Vale watched Harry and his friends with interest. The familiar plot was beginning to unfold before him, like a well-worn book whose pages he could recite from memory.
The Philosopher's Stone, hidden beneath the trapdoor, guarded by Fluffy—all pieces in a game Vale hadn't been part of in the original story.
"If Quirrell releases the troll on Halloween," Vale mused silently, "that creates a distraction that could be... useful."
He considered the possibilities. The staff would be occupied, students confined to their common rooms, and certain areas of the castle temporarily unguarded. Perfect conditions for exploration or acquisition.
But more than opportunity, Vale recognized the power dynamics at play. Quirrell's desperation, Dumbledore's intentional absences, Snape's conflicted loyalties—all leverage points for someone who understood the full picture.
Vale pulled out a piece of parchment and began drafting a letter to Madam Nook:
Madam Nook,
My studies at Hogwarts progress well. I've gained access to several interesting texts in the library that complement our theoretical discussions. However, I find myself limited in movement after curfew, which has delayed my ability to attend our planned meeting in the Leaky Cauldron's private parlor.
I'm working on a solution to this limitation. Once resolved, I believe I can contribute significantly more to our research on magical anomalies.
In the meantime, might I suggest the first Hogsmeade weekend after Halloween as a potential date? The castle will be quieter then, and my absence less noted.
Your research assistant,
V.W.
Vale folded the letter carefully. His correspondence with Nook served multiple purposes—maintaining his academic facade, securing future access to rare magical texts, and establishing an alibi outside Hogwarts when needed.
As he sealed the envelope, Vale's thoughts returned to the unfolding plot around him.
'I'm at a crossroads, in a way…'
Knowledge was power, and he possessed knowledge no one else in this world could claim. The question wasn't whether to interfere, but how to do so in ways that would strengthen his position without drawing unwanted attention.
Vale settled into his seat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, watching Professor Quirrell with newfound interest. The stuttering teacher paced before the blackboard, chalk trembling in his hand as he wrote out the characteristics of hinkypunks.
"T-t-today we'll be d-discussing creatures that l-lure travelers to their d-doom," Quirrell said, his purple turban slightly askew.
While other students slouched or passed notes, Vale sat upright, studying not the lesson but the teacher himself.
The nervous tics, the occasional flashes of something harder in Quirrell's eyes when he thought no one was watching, the faint odor of garlic that permeated the classroom—all pieces of a puzzle Vale alone understood.
"…Fascinating how fear manifests," Vale murmured in probing, just loud enough for nearby students to hear. "Some hide it behind stutters, others behind bravado."
Quirrell's eyes snapped to Vale's for a fraction of a second before darting away.
After class, Vale lingered in the corridor, mentally mapping the castle's layout against what he knew of the Stone's defenses.
The third-floor corridor was merely the entrance. Beyond Fluffy lay a series of challenges designed by Hogwarts' professors—obstacles that would eventually lead Harry to his first confrontation with Voldemort.
"But what if the Stone were gone before then?" Vale whispered to himself, fingers tracing the cool stone wall. "What if the prize were claimed before the players even reached the board?"
That night in his dormitory, Vale pulled out a blank piece of parchment and began sketching the defenses he would need to bypass: the three-headed dog, Devil's Snare, flying keys, a giant chess set, a troll, Snape's logic puzzle, and finally, the Mirror of Erised.
Each obstacle required a different approach. Some needed magical skill, others logical thinking. But the final challenge—the mirror—that would require something else entirely. A purity of desire that Vale wasn't certain he possessed.
"I don't want the Stone for immortality or gold," Vale reasoned, tapping his quill against his lips.
"I want it as leverage. As insurance." He paused. "Would that be enough to trick the mirror's magic?"
Vale had settled on Halloween night for his operation. The troll's release would create the perfect distraction, allowing him to slip past the third-floor corridor while the castle descended into chaos.
But, preparation would be essential—he couldn't afford mistakes when dealing with the Stone's defenses.
He retreated to an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor, carefully locking the door behind him. The room smelled of dust and forgotten lessons, its windows grimy enough to diffuse the afternoon light into a soft glow.
"Time to see what this body can really do," Vale murmured, rolling up his sleeves.
He started with the Disillusionment Charm, the spell he'd been refining for weeks. This time, he approached it differently—not forcing his Obscurus magic through the traditional framework, but allowing the two to coexist, like oil floating atop water.
"Praesidium Occultum," he whispered, tapping his wand against his forearm.
The familiar cold sensation trickled down his spine, but instead of fighting the discomfort, he breathed through it. His arm began to fade, not perfectly, but with fewer of the painful welts that had marked previous attempts.
"Better," Vale noted, examining the near-transparent limb. "But not good enough for Fluffy."
Next came wandless practice. Vale focused on a quill lying on a nearby desk, extending his hand toward it. He felt the Obscurus stir within him—not the violent, consuming force it could be, but a controlled current of power.
The quill trembled, then rose shakily into the air.
Vale held it suspended for thirty seconds before releasing his concentration. The quill clattered back to the desk.
"Wandless levitation might help with the flying keys," he reasoned. "But I'll need more than party tricks to get past the chess set."
What he needed most was information—precise details about each obstacle. The books had been vague, and Vale couldn't risk being unprepared.
He pulled out a small notebook and began listing potential sources: Hagrid for Fluffy, Hannah or Neville for the Devil's Snare, and perhaps he could provoke Flitwick into discussing enchanted objects.
"Knowledge first," Vale decided. "Then power."