A Small Lesson

Wednesday always arrives, whether Klein wants it to or not.

After dinner with his friends, he walked alone to the third floor of the castle, arriving at the office of "Defense Against the Dark Arts," Quirinus Quirrell's office.

"Knock, knock, knock."

At precisely seven o'clock, Klein rapped the brass lion knocker on the door.

"Creak~"

The door swung open with the characteristic groan of old wood. Quirinus Quirrell stood in the center of the room, smiling as he looked at Klein outside and gestured for him to enter.

"Ah~ Grindelwald, you you've arrived, I'm so glad. Please please come in."

"Good evening, Professor Quirrell."

Klein walked into the office with a smile.

"Sit, Grindelwald, I I'll get you some refreshments."

With a flick of his wand, Quirrell closed the door and stuttered, inviting Klein to sit. Though he thought he was being discreet, Klein sensed a faint magical fluctuation the moment he waved his wand.

The office was completely sealed off from the outside world.

What is he doing? Casting a spell on me?

He found it amusing inwardly but showed nothing on his face. Klein sat obediently on the only low sofa in Quirrell's office and said, "Professor, Draco mentioned you had some things about curses you wanted to teach me."

Quirrell and Draco Malfoy had spoken of "exchanging ideas," but Klein framed it as "teaching." It had to be said, this subtle flattery made Quirrell quite comfortable, even making his forced smile seem a bit more natural.

"Haha, what could I possibly teach the genius of our Hogwarts? You know I'm just a bookworm, not very capable."

Quirinus Quirrell had been an outstanding student from Ravenclaw. Even Klein found it hard to listen to him belittle himself so much. But remembering his plan, he had to suppress the urge to draw his wand and eliminate Voldemort on the spot. He waved his hands repeatedly, feigning humility and stating he still had much to learn.

"Good boy, Grindelwald, good boy."

Quirrell brought over two cups of black tea and a plate of biscuits.

"Here, try some."

"Thank you."

Although he had eaten quite a bit in the dining hall earlier, it was clearly impolite to refuse Quirrell's "kindness" now. Klein picked up his teacup, his vigilance heightened.

However, the warning spell he had cast on himself earlier didn't activate, which he found rather strange.

Why hasn't Voldemort made a move yet?

"Master, why aren't we acting?"

In reality, Quirrell, with a smile on his face, was already struggling to contain the endless malice within him. But Voldemort's weak voice echoed in his mind, constantly reminding him to be cautious and not act impulsively.

It's not time yet.

"Grindelwald, I heard you're German..."

Suppressing his impatience, Quirrell's eyes darted around as he spoke with a forced smile, his face full of habitual fawning.

"Yes, Professor Quirrell, I'm from Berlin."

Klein replied neither subserviently nor arrogantly, his eyes as clear and pure as a spring stream in early spring.

Such beautiful eyes.

Voldemort, sharing his senses, marveled inwardly. Such a pure soul only intensified his greed.

He must have this body!

"Berlin is a good place..."

Clearly sensing his master's desire for this damned brat before him, Quirrell forced an unnatural smile.

He picked up his teacup and continued, "Let's talk about curses, curses. I'm very interested in your newly improved, newly improved curses."

Interested in curses? Who are you kidding?

Klein chuckled inwardly but went along with the conversation. Besides the "Improved Healing Spell," he also deliberately revealed a "tiny bit" of his unique understanding of other curses.

Yes, just a "tiny bit" of understanding.

The more he listened, the more shocked Quirrell became, his expression gradually stiffening.

"Haha, that's wonderful, truly a genius."

When Klein finished speaking, Quirrell quickly forced out a smile that looked worse than crying, flattering him.

Changing the subject, Quirrell rubbed his hands together.

"Truly impressive. I I also have some research findings here, would you like to see them?"

"Oh? That would be great."

Klein's lips curved upwards, his smile brilliant.

Children are indeed children. Seeing Klein's unguarded expression, Quirrell felt a surge of smugness. He pretended to turn back to his desk to retrieve his research notes, but the moment he turned, a ghastly green light shot out from the turban wrapped around the back of his head, striking Klein squarely on the forehead!

"Quick!"

Voldemort's voice was urgent. The Dementor's Kiss he had just used was his last bit of magic.

Heeding the command, Quirrell quickly turned back, laid the dazed Klein down on the sofa, and roughly pulled off his large scarf.

Though his heart was a thousand times unwilling, this was his master's will, and he could not disobey.

"Soul Departure."

Pressing his wand against his face, Quirrell's voice trembled. As the "Soul Separation Curse" he cast took effect, a pain like being gouged and carved through his bones spread throughout his body.

"Ah!"

The sensation, like being sliced a thousand times, made Quirrell howl.

"You are mine now!"

Amidst Quirrell's piercing screams, Voldemort cackled maniacally. His twisted soul, like a giant black snake, lunged madly towards Klein.

As long as he could possess that young, exceptionally talented body, he would rise again!

But...

Things did not go as smoothly as Voldemort had imagined.

"Dum-ble-dore!"

From heaven to hell in an instant.

The maniacal laughter still echoed in the sealed office, but Voldemort suddenly let out a scream more piercing than Quirrell's.

The moment he touched Klein's skin, he began to melt away like ice and snow under a scorching sun!

He vaguely saw a "bird" within Klein's soul...

A Phoenix!

It must be a Phoenix!

Albus Dumbledore, that undying old man, had actually cast a protective spell on the body he craved!

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

Voldemort cursed Dumbledore again and again in his mind, but he didn't realize he was cursing the wrong person.

That bird... it wasn't a Phoenix.

It was a Spirit Crow.

Klein's Patronus.

"Heh."

Lying on the sofa, Klein felt immensely pleased. With this little lesson, Voldemort would surely be well-behaved for a long time and wouldn't dare to scheme against him.

After finally managing to sever his soul, only to have to re-fuse it in the end, Voldemort, screaming, burrowed into Quirrell's body and fell into a weak slumber.

The second victim, Quirrell, spat out several mouthfuls of foul blood. His already sallow face was now completely devoid of color.

Endless hatred surged from the depths of his heart.

Looking at Klein "sleeping" on the sofa, he clenched his fists, his fingernails digging deeply into his skin, drawing drops of crimson blood.