Quirrell

The golden light of the portal dissipated, and Silas, along with Professor Quirrell who was tightly bound by the Sekern Red Belt, appeared on a desolate, silent clearing far from Hogwarts Castle. A cold wind howled, and all around were only withered yellow weeds and exposed rocks.

Quirrell (or rather, Voldemort controlling Quirrell) was clearly stunned by the sudden spatial transfer and restraint, but more so enraged! He (Voldemort) had never suffered such a humiliating disgrace!

"You... you little brat who doesn't know death! Let me go!" Quirrell's voice became sharp and distorted, filled with a malice that didn't belong to him.

Silas didn't waste any words with him. His eyes were icy, and with another wave of his left hand, another Sekern Red Belt shot out, precisely wrapping around Quirrell's left wrist! The two bright red energy tendrils, like red-hot chains, firmly locked Quirrell's arms to his sides. The powerful sealing force not only restrained his movements but also completely suppressed the flow of magic within him!

Quirrell (Voldemort) discovered with horror that he couldn't mobilize even a sliver of magic! The binding magic used by this red-haired kid had an energy level and sealing effect far beyond his imagination! What made him even more desperate was that the magic of Quirrell's body itself was far inferior to this strange child before him. Under the suppression of the double red belts, he didn't even have room to struggle!

"You... what do you want?!" Quirrell's voice carried genuine fear.

Silas didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, roughly snatching the wand clutched in Quirrell's hand. He gripped both ends of the wand and forcefully pushed his knee upwards!

"Crack!"

A crisp cracking sound echoed, and Quirrell's wand snapped in two, becoming two useless pieces of wood.

"No--!" Quirrell let out a desperate roar.

But that wasn't all! Silas threw away the broken wand, reached out, and grabbed the scarf emitting a strong garlic smell (an attempt to mask Voldemort's aura) from Quirrell's head, and yanked hard!

The scarf was pulled off, revealing the back of Quirrell's head... and, the pale, twisted, snake-like, ferocious face embedded in the back of Quirrell's head—Voldemort's face!

That face was extremely distorted with rage and exposure. Its scarlet eyes stared fixedly at Silas, letting out a hoarse growl, "You! How could you know?! How dare you-- Argh!!"

Before he could finish speaking, Silas had already lifted his foot and, with all his might, delivered a fierce kick to that nauseating face!

"Bang!"

Voldemort let out a cry of pain, his entire face contorted by the kick.

The rage and disgust in Silas's heart erupted completely. He no longer used any magic, but instead, like a street brawl, his fists and feet rained down on Quirrell's body—or rather, on the body Voldemort was inhabiting!

"Serves you right for harming people! For possessing! For causing trouble!"

Fists smashed into ribs, making dull thuds; kicks landed on knee joints, forcing Quirrell (Voldemort) to his knees. Silas was completely venting, using the most primitive, most violent method to beat the perpetrator who brought fear and chaos to Hogwarts.

As he hit, he gritted his teeth and growled, "It's a shame I can't use the Cruciatus Curse on you! Otherwise, I'd definitely let you taste what it's like to wish you were dead!"

He remembered his "oath" to Dumbledore and did not use the Unforgivable Curses, but this purely physical beating was brutal enough to make any bystander tremble. Quirrell's body let out pained groans and wails under the one-sided beating, while Voldemort's face on the back of his head was twisted to the extreme by intense anger and humiliation, emitting silent, venomous curses.

On this desolate clearing, Silas, a first-year student at Hogwarts, was inhumanely beating the weakened Dark Lord Voldemort in a manner extremely unbecoming of a wizard. The scene was filled with absurdity, violence, and an... indescribable, subversive shock.

As he beat, he muttered to himself, his tone filled with the calmness and mockery of a "professional":

"I used to study medicine! I know human anatomy very well! Don't worry, I definitely won't beat you to death! But... I'll make you wish you were dead!"

Every punch and kick was accompanied by Quirrell (Voldemort)'s pained grunts and twitches. Voldemort's face, parasitic on the back of his head, was distorted by extreme pain and humiliation. His scarlet eyes burned with immense rage and malice. He mustered all his strength, letting out hoarse curses like a venomous snake flicking its tongue:

"You... you're dead! When I recover my strength... I will make you... make you suffer all sorts of torture! You..."

"Die, your grandpa!" Silas interrupted him unceremoniously, delivering another kick to Quirrell's lower back, causing him to curl up in pain. "You pure-blood supremacist who talks about the nobility of wizard blood! Your mother was a witch, yes, but your father was a Muggle landlord! You're a half-blood yourself! What are you pretending to be!"

This statement was like a sharp knife, precisely piercing Voldemort's deepest pain and most hypocritical disguise! His background, which he most dreaded and desperately tried to conceal, was so contemptuously exposed by this little brat who appeared out of nowhere!

"Shut up!!!" Voldemort let out a shrill, cracking roar. His face contorted violently with extreme anger, almost detaching from the back of Quirrell's head. "You... how dare you... how do you know?!"

"I know a lot more than you think!" Silas landed another punch on Quirrell's nose, and blood gushed out instantly. "You twisted pervert! You hate the whole world because of your bad upbringing? And you concoct theories of pure-blood supremacy, killing so many people! What are you?!"

Each of Silas's scolding remarks was accompanied by precise physical blows, not only ravaging Quirrell's body but also frantically trampling on Voldemort's twisted self-esteem and pride. This dual torture of body and spirit drove the weakened Voldemort to the brink of madness! He had never suffered such a humiliating disgrace!

However, no matter how angry or how much he cursed, under the absolute restraint of the Sekern Red Belts and Silas's "professional" beating, he was powerless to resist, only able to passively endure this unprecedented humiliation.

This one-sided "lynching" continued on the desolate clearing. Silas Cyril, this first-year student at Hogwarts, was using his most "simple" method to enact his "justice" and simultaneously leave Voldemort, the Dark Lord, with an unforgettable, extremely stifling "psychological shadow."

Dumbledore and Snape, among others, finally found the secluded clearing outside Hogsmeade Village by tracking magic. When they rushed over, the scene before them made everyone gasp!

Professor Quirrell (or rather, his body) lay on the ground, covered in injuries, bruised and swollen, curled up and letting out weak groans. And the first-year student Silas Cyril stood beside him, his face a mixture of anger, disgust, and... a hint of exhaustion.

What made Dumbledore's pupils contract even more was that he clearly saw the face belonging to Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head had become extremely dim, distorted, and even somewhat blurry, as if it might dissipate at any moment! Voldemort's aura was extremely weak, clearly having suffered a severe blow!

Just as Voldemort (or rather, Quirrell's vital signs) were on the verge of completely extinguishing, Dumbledore saw Silas raise his hand and cast a "Reparo" on Quirrell, followed by an "Enervate."

A soft white light flashed, and the external injuries on Quirrell's body healed at a visible rate, and his breathing became a little stronger. But Voldemort's face didn't recover much, still looking like a dying wretch.

Then, Silas seemed to feel that the "treatment" was sufficient, and he raised his foot again, seemingly preparing to continue his "work"...

Dumbledore: "..."

Snape: "..."

The other professors who followed were also dumbfounded.

Dumbledore looked at the unbelievable scene before him, his heart struck with an unprecedented impact. He had expected to see Silas severely injured or even dead, or a fierce magical duel. But he never imagined that what he would see was... a one-sided, extremely primitive physical beating, combined with precise "medical maintenance" to ensure the target remained in a state of "wishing for death" torture?

This method, rather than combat, was more like a personal, extremely cruel form of lynching driven by emotion.

At this moment, Dumbledore's "training plan" for Harry Potter suddenly seemed... less important, even somewhat redundant.

He looked at the red-haired youth who was cursing and skillfully using healing spells to "keep" Voldemort alive, preparing to continue his assault. A crystal-clear thought formed in his mind:

(Internal monologue: Alright... it seems there's no need to deliberately train Harry to face Voldemort anymore.)

This child before him, Silas Cyril, the power he displayed, his methods, and his deep-seated hatred and relentless assault on Voldemort far surpassed the scope of "training." He was practically Voldemort's natural nemesis! Moreover, he seemed to need no "tempering" or "guidance"; he had his own set of principles and formidable strength.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the shock and complex emotions in his heart, and strode forward.

"Silas," his voice carried a hint of imperceptible weariness and relief, "that's enough. Stop."

Silas heard the voice and stopped his actions. He turned his head and saw Dumbledore and several professors, a hint of embarrassment at being "caught" on his face, but more so a look of dissatisfaction at "not being done hitting."

"Professor," he pointed at the half-dead Quirrell on the ground, "how should we deal with this menace?"

Dumbledore looked at his former student on the ground, a body completely corrupted by darkness, and the extremely weakened remnant soul of the Dark Lord. His eyes were complex. He knew that this matter might be ending prematurely in a way he had never anticipated.