Astra had breezed through all the traps guarding the Philosopher’s Stone with the grace of someone who really didn’t need to be here. The Devil’s Snare? Pfft. She casually incinerated it with a flick of her wand as if she were swiping a fly off her shoulder. The flying keys? She caught one mid-air like she was grabbing a croissant from a bakery display. And the chessboard? Ten minutes tops, leaving the pieces toppled in her wake, grinning like she’d just beaten someone in Monopoly.
So when she reached the final chamber and saw Quirrell standing there, looking more ridiculous than ever in front of the Mirror of Erised, she wasn’t exactly shocked. What did surprise her, however, was the level of drama.
“Ah, Astra Potter!” Quirrell croaked dramatically, his voice wavering with villainous zeal that could only be described as “someone took way too many acting classes.” “You’ve come to stop me, haven’t you? You think you can foil my plan, but you’re too late! The Stone is already within my grasp!”
Astra didn’t even blink. “Oh, Merlin's beard, not this again,” she sighed. She had heard enough villain monologues to start a podcast about them. “Listen, Quirrell, I know you’ve got a whole ‘big reveal’ happening, but if you keep going, I’m going to start charging you for these drama lessons. They’re really not working for you.”
Quirrell blinked, clearly not prepared for this level of sass. “Y-you mock me?” he stammered, visibly offended.
Astra leaned back against a pillar, unbothered. “Not mocking just… commenting. Seriously, dude, if you need a stone to feel better about yourself, maybe you should, I don’t know, get a therapist? Or a pet? It’s a little sad, if I’m being honest.”
Quirrell’s face flickered with something like self-doubt, but he forged ahead, determined to stick to his villainous script. “I will revive the most powerful wizard ever! With the Stone, I’ll..”
“Yeah, yeah, power, immortality, world domination. Heard it all before,” Astra cut in, tapping her foot with the kind of impatience that only comes after hearing a thousand overdramatic speeches. “Honestly, Quirrell, you’re just recycling clichés at this point. Throw in some lightning or a fog machine at least try something new.”
Quirrell’s eyes widened. “You… you think this is a joke?!”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?” Astra raised an eyebrow. “You’re doing the whole villain aesthetic right deep breathing, the creepy monologues, the scowling. But, uh, buddy? You’re wearing a turban.”
Quirrell blinked, caught off guard. “I wear it to… to protect… to hide…”
“Hide what? Your hairline?” Astra grinned, folding her arms. “Seriously, no one’s fooled. Next thing you’re gonna reveal a rabbit under there, or maybe you’re just really into dark wizard fashion. Is this part of your ‘evil aesthetic’ or are you secretly a magician doing bad tricks?”
Quirrell’s face turned red, and he took a shaky breath. “You’ll regret this, Potter! I have no patience for mockery!”
“Good one,” Astra said dryly. “Honestly, Quirrell, at this point, just skip to the part where you reveal your ‘big weapon.’ I mean, it’s getting embarrassing. For you”
Quirrell, looking like he might cry, finally gave up on subtlety and, with an overly dramatic flourish, began to unroll his turban.
Astra stared, eyebrow raised in interest. “This is the big moment? What’s behind door number one, Quirrell?”
With a deep, theatrical breath, he revealed the back of his head and a pale, snake-like face glared at her, red eyes burning with fury.
“YOU DARE MOCK ME?!” Voldemort hissed, his voice like a shredded piece of sandpaper.
Astra blinked. Then she blinked again. “...Wait. Is that… a face? On the back of your head?”
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, furious. “IT IS I—LORD VOLDEMORT!”
Astra squinted at the back of Quirrell’s head like she’d accidentally walked into a bad costume party. “A snake? On your head? Are you a cursed hairpiece, or is that your ‘evil’ side hustle?”
Quirrell, flustered, stammered, “Th-this is Lord Voldemort! He’s the greatest dark wizard to ever live! He’s—he’s—”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Astra interrupted, crossing her arms. “I’m just saying, Voldemort, if you’re going for the ‘big bad’ vibe, maybe rethink the snake-on-the-head thing. It’s so last season. What’s with the whole ‘back of the head’ gig anyway? Trying to be a new trend or is this like some evil cosplay?”
Voldemort’s face twisted into a spasm of rage. “HOW DARE YOU INSULT ME?!”
Astra waved him off with a bored expression. “Look, Voldemort, you’ve gotta hire a stylist. Like, seriously. Maybe work on that whole ‘living-on-the-back-of-a-guy’s-head’ thing? It's honestly kind of sad.”
Quirrell was now just a red-faced mess, looking like he was about to spontaneously combust. Voldemort, on the other hand, looked like a deflating balloon. “I will have you killed for this insolence!”
Astra leaned in, as if studying the back of Quirrell’s head like a piece of modern art. “Oh, come on, Voldemort, who told you this was a good look? Seriously, you need a makeover. This whole ‘scary dark wizard’ thing is just not working for you. Get a consultant or something.”
Quirrell, looking like his entire life had been a lie, just gave up. “W-what do you want, Astra? Just leave! You don’t understand… the Stone…”
Astra casually strolled over to the pedestal, nonchalantly snatching up the Philosopher’s Stone and slipping it into her pocket. “Oh, right, the Stone. Almost forgot.” She waved. “Thanks for the souvenir, though. I’m off. This place gives me a headache.”
Voldemort screeched in pure fury. “YOU’RE LEAVING WITH IT?!”
Astra turned back to the pair, her smirk wide. “Well, I was thinking of just leaving it with you and letting you stew in your own snakeskin-covered misery, but it’s getting kinda late. So, yeah, I’m heading out. See ya never, Voldemort.”
With that, Astra spun on her heel and casually walked out, leaving Quirrellmort standing there, utterly defeated.
She paused at the door and glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, and Quirrell? Next time you’re thinking of being a villain, maybe get a better haircare routine, yeah?”
And with that, Astra exited, leaving Quirrellmort to wrestle with his shattered villainous dreams while she went off to have a snack.