"Hand over the Philosopher's Stone! Otherwise, you'll end up just like your parents, groveling at my feet and begging for mercy!"
"Pah!"
Harry hawked up a huge glob of phlegm he'd been working up for ages and spat it out with all his might. Then he suddenly struggled to his feet and scrambled toward the door on hands and feet. He'd planned his route long ago, waiting for this very moment.
"Seize him!"
Voldemort shrieked, the venom in his voice spilling over.
Quirrell sprang into action. He lunged forward and grabbed Harry by the ankle, sending him sprawling onto the floor. A faint smear of blood marked the hard stone: Harry had split his nose, but didn't make a sound.
It was Quirrell behind him who screamed. The moment his hand touched Harry's skin, it reddened as though burned by intense heat, shining bright red. His scream echoed through the room.
Harry couldn't keep running, either. As soon as Quirrell touched him, the scar on his forehead began to throb with pain, and his head felt as if it were about to split in two.
"I can't hold him, Master—my hand—my hand!"
Quirrell clutched his wrist and howled. Seeing his worthless servant's antics, Voldemort snarled through gritted teeth, "Then kill him, you useless fool!"
But before Quirrell could raise his hand and cast the Killing Curse, a cold flash of light pierced the black-flame doorway behind Harry.
Leonidas's Broken Spear punched through Quirrell's chest in an instant. Ezio appeared in a flash, stepping lightly down through the air. Though the movement seemed effortless, it struck Quirrell as if he'd been hit by a heavy truck.
With a dull thud, Quirrell's breastbone collapsed as his chest slammed into the ground. The spear burst through his back, and Ezio casually scooped it