Looking at the scene of "bodies strewn everywhere" and listening to the groans filling the Hospital Wing.
Quirrell swallowed and had to admit:
Ethan Vincent really was a natural at Dark Magic.
Damn it! If it weren't for him, how would Quirrell have ended up in this state?!
He should have used a curse to knock Harry Potter off his broom and kill him during the Quidditch match!
He'd planned it all out. It should have been foolproof!
Quirrell clenched his teeth, wishing he could hit Ethan with ten Cruciatus Curses in a row.
[Don't disappoint me...]
In his mind, Voldemort's low, sinister voice echoed.
Like a lightning whip, it lashed across his nerves, making Quirrell shudder violently.
"Yes, yes, Master..."
Quirrell answered inwardly, forcing down his resentment.
That was right.
He still had to put on a magnanimous front and forgive Ethan for what he'd done to him.
He'd have to spend money, time, and knowledge
supporting and teaching Ethan as he researched his sinister paintings.
Damn it! He hated this!
"Are you all right, Professor Quirrell?" Professor McGonagall asked in surprise. "You look... a little pale."
His features were twisting all over the place, like he was having a fit.
Quirrell stiffened, then quickly gave an awkward laugh. "Yes, yes, an old injury acting up. It's nothing, ha ha!"
Professor McGonagall's eyes lit up. "Speaking of which, don't forget to give Ethan a fair and appropriate punishment. He needs to understand how wrong it is to attack a professor."
Quirrell was in such a foul mood that his head was buzzing.
He hadn't heard what Professor McGonagall said at all, and just nodded at random.
Seeing this, Professor McGonagall assumed he already had a plan.
She resolved to assert her authority as a professor and give Ethan a