Five minutes earlier.
The sea breeze at St Margaret's Bay carried a salty dampness, cool against the face.
Allen stood on the beach, looking around in bewilderment.
Moonlight spilled across the sea, breaking into countless silvery patches that swayed gently with the waves.
Several small fishing boats lay moored along the distant shore, their masts swaying slowly in the night wind with faint creaks.
If not for the system's red screen still flashing incessantly, it would undoubtedly have been a lovely scene.
"System," Allen lowered his voice, "I'm here. Now what?"
[Host, please wait for the right moment.]
Helplessly, Allen kicked the sand by his feet, thrust his hands into his trench coat pockets, and began wandering aimlessly along the shoreline.
"You teleported me here, then won't tell me what the mission is?" he couldn't help muttering. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. Surely you didn't bring me here just to look at the sea?"
The moonlit sea was tranquil and vast, its waves washing rhythmically against the beach.
A fishing boat in the distance glowed with a dim yellow light, like a tiny golden speck floating in the darkness.
Allen took a deep breath, feeling the salty sea breeze fill his chest.
"All right," he said to himself, "looking at the sea isn't bad, actually."
"I was so busy in that other world, rushing to meet manuscript deadlines every day. I never really took a good look at the sea."
"Who would've thought my first time seeing the sea would be in the world of Harry Potter?"
He walked forward across the wet sand, leaving a trail of footprints.
The waves surged in and erased half of them, as though playing a game with him.
"Honestly," he kicked up a small splash of seawater, "this place is pretty beautiful."
"Moonlight, the sea, the beach, fishing boats, a man in black robes..."
His footsteps stopped abruptly.
Wait.
A man in black robes?
Allen narrowed his eyes and looked toward a larger fishing boat nearby.
At some point, a figure in a black cloak had suddenly appeared beside it.
The man was talking to a fisherman in a waterproof jacket, his tone seemingly growing more impatient.
The fisherman looked somewhat confused and kept waving his hands.
Allen frowned. He instinctively felt there was something wrong with that black-robed man, but couldn't say exactly what.
He unconsciously took a few steps in that direction, squinting until he could make out the man's face.
A deathly pale complexion, hideous features, scarlet eyes, narrow nostrils...
Allen's mind short-circuited for an instant, a name flashing instinctively through his head.
Voldemort!
He looked exactly like the Voldemort Allen had pictured!
Allen immediately lowered his head, pretending to study the sand beneath his feet while frantically calling the system in his mind.
System! System! Is that Voldemort?!
[Scanning... scan complete. Target: Quirinus Quirrell (under Voldemort's control). His body is currently being controlled by Voldemort.]
Holy shit! Allen almost swore aloud. What's he doing here?! Isn't he supposed to be at Hogwarts?!
[Confirmed. Due to the butterfly effect caused by the host's book in the Wizarding World, the original plotline has undergone significant deviations.] [Quirrell was not killed when Harry Potter touched the Philosopher's Stone. Voldemort also successfully escaped Hogwarts with Quirrell's body.]
Wait, wait, wait. Allen rubbed his temples. Didn't you say that book caused a huge stir in the Wizarding World? What does that have to do with Voldemort escaping?
[After learning of the book's contents, the Ministry of Magic launched an early operation to apprehend Quirrell. The operation failed, alerting Voldemort and causing him to flee ahead of time.]
Allen froze. So... because I wrote that book, the Ministry of Magic acted early, and Voldemort escaped?
[Yes.]
Then what's he doing here now?!
[According to system monitoring, Voldemort is currently in a relatively weakened state. He likely intends to travel by sea to find somewhere safe to hide.]
Allen swallowed and raised his head slightly to look in that direction again.
Voldemort now held a wand in one hand, pointing it at the fisherman aboard the boat.
He seemed to be saying something, but his voice was too low for Allen to hear clearly.
But Allen could see that Voldemort's deathly pale face seemed to be growing darker.
Allen's heart tightened. In his previous life, whether in the original books or fanfiction, Voldemort had always been a murderous being.
Judging by how Voldemort looked now, he might very well kill at any moment.
Allen's breathing quickened.
Damn that butterfly effect!
That fisherman might very well die because of the book I wrote.
Without that book, Voldemort wouldn't have been exposed or fled, much less appeared here.
That fisherman would have gone home safely tonight as usual and eaten breakfast with his family.
Perhaps he even has elderly parents and lovely children.
But now...
Allen looked toward the fishing boat. Voldemort stepped closer, his wand already raised.
Moonlight illuminated Voldemort's face. His eyes were entirely scarlet, shining with a suffocating light in the dim night.
This was Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the terrifying being whose very name the entire Wizarding World dared not speak.
No matter how many times one read about him in books, seeing him in person brought a pressure that could leave one unable to breathe.
"Calm down, calm down..." Allen told himself. "I have third-tier magic power and Flitwick's combat skills now, plus a Quirrell character card..."
He took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself.
A gleam of green light suddenly appeared at the tip of Voldemort's wand.
Allen's pupils contracted sharply.
The Killing Curse!
He had read that description countless times in the books. That emerald-green glow was the light that led to death.
"He's going to kill that fisherman!" Allen exclaimed, instinctively tightening his grip on the dark brown wand in his pocket.
That fisherman was completely innocent.
The fisherman's terrified eyes surfaced in Allen's mind.
If I do nothing and watch that fisherman get killed, I'll live with the guilt for the rest of my life.
But if I try to stop him... that's Voldemort...
His fingers trembled slightly against his wand.
But in the next instant, his trench coat flared, and the wand that had been in his pocket was in his hand, pointed toward Voldemort.
At that moment, courage overcame reason, and the body took over consciousness.
His conscience overcame the trace of cowardice that facing Voldemort had stirred in his heart, and the remaining uses of the Limited Character Card (Quirrell) on the system panel quietly changed from 2/2 to 1/2.
Surging magic power poured out from within Allen. He felt the wellspring of magic inside him gushing forth, its river becoming a raging ocean tide.
Countless pieces of knowledge about magical spells flooded his mind, along with Quirrell's combat experience, spell proficiency, and even his self-created spells.
The Jianmu wand gave a low hum, and the silvery streams of light within its body suddenly blazed.
At that moment, an emerald-green beam shot from the tip of Voldemort's wand, hurtling straight toward the fisherman's chest with a deathly shriek.
The fisherman didn't even realize what it was. He simply stared at the light with wide eyes.
Just as the green light was about to strike him, a dark red beam shot in from the side, launched later but arriving first.
The two beams violently collided less than half a foot in front of the fisherman.
Boom!
An explosion erupted across the beach, and dazzling light tore through the night.
The red light knocked the green beam off course. The Killing Curse skimmed past the fisherman's ear and struck the cabin behind him, blasting an entire plank into charred splinters.
The fisherman screamed and collapsed onto the deck, trembling all over.
"Oh God! Oh God! What is this?!"
Voldemort spun around, his scarlet eyes locking onto Allen.
His face was filled with shock and uncertainty. He clearly hadn't expected to encounter a wizard capable of stopping his Killing Curse in a place like this.
Allen stood where he was, his wand hand still trembling slightly.
He had to admit that, in that instant, he had used the Limited Character Card (Quirrell) almost unconsciously, casting the Disarming Charm on instinct.
And Flitwick's max-level magical combat experience had made his wand movement swift and decisive. Without those max-level magical combat skills, he wouldn't have reacted in time.
"Whew..." He let out a long breath, feeling as though his heart was about to leap out of his throat.
That had been far too close, but fortunately, he had saved the fisherman's life in time.
"Ah..." Allen sighed softly and muttered, "I really just want to write my books in peace..."
"Who are you?" Voldemort sounded somewhat startled.
His gaze remained fixed on Allen, his wand already quietly trained on him.
Allen raised his head. The moonlight cast cold white light and shadow across his face, leaving it half-lit and half-dark, making him look mysterious and deadly.
He suddenly remembered a character from an anime he had watched in his previous life. That bald, caped man often saved people from danger too.
He cleared his throat and gave Voldemort a helpless smile.
"As for who I am?"
He remembered that anime character's catchphrase.
"You can call me-"
He paused, feeling that saying this really was embarrassingly chuuni.
"A hero for fun."
The air fell silent for a moment.
The fisherman aboard the boat was shivering, murmuring inaudible prayers.
Voldemort's scarlet eyes narrowed slightly, as though assessing a being he couldn't understand.
"For... fun?" he repeated slowly, as though tasting an utterly absurd lie.
"Do you think I'd believe that nonsense?"
Allen shrugged. With surging magic power coursing through his body, he could sense that Voldemort was very weak right now.
"If you don't believe me, there's nothing I can do. I wasn't planning to convince you anyway."
"By rights, this fisherman shouldn't have encountered you tonight."
"He should have gone home safely, had a cup of hot tea, and then gotten a good night's sleep."
"It's because of certain personal reasons of mine that he ended up here and encountered you."
"So I'm protecting this man, no matter what."
Lying on the deck, the fisherman heard these words and finally worked up the courage to raise his head and glance at Allen.
Under the moonlight, the young man in the black trench coat stood on the beach, the night wind stirring his coattails, his wand glowing faintly silver in his hand.
The fisherman didn't know what had happened, nor did he know what those colored lights were.
But he knew that young man had just saved his life.
"Th-thank you..." he said in a trembling voice.
Allen didn't turn around, merely tilting his face slightly.
"Hey, don't just sit there. Run."
The fisherman froze for a moment, then scrambled up on his hands and feet, tumbled off the fishing boat, and sprinted toward the village onshore.
Voldemort watched the fisherman's retreating back but ultimately made no move, because Allen's wand was pointed steadily at him.
The fisherman's footsteps gradually receded, soon disappearing into the night.
Only Allen and Voldemort remained on the beach.
The sea breeze swept past, stirring fine grains of sand into the air between them.
Voldemort didn't pursue the fisherman. His entire attention was focused on the strange young man before him.
The Ministry of Magic's Aurors could catch up at any moment, and this young man didn't seem inclined to let him go easily.
And he had just expended too much magic power on his long journey. There was very little magic power left in his soul now.
Fortunately, Quirrell hadn't acted earlier, so the magic power in Quirrell's soul was quite plentiful.
He might as well hand control of the body over to Quirrell first and let him dispose of this young man.
He had considerable faith in Quirrell. After all, he hadn't chosen someone to possess at random, and Quirrell's strength ranked among the foremost in the entire Wizarding World.
A dark gleam flashed through Voldemort's red eyes. He untied the turban from the front face and fastened it over his own.
The next instant, the original Quirrell abruptly opened his eyes and turned to look at Allen.
Voldemort's shrill voice rang out in his mind. "Dispose of him quickly, then take a boat to the Republic of Albania."
"Y-yes, Master," Quirrell answered Voldemort, pointing his wand at Allen in an opening stance.
Then he discovered, to his astonishment, that the young man's opening wand stance seemed extremely similar to his own.
Am I imagining it?
Quirrell wondered in confusion.