After leaving the Quidditch match, Quirrell staggered to a wall near the Black Lake.
Leaning against the cold stone wall, Quirrell's hands trembled, his fingertips were quivering uncontrollably. He knew that after eating that strangely golden colored apple, sothing must have happened to Dark Lord.
Quirrell looked left and right, and after confirming no one was around, he finally sighed in relief. His fingers slowly reached for the heavy turban wrapped around his head. When his fingertips touched the rough fabric, his body instinctively shuddered.
"Master..." He pleaded tremblingly, "please forgive ."
However, Voldemort did not imdiately respond.
As the turban unwrapped layer by layer, Quirrell's head gradually beca exposed to the air. There, a pale and distorted face erged—It was obviously Voldemort's face.
"M-master..." Quirrell's voice was almost tearful, "I didn't know the apple would cause problems... I..."
At that mont, on the back of Quirrell's head. Voldemort had no patience for this foolish fellow.
His face gradually twisted and deford, finally transforming into a shadow-like black substance that detached from the back of Quirrell's head.
The black shadow hovered in the air for a mont, as if searching for a new host, then suddenly rushed toward a rat near the wall.
The poor rat had been hiding in the corner, nibbling on a small bread crumb. After the shadow invaded its body, its eyes instantly turned crimson red, and its fur stood on end.
Quirrell noticed this phenonon—obviously, Voldemort had left the back of his head and entered the body of the small rat in front of him.
"Master..." Quirrell's voice trembled as his legs gave way, and he knelt in front of the rat Voldemort had possessed.
The rat slowly turned around, its crimson eyes staring directly at Quirrell.
Voldemort's voice transmitted directly into Quirrell's mind: "Useless fool! Your body is no longer suitable for . So force is rejecting , forcing to leave your body."
Quirrell's face instantly turned even paler.
"I didn't know... didn't know it would be like that..." he said with his head down. "Master, what... what should I do? I don't want to disappoint you."
In fact, Voldemort regretted possessing Quirrell.
This man was terribly stupid!
He had so many Death Eaters to choose from, why did he choose Quirrell?
Look at himself now. Before, he could at least draw so energy from Quirrell, but now, he seed to have returned to his days in the Black Forest of Albania where he was only able to possess small animals to barely survive.
"Fool!" Voldemort's voice echoed in Quirrell's mind again. "I need to rest for a while. During this ti, you must be careful not to arouse anyone's suspicion, until that force in your body dissipates."
Quirrell nodded hastily, his voice trembling: "Yes, master... I'll be careful..."
Voldemort's voice gradually weakened, as if slowly moving away. "Good. Rember, Quirrell, if you fail again, I will make you pay..."
As Voldemort's voice disappeared, the rat slowly crawled toward Quirrell.
Quirrell extended his trembling hand, and the rat climbed up his arm, finally slipping into the pocket of his robe. After all this, Quirrell's body suddenly relaxed, and nearly collapsed to the ground, as he leaned against the wall, and began breathing rapidly, his face had also turned pale.
He looked around, making sure no one had noticed him before barely managing to stand up.
At that mont, he rembered Adrian's smiling face. That was definitely a extrely troubleso fellow!
He should probably have noticed sothing like Snape!
"Must... must be careful..." Quirrell muttered, his footsteps unsteady as he headed toward the castle. As for Voldemort's task of hindering Harry Potter, who cared about that now?
That evening, when Adrian arrived at the Great Hall, he found the Gryffindor table filled with a jubilant atmosphere.
In contrast, a heavy, depressed mood perated the Slytherin table.
This was understandable, after all, Gryffindor had won the Quidditch match, and in the days to co, Slytherin students would generally not be in good spirits.
Harry spotted Adrian right away, and when Adrian approached, he rushed straight up to him.
"Professor!" Harry said excitedly, "Did you see it? The Quidditch match!"
Seeing Harry's eager desire for praise, Adrian couldn't help but smile: "Of course, Harry, you flew brilliantly. I saw that final tail maneuver—the other side couldn't keep up with your speed at all."
Harry nodded, his face still flushed with excitent: "Thanks to Professor McGonagall's Nimbus 2000."
By coincidence, Professor McGonagall was standing nearby. Hearing Harry ntion her na, she walked over, her face showing a rare gentle smile. "Your performance today was outstanding, Harry. The Nimbus 2000 is indeed an excellent broom, but more important are your flying skills and courage."
"Exactly right," Adrian patted Harry on the shoulder.
At this mont, Professor McGonagall seed to rember sothing and said to Adrian, "Ah, I almost forgot, Professor Westeros. I recall you were quite good at Quidditch yourself."
"Really?" Harry asked in surprise.
"Indeed," McGonagall smiled, "A most impressive match, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. We didn't score a single goal—Professor Westeros was Hufflepuff's goalkeeper at the ti."
Harry listened with his mouth open in a perfect 'O', looking at Adrian in disbelief.
Adrian shrugged, "Ancient history."
After the conversation ended, Harry returned to the Gryffindor table, sitting between Ron and Hermione.
Ron was eating a pudding, while Hermione, even while eating, didn't put down her book.
Harry's gaze fell on the book in Hermione's hand.
"The History and Tactics of Quidditch?" Harry read the title on the cover. "What are you reading that for? Hermione, do you want to play Quidditch too?"
Hermione thoughtfully said, "I just want to know why wizards are so fond of Quidditch."
Ron, his mouth full of pudding, mumbled indistinctly, "Co on, Hermione, don't you like Quidditch? Weren't you watching with great interest just now?"
"That's different," Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron.
At that mont, a commotion arose beside them.
A photograph was passed to Harry.
"A photo taken by Professor Westeros, for you, Harry. Well done," a Gryffindor senior-year boy said to Harry.
Harry took the photo, looked down, and was stunned.
The photo captured a mont from his Quidditch match—him riding the Nimbus 2000, body slightly leaning forward, fingers almost touching the Golden Snitch.
Moreover, it was a moving magical photograph.
"You can hang it beside your bed, Harry," Ron said excitedly. "It's quite aningful."
________________
You can read more chapters on:
/IamLuis
User Comments
0 comments from readers