The Christmas feast went as expected—grand but not surprising. For many students, the food tasted like chewing wax.
Why? Because they still hadn't finished their holiday homework…
Louis, of course, wasn't the least bit worried. Homework was child's play for him; just scramble some knowledge together, reorganize it, and put it on parchment. Couldn't be easier.
As he enjoyed the sumptuous meal, his eyes occasionally drifted toward Quirrell at the staff table.
Quirrell didn't look as bad as Louis had expected. Though he had drunk unicorn blood, the effect of the Little Red Bottle potions had managed to counter some of the unicorn's curse. That gave Quirrell a sliver of relief.
It meant there was still hope for him.
He had already begun disguising himself when meeting with Hagrid. Given some time, he'd probably pry out the method to bypass the three-headed dog from that big oaf.
Once he got the Philosopher's Stone, not only would the Dark Lord be resurrected—he himself could finally be free of his cursed state.
But before that, there was still one more task to complete.
Quirrell's cold gaze fell on the empty chair beside him—Snape's seat. The professor hadn't shown up to the feast. The reason was simple: he was tailing "Quirinus Quirrell" at that very moment, planning to catch him red-handed.
The thought made Quirrell wince.
That "Quirrell" decoy had cost him nearly half of his life savings to hire.
Yes—the decoy wasn't real, but a professional examiner sent from that strange alliance of villains around the world.
That would lure Snape's attention and create a commotion, pushing all suspicion of stealing the Stone onto Snape.
And really—was there a better scapegoat than Snape?
Unpopular with most students, already prejudged as unfriendly, and always hovering around Quirrell, preventing him from probing the other professors' protective enchantments—who else deserved to be accused?
By reason and circumstance, it was only right to make Snape take the fall.
But what method would that examiner use to frame him?
The hiding place of the Philosopher's Stone was far from the Great Hall. What kind of chaos would need to erupt there for it to be noticed all the way here?
Excited and curious, Quirrell raised his head and accidentally locked eyes with Louis at the Slytherin table.
He immediately jerked his gaze away, emptying his mind in panic.
Snape wasn't here, there was no Dark Mark, and even Dumbledore couldn't sense Voldemort's presence. The Dark Lord's consciousness was active now—if Quirrell let slip a single stray thought, it could draw Voldemort's attention. And then he was finished.
He'd already revealed Voldemort's existence to that so-called Heir of Merlin—if his mind wandered now, he might expose his betrayal.
Don't look. Don't think.
Taking a deep breath, Quirrell fixed his eyes on the dishes before him, intending to fill his stomach first.
And then—
From outside the Great Hall came a terrible crash. The castle shook, the tall Christmas trees inside swaying violently.
The students froze mid-bite, the entire hall falling silent at once.
At the high table, Dumbledore slowly rose, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He glanced at Snape's still-empty seat, his brow furrowed tightly.
Suddenly—the great doors of the hall were blasted apart.
A black figure came hurtling in, slamming hard into the floor.
Black, messy hair, a pale face, and that familiar billowing cloak—the man who had been flung into the hall was none other than the Head of Slytherin, Severus Snape!
And his condition could only be described as miserable. His arms and legs were covered in deep gashes and bite marks, his dark robes were stained with blood and dust, and he looked utterly disheveled.
Gone was his usual grace and composure. Struggling to his feet, Snape shouted to the students:
"Students, fall back! There's a three-headed dog!"
Before anyone could cry out at the horrific state of their professor, three heavy breaths, accompanied by thunderous footsteps, echoed from the ruined doors of the hall.
A monstrous hound, five meters tall and bearing three heads, emerged slowly from outside.
All six of its eyes glared murderously at Snape—yet almost at once, its attention was drawn to the Christmas feast laid out on the tables… and to the "little snacks" seated all around it.
"It's a three-headed dog! Run!"
One of the students, who had once been mauled by the beast, screamed in terror. Panic spread instantly, and the others scrambled to flee.
But the Cerberus that had come in through the main doors now blocked the exit completely, leaving only a few narrow side doors as escape routes.
The students descended into chaos, while the professors struggled desperately to maintain order.
At this point, even Dumbledore's authority was useless. The danger was right in front of them—reason had already fled the students' minds.
The scattering "biscuits" only stirred the beast's hunting instincts. With all three maws roaring, it lunged toward the nearest student.
"Impedimenta!"
Snape raised his wand, casting a barrier to halt the Cerberus's attack. But this only enraged the beast further—and its attention locked back onto Snape.
In that moment, Snape cursed it bitterly. He had chased Quirrell all the way to the hidden door behind the fourth-floor corridor, ready to block him—when this maddened Cerberus had suddenly smashed through the corridor wall and charged him instead.
Before he could react, it had torn into him and dragged him, biting all the way, from the fourth floor down to the Great Hall.
Something was wrong. Even an irritable three-headed dog shouldn't possess such overwhelming power.
Panting hard, Snape lifted his wand again with trembling hands.
Injured as he was, he couldn't allow this monster to rampage through the castle.
Dumbledore, seeing Snape's weakened state, drew his own wand from his robes, ready to subdue the beast before any students—or Snape himself—were further harmed.
But then, suddenly, he froze.
Because he had seen someone.
While every other student was in a frenzy of panic, one figure alone was pushing through the crowd—calmly, steadily, approaching the three-headed dog.
It was Louis Wilson. He was walking straight toward the raging beast—and he wasn't even defending himself.
What was he planning to do?
Dumbledore held his wand ready, but didn't act immediately. His curiosity burned—what strange ability would Louis reveal?
Snape, too, noticed Louis moving past him, still walking forward, closing the distance to the Cerberus.
"Mr. Wilson, now is not the time to show off—get back!" Snape reached out, intending to drag him to safety.
But Louis brushed his hand aside casually.
"Don't worry, Professor," Louis said with a wink. "The chaos will end soon."
And with that, he kept walking, step by step, toward the monstrous hound.
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