~ 💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 60→1ch | 100→2ch | 200→5ch ⏰ Resets Monday! Thanks!
Quirrell didn't hear Anthony's muttering. He stared into the forest opposite Anthony for a while, then scanned his surroundings with suspicion.
"I see you," Quirrell said.
Anthony remained crouched behind the tree. Quirrell waited, tense and alert. Finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He collapsed back beside the unicorn's body, wracked by a fit of harsh, wet coughing. In that moment, anyone could have walked right up and finished him. Crushed him like a snail shell. Made his pale, weak soul spill out. Anthony didn't move.
When the coughing subsided slightly, Quirrell fumbled for the horn protruding from the unicorn's side. He gripped it and pulled. It came free with a wet, sucking sound. Thick, silver-white blood slowly welled from the wound. Quirrell leaned over the corpse, pressed his mouth to the gash, and began to drink. Gulp. Gasp. Sputter. A wet, choking sound. After a minute, he pulled away. He used the sharp horn to stab another hole into the carcass. More silvery blood seeped out. The unicorn stared with vacant eyes at the green leaves above. Its legs were stiff, curled in death.
A long time passed. Then, a sudden rustle behind Anthony.
In a forest, rustling was normal. Forests did that. But an instinct made him freeze. He pressed himself flat against the tree trunk. Held his breath. Didn't move.
Something slid past his side.
A large snake. It glided through the undergrowth with uncanny grace, moving toward Quirrell. It climbed onto the unicorn's body. The moment its cool scales touched Quirrell's wrist, Quirrell flinched. He looked up.
"Oh, Nagini…" he whispered to the serpent, as if it could understand him. "I know, I know… I'm coming back to the master now…"
He took a few final, desperate gulps of blood, shoved the horn back into the carcass, and staggered to his feet. He followed the snake's path, stumbling as he went. Anthony cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and followed.
The snake and Quirrell approached an ancient, thick-bellied tree. Nagini hissed and slithered up the trunk. Several vines hanging from the branches suddenly moved, parting to make way for her—Anthony realized they weren't vines. They were snakes, draped like living ropes.
"Master…" Quirrell said, his voice trembling. "You were looking for me, Master?"
The reply was cold. Icy. "Was I looking for you, Quirinus? Of course. Without you, who would bring me food and drink? Do I not need you every moment of every day?"
Quirrell fell to his knees before the tree. "The honor is mine, Master."
His master didn't answer. Instead, he uttered a series of chilling, sibilant noises. Parseltongue, Anthony thought. He edged closer, trying to pinpoint Voldemort's hiding place. He could almost smell the rotten stench of that soul, but he saw nothing. Perhaps Voldemort was hidden in the thick canopy, among the snakes. Though, given the recent downpour, a tree wasn't a suitable home unless they'd built a cozy little shelter.
As he pondered, the cold voice spoke again. "Nagini tells me you visited the unicorn again, Quirinus."
"J-Just to bring some back for you, Master," Quirrell defended himself, voice full of fear.
"Do not lie to Lord Voldemort." The voice was soft, smooth. "It is no matter, Quirinus. Lord Voldemort is merciful. You have stayed with me, hiding in this forest. You have endured me in this state. Do you not deserve a reward?"
Quirrell seemed even more terrified. He buried his head in his arms. "Master, you are always strong. Growing stronger each day. To be of use to you is my only honor."
"A lie. Lift me out. Fetch me some snake venom and porridge."
Quirrell shuddered, stood, and held out his arms. The giant serpent dropped from the tree onto him. It coiled around his torso, slithered up his neck. The weight made Quirrell gasp. With the snake draped around him, he shuffled forward and reached into the tree trunk—it was hollow—and withdrew a bundled shape. He cradled it stiffly in his arms.
Nagini hissed, urging him on.
Quirrell sat on the ground, carefully placed the bundle on his lap, and held up a large leaf. When he lowered it, the leaf had transformed into a shallow bowl. Nagini slid off him, glided to the bowl's edge, and sank her fangs into the rim. Venom dripped into the bowl with a soft hiss.
Quirrell lifted the bowl toward the bundle. "Master, would you like some milk…"
"I said porridge," Voldemort's icy voice emanated from the bundle.
"We have no oats left, Master," Quirrell whispered.
Voldemort's voice was light, silky. "No oats?"
"But we have bread!" Quirrell said quickly. "If I could just return to the old camp, Master—"
"Return to the old camp. An excellent proposal." Voldemort's voice was a purr. "And then you could walk away. Leave me here. Isn't that right, Quirinus? You probably hope that when you return in three days—if you have the courage—you will find only my corpse…"
"No, Master, no! I didn't mean that!" Quirrell cried. "It's just… Hippogriffs have claimed that area. It's too dangerous for Nagini and the others… If you would allow me to go, I could retrieve everything in under an hour… Bread, sausages…"
"I do not need them, Quirinus." Cold. Final. "Go to the nearby Muggle village. Fetch some. Take Nagini with you. If her appetite is good, she may have a few Muggles as well."
"B-But, Master—"
"Lord Voldemort's patience is not infinite, Quirinus. Or perhaps you see me so pitiful, so weak, that you believe you can contradict me at will?"
"No, Master—" Quirrell's words cut off. A strangled scream tore from his throat. His body convulsed. Breath came in ragged gasps. The scream dissolved into choked sobs.
"The Necromancer did teach us a few things, didn't he?" Voldemort said, languid. "The soul… A fascinating subject. Do you know why I no longer wish to possess you, Quirinus?"
The torture seemed to cease. Quirrell panted, too weak to answer.
"Because you are weak," Voldemort whispered. "I have come to realize that squeezing my soul into your body… it taints me with your weakness. Your indecision. Now tell me, what are you hesitating over? Surely you are not still pondering the morality of theft and robbery, Quirinus? Not after all you have already done?"
"It's not that, Master," Quirrell said weakly, speaking to the bundle on his lap. "It's the village… the nearest Muggle village… That's unicorn territory. It's where we encountered the one enraged by the curse."
"And killed the beast. Made good use of its corpse." Voldemort's tone was dismissive. "Yes, Quirinus. Compared to a punctured stomach, Lord Voldemort's command is of little consequence."
"I'll go, Master. I'll go now."
"First, the milk."
Quirrell leaned forward, obedient, careful. He conjured a spoon and fed milk to the bundle. A soft hissing filled the air again. Nagini, lying nearby, lifted the front half of her body and slithered toward Quirrell. She climbed onto his shoulder.
"M-Master," Quirrell whispered. "My wand…"
Voldemort laughed. The sound was as cold as his voice. "You do not need it, Quirinus. Nagini will assist you."
…
The bundled Voldemort was returned to the hollow tree. Quirrell, with the giant serpent coiled around him, began walking toward the forest's edge. Anthony followed them, leaving the tree—and its occupant—behind.
Quirrell's steps were unsteady but fast. He knew this forest well. But with Felix Felicis guiding him, Anthony followed without difficulty. Quirrell wove through the trees, crossed a narrow path, and soon, a few houses appeared beyond the treeline. Anthony recognized the village where he'd asked for water.
Quirrell stopped. He stared at the sunlit village. Hesitated.
He bent down, searched the ground, and picked up a few fist-sized stones. He weighed each one in his hand, testing them. He stuffed them into his pockets. Finished, he straightened up, breathing a little harder. He took a few more steps forward, then suddenly whirled around, scanning the forest behind him.
Nagini reared up beside his head. Her mouth gaped open. She released an irritated, threatening hiss. Quirrell glanced at the open maw with distaste, then turned and walked out of the forest.
At that moment, a sudden, powerful impulse seized Anthony. Drop the charm.
He strode forward, moving past Quirrell, then turned. He canceled the Disillusionment Charm and walked directly toward the man, appearing in front of him.
Quirrell stared. He stumbled back, hand diving into his pocket, grasping for a wand that wasn't there. His fingers closed on stone. His right hand stayed buried in his pocket, his mouth half-open, his face pale as parchment.
"Professor Quirrell." Anthony nodded, as if they'd simply bumped into each other in a Hogwarts corridor.
Nagini reacted the instant he appeared.
The serpent launched herself from Quirrell's shoulders. She hooked onto an overhead branch, swung, and dropped onto Anthony. Fangs sank into his neck. Her massive body coiled tight around his torso, constricting. If he'd needed to breathe, he might have been in trouble.
"Relashio!" Anthony muttered, pressing his wand against the snake's body.
For a split second, the coils loosened. Then they tightened again, with crushing force. The snake deliberately squeezed his wand hand, trying to snap the wood.
"Anthony!" Quirrell gasped. He seemed to snap out of his stupor. He strode forward, pulled a stone from his pocket, raised it high, and brought it down—aiming for Anthony's head.
Anthony watched him. Compared to a year ago, Quirrell looked worse. Gaunt cheeks. Matted hair. Eyes that seemed too large for his skeletal face. Their eyes met. Quirrell blinked. His arm trembled. The second blow was much weaker than the first. Perhaps Voldemort was right. Quirrell had a soul prone to hesitation.
Anthony reached out and pulled Nagini's soul free. It was the easiest, cleanest act of Necromancy he'd ever performed. The massive serpent's body went limp, falling to the ground like a length of heavy rope.
In theory, a snake's soul should be similar to a Basilisk's. Like tissue paper. But as he prepared to consume it, he paused. Something was off. This soul… it had a scent. Faint, but distinct. It smelled… almost human. Perhaps it was just a very intelligent snake, capable of emotion and thought. Maybe it was tainted by Voldemort's presence.
But it smelled almost human. Anthony was deeply perplexed. In his short career as a Necromancer, he'd never encountered anything like it.
Felix Felicis gave his gut a sharp, insistent shove. Eat. Now.
Anthony decided not to risk it. He crumpled the soul into a tight ball and shoved it back into the serpent's body. Felix Felicis twisted his stomach in protest, screaming that this was a mistake. Before the snake could fully regain itself, Anthony slashed his wand. A clean, efficient severing charm—the one Mrs. Weasley had taught him for chopping beef bones—cut the giant serpent cleanly in two.
During this, Quirrell landed a third blow to his head. The fourth blow stopped mid-air as Quirrell saw Nagini, now in two pieces.
Anthony pointed his wand at Quirrell. The wound on his head sealed shut before the man's horrified eyes.
"Uh, hello…" Quirrell said, the stone still raised. He tried to twist his lips into a smile. It was a ghastly sight. "Professor Anthony."
"Trying to kill me, Quirrell?" Anthony asked softly.
"No, I—I mean, I—" Quirrell seemed to have regained his old stutter.
"I'm listening."
Suddenly, Quirrell dropped the stone. He sank to the ground, leaning back against a tree trunk. "Yes. Of course I wanted to kill you. I had to. Do you understand? Could I just say hello, chat about the weather, and walk away? If the master found out, he'd kill me!" A strange, twisted smile touched his lips. He raised his hands and covered his face. "Now I see. I can't kill you. No wonder the master is so interested in you… So go on. Kill me."
"That's not my style," Anthony said. "Tell me. That 'master' of yours… it's Voldemort, isn't it?"
Quirrell flinched. Still hiding behind his hands, he gave a tiny, reluctant nod.
"The snake is dead. He won't know," Anthony said. "I know he has your wand. Does he have any other weapons?"
Quirrell lowered his hands. He looked up. "The master is the most powerful wizard in the world, Anthony. The most powerful. He doesn't need weapons. He wields powers you can't even imagine. Dark, potent magics even Dumbledore doesn't understand. You might think your Necromancy gives you an edge… cough …but even at his weakest, the master found a way to counter the Necromantic curse. So—"
Another coughing fit cut him off. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a crude, homemade bottle. With a grating squeak, he twisted the cap off. Half-congealed, silvery liquid oozed from the trembling bottle. He swallowed it greedily.
"For some people, finding a way to treat a cat scratch might be a point of pride," Anthony mused. "But you said this is Voldemort at his weakest. Is he weaker now than when he was possessing you?"
Quirrell said, "The master has always been—"
"Skip the 'most powerful wizard' speech," Anthony interrupted. "Yes or no, Professor?"
A mocking smile touched Quirrell's lips. "Yes, Professor Anthony. Go find him. Perhaps he'll spare you. You're more useful than I am. But you're also more foolish… Like I was once. Stupid. Clinging to an outdated notion of good and evil, unable to see that power is all that matters."
"You believe Voldemort is the most powerful wizard," Anthony said, walking closer. "So back at the unicorn you killed… why did you call for Professor Dumbledore?"
Quirrell turned his head away. Silent.
"Do you know you called his name?" Anthony sat down beside him. "Full of fear… but also hope?"
Quirrell's eyes opened a sliver. He looked at Anthony beside him. Anthony didn't break the silence. Felix told him to wait.
Just as he thought he'd get no answer, Quirrell closed his eyes again.
"Because I'm weak," he whispered.
"You killed a unicorn. You've robbed people. That doesn't seem weak to me," Anthony said. "But besides that… have you hurt any other innocents?"
"Only when necessary. No more."
"What does 'necessary' mean?"
"Oh, for research," Quirrell said, opening his eyes. A spark of life, of manic energy, lit his gaunt face. "For the master to have a barely functional body… the potions required testing. And the unicorn blood curse… with only myself as a subject, the sample size was too small. Then there was the research on stripping away Necromantic effects… we had to understand why physical injuries carried that cursed resonance…"
"One last question," Anthony said. "Do you regret it?"
"What?"
"I'm not very good at this, but I suspect it's what Professor Dumbledore would do," Anthony said. "After doing these things… hurting these people… do you feel regret?"
Quirrell was silent for a long moment. Then he laughed. The sound held none of his earlier bitterness or mockery. For a second, he looked almost like the man Anthony had first met.
"I suppose the answer you want to hear is 'yes'," Quirrell said. "If I said I regretted it, would I get to live? But… no matter. I do not regret it. I suppose I regret not getting to see what the Philosopher's Stone looks like."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
📚 BOOK COMPLETED ON PATREON!📚
This story has reached its conclusion on my Patreon!
🔥 Full story available now
💎 Exclusive bonus content & early access to new books
👉 Join my Patreon community today!
✨patreon(.)com/GoldenLong
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━