Dungbomb Hammer Smashes Quirrell in the Back of the Head

Quirrell looked to be in terrible shape.

His face was pale, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were severe.

He was like a Flobberworm that had been squeezed dry of all its mucus, limp and listless.

But he had always hunched himself into a ball, so no one thought anything was amiss.

Because he had failed to catch the Unicorn and failed to kill Potter.

Voldemort at the back of his head had tortured him until he wished he were dead.

After finally calming Voldemort down, Quirrell still could not lie down to sleep.

That left him utterly exhausted.

All the energy had been drained from his body, so naturally, he had no spirit left for teaching.

Staggering into the classroom, Quirrell hugged his textbook and began stammering his way through the material.

"The Curse-Breaking Spell... is... is one of the spells used to break curses. It can remove the effects caused by curses or other dark spells..."

"The key point of this spell is..."

His explanations were halting, and sometimes he could not even get out a complete sentence.

The students below had no interest in listening and made a chaotic racket.

Ron was asking Harry what his two older brothers had called him away for. Malfoy, meanwhile, grandly showed off the limited-edition map he had just bought to the people beside him.

The lesson quickly ended amid the noise and commotion.

Quirrell closed his textbook. "C-class dismissed."

He himself let out a sigh of relief.

Working day and night had left him completely worn out.

Now, he could finally go back and rest for a while.

But before he could leave the classroom, a small box suddenly appeared on the lectern before him.

There was also a note inside it.

Quirrell's attention was drawn to the note that had appeared out of nowhere.

When he lowered his head to read it, he found the words: "Professor Quirrell is the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. We admire you so much."

The corners of his mouth twitched twice, and his fingers nervously picked at the cover of his textbook.

All this time, the students had looked down on him.

Whether in class or outside it, he had never received their respect.

Seeing this note so suddenly actually stirred something in his heart.

"Could it be that I'm actually rather popular?"

Just as he was thinking this, Quirrell suddenly noticed that the students, who had been noisily preparing to leave the classroom, had abruptly fallen silent.

Everyone had their mouths wide open as they stared blankly at him.

Some of them even looked at him with obvious longing and shock, as though they had just seen the Quidditch star of their dreams.

So that was indeed the case.

Quirrell felt a wave of delight.

It reminded him of his younger days at Hogwarts.

Back then, he had been in the prime of his life and exceptionally intelligent. Even among the brilliant students of Ravenclaw House, he had been one of the best.

Even Dumbledore had praised his vast knowledge and solid theoretical foundation.

Yet now, he was muddling through each day, teaching his students carelessly.

That was truly inexcusable.

Quirrell believed he had finally escaped the fate of being looked down upon by students and had earned their respect.

He was even reflecting inwardly that his recent lessons had been far too poor.

He decided that from now on, he would prepare diligently and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts properly.

Just as he was seriously reflecting on his mistakes, Quirrell suddenly felt a heavy blow strike the back of his head.

What followed was an indescribable stench.

The smell was overwhelmingly aggressive, shooting straight to the top of his skull the instant he inhaled it.

Beyond that, Quirrell could clearly feel a thick, foul-smelling liquid rapidly soaking through his turban and reaching the back of his head.

Faster to react than him was the Dark Lord at the back of his head.

"What is this thing? Get it off me!"

A violent, hoarse roar rang through Quirrell's skull like endless rolling thunder, making him nearly faint.

The face at the back of his head twisted, seemingly trying to get farther away from the liquid.

But the liquid seemed to have found an outlet and poured into his mouth and nose...

The sheer awfulness of it was impossible to describe without experiencing it firsthand.

Who knew how George and Fred had fermented this liquid?

After soaking through Quirrell's turban, the liquid began trickling down into his collar. When it touched his skin, it produced an unmistakable burning sensation.

This classroom had only one door and was relatively enclosed.

So the stench of the Dungbomb spread through the entire classroom almost instantly.

"Ugh! What the hell is this stuff?!"

"Move! Let me out! Let me out!"

"Open the windows!"

The students erupted into chaos.

Some cried out as they surged toward the classroom door, while others covered their mouths and noses, trying to breathe as slowly as possible.

Some with particularly sensitive noses vomited on the spot.

Silan and Hermione were also trapped in a corner.

"What is this stuff?" Hermione pinched her nose shut.

"This smell..." Silan deliberately stressed his words as he said uncertainly, "It should be a Dungbomb, right?"

"How could something like this appear on the wall?"

The reason the students had stared blankly at Quirrell earlier was because a strange box had suddenly appeared on the wall.

But no one had expected that the box would produce a toilet plunger made from a Dungbomb.

Poor Quirrell had thought the students were watching him in admiration.

Now, that toilet plunger made of Dungbombs was moving up and down, sucking tighter and tighter onto Quirrell's head.

Even more terrifying, thick liquid was splattering everywhere throughout the process.

The smell in the classroom grew even stronger.

The students all screamed to get out of this horrible place and rushed toward the door in a swarm.

"We should get out too."

Hermione pinched her nose tightly, making her voice sound heavily nasal.

Silan glanced toward the doorway.

There was only one door in the classroom, and the students were all crammed toward it. It was already completely blocked.

But staying in this foul-smelling classroom meant every breath was torture.

Silan took out his wand and cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself and Hermione.

This spell created a large bubble around the head.

It allowed people to obtain enough oxygen to breathe underwater or in foul air. It looked as though a fishbowl had been turned upside down over their heads.

"Master, great Master, please do not be angry! I will clean this mess up at once!"

The voice in Quirrell's head was so enraged that it had lost all reason, cursing in blurred, incoherent words.

"Kill... kill them! Kill them all!"

Quirrell had it the worst.

Besides suffering the physical assault of the Dungbomb Hammer, he also had to endure Voldemort's mental torment.

Gritting his teeth, Quirrell forced himself to take out his wand and tried to cast "Scourgify."

But the intense pain in his skull made it impossible for him to concentrate.

His hand trembled, and the wand fell to the floor.

Before he could bend down to retrieve it, the plunger on his head suddenly burst apart. The fragments fell to the ground and buried his wand.

"Useless fool! Damned useless fool! Ugh..."

The Dark Lord's words were completely unintelligible now because he was constantly dry-heaving.

The violent pain tore through Quirrell's head in wave after wave like a raging sea, knocking him unconscious.

Unfortunately, the back of his head hit the ground.

Even more unfortunately, the floor was covered in Dungbomb fragments mixed with the liquid...

Before Silan followed the crowd out of the classroom, he looked back once.

The box on the lectern and the physical prop of the Dungbomb Hammer had both caught fire.

The flames spread quickly, and before long, they had burned into ash.

To kill someone, you had to set a fire.

To destroy the trail, you had to dispose of the body.

Only after all the evidence was destroyed could one rest easy.

As soon as Silan stepped out of the classroom, a small virtual screen appeared before his eyes.

It informed him that the prank had been completed.