Candlelight flickered in Quirrell's office.
He was sitting at his desk, holding a wand and murmuring an incantation over a damaged silver incense burner.
A dark red glow slowly rose along the burner's rim, like congealed blood.
"Good..." Quirrell muttered to himself. "This Dark Magic... should work..."
Just then, a hoarse voice exploded inside his head.
"You fool!"
Quirrell shuddered, nearly dropping his wand.
"M-Master?"
"You've been exposed, and you don't even know it!" Voldemort's voice was shrill and furious. "Over a dozen Aurors are gathering outside your office door! There are another five outside the window!"
Quirrell's face instantly went deathly pale.
"H-how is that possible? How could they know-"
"Shut up!" Voldemort cut him off. "I have no time for your nonsense! You've been exposed! Now, hand over control of your body!"
Quirrell opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately chose to obediently shut it.
He knew he could never escape on his own. With his abilities alone, he could hold his own against two or three elite Aurors.
Against over a dozen elite Aurors, he would not last even a minute.
Only the Dark Lord possessing him had any chance of getting him out.
Quirrell raised a trembling hand and unwound the purple turban around his head.
Then he closed his eyes and draped the turban over his face.
Then the deathly pale face on the back of his head slowly opened its eyes.
A trace of mockery lingered in Voldemort's blood-red eyes. He flexed Quirrell's body and gave a low, cold chuckle.
"A pack of ants who don't know their place."
He raised his wand and aimed it at the office door.
"Impedimenta!"
An invisible barrier formed behind the door, sealing it firmly shut.
Then he turned and strode toward the window.
In the night sky outside, five Aurors hovered on broomsticks, their wands already pointed at him.
Without the slightest hesitation, Voldemort leaped.
"Flight Spell!"
He shot out of the window like an arrow, moving at astonishing speed.
The Aurors clearly had not expected him to escape this way, and for a moment, they all froze.
"He's out!" someone shouted. "Stop him!"
Five spells shot toward Voldemort at once.
A Stunning Spell, a Disarming Charm, a Binding Charm...
Voldemort twisted nimbly in midair like a black bat, easily evading every attack.
"Is that all you've got?" he sneered.
He waved his wand, and a streak of dark red light shot from its tip and burst in midair.
Thick black mist instantly spread outward, shrouding an area dozens of meters across.
The Aurors' vision was completely obscured. They could only fire spells blindly by feel.
Voldemort darted through the black mist, a cold smile on his lips.
He took a palm-sized incense burner from his robes. It was the Dark Magic item Quirrell had just been enchanting.
The incense burner emitted a piercing hum, and an invisible shock wave spread outward.
All five Aurors felt a sudden wave of dizziness, and their broomsticks began shaking violently beneath them.
"Steady!" the lead Auror shouted. "Don't let him get away!"
But Voldemort had already seized the opportunity to shoot out of the black mist.
He glanced back, his lips curving in a mocking smile.
He pointed lightly at the Aurors' broomsticks.
The brooms seemed to suddenly go out of control, spinning wildly through the air and tossing their riders from side to side.
"Damn it! My broom's out of control!"
"Mine too!"
"Steady! Steady!"
Voldemort paid them no further attention. He turned and flew toward the edge of Hogwarts.
The Flight Spell was magic he had invented himself. Apart from a few trusted followers such as Snape, no one knew how to use it.
Those Aurors could only rely on their out-of-control broomsticks, not to mention that Apparition was completely useless within Hogwarts.
Voldemort flew swiftly toward the boundary of Hogwarts.
A few scattered spells whistled through the air behind him, but he did not even look back. With slight shifts of his body, he dodged them all.
Soon, his figure vanished into the night.
Back in the office, the dozen-odd Aurors finally broke through the Impediment Jinx and burst through the door.
The lead Auror charged in first, but all that greeted him was an empty room and Dark Magic books scattered across the floor.
"Where is he?" he roared.
"He escaped through the window!" Another Auror rushed to the window and peered outside. "What about the people out there? Did they stop him?"
In the night sky outside the window, five Aurors were struggling awkwardly with their broomsticks, trying to steady themselves again.
"He got away..." one Auror panted. "He used some kind of flying magic we've never seen... he was too fast..."
The lead Auror's face turned livid.
He slammed a fist hard against the window frame with a dull thud.
"Damn it!"
The other Aurors exchanged looks, their faces full of frustration and regret.
They had surrounded the place. They had made every preparation.
But You-Know-Who had still escaped.
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded in the corridor.
The lead Auror turned and saw a tall figure appear in the doorway.
Dumbledore stood at the door, followed by a group of wizards in robes of various colors.
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the shattered window, the Dark Magic books scattered across the floor, and the frustration on the Aurors' faces.
Dumbledore understood what had happened in an instant, and his expression immediately turned icy.
He took a deep breath, doing his utmost to quell the anger in his heart.
"Where is Hagrid?" he asked calmly, though his voice carried an undeniable weight.
The lead Auror froze for a moment, then looked embarrassed.
"Well... a big fellow tried to stop us from approaching Quirrell's office. Er, that counts as obstructing official duties, so we temporarily restrained him."
Dumbledore turned and strode out of the room.
In a corner of the corridor, Hagrid lay curled on the floor, tightly bound by a Full Body-Bind Curse.
Several bruises marked his face. He had clearly suffered quite a bit while resisting.
Dumbledore crouched and waved his wand, lifting the Binding Charm on him.
"Mr. Dumbledore..." Hagrid struggled to get up, guilt in his voice. "I couldn't stop them... there were too many of them..."
"No, Hagrid." Dumbledore helped him up. "This wasn't your fault."
He straightened and gazed through the shattered window into the distant night sky.
Quirrell, or rather Voldemort, was nowhere to be seen.
At that moment, only one name filled Dumbledore's mind.
Fudge!
That Minister for Magic, so eager to seize the credit, had acted without authorization to capture You-Know-Who before he could, alerting their quarry.
Had they followed the original plan, with him and the members of the Order of the Phoenix acting together, Voldemort would have had no chance to escape.
But now, it was all too late.
Dumbledore turned to look at the members of the Order of the Phoenix behind him.
Their faces showed disappointment and anger, but not one of them spoke up to blame him.
"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said quietly. "I've brought you here for nothing."
"Albus, this isn't your fault," said a witch in dark green robes. "The Ministry of Magic was too hasty."
Dumbledore shook his head, his expression growing cold.
"I need to visit the Ministry of Magic."
Deep in the wilderness of the Scotland Highlands.
Voldemort materialized out of thin air, stumbled, and caught himself against a rock.
His breathing was rapid, and fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
Using the Flight Spell and Apparition in succession had nearly exhausted his magic.
Quirrell's body had already begun to protest. His legs were weak, and his vision blurred.
"Useless..." he cursed under his breath. "This body... is too fragile..."
He rested for a few minutes, then resumed heading south through repeated Apparition.
Finally, he appeared on a beach.
St Margaret's Bay.
Moonlight spilled across the sea, making the water shimmer.
Several small fishing boats lay moored in the distance, their masts swaying gently in the night breeze.
Voldemort looked around. Once he had confirmed there were no pursuers, he walked quickly toward the nearest fishing boat.
A middle-aged man in a greasy waterproof coat sat aboard, sorting his fishing nets.
"You," Voldemort said hoarsely. "Set sail. Take me away from here."
The man looked up and studied the stranger in the strange cloak by the moonlight.
"Now?" The man frowned. "I can't set sail now, sir. It's too dangerous to go out to sea at night, and my boat isn't ready yet-"
"I said, set sail." Voldemort's voice turned cold.
The man sensed the threat in his tone, but still shook his head.
"Sir, I understand you may have something urgent to attend to, but I really can't set sail at night. It's the rule, and it's for safety too. If you want to go out to sea, tomorrow morning-"
A streak of green light shot from the tip of Voldemort's wand, heading straight for the man's chest.
The man's eyes widened. He had no time to react.
But just as the green light was about to strike him, a streak of red light flew in from the side, striking the green light with perfect accuracy.
The two lights collided in midair with a piercing bang.
The green light veered off course, flew past the man's ear, and struck the cabin behind him, blasting a charred hole through the planks.
The man collapsed onto the ground in terror, his face deathly pale.
"Oh God..."
Voldemort whipped his head around, his scarlet eyes flickering with surprise and uncertainty in the moonlight.
On the beach, a figure in a trench coat was slowly approaching. The night breeze stirred the hem of his coat, outlining a tall, slender silhouette beneath the moonlight.
He held a dark brown wand. Clearly, the spell just now had come from it.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes, studying this uninvited guest.
"Who are you?"
The newcomer muttered somewhat helplessly under his breath, "I really just want to write my books in peace..."
"As for who I am..." The newcomer looked at Voldemort, seemingly reminded of some story. "You can call me-"
"A hero for fun."