Why Dumbledore Could Not Come

Time: 6 o'clock.

The last room in the forbidden area of Hogwarts.

With a fearful expression and a gaunt figure, Quirrell kept tapping his wand on a tall mirror, as if checking something.

While conducting the inspection, Quirrell stood to the side, glancing at the Mirror of Erised and the entrance out of the corner of his eye.

Even with all his caution, he still couldn't react in time.

A noble and peaceful voice suddenly rang out.

That Phoenix flew so fast! And it was invisible!

"Phoenix! Dumbledore!" Quirrell shouted.

A beautiful, fiery red bird appeared from nothingness and, before Quirrell could even hear the sound, it swooped down and disappeared into the back of Quirrell's head.

Veins bulged all over Quirrell's body, just like the Unicorn that had died tragically before.

He uttered a few incoherent words helplessly before collapsing backward in front of the mirror.

Harry emerged from the black flames, panting heavily; he was no longer able to maintain the Disillusionment Charm.

He never imagined that the spell the first-year student used to cry for help, "Red Spark," would transform into a physical Phoenix in his hands!

Quirrell had already fainted, his body twitching intermittently, but Harry knew that the real adversary had not yet appeared.

He held his breath, staring in Quirrell's direction, without saying a word.

Finally, a chilling, agonizing scream came from Quirrell's body, accompanied by black mist emerging from the back of Quirrell's head—forming a human face: Voldemort!

"Harry Potter ... very good, you have great patience," Voldemort whispered.

Harry gripped his wand, ready to unleash another spell at any moment.

"It's been almost 11 years. Last time you were just a little boy," Voldemort said.

"What? You're even talking about everyday things now? Are you begging for forgiveness?"

"Repent, Voldemort, before your end." Harry's wand tip remained pointed at the black mist that Voldemort had transformed into.

"Harry, unfortunately, you can't kill me."

"I am a victim too. Look what I've become because of you! All that's left is a shadow and steam... I can only have a physical form when I share a body with someone else... But there are always some who are willing to let me into their minds and hearts... In the past few weeks, the Unicorn Blood has restored some of my strength... The day you saw Quirrell drink my blood in the forest... Once I get the Elixir of Life, I will be able to recreate my own body... You should understand my purpose... It's remarkable, you probably already knew something was wrong with Quirrell ... However, Quirrell was only forced into it. If you insist on fighting me, you will kill an innocent life... and you won't be able to harm me." Voldemort said haltingly.

"Oh, you're going to threaten me with Quirrell's life—a wizard who killed Unicorn? After you killed my parents?" Harry said expressionlessly. "If that's all, then let me see what you mean by 'can't hurt'!"

"Well, Harry Potter, I thought you were just an ordinary baby who was lucky enough to be saved by your mother's sacrifice."

"But I never imagined you were so powerful."

"Why should you become my enemy over the life of a Muggle-born witch? Come, if you don't stop me from getting the Philosopher's Stone, I promise you that after my resurrection, we will share the world equally... I can also give you all the secrets of my immortality... We have a common enemy— Dumbledore... He fears and suppresses wizards with extraordinary talents like ours... He once threatened to burn my toys when I was still an orphan and showed my exceptional abilities... And when it comes to you— Harry Potter, he deliberately disappeared, wanting us to kill each other," Voldemort said in a low voice.

"Oh, why don't you call my mother Mudblood? That's what you call my mother. What, facing a life-threatening situation, you can't even use that word anymore?" Harry smiled sarcastically, completely unmoved.

"No, I wouldn't call a witch who could give birth to such a powerful wizard as you... or who could harm me to such an extent... I don't really believe in the Pure-blood theory either... I'm just Half-blood... Harry, that's how we are." Voldemort said slickly, a fawning smile appearing on his face made of black mist.

"That's disgusting," Harry said with a look of revulsion.

However, he dared not actually make a move. He did not know what other tricks Voldemort had up his sleeve, or whether Quirrell would really die because of his attack.

Draco might call him an idiot for saying this, but he still couldn't bring himself to take the life of someone who might have been innocent.

Harry was getting a little anxious, but he kept a poker face. He couldn't let Voldemort see it—it's been so long, it's past six o'clock and more than ten minutes, why hasn't Dumbledore come yet?

Could it be that he really is like Voldemort, just trying to trick himself into dying together with Voldemort?

While Voldemort continued to slander Dumbledore and extend invitations to Harry Potter from time to time, Harry didn't notice that the mist representing Voldemort was gradually thinning.

"Harry Potter ...why don't you look here?" Quirrell, who had just been sprawled on the ground, suddenly stood up straight, like a roly-poly toy regaining its balance, but he was facing away from Harry.

Quirrell raised his hand and took off the scarf from his head. The large scarf fell down, revealing a face—a hideous and terrifying face—where should have been the back of Quirrell's head.

His face was as white as chalk, his eyes were bright red, and below them were two long, thin nostrils like snakes.

Then, a series of snapping sounds rang out, and Quirrell's hands and feet were flipped over, as if Voldemort, who was residing in Quirrell's body, had become the true master of this body.

He raised his wand and pointed it at Quirrell's unusually small head.

"Harry Potter, I need you to do something... otherwise, Quirrell's life will be... I know you don't dare to do it... I know you're just stalling for time... don't wait any longer, Dumbledore isn't coming, he probably won't be back until tomorrow... I've prepared a reason for him that he can't leave even if he knows what I'm doing." Voldemort let out a grating laugh.

"Reason? What reason?" Harry continued to stall for time, holding up his wand.

"Oh, trying to stall for time? Just as naive as your Mudblood mother... If you were using the same Red Spark you used on the Troll, I'd probably have to leave... But you're too foolish... Trying to save Quirrell's life?... We have plenty of time now... It was Grindelwald, I placed a wand in Nurmengard ... Though I hate to admit it, Dumbledore probably thinks he's more dangerous than I am." Voldemort looked at Harry with a mocking gaze.

"Who is Grindelwald?" Harry tried to stall for time again, using the same old trick.

Voldemort was clearly getting impatient. He pointed his wand at Quirrell's body, and a huge wound appeared that did not impede Voldemort's movement.

"You can delay a little longer and see if Quirrell's life can withstand it."

Meanwhile, Snape, who had been notified by Goyle to come to the scene, was stopped by Dumbledore behind the black flames.

In the Mirror of Erised, the Philosopher's Stone had already lit up, recording everything.