Interested in Working for Me?

That was right—something had gone wrong with Quirrell's state of mind, and it was a very serious problem!

He was incredibly nervous inside. Not only him, but Voldemort as well!

He did not know why his master, Voldemort, was acting this way, but that did not stop him from wondering whether Voldemort was simply too weak now to deal with Dumbledore.

On top of that, Noah had already shaken him up before. He felt that all his secrets had been exposed, and Dumbledore was also rushing here.

Unable to deal with Dumbledore, they naturally had no way of leaving safely!

The best possible outcome might be dying here outright. The worst would probably be ending up in Azkaban.

Azkaban was a terrifying place, guarded by Dementors. They were dreadful creatures known as "soulless demons."

They fed on people's positive emotions. Once prisoners had been locked up for some time, they would lose all conviction, all good feelings, and all good thoughts.

Their darkest and most horrifying memories would replay endlessly in their minds. Some went mad, while others died in despair.

Quirrell swore that he would rather die than encounter those damned monsters that should never have existed in this world!

So he chose to flee. He had to get out of this damned place as quickly as possible!

Interestingly, Voldemort did not stop Quirrell. He even tacitly approved of Quirrell's decision and offered him a few suggestions.

So after casting Incendio, Quirrell casually cast Impedimenta as well, then turned to leave.

As for those students?

In his and Voldemort's eyes, they had probably already been turned into charcoal by now.

Although Rocky had noticed that the boy called Noah had cast an advanced spell like Protego Totalum, he was only a first-year. How much magical power could he possibly have?

Even if Dumbledore happened to arrive now, he probably would not have the time to trouble them, would he?

If eight students died at once, his position as headmaster would likely be finished. He might even face judgment in Azkaban.

"What a pity. We still haven't found the Philosopher's Stone."

Quirrell sighed. All he could do now was return the way he had come.

Capturing Noah and the others as hostages would have been an excellent choice, but he believed time was pressing, and Voldemort agreed. It was better for them to leave quickly.

However, just as Quirrell was about to reach the place where he had entered, he suddenly sensed that something was wrong!

The air was filled with the scent of magic, and he could feel a not-insignificant amount of magical power gathering behind him.

"Protego!"

Almost instinctively, Quirrell hurriedly cast a defensive spell on himself.

The moment he finished casting it, blazing flames erupted around him!

Clearly, he was under attack!

Quirrell had no idea who was attacking him, nor did he want to think about it. At that moment, all he wanted was to leave as quickly as possible!

But terrifyingly, the caster seemed extremely experienced. Just as he was about to cast another defensive spell, the person interrupted him!

Silencing! It was an advanced spell that forced someone in the middle of casting to interrupt their own magic!

But the spell had an extremely demanding requirement—it had to hit the caster at precisely the right moment.

Too early would not work, because the spell would fail. Too late would not work either. If the other person had already finished casting before you used it, what were you doing, offering them a post-cast cigarette?

Those who could use this spell to interrupt an opponent's magic either knew their opponent extremely well or were terrifyingly skilled wizards!

Quirrell instinctively assumed it was the latter. Almost immediately, he decided that Dumbledore must have arrived!

What should I do? What should I do?

Quirrell could neither speak nor cast spells. A Silencing Charm that interrupted a wizard in the middle of casting would throw that unlucky person's magic into disarray.

Quirrell was that unlucky person now. After thinking for less than a second, he immediately gritted his teeth and turned around!

If he ran faster, he might still have a chance. If he was too slow?

Then the outcome would either be death or a lifetime of being "well cared for" by Dementors in Azkaban!

Neither was what he wanted!

"Run faster! There might still be a chance!"

Quirrell quickened his pace and sprinted forward.

But how could a person's speed possibly outrun magic that had been waiting in readiness?

Quirrell had barely taken two steps when he despairingly felt a terrifying surge behind him, followed by a voice he never could have imagined hearing!

"Sectumsempra!"

It was a child's voice. Quirrell could tell, and he could even clearly identify it as the voice of that boy, Noah Finneal!

But the next instant, he could not think any further—he felt endless pain!

Noah's magic was like a razor-sharp blade, slicing straight across Quirrell's back. In an instant, Quirrell felt his entire back soaked through!

An indescribable pain instantly consumed his mind. Before he could even let out a scream, he fainted.

Harry and Ron stared dumbstruck. When had they ever seen such a horrifying sight?

Especially when they noticed a cloud of black smoke suddenly rising from behind Professor Quirrell, whose fate was unknown, they became utterly at a loss!

Compared to them, Kate and the others were much calmer.

They had long since witnessed Noah's strength, but this time, Noah seemed to have grown even stronger.

That immediately made them feel the pressure on them mounting, but it also gave them even more motivation!

"Good heavens! What is this? What on earth are you doing?"

Just as they were about to ask what that cloud of black smoke was, a voice suddenly rang out behind them.

Noah and the others did not even need to turn around to know who had arrived.

"Um, Professor McGonagall—"

"Long time no see, McGonagall."

Just as Noah was about to say something, the cloud of black smoke slowly revealed a human figure and spoke.

The voice sounded as though it had come from hell itself—hoarse and icy, enough to send shivers down one's spine.

"Tom? No, Riddle! Is that you?"

Professor McGonagall almost instinctively drew her wand and shielded Noah and the others behind her. She stared warily at the cloud of black smoke and said to Noah and the others without looking back, "Noah, take them back to the dormitory at once! Inform Professor Snape, and put the entire school on alert!"

"What a nostalgic name. But there is no need for this, McGonagall. Can't you see that I cannot maintain this state much longer?"

"When facing you, I cannot let my guard down no matter what state you are in, Voldemort!"

"As you wish."

Voldemort's voice remained hoarse, but he clearly had no interest in dealing with McGonagall. Instead, he looked directly at Noah. "Noah Finneal, correct? You are very good. Truly, you are very good! Your talent may one day surpass even mine!"

"Is that so? Should I thank you for the compliment?" Noah found it rather baffling. Harry was standing right beside him, so why was Voldemort staring at him?

"Are you interested in joining me? I can guarantee that you will gain far more!"

Voldemort completely ignored Noah's response and spoke to him in that cold, hellish voice.

His tone was intensely fervent, as if he were some kind of god. He sounded utterly insane!

Yet as Voldemort spoke, everyone, including Professor McGonagall, grew tense without exception. They all looked at Noah.