"What do you need?" Voldemort asked silkily.
"Knowledge." Kane paused for a mont. He had deep reservations about Professor Quirrell's teaching level. If it was Voldemort teaching... well, his doubts were even deeper.
Had Voldemort ever actually been a professor? Could he even teach a student properly?
Unfortunately, the arrow had been shot; there was no taking it back now. Changing his request to a new reason would seem far too calculated.
"Very well. Co to my office every Wednesday evening from now on. I will instruct you personally." To Kane's surprise, Voldemort agreed with startling ease—almost as if Kane hadn't asked for a paynt, but had accepted a reward.
"Now, Kane, let see your strength. Consider it a preliminary assessnt."
Voldemort stood still, waiting to watch the performance. He could never get enough of watching that bone-deep, natural affinity for Dark Magic at work.
Kane let out a tired sigh. In the end, he still had to get his hands dirty. But then again, back in the Constant, even a couple of passing butterflies would get punched if they got too close. A single unicorn wouldn't make much difference.
"Alive or dead?" he asked.
"Alive."
As the words left Voldemort's mouth, the shadow beneath Kane's feet shifted.
The shadow, which usually clung tightly to him, transford into a liquid state, spreading in all directions and forming a swirling ring around the solitary, oblivious unicorn.
Suddenly, the silence of the Forbidden Forest was broken by a sharp, discordant sound. It wasn't just Kane's shadow; centering on the unicorn, nearly every shadow for yards around roared to life.
It was like boiling a frog in warm water. The space the unicorn could move in slowly compressed, the shadows pressing in from every side.
Voldemort watched the overwhelming display of shadow-play with a twitch of his lips. This is the power I should be wielding, he thought. What could a re boy like Kane possibly know about using it to its full potential?
His gaze on Kane's back grew even more intense. Just a little longer. Until I know exactly what trials are guarding the Stone...
On the other side, by the ti the unicorn realized it was trapped, it was already pinned immobile. It could only watch as the shadow-cloaked figure of Voldemort approached to claim his prize.
Voldemort picked up a stone and transfigured it into a golden goblet. With his other hand, he flicked his wand across the unicorn's throat. Silver blood spilled into the cup. When it was full, he drained it in one gulp and began filling a second.
"Kane, are you sure you don't want a taste?" Voldemort called out to the boy sitting on a nearby stump.
"Not really my thing. They say drinking unicorn blood brings a curse, and I don't reckon I'm tough enough to survive that. Besides, it's not necessary," Kane replied with a shake of his head. He had zero interest in the "blood-drinking" aesthetic; honestly, he just wanted to sleep.
Soon, after Voldemort had finished his grim al, the two left the forest together.
"Rember our agreent. Wednesday evening—that's the day after tomorrow. Do not be late. We have new adventures ahead of us."
Voldemort vanished into the shadows at the end of the corridor. Kane rubbed his bleary eyes and began the long trek toward the Gryffindor Tower.
Halfway there, a pair of hands suddenly grabbed him and yanked him into an alcove. Kane nearly jumped out of his skin, half-expecting "Big Sister" Charlie to be hunting him down for carrying a light source.
Fortunately, it wasn't Charlie. it was Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Once his heart rate returned to sothing resembling normal, Kane let out a long breath. "It's two hours past curfew. Did you guys stay up just to stage an intervention?"
Harry put a finger to his lips. "Shh! This is important. We know who Nicolas Flal is."
Kane scratched his head. "So? Who is he?"
"The only Great Alchemist in history to successfully create the Philosopher's Stone!" Hermione whispered urgently.
Kane shifted awkwardly. If they only knew the Stone was currently hanging under his shirt...
Still, Dumbledore worked fast. One minute, the Headmaster is complaining that Harry's investigation is stalling; the next, the plot has moved forward at light speed. The "Director" was definitely pulling strings behind the scenes.
"So, is tonight's plan to... steal the Stone?" Kane asked, struggling to keep his eyelids open.
"No, Kane! To protect it," Ron interjected. "And it's already been successful once—well, mostly thanks to that dog."
"Look, how about you just tell who you think the enemy is, and I'll go sneak into their room and slit their throat tonight? Wouldn't that be easier?" Kane joked. He was genuinely curious if Dumbledore had "spoiled" the identity of the final boss yet.
"We've pretty much locked it in," Harry said, his voice dropping an octave. "It's almost certainly Snape."
"Why couldn't it be Quirrell?" Kane asked, trying to nudge the answer toward the correct box. "He's the one who was jinxing your broom during the Quidditch match, wasn't he?"
"We thought so at first," Harry admitted. "But look at Quirrell. If you locked him in a room with that three-headed dog, the dog would be full in under three minutes. Snape is different. We saw him get bitten, but he managed to subdue the beast with magic. Except for being caught off guard, he's actually very dangerous."
Kane looked at the twisted logic and turned to Hermione. "Hermione, you're the smart one. Surely you have a different take?"
Hermione nodded in agreent. "Professor Quirrell... he just doesn't have the guts."
She didn't elaborate on why she thought he lacked guts. In her mind, she was comparing the "Feeble Quirrell," who paid Kane protection money in the form of gold bags for a single Mandrake, to the "Cold Snape," who deducted points without blinking and kicked Kane out of class with terrifying authority.
Between the "shady but cowardly" professor who jinxed a broom in secret and the "intimidating" master of potions, there was no contest. Why would she believe a man who looked terrified of his own shadow would dare steal from Dumbledore?
Kane looked at three faces, absolutely convinced that Snape was the villain. What could he say?
Poor Snape. That's what happens when you never smile.
"Can we go back to bed now?" Kane asked, rubbing his face. His only wish was a soft pillow.
Just as they were about to agree, a cold, drawling voice rang out from the darkness:
"You little wizards over there... co out, slowly!"
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