Quirrell’s widening eyes lock on yours in the blue candlelight, and the chamber seems to freeze around the sharp edge of your wand. Your scar erupts with a violent ache, warning and fury tangled together, while Snape’s expression hardens into something unreadable. The hidden room is so silent you can hear the faint crackle of flame and the rasp of Quirrell’s ragged breath. He starts to plead, but the spell is already leaving your wand.

The cutting curse flashes across the chamber in a bright, merciless arc, and Quirrell jerks back against the bindings before collapsing into stillness. For an instant, the open book on the table flares white-hot, then the glow gutters as though the room itself has lost its pulse. Beneath the stone, something answers with a heavy, ominous удар that shakes dust from the beams. Snape looks at you with cold shock, and the trapdoor shivers as whatever was below begins to wake in earnest.