Meeting

Lin An gazed at the map before him.

It was something he had redesigned based on the Marauder's Map, but its functions far surpassed the original.

Unlike the magic limited to Hogwarts, this map could track any wizard anywhere in the world. As long as he possessed the target's blood, hair, fingernails, saliva, or a personal item carrying a strong magical resonance, Lin An could locate them with a Tracking Spell.

Of course, the greater the power, the greater the restrictions.

To make a name appear on the map, he had to establish a connection with the target's magic, and maintaining that connection required a continuous supply of energy. To prevent his energy from being depleted, he had created a duplicate to carry with him. Linked to the main map, it could display every target's movements in real time.

At that moment, a flashing name on the map caught his attention—Quirinus Quirrell.

Lin An watched the cluster of light, his expression calm.

He saw Quirrell's location suddenly vanish from Hogwarts' main building and appear deep within the distant forests of Albania.

"So, he finally made his move?" Lin An murmured.

The corners of his lips curled slightly. The next second, he vanished into thin air.

Deep within Albania's dense forests, cold mist filled the air.

Quirrell was wrapped in a cloak, his face concealed beneath a turban, his eyes flickering with unease. He kept looking around, as though waiting for some presence.

The air was heavy with dampness. The wind stirred the dead leaves, making them rustle.

"Quirrell, just how far have you fallen?" A calm voice sounded behind him.

Quirrell spun around. When he saw the approaching figure, his heart tightened—it was Ian Bornes.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Quirrell's voice turned low and hoarse, carrying a deliberately suppressed tremor. "You've got the wrong person."

Lin An smiled faintly. "Stop pretending. I'm the one who sent you that 'secret letter.'"

He paused, his tone becoming calm yet sharp. "I'm not here to see you. I want to speak with the 'gentleman' hiding behind your head."

Quirrell's pupils abruptly contracted. The next instant, his wand flashed green.

He struck first.

A spell shot forth, only to be dispelled with a casual wave of Lin An's hand.

The ground heaved under the shock of Cursed Energy. Soil burst apart as dozens of sharp earthen spikes spread out from beneath Lin An's feet and lunged at Quirrell.

Quirrell hurriedly cast a defensive spell. Magic surged forth and shattered the earthen spikes.

But when he raised his head again, Lin An's wand was already pointed at him.

The air suddenly twisted as a violent storm swept forth.

Gale-force winds tore up the ground, sweeping gravel and fallen leaves into a torrent that crashed toward Quirrell.

Quirrell shouted and hastily cast Protego.

A curtain of light spread before him, barely withstanding the impact.

Yet every tree within several meters had been uprooted and smashed to the ground.

Lin An did not stop.

The nearby rubble suddenly shifted, transforming into a massive stone tail that lashed toward Quirrell's abdomen with terrifying force.

Bang—!

Quirrell was struck heavily. His body flew dozens of meters before slamming into a tree trunk, blood spilling from the corner of his lips.

"Let me handle this." A cold, sinister voice sounded from behind Quirrell's head.

"But, Master... your strength is still too weak—"

"If I do not act, you will be killed. Do you wish to ruin my plan with your own hands?"

"No, my master."

Quirrell's body suddenly stiffened. A moment later, his movements became steady again, but his entire aura had changed—cold, strange, and carrying the stench of death.

Sensing the change, Lin An spoke calmly. "So... Tom Riddle is speaking to me now?"

In response, a fierce green flash came hurtling toward him.

Avada Kedavra!

The wand in Quirrell's hand unleashed terrifying Cursed Energy, the green light shooting toward Lin An like lightning.

Lin An vanished in an instant, reappearing behind Quirrell the next second.

With a wave of his hand, a mass of blazing red fire erupted and surged straight at Quirrell.

"A Flame Spell? Ridiculous." Quirrell sneered and blurred, Blink-ing to Lin An's side.

He opened his mouth and spat out a serpent-shaped flame—that was Fiendfyre, Demon Fire.

Lin An's flames were swallowed in an instant, and the entire forest was scorched into a Purgatory.

"Looks like I need to get serious." Lin An murmured, a cold glint flashing through his eyes.

He raised his wand and traced a complex rune through the air.

"Restriction—Apparition!"

Magical ripples spread outward, and the surrounding space was immediately sealed.

Every path of Apparition was completely cut off at that moment.

Then he clenched his hand, and the temperature abruptly dropped.

A bone-piercing chill erupted from his body and rapidly spread throughout the entire forest.

It was not ordinary coldness, but an icy breath capable of freezing even souls.

It drained the world's colors away, leaving only gray and white. The wind stopped, the insects fell silent, and even the shadows of the trees seemed frozen in place.

The serpent-shaped flames that had devoured the Fiendfyre froze into transparent crystals beneath the chill, becoming an ice sculpture.

Quirrell's body shook violently, while Voldemort's soul consciousness let out a pained shriek at the same moment.

"What kind of magic is this?!" the ghostly voice howled.

Lin An's expression was cold. "A Soul-Freeze Spell modeled after Dementors.

"It is not merely cold in temperature. It can strip all joy and hope from the world. Even ghosts can be frozen by it—do you think you can escape?"

As his final words fell, Quirrell dropped to his knees, his body completely suppressed.

Voldemort's soul tried to separate, transforming into a mass of black mist that drifted from behind Quirrell's head. But the black mist rapidly froze in the cold as well, releasing piercing screams.

He knew that pain all too well—it was the feeling of having his soul torn apart.

Every time he had created a Horcrux, Voldemort had endured that tearing. But now, Lin An's magic was acting directly upon his soul.

"Enough—!" Voldemort roared. The wand slipped from his hand as he dropped to one knee, clutching his head and letting out a low hiss.

Lin An watched quietly without applying any further pressure.

He knew Voldemort would not die so easily—too many of his Horcruxes remained outside.

After a moment, Voldemort raised his head, his voice hoarse. "What do you want, Lin An Alvin Bones?"

Lin An's expression remained calm. "What do I want? Only understanding. Understanding the truth behind the power of the Philosopher's Stone."