On the day Gryffindor faced Hufflepuff in a Quidditch match, Scarlet didn’t join the rest of her House to cheer them on. Instead, she suited up in her battle attire, with Gáe Scáil in hand, setting a trap in Professor Snape’s office.

She concealed herself with stealth enchantment, hiding in a dark corner of the office, patiently waiting for her prey to step into the trap.

The idea had struck her the moment she heard Professor Snape would be refereeing the match. She quickly drafted a proposal for capturing the culprit red-handed and arranged a meeting with Professor Snape under the pretext of being a “hardworking student eager to clear up some doubts”.

Professor Snape’s expression remained unreadable as he reviewed her proposal. However, Scarlet caught a subtle shift in his eyes – a flicker of thought behind his perfectly composed poker face.

“And what, precisely, makes you believe you, a student barely of age, could do what Dumbledore himself failed to achieve?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, yet as cold and monotone as ever. “I’d be fascinated to know.”

“Yes, I agree I’m young and inexperienced, and he is indeed a skilled wizard with quick reflexes. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him in a fair, face-to-face fight.” Scarlet maintained her polite smile. “However, as you can see from my proposal, I don’t intend to fight him fairly. It’s a trap. I’ll have the upper hand.”

Professor Snape steepled his fingers, observing the girl before him with a calculating gaze. “Such ruthlessness,” he murmured, his lips curving in a wry smile. “Tell me, Ms. Hong – are you certain you’re a Hufflepuff, and not Gryffindor? One wonders if the Hat had an off day.”

“No, I’m very much a Hufflepuff - one who will stand against danger when necessary,” Scarlet replied calmly. “And now, I think it’s necessary. He’s a threat to the students, and I won't let my school years be ruined by his petty and foolish ambitions.”

Professor Snape remained silent, though his fingers tapped lightly against the parchment. She could tell he was contemplating whether to permit her plan.

Scarlet pressed on, “There’s a high chance he’ll come to your office for the healing potions. I can sense he’s suffering from the curse I placed on him during our encounter in the Forbidden Forest. He’s already tried to break into the third floor again, potions have gone missing from the hospital wing, and the stronger garlic smell is clearly his attempt to mask the stench of his rotting wound. During the Quidditch match, the hospital wing will be crowded with injured players, and Madame Pomfrey has tightened security around the potions. He’ll have little chance of stealing from there. The only place he can get top-quality healing potions is from your office, especially since you’ll be refereeing the match and won’t be here. He might try for another break-in at the third floor or targeting Harry, but I’m betting on him coming here.”

“You sound more like a Slytherin now,” Professor Snape remarked, his gaze sharpening. “Alarmingly dangerous with your line of thinking.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you,” Scarlet replied with a smile.

“Very well,” Professor Snape said finally, his voice a shade colder. “You may proceed. But I will have Professor McGonagall informed, and if even a hair is misplaced, you will bear full responsibility. Understood?”

Scarlet grinned. “Yes, Professor Snape. I’ll bring you the good news when it’s done.”

“Let’s hope, for your sake, there’s news worth sharing.” Snape’s eyes glinted with a mixture of scepticism and reluctant intrigue.

And that’s how she found herself lurking in the cold, dark dungeon office, waiting for her trap to spring.

It was a pain in the neck to have something on her schedule that she couldn’t control, with the outcome depending on a storyline she only vaguely remembered. Scarlet didn’t trust her hazy recollections when it comes to ensuring anyone’s safety. The troll incident had caught her off guard, and she despised that feeling of helplessness. So, this time, she decided to take control - to strike before the plot unfolded.

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Her breath was shallow as she become one with the shadows, concealed in the dark corner of Professor Snape’s office, waiting. Breakfast had begun, and she remained still, patiently anticipating the sound of the door creaking open.

An hour passed. Then another.

She wasn’t sure when the Quidditch match had started or when it would end, but she knew it was taking place in the morning. If nothing happened by lunchtime, her plan would have failed.

Then, finally, the door creaked. A strong smell of garlic, mixed with a hint of rot, wafted into the room.

Scarlet held her breath, watching as the man wearing a purple turban hurried inside and shut the door behind him, glancing around as though searching for something.

She didn’t move, remaining perfectly still as the man made his way to the exact spot where she had placed her hidden magic circle. In an instant, it activated.

There were no fancy lights or dramatic effects like when she had performed the ritual for Remus Lupin. The magic circle worked quietly and subtly, sending out dark, dim chains that slowly snaked around the man’s limbs as he continued scanning the room for potions. When he attempted to take another step, the chain tightened, binding him in place.

His body stiffened, his tongue went numb, and an icy chill ran down his spine. Without warning, he was lifted into the air like a puppet on strings. A gust of wind came from nowhere, sweeping across him roughly, dishevelling his robes. Then he noticed – his wand was wrenched from his grasp by the same gust, snapped cleanly in half right before his eyes!

“Who’s there--” He tried to shout, but his voice failed him. And only then did she hear it – a voice, chanting something unfamiliar, barely above a whisper.

“O Great Guardian of the Shadowy Land, the Queen who draws the line between life and death, your humble follower summons your guidance. For a shattered soul, seeking cowardly to escape the call of death --”

The chant echoed faintly through the room, mingling with Quirrell’s laboured breath. But another sound began to grow – a moan of pain, rising from beneath the purple turban. She knew why. The gaze of the deity was now fixed upon this very spot.

The Queen was watching her, checking to see if she was managing well. The Queen had always been a kind and caring teacher, treating her more like a student than a priestess.

“--In the name of Scáthach, the soul fragment meant for the land of the dead shall now perish--” As Scarlet finished her chant, a dark, ghostly figure erupted from the turban.

It writhed and thrashed against the bindings she had cast, and Scarlet felt the force field slipping from her control. Without hesitation, she dispelled her stealth magic, gripped her spear tightly and shouted, “Gáe Scáil!”

The red spear, resonating with the chant, left her hand as Scarlet hurled it at her target. It struck the ghostly figure square in the middle, pinning it to the stone wall with a faint glow, holding the entity in place.

The apparition writhed, its voice twisting into a shrieked of fury and pain. “You dare – you dare defy Lord Voldemort, you wretched little Mudblood! I am eternal!” His voice grew weaker, each word laced with venom. “This is not over! I will return...and when I do, you will beg for mercy!”

The figure’s form slowly faded, clawing at the air in a final act of defiance. Scarlet could feel the Queen’s presence as she grasped the soul fragment witing her fingertips, offering Scarlet a silent, approving gaze as the figure’s presence finally dissolved into nothingness.

With a grin, Scarlet addressed the vanishing figure. “Don’t worry, I’ll send the rest of you to the shadowy land soon. Then, you’ll finally be whole again - where you belong.”

Perhaps the remnants of the soul tried to retort, but Scarlet could no longer hear it. The deity’s gaze lifted, and with it, the oppressive aura that had surrounded her since the dark wizard had first tried to escape.

As for Quirrell, when Scarlet turned toward him, she noticed something grim. His soul had been claimed by the Queen as well, but his death had been grotesque. The soul fragment she had just banished had drained him of every last bit of life, leaving him mummified, shrivelled like dry, brittle weeds. He looked fragile, as though any movement might cause him to crumble to dust.

Suddenly, the door flew open. Professor McGonagall stormed into the room, wand at the ready, “I heard a commotion – what in the Merlin’s name is happening here?!” she demanded, her eyes sweeping the scene before freezing on the dried-up body in the purple turban, then finally landing on Scarlet.

The professor’s glare intensified as she spotted the student in her unusual attire, standing by the wall where a charred, blackened mark pulsed with an unsettling aura – the only trace left of the dark wizard. Scarlet called her spear back to her hand, the action drawing further scrutiny from Professor McGonagall.

“Miss Scarlet Hong?!” the professor’s eyes narrowed, taking in Scarlet’s innocent, beaming smile. “Explain yourself!”

“I can,” Scarlet replied cheerfully. “But I’ll need Professor Dumbledore present as well, There’s something important I need to report.”

Professor McGonagall frowned. “And what, exactly, is that?”

Scarlet’s grin widened. “You-Know-Who.”

A gasped echoed through the room, the sound sharp and startled. Professor McGonagall stared at the young student in disbelief.