"Oh, Hogwarts food is a million times better than that old hag's cooking!"
Standing outside the Great Hall, Annabelle patted her slightly rounded stomach in absolute satisfaction.
Richie silently nodded in agreement. That was just an undeniable fact.
"Alright, Richie. I had some warm clothes custom-made for you in Diagon Alley. The Hogwarts house-elves have already delivered them to your dorm."
"Make sure you actually wear them when it gets cold."
It was October, and the crisp autumn air was already starting to carry a real chill. While the standard wizarding robes had built-in temperature-regulating charms, nothing beat the comfort of actual, physical layers.
Richie felt a warm rush of affection and obediently nodded.
Annabelle reached out and aggressively ruffled his hair again, seemingly determined to squeeze a month's worth of head-pats into a single afternoon.
"I'm going to go bald! I'm going to go bald!" Richie quickly backpedaled, desperately escaping Annabelle's clutches.
Just then, Kingsley walked over.
"Hey, Richie. I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt. Senior Auror with the Ministry of Magic's Auror Office, and your aunt's colleague."
Kingsley reached into his robes and pulled out an immaculately wrapped gift box. "Since this is our first time meeting, and I wasn't entirely sure what you'd like, I picked this up for you at Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. It's a standard Black Walnut Wizard's Chess set."
"I hope you like it."
Richie looked at Kingsley, who was trying entirely too hard to project a friendly, fatherly aura, and then glanced over at Annabelle, who was currently rolling her eyes so hard she was practically looking at her own brain. He instantly understood the dynamic.
Ah. A suitor. Annabelle shot Richie a subtle shake of her head. Richie let out a silent sigh.
Poor Auror. Maybe in the next life. "I appreciate the gesture, but I'm actually not interested in Wizard's Chess," Richie said with a polite shrug, gently pushing the box back.
"Honestly, my academic workload at Hogwarts is incredibly heavy. I really don't have the free time for games."
"If possible, you should probably return it. Or, just keep it for yourself."
The sheer, unapologetic bluntness of Richie's rejection made Kingsley's hand freeze mid-air. But relying on his elite Auror training, he managed to keep the friendly smile plastered on his face.
"Is that so? My apologies, then. I clearly didn't think this through."
Putting the chess set away, Kingsley internally kicked himself, aggressively analyzing his tactical error.
Right! Annabelle's nephew is a Ravenclaw!
How could I forget the fundamental nature of the Ravenclaw eagles? They're obsessed with studying! I should have bought him a rare book!
It was actually incredibly ironic. Just a few minutes ago at the Gryffindor table, he had explicitly conducted "market research," asking the student next to him how he would react if someone gave him a Wizard's Chess set as a first-meeting gift.
The red-haired kid had looked at him with wild, burning passion and practically shouted, "If someone gave me that, I'd literally do whatever they asked!"
Hearing that response, Kingsley had felt incredibly smug, entirely convinced he had made a genius purchase.
He had completely forgotten that Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were essentially two entirely different species!
"Alright, I won't keep you from your nap any longer."
"I'll send you another present for Christmas."
Annabelle was immensely satisfied with how Richie had handled the situation. She had seen him, gotten her requisite head-pats in, and now it was time to go. She still had a mountain of paperwork waiting for her back at the Ministry.
"Let's go, Auror Shacklebolt."
With that, Annabelle spun on her heel and strode away.
Seeing her leave, Kingsley quickly pulled a card from his robes and handed it to Richie.
"If you ever need anything, feel free to contact me. This is my direct address."
With that, Kingsley turned and jogged after Annabelle.
Richie looked down at the business card.
Kingsley Shacklebolt. Auror Office, Room 05, British Ministry of Magic.
He shook his head and tucked the card away. Who knew? It might actually come in handy someday.
With the drama over, Richie headed back to Ravenclaw Tower.
"It's here... at Hogwarts!"
"Find it... find it!!"
In the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Quirrell was curled up on the floor, clutching his head in absolute agony, his entire body trembling violently.
"Master... Master!"
"I know... I know!"
Hearing Quirrell's desperate submission, the raspy, hissing voice echoing from the back of his head finally relented.
"Do it quickly!"
The excruciating pain receded like the tide. Utterly relieved, Quirrell collapsed flat against the stone floor, gasping heavily for air. His wizarding robes were completely drenched in cold sweat.
After what felt like an eternity, Quirrell shakily pushed himself off the floor and stumbled over to his desk.
Without even bothering to clean himself up, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a leather-bound journal.
The pages were filled with erratic, frantic notes:
> Infiltrated Vault 713 disguised in a hooded cloak. Vault was completely empty.
> Extracted memories from the goblin Griphook. The package is at Hogwarts.
> ...
> Unicorn blood can sustain life... but those who drink it will suffer a terrible curse!
> ...
Quirrell grabbed a quill and frantically scribbled a new entry.
> Confirmed: The Philosopher's Stone is currently inside Hogwarts Castle.
> If Dumbledore himself feared he couldn't resist the Stone's temptation, then it absolutely isn't hidden in the Headmaster's Office!
> "Those who do not wish to die a highly painful death should avoid the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side."
> The third-floor corridor!
Quirrell's eyes gleamed with manic intensity. He quickly added another line.
> I need to choose the perfect moment to verify the defenses. Ideally, when the castle is plunged into complete chaos.
Quirrell's quill paused for a fraction of a second before aggressively slashing a single word across the parchment.
> HALLOWEEN!
After Aunt Annabelle left, Richie got back to his dorm and checked out the clothes she had sent up.
It was a solid haul—a few wool sweaters, some thick long johns, and a small silk pouch. The pouch was identical to the one she had given him before, packed with the exact same amount of Galleons.
Richie scratched his head. He was pretty sure he'd explicitly told her she didn't need to send him any more money...
Whatever. Since it was already here, he'd just stash it away for emergencies.
But wait... why were there a few short-sleeved t-shirts mixed in? Did the shop accidentally pack them by mistake?
Richie folded everything away and crawled into bed for a quick nap.
His afternoon class was History of Magic. He needed to be fully rested if he was going to survive Professor Binns's devastatingly effective acoustic warfare.
That evening, Richie headed to the library as usual.
Having finished another book, he was following the next recommendation on Professor Flitwick's reading list: Principles of Magical Latency.
After stepping into the library and signing in, Richie followed the catalog system deep into the labyrinth of towering bookshelves.
Principles of Magical Latency was categorized under 'Applied Magical Theory,' a fairly niche sub-genre, so it was tucked away in one of the more remote, dusty aisles.
Just as Richie located the correct section, he spotted two shadowy figures hiding behind the shelves, whispering furiously to each other.
"Honestly, Fred, harvesting magical creature dung is a massive waste of time!"
"Tell me about it, George. And we desperately need to cut overhead costs!"
"The first generation of Dungbombs is way too expensive to produce. Nobody can afford them!"
"We need to completely overhaul the formula..."
Ahem.
Richie let out a light cough. The two figures violently flinched, snapping to attention and spinning around in sheer panic.
Seeing it was just a first-year student, they both let out massive sighs of relief.
"Merlin, I thought that was Madam Pince."
"We were two seconds away from getting permanently banned."