Inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.
Quirrell knelt on the floor, his face pale as beads of cold sweat dripped continuously.
"I... forgive my foolishness and weakness, my great master."
Quirrell's pained, hoarse voice was barely louder than a mosquito's buzz.
A cold voice resounded in his mind, bringing even sharper pain with it.
"That was a spell I personally improved! I never expected an idiot like you to learn it quickly."
"I'll give you one more week. Otherwise, I won't mind branding this spell directly into your brain!"
Quirrell trembled as he nodded again and again.
"Yes, yes, my master."
The dark magic Voldemort had taught him was a curse that slowly eroded the soul, thereby controlling the victim's thoughts.
This curse's greatest advantage was its concealment. Unless a thorough examination was conducted within an hour of its effects taking hold, the traces would gradually disappear.
Correspondingly, it took longer to use. The longest interval between uses could not exceed ten days, making it perfect for using on that audacious little brat during the weekly tutoring sessions.
But this dark magic was too difficult to learn, and the process was excruciatingly painful, as though someone were stirring his brain and tearing at his tongue and throat.
Sensing Quirrell's deep fear, Voldemort, who resided within his body, felt both disdainful and satisfied.
He currently had no spare strength to carry out such pointless threats.
But his prestige, his terror, remained unquestionably powerful!
Voldemort also noticed that his life force was still draining away. In another two or three months, he would need to replenish it, and he needed to recover his strength as well. Perhaps the Unicorns in the Forbidden Forest...
Inside the cabin.
Lucien closed the book in his hands.
To be honest, the system's