At his master's command, Quirrell moved swiftly.
He hastily wrapped the purple turban around his head, then instinctively glanced toward the door.
Then came a knock at his front door.
Knock, knock, knock.
The knocking was neither hurried nor slow, neither muffled nor loud.
Quirrell's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, then took his wand in hand.
"Wh-who's out there?"
Quirrell had not originally had a stutter. If he had, he would not have secured a teaching position at Hogwarts so easily after graduating.
Even if it was a position teaching a fluff subject like Muggle Studies.
Nor was this because he was nervous—fine, he was nervous.
But a wizard who could venture into the Albanian Forest alone to gain practical combat experience could hardly have been so lacking in nerve.
His current stutter was more a physical manifestation of the damage to his soul.
When Voldemort punished a servant, he did not care whether his methods would harm the servant's body.
All he needed was for the servant to suffer.
If a servant cared about bodily harm, all the better. If they did not want to get hurt, they had better work hard for him.
Unfortunately, Quirrell's abilities fell far short of those of his former Death Eater followers.
Put simply, Quirrell did not have an attitude problem. He just plain sucked.
"Quirinus, it's me." Dumbledore's aged but gentle voice sounded outside the door.
In the past, hearing Dumbledore's voice had only ever reassured Quirinus.
And now?
That voice was like a deadly, demonic refrain, echoing through his heart.
Dumbledore was here!?
Dumbledore had actually come to his front door!!!
Master, Master, what should I do!
With a single sentence, Dumbledore had made Quirrell's limbs go weak.
"Idiot! Calm down!" Voldemort's voice reverberated in Quirrell's mind.
Had he not been attached to Quirrell's head at that moment, Voldemort would have liked to finish him off with a Killing Curse.
So Dumbledore was at the door. What the hell was he panicking for?
"Open the door! If Dumbledore wants to deal with you, you won't have any chance to resist."
"He might just be passing by."
Voldemort's words were blunt, but sound. He really did know how to ease his subordinates' nerves.
Hearing this, Quirrell could only agree that his master was absolutely right.
If Dumbledore really wanted to take him down, he would have no way to fight back.
Since he was utterly incapable of resisting, what else was there to say?
"P-Professor Dumbledore, I didn't expect y-you to come here."
"Oh, Quirinus, you don't look well.
Has something happened?"
"N-no, nothing, Professor Dumbledore! Just some l-lingering effects from my adventures."
Quirrell's reasoning had seemed perfectly sound a moment ago. Unfortunately, once he actually stood face-to-face with the greatest wizard of the age, all that supposed mental preparation evaporated.
Fear did not disappear just because someone claimed to be prepared.
Dumbledore ignored Quirrell's thoroughly suspicious behavior, sneering inwardly.
Tom, my dear student... can you no longer even afford to be selective about your servants?
"Well, if nothing's wrong, would you mind calling Tom out for me, Quirinus?
It's been a long time. There are a few things I'd like to discuss with him."
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
I'm dead!!!
How did Dumbledore know!?
Overwhelming terror seized Quirrell. At that moment, he needed no command from Voldemort.
He gripped his wand as though it were a sword and pointed it straight at Dumbledore.
"Avada Kedavra!!!"
A thick beam of green light shot from Quirrell's wand, aimed directly at Dumbledore.
The spell seethed with malice. At that moment, Quirrell was utterly determined to kill Dumbledore.
Unfortunately, Quirrell's determination did not mean a damn thing. His Killing Curse could not even touch Dumbledore.
Without an incantation or a flick of his wand, Dumbledore simply vanished soundlessly before Quirrell's eyes.
A second later, Dumbledore appeared behind him.
Dumbledore aimed the Elder Wand at Quirrell, and a flash of crimson-gold spell light struck him in the back, directly behind his heart.
"Dumbledore—
Aaargh!!!"
Quirrell screamed in agony. His entire body first burned to charcoal, then crumbled into drifting ash.
Voldemort's temporary mount could not survive even a single exchange with Dumbledore and was forcibly taken out of commission.
Voldemort, who had been possessing Quirrell, had no intention of taking Dumbledore head-on.
He was a little deranged, not a complete moron.
Even when he had been healthy, he had not dared square off against Dumbledore.
Now that he was nothing but a wandering spirit, was he supposed to fight Dumbledore to the bitter end?
Get real. There was no way he could win!
Voldemort immediately turned into a cloud of black mist and surged toward the window of Quirrell's home.
"Tom, we finally meet again, and you're already in such a hurry to leave?"
Dumbledore swept the Elder Wand forcefully through the air. Every door and window in Quirrell's home instantly sealed shut.
Voldemort showed no intention of stopping. The black mist slammed into the windows.
Hum.
Just before the black mist reached the window, a transparent, pale-red protective barrier appeared across it.
Under the impact of the black mist, the barrier flickered but remained impregnable.
A second later, Voldemort rolled back, and a shrill screech instantly filled the room.
The screech did not target a wizard's hearing. It struck directly at the soul.
Had Quirrell still been alive, that single shriek from Voldemort would have killed him all over again.
Voldemort did not emerge unscathed from using this move, either. The black mist of his form visibly thinned.
Casting a spell that even dark wizards would normally consider evil while in spirit form inevitably came at a price.
Dumbledore did not so much as blink.
Once again, he used the Elder Wand. Once again, he spoke no incantation.
This time, what shot from Dumbledore's wand was not a crimson-gold spell, but a dazzling beam of green light.
Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse—a powerful spell that acted on the soul itself.
It was perfectly suited to dealing with Voldemort's current state.
"Dumbledore, I curse you!" With Voldemort's venomous curse, the black mist slowly turned to drifting ash.
And so the spirit of a once-mighty Dark Lord dissipated in a neighborhood of the Muggles he despised most.
Dumbledore stood there with his wand in hand for a long time. Only after confirming that Voldemort would not rise from the ashes did he finally put it away.
"Tom..." Dumbledore wiped his glasses and left Quirrell's home.
Hogwarts, the Headmaster's Office.
Isaac sat across from Dumbledore, his eyes full of curiosity and anticipation.
"How did it go, Professor? Did you find Voldemort?"
This had been a bold experiment on Isaac's part. As someone who had transmigrated, with such an advantage at his disposal, what was the point of timidly holding back just to avoid disrupting the so-called plot?
Before transmigrating, I followed every rule and never dared step out of line. If I still had to live with those same frustrations afterward...
Then what the hell had I transmigrated for?