. Anthony couldn't figure out which piece of the puzzle didn't fit. But one thing was clear.
He would get at the stone before Voldemort's servant got another chance.
And he would do it tonight.
Objective one was to get into the third-floor corridor again. Mrs. Norris hadn't been there the first time he went exploring, but he couldn't count on luck.
First, he raced towards the Owlery to find Harry, after asking Ron and Hermione, who he ran into in the corridor, where he had gone.
"What?" asked Harry, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looked up from attending to Hedwig. The owl took that as her cue to leave and rose from his arm with a flap of her great snow-coloured wings, returning to her perch.
He shifted back and forth on his feet; he'd been on edge all winter. And especially since last month.
What happened? Anthony wanted to say, but he worried it was one of those uncomfortable, private questions. He could never tell.
"Could you tell me how to make Sleeping Draught, please?" whispered Anthony. "Or maybe show me?"
Partially because of Harry's mixed results with actual spellcasting, determined to prove himself, he'd become a quick study at Potions. Perhaps a hair behind Hermione, he was told ― Harry had a stubborn streak of improvising ― but Hermione would never help Anthony without asking him what he needed Sleeping Draught for.
He went off towards Gryffindor Tower, leaving Anthony standing in the Owlery, and reappeared a few minutes later with his satchel and cauldron.
"We're going to dinner," Harry lied to the Auror standing at the entrance and marched down the stairs, Anthony running to follow him.
"Where are we going?"
"Girls' toilet, second floor. Don't worry," he added in response to Anthony's shocked look. "No one goes in there, not with the horrible ghost who lives there."
Harry pushed the door open, stuck his head in, and looked around before beckoning Anthony in after him.
"I sneak down here to practice stuff sometimes," he explained, filling the cauldron with water from the tap and setting it down on the floor. "Mind doing the honours? I usually do it with matches," he admitted.
"Oh! Yes," said Anthony, pulling out his wand. "Here we go. Uh, Incendio,"
A patch of blue flames flickered under the cauldron, small and unimpressive, but enough to elicit a pleased hum from Harry.
The Gryffindor sat cross-legged behind his cauldron and retrieved his ingredients.
He set about grinding up a few sprigs of lavender, and Anthony found himself growing sleepy from the fumes of the potion when a shrill voice spoke.
"Hello, Harry!"
"Hi, Myrtle," said Harry tightly, as the ghost of a girl slightly older than them swooped over their heads.
"Ooh," said Myrtle, ogling the cauldron. "What are you making today?"
"Sleeping Draught."
Harry inspected the size of his chunks of valerian root, then decided they were not to his liking.
"Oh," said Myrtle, floating into one of the stalls and sitting on the toilet. "I was never very good at Potions. I never did pay enough attention to Professor Slughorn's lessons, hehe."
"I'm sure it was for a good reason," said Harry. Once he was out of Myrtle's line of sight, he made a disgusted face.
"Did I tell you about Olive Hornby, Harry? She was in Ravenclaw with me; ooooh, she was dreadful!"
"You did, Myrtle."
"I'm in Ravenclaw, too," said Anthony. Myrtle didn't seem impressed.
"Oh, are you," she said coolly, then turned her attention back to Harry.
"Peeves called me pimply yesterday," said Myrtle, preening in the cracked mirror. "You don't think I'm pimply, do you, Harry?"
"No, Myrtle. Not at all."
She sat down, looking vindicated.
Just then, the door inched open. Both Harry and Anthony froze.
"It's only Hephaestus," said Harry, sighing with relief. "What's he doing here?"
The cat ignored Anthony's attempts to pet it and stalked past with his tail in the air to stare out the window.
"I feel bad," said Anthony.
Harry did not respond; he was counting the number of clockwise stirs.
"I want to help you," he tried again.
Harry grimaced.
"You can't help me," he said and added more chopped valerian root to the bubbling mixture. "Not with the problems I've got."
Anthony hesitated. He almost wanted to tell Harry about the dead unicorn, but then he'd certainly want to come, and Anthony wouldn't be the one who had saved the school, all by himself.
"Oh."
Harry looked up from crushing the wormwood. There was a strange glint in his eyes.
Slightly unhinged, maybe.
"Tell me about Voldemort," he insisted. "I've gone to the library. I've read as much as I can. But things just aren't making sense. Your aunt was one of the Aurors who tried Death Eaters after the war, wasn't she?"
"Yes," said Anthony, though he didn't like where this conversation was going. "Why?"
"I want to know who killed my parents," said Harry, setting the potion to simmer, getting up, and brushing imaginary dirt off his robes. He walked towards the window, picked up Hephaestus, and sat upon the narrow sill. "I want to know what happened that night, and I don't think anyone really wants to tell me."
"I'm really sorry. I don't know much more than you do," Anthony admitted. "They found Voldemort dead, and, well, you alive."
"How did they know he had it out for me?" asked Harry, grabbing the sleeve of his robes, eyes wild and frantic and his face close. Anthony froze; he could feel Harry's panicked breaths on his face. "How did they know my mum or dad didn't kill him and die in the process? I need to know, Anthony!"
"That's what the papers said. That you vanquished You-Know-Who!"
"How? With what power? Tell me, Anthony, please!"
"I don't know!" he shouted back. "Ask Dumbledore!"
Harry was silent for a minute.
"He says my mother died to save me. He said it was love. But I don't think there's any magic that works like that, and..."
"And what?"
"And if he comes back, I can't stop him! And I have to! I don't know what to do, my scar hurts all the time, and I'm confused, and I'm scared!"
I don't think you're meant to stop him, at least not all by yourself, Anthony thought, but he wasn't sure who was, if not Harry.
Harry stopped, seeming to regain his composure.
"Here you go," he said, pouring the violet contents of the cauldron into a vial and handing it to Anthony. "One Sleeping Draught, made to order. And please don't tell me what you're going to do with it."
It wasn't quite the same colour as the one in the textbook (it looked a little on the pale side), but Anthony supposed it would do.
"My lips are sealed," Anthony agreed. "I didn't get this from you. Thank you, Harry!"
"I'm going to the Great Hall. So don't do anything stupid."
"I won't," said Anthony. Harry gave him one of his trademark unconvinced stares, shook his head, and left.
"Bye-bye, Harry!" called Myrtle. "Come again soon!"
She narrowed her eyes at Anthony and floated through the stall door. He took that as his cue to leave.
Anthony left a bowl of warm milk laced with Sleeping Draught at the edge of the corridor, and sure enough, Mrs. Norris lapped it up, even though it must taste suspiciously of lavender, and went to sleep almost immediately.
Score! Thanks, Harry!
But he couldn't celebrate yet.
It was harder to venture further into the corridor this time because Aurors were protecting the room. But Anthony had thought of that, too. Objective two was to distract the Aurors.
According to his father, if there was one magical creature that would plausibly find its way into Hogwarts and cause maximum panic, it was a mountain troll, the largest and most violent species of troll. Anthony had been warned about them several times. They were native to Scandinavia but plentiful in Scotland and very stupid, but very deadly. Especially to children, since they were carnivorous and had a taste for human flesh.
Anthony was determined to milk that knowledge for all it was worth.
That, and his occasional flair for hysterics.
"AHHHHHHH!" he screamed, running down the corridor and flailing his limbs to attract as much attention as humanly possible. "TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS! TWELVE FEET TALL! HORRIBLE BREATH! THERE'S A MOUNTAIN TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS! HELLLPPPP!"
All of the Aurors ― he spun around to count ― there were three ― stared at him and began muttering to each other.
Anthony picked the one who looked least-equipped to deal with the foibles of children (Mad-Eye Moody), latched onto his robes, and turned on the tears. Perhaps it was overdone for a boy of twelve-and-a-quarter years old, but he doubted Moody was a particularly diligent student of child development.
"I'm scared!" he bawled, wrapping his arms around Mad-Eye. "It's going after my friends. Please help!"
"Here," said another of the Aurors, gently trying to remove him from Mad-Eye. "I'll take you down to the Hospital Wing."
"No! Not downstairs! Please let me stay here, please!"
"If there's a troll, we have to deal with it immediately," said the third Auror. "It may have been set loose by the imposter; it may leave a clue. And either way, it could kill someone. So we're wasting precious time."
Anthony felt maybe a little bit guilty for sending them on a wild goose chase. But only a microscopic amount.
"Don't touch anything," Mad-Eye barked. "Don't linger. Return to your common room."
"Okay," chirped Anthony. He waited until they left, unlocked the door that Mad-Eye had been guarding with a simple Alohomora, and went in.
Instantly, he drew back, uttering a shriek as the giant dog leapt at him. Only the chains holding Fluffy prevented Anthony from being savaged.
I should have brought a Gryffindor, thought Anthony, flattening himself against the wall as Fluffy slobbered over him. Maybe it's a good thing the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is forbidden to enter.
Out loud, he cleared his throat and began to sing. Then, just as Hagrid said, Fluffy's six maddened eyes began to close, and while they did, Anthony glanced around to try to get a look at what he was guarding, singing all the while.
Ah-ha! There it is! A trapdoor.
His heart in his mouth, Anthony tiptoed around the sleeping Fluffy, still singing, and made his way over to the trapdoor.
If I ever get a dog, it'll definitely be a regular-sized one. Why was I so obsessed with Clifford the Big Red Dog when I was little?
Once he snuck past the three-headed dog, Anthony broke into a run, fell through the trapdoor (which was more fun than scary), and into a patch of Devil's Snare.
At first, he began to panic, tugging and shoving only for the plant to tighten around him.
Remembering that they hated fire and light (thank you, Professor Sprout!), he summoned flames to get the plant to release him and fell again into a stone passageway through which trickling water could be heard.
I've found it! I've found the secret passage!
Undeterred by the dark and foreboding surroundings, Anthony continued down the passageway until he found himself in a brilliantly lit chamber full of glittering winged keys of all colours, shapes, and sizes.
How would he know which was the Philosopher's Stone, anyway? He had no idea what it looked like... he could walk right past it and not know.
Perhaps he should have taken the book on Nicholas Flamel more seriously. There had to have been a picture of it.
But now, he had to figure out the next puzzle.
Anthony was too busy looking at everything to notice the newcomer, who was muttering:
"I cannot yet figure it out. There must be something I am overlooking; some spell he has discovered or developed in the meantime, perhaps. Nevertheless, Dumbledore's Chamber shall not thwart my efforts."
"Professor Quirrell! Are you trying to find the stone, too?" he asked cheerfully. "Shall we find it together? How do you think we solve this puzzle? The Devil's Snare was really easy, wasn't it? Do they get progressively harder and harder? Are you still working on this one? When did you start it?"
Oh. He was probably asking too many questions again.
Quirrell stepped closer, but he looked strange. Shadowy.
"Tell me, Mr. Goldstein... have you told anyone where you are going?"
"N-No," he said truthfully.
"I see," said Quirrell. Then, he pointed his wand at Anthony. "This will not hurt. I am well-practised."
"Okay," said Anthony. "What are you doing? Is this part of the puzzle, Professor?"
"Yes, Mr. Goldstein. Try to relax; it reduces the chance of collateral damage to your mind. Oblivate!"
What? What does that spell do?
"... the second student I've caught down here," said Quirrell, though he sounded fuzzy, as if Anthony's head were underwater. "And a first-year this time, too. Unbelievable..."
Anthony felt himself being tossed over Quirrell's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Maybe this was part of the puzzle, too...
Things started to go even fuzzier after that. And very soon, he started to fall asleep, too.
When he woke up in the library, his head resting on Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them (he must have fallen asleep reading), it seemed as if a dream was quickly fading, but he was left with the vague memory of Professor Quirrell, accompanied by an unsettling feeling.
He must have had a bad dream. That was the only explanation that had made sense. No use chalking up an over-active imagination to the existence of Wonderland; or, at least, that was what his father always said.
But the more Anthony thought about it, the more it disturbed him. A bad feeling with Quirrell, accompanied by what felt like a gap in his memory? He wasn't sure... he couldn't remember how exactly he got to the library. Something told him he'd been here since Charms, but that didn't feel right. Not to mention the empty potion vial in his pocket that smelled like Sleeping Draught.
Sorry, Dad. I think I'll have to take a trip to Wonderland.
He pulled out a sheet of parchment and began to take notes.
Notes on the Strange Occurrences at Hogwarts, 1991-1992
Anthony looked over his shoulder. If an imposter was about, he didn't want to risk them stealing his notes and receiving all this useful information. And for not the first time today, he was grateful for something his father had nagged him about; the chances of the imposter also being able to read and write in Hebrew were very, very slim.
1. Mirror of Erised discovered in dungeon room by Harry Potter. Accompanied by five strange runes, some kind of ritual circle and a bloodstain? Ruby Potter also reports that the 'Philosopher's Stone' rune is fresher, and the chalk, when touched, leaves a burning sensation, as if magic is still contained in them.
2. Anthony Goldstein finds three-headed dog/Cereberus in third-floor corridor on the right-hand side. Dog was angry and the door was already open. Hagrid acts guilty, worried that door was open and says he must report to Professor Dumbledore.
3. Professor Dumbledore brings in Aurors to protect the school, announces the imposter/Death Eater, and that the Mirror room has been infected with Dark magic.
4. Harry Potter's broom is jinxed. Stops when the teacher's box is set on fire. Professor Snape involved?
5. Bloody Baron confirms existence of Cerberus and that the runes are Dark magic. However, Professor Quirrell denies that the runes mean anything and says the bloodstain was probably unicorn blood.
6. Harry Potter is acting strange. Hiding something?
That was it. That was all he had. Anthony wrote down quickly that:
Important theories!
The third-floor room probably also contains a secret passage to the Mirror room.
The impostor wants the Philosopher's Stone
To bring back Voldemort?
To become rich?
Complete some Dark ritual?
And although he wasn't sure where it came from:
The imposter is killing unicorns, must be at the brink of life and death and pretty desperate.
But what if Quirrell was the impostor? Why would else he deny that the creepy runes meant anything if, obviously, they did? Professor Dumbledore wouldn't shut the school down if he didn't believe something was wrong. And Anthony was sure that Dumbledore must have at least academic knowledge of Dark magic.
Even though Ruby hadn't liked Quirrell initially, now she had stopped being so suspicious of him because of a story about his family dying; and yes, it was sad but convenient. Too convenient. As if she had been on the right track all along, and Quirrell needed to put her off the scent.
Anthony had to figure out what had been done to the Mirror room. Maybe the Dark magic had infected someone. Harry. That was why he was acting so, so weird.
That was the key; he just knew it!
Hastily, he sprinted into the shelves and grabbed the first book he could find about the Mirror of Erised. Maybe, if he could find out who had taken it out, there might be a clue as to who―
The name stared back at him, inky-black and incriminating.
𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖘 𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖑 2nd September 1991
"Quirrell's the imposter," he said under his breath. Then another realisation hit him. "Quirrell's been possessed!"
Worse yet, he realised, possessed by You-Know-Who!
He grabbed the library book, gave his name, house, and year to the Auror, and ran towards the Great Hall as quickly as he could, where he sat down at the Gryffindor table and began to explain everything, beginning at the very beginning and ending with the library book.
"Honestly, Anthony!" said Hermione, glancing side-to-side to check that no one had overheard them; no one had, not even Percy Weasley. "You can't really think Professor Quirrell — he couldn't hurt a fly; he can barely speak!"
"Well," said Anthony, checking off on his fingers, "he always looks like he's in a trance, he's so nervous he might have a heart attack at any given moment but doesn't really seem bothered by anything, all the same, his eyes are all glassy... Textbook signs of possession! Come on, at least admit he could be Imperiused."
"Oh, just drop it," said Hermione irritably, stabbing peas with her fork. "There are much better explanations for all of that; you had a bad dream, Quirrell's exhausted and obviously saw something in Albania that turned him into a nervous wreck, and he's certainly not trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone to bring Voldemort back to life―" Anthony shuddered at the name "―and kill us all. For heaven's sake, Anthony, it's probably one of the Death Eater's kids in Slytherin."
Ron and Harry looked similarly unconvinced of the claim that Professor Quirrell was being possessed by a Death Eater, or at the very least, Imperiused.
In fact, the critical observation that would have supported Anthony Goldstein's claim went completely unnoticed. And sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor Table and facing the opposite way from Ron, Harry, and Hermione, he had the perfect vantage point at which to see it.
Quirinus Quirrell was a lifelong teetotaller and actively railed against 'nasty habits' like smoking and 'filthy chemicals' like tar and nicotine.
If Anthony had not been sulking about not being listened to and paying rapt attention to the exact pattern of the wood of the table, he would have seen Quirrell drop a packet of Woodbine cigarettes on the floor as he walked by and then hastily pick it up before anyone noticed.
How odd. Curiouser and curiouser, indeed.
Endnotes:
The chapter title, Cassandra refers to a Trojan priestess cursed to always make true prophecies but never be believed.
Doesn't Anthony have the makings of a young Dark Lord? Kidding. Maybe. Eh.
I like to think a couple students other than the Golden Trio had a go at the third floor corridor puzzles or at least considered it :)
Chapter 28 is going to be from Dumbledore's POV, so we're going to see what the professors have been up to...