Dumbledore didn't turn around, but simply said, "No rush, wait a little longer."
"Wait?" Snape tossed his hair in annoyance. "What if Quirrell really hurts them..."
"You care about both of them, Severus?" Dumbledore changed the subject, asking inexplicably.
Snape stubbornly replied, "I don't care."
Although he said that, he still took out the wand that he had been hiding in his sleeve, gripped it tightly in his hand, and was ready to make a move at any moment.
Quirrell swung his wand, casting a Spells on Norbert, causing it to let out a painful roar and launch an even fiercer counterattack.
The Dragon already had high magic resistance, and with the addition of [Tough Skin] by Silan, its magic resistance was raised to another level.
Quirrell's Spells, though powerful, could only cause it some pain.
Moreover, Norbert can dart around the room and perform difficult maneuvers such as sharp spins and sudden stops in mid-air, making it very difficult for Quirrell to hit him.
"You piece of trash!"
A strange, hoarse voice suddenly rang out.
Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a glance, then looked at Quirrell; their worst fears had come true.
"Master, great master, forgive me..." Quirrell sobbed.
"Let me...let me talk to them...let me talk to them face to face..." that hoarse, shrill voice spoke again.
"But, Master..." Quirrell stammered, "You...you haven't recovered your strength yet."
Since Quirrell failed to capture the Unicorn and thus did not drink its blood, Voldemort was still very weak.
"I still have that much strength."
Harry stared blankly at Quirrell, feeling as if his heart was tightly bound by Devil's Snare, each beat a struggle.
"Take this, Harry." Silan handed Harry a Dungbomb wrapped in a thin cloth.
"Harry Potter ... Silan -Pwett..."
The hoarse voice, like the whispering of a venomous snake, evoked a nauseating, sticky feeling in the ears.
Quirrell removed the scarf from his head.
The sudden loss of the scarf wrapped around him made Quirrell's head look unusually small.
Slowly turning around, Quirrell revealed the back of his head.
That face, as pale as chalk, had no nose, only two thin, snake-like nostrils, and even its eyes were red.
"What the hell is that?"
Harry screamed; he had never seen such a hideous and terrifying face.
The ugly, pale face rolled its eyelids, and its crimson eyes darted around, staring intently at Silan.
Voldemort smirked. "Prewett... a nostalgic surname."
"Silan, why don't you join me?" Voldemort grinned, letting out a sinister laugh. "To be honest, I admire you."
Voldemort pressed Quirrell's neck down, but raised his own head and looked at Silan with a meaningful gaze.
"You are intelligent and ambitious, born in an orphanage, a Half-blood wizard, humble and kind in Slytherin ... just like... me."
The hoarse, shrill voice was as grating and unbearable as shards of glass scraping against a blackboard.
Dumbledore stood silently at a distance, but with each word Voldemort spoke, his heart sank a little deeper.
It's so similar, so incredibly similar.
Even Dumbledore had to admit that Voldemort was absolutely right.
In some ways, Silan is exactly like him.
Same origins, same bloodline, same academy...
This greatly worried Dumbledore.
"Silan is nothing like you!" Harry shouted, breaking free of his fear. "You're just a liar! A coward hiding behind someone else!"
Harry shouted angrily, "You killed my parents, the Death Eaters killed Silan's father, we can't possibly side with you!"
"What touching words!" Voldemort laughed shrilly. "I have always admired courage. The Prewett brothers were also commendable; it took five Death Eaters to kill them..."
"Alright, give me the Philosopher's Stone," Voldemort shrieked coldly. "Don't let your parents die in vain."
"Don't even think about it!"
Silan expressed his stance at the opportune moment, after all, Dumbledore was watching, so he had to make a gesture, at least to show some respect.
Furthermore, Silan was also afraid that Dumbledore might actually be fooled by Voldemort's words and think that he was like him.
I, a true man of Prewett, cannot associate with Voldemort!
"Throw Dungbomb!"
Harry and Silan attacked together, sending two Dungbomb flying through the air in a perfect arc, which then struck Voldemort in the face.
To defend against Dragonfire and Spells, Quirrell used magic-resistant defensive spells on himself.
The Dungbomb attack was a completely unexpected physical attack.
It's the same familiar formula, the same familiar taste, and the same Voldemort's always on the verge of losing his guard...
The wonderful juices of the Dungbomb, mixed with thick, sticky residue, smeared all over Voldemort's face.
Since he has no nose, juices and residue can more easily flow into his nostrils.
With each breath, a large amount of Dungbomb residue and juice mixed with a small amount of air rushes in.
The sensation of juice seeping into the nasal cavity even when the residue blocked the nostrils, and even bubbling with each breath, drove Voldemort to the brink of madness.
He had never hated a taste so much.
"Kill... kill them!"
Voldemort practically roared.
Dumbledore and Snape, standing at a distance, were also stunned. They never expected that Voldemort's sanity could be shattered in such a way.
"This... is this some strange fighting method of a young wizard?" Dumbledore's beard twitched twice. "It seems I really am getting old."
Snape looked speechless, managed a weak twitch of his lips, but said nothing.
In his view, battles between wizards should be a contest of Spells, a contest of strength and knowledge.
It should be elegant and composed, a wonderful thing where the victor enjoys glory and the loser is convinced of their defeat.
Instead of doing what we're doing now, taking out two blobs of Dungbomb and using the Dungbomb residue and broth to make a face mask for the enemy...
Avada Kedavra!
Avada Kedavra!
Avada Kedavra!
Driven to madness, Voldemort recklessly took control of Quirrell's body, twisting his arms behind his back and unleashing Killing Curse.
Quirrell let out a piercing scream.
Voldemort broke his arm, and a protruding bone spur on his left shoulder pierced through the flesh, drawing blood.
Throwing Dungbomb was originally just a whim of Silan's, but she never expected it to be so effective on Voldemort.
However, his appearance is really too dangerous.
"Isn't Dumbledore going to make a move? Why is he so patient?" Silan wondered.
"No, that's too dangerous."
Seeing Voldemort descend into madness, using the Killing Curse like a basic Voldemort, Silan prepared to retreat.
"Stop him! Stop him!"
Voldemort screamed and gave chase.
"Don't be afraid, children."
Dumbledore appeared in the room without warning, brandishing his wand, and stood between Silan and Voldemort.