A minute ago, just as Allen was struggling to withstand the incoming spells, he felt the surrounding scenery moving unusually slowly.
The chaotic light of spells, the ferocious faces of the Death Eaters, the screams of the students... all became extremely sluggish as if they were in a mire.
Time seemed to be stretched out indefinitely.
Allen blinked and found that everything around him had slowed down, as if time had fallen into a slumber and refused to move forward, and even his thoughts had become lingering and drawn out.
Allen sensed everything happening around him and wondered, "System, what kind of trouble are you giving me this time?"
However, the system did not respond.
At that moment, a calm voice seemed to come from a very distant place, or perhaps it was speaking right next to his ear.
What are you doing back here?
Allen shuddered.
"Who?" Allen tried to turn around alertly, but tragically found that his body seemed to be imprisoned in this space-time, unable to move at all.
The auditorium remained Great Hall, but the source of the sound seemed to be getting closer and closer.
It was as if someone was walking towards him on some kind of invisible staircase, getting closer and closer with each step, making the frozen scene around him even more blurry and distant.
The next second, Allen felt himself being pulled down, as if he had missed a step, and everything in front of him was instantly swallowed up by pure white light.
Light, light everywhere. Soft and not dazzling, yet omnipresent.
Allen squinted and found himself standing in a boundless white space.
He felt a slight relief as he felt the weight of the wand in his hand, then looked up and froze in surprise.
Suddenly, a woman appeared a few steps in front of him.
She was tall and slender, her dark eyes watching him quietly, her expression cold and stern, exuding an aura of authority that made people dare not act rashly.
She wore a dark blue robe, her long, straight black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her face was exquisite and beautiful, yet her brows carried an air of calm and dignity that inspired awe in those who looked at her.
Those dark eyes were calmly looking at Allen.
Allen stood there, his mind racing for a few seconds.
He wasn't quite sure what his situation was, but the woman in front of him was clearly not captivated by his good looks.
"Uh... and who are you?" Allen tentatively raised a hand and waved.
The woman didn't respond to his greeting; she just stared at him for a while before speaking again.
Why are you back?
Allen blinked blankly.
Come back? What do you mean, come back? I've never even been here before!
He opened his mouth, about to explain that the other person might have mistaken him for someone else, when he suddenly felt a strange vibration in his chest.
An aura rose from the location of his heart, and then a semi-transparent phantom slowly detached from his body.
It was the silhouette of a man, tall and slender, wearing an old-fashioned robe, his face so blurred that his features were almost indistinguishable.
But the moment it separated from Allen's body, the outline of the phantom solidified slightly, revealing a tired and ashamed face.
Allen's pupils contracted.
Quirrell.
Wasn't that man dead on the beach in St Margaret's Bay?!
"It's me."
Quirrell's ghost stood in the pure white space, head bowed, gaze fixed on the ground, not daring to look directly at the blue-robed woman in front of him.
"Ms. Rowena the Grey Lady."
Allen was stunned.
Rowena Ravenclaw?
He ran the name through his mind, then it suddenly dawned on him—one of the Four Founders of Hogwarts, the Founders of Ravenclaw House!
He couldn't help but glance at the woman in blue robes a few more times.
Indeed, his scholarly air and dignified presence, his calm and wise demeanor, truly resembled the ancient scholar depicted in portraits.
Quirrell's ghost slowly raised his hand, looking down at his translucent palms, a hint of shame in his voice.
"After I died... I did not reach the other side of death. My unfulfilled obsessions transformed into... a ghost."
"And so I was bound to a strange, mysterious card, and the world around me was plunged into darkness..."
He paused, then looked up and swept his gaze across the pure white space.
There was an indescribable emotion in his eyes, like someone who had been away from home for many years finally returning to their old home, only to find that everything had changed beyond recognition.
"... When I regained my sight, I witnessed men in black robes storming into the Great Hall, children being dragged away, and my former alma mater... being trampled upon."
Quirrell's voice began to tremble slightly.
"I always thought I was right. I believed that power would bring respect, and that following that person would bring glory."
"I found him in the forests of Albania, and I gave him everything I had, believing it to be my ladder to greatness."
He lowered his head, his voice becoming even softer.
"But when I died and became this powerless ghost, drifting inside that card, I realized—all those things I pursued were illusory."
" Voldemort will never give me respect; he'll only drain me of my value and then discard me. My glory is worthless in the eyes of those I've hurt."
Allen, who was listening nearby, was taken aback and subconsciously glanced at him.
Most wizards wouldn't even dare to utter that name, but Quirrell said it in his hoarse, tired voice, with a hint of disgust in his tone.
"But my skills are lacking," Quirrell's phantom said, bowing his head in shame. "I couldn't stop a dozen Death Eaters, and even if I tried my best, I couldn't stop them all."
"The only thing I can do is burn away all my obsession and give this last bit of strength to this young man, so that he can hold on a little longer and buy some time for those children."
He gave a self-deprecating smirk.
"But I'm still too weak; it seems I can't even do this now."
A few seconds of silence filled the pure white space. Allen subconsciously held his breath, sensing that the atmosphere was somewhat subtle.
Rowena Ravenclaw looked at Quirrell quietly, as if observing him silently, before speaking softly after a long while.
"Have you ever considered that you might not be suited for Ravenclaw?"
Quirrell's phantom stiffened slightly, his face instantly turning pale, as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water on him.
"I..." He opened his mouth, "I've realized my past mistakes. I... will do my best to make amends."
Rowena didn't respond immediately. Her gaze shifted from Quirrell to the pure white light in the distance, as if she were deep in thought.
" Ravenclaw values wisdom," she said slowly. "What is wisdom? It is the keenness to judge timing, to make the most appropriate choice at the most appropriate time."
She turned her gaze back to Quirrell.
"You know you can't drive away the intruders, yet instead of trying to protect yourself, you forcefully burn your obsession, betting your last bit of existence in an attempt to delay them, a delay that might not even succeed."
"Have you ever considered that this is more like what Gryffindor does?"
Quirrell lowered his head and fell silent.
Allen stood to the side, even his breathing became soft.
He knew it was inappropriate to interrupt at this point, and besides, he genuinely didn't know what to say.
Ravenclaw looked silently at Quirrell before her, then calmly turned away, the hem of her robe brushing against the pure white ground, as if preparing to leave.
"No."
Quirrell's voice came from behind her, low and husky but firm.
Ravenclaw stopped walking, but she didn't turn around.
"... Even if we had to do it all over again."
I will still do it.
Rowena had her back to Quirrell, so her expression was unreadable.
Quirrell's phantom slowly raised its hand and placed it on its chest.
"To use one's own useless body to protect those who are still useful, to protect those children whose future holds limitless possibilities."
He raised his head, his eyes filled with a strange determination.
"This is the wisdom I believe in, the Grey Lady. I will no longer calculate gains and losses; I will see clearly what is worth giving everything for."
As he said this, a very faint smile even appeared at the corner of his mouth, "I may not be a qualified Ravenclaw, but this is my wisdom now."
Allen stood by, watching this scene, and suddenly felt a little moved.
He had seen Quirrell at his most pathetic, and at that moment he only felt that the man was both pitiful and lamentable.
But now, Quirrell, though only clinging to a sliver of his will, has eyes that shine far brighter than those of the living Quirrell.
Rowena Ravenclaw stood still, her silhouette exceptionally clear in the pure white light.
Allen secretly turned his head to the side, and from his angle, he could just see her profile.
The corners of her mouth seemed to turn up almost imperceptibly.
Then her figure began to fade, gradually dissolving like ink being washed away by water.
Before she completely vanished, a grand and majestic female voice echoed in the pure white space.
Your courage demonstrates your wisdom.
The next moment, cracks began to appear in the pure white space, spreading out in all directions, like a giant mirror shattering.
Allen's vision blurred for a moment, and the reality around him rushed back like a flood.
The spell tails that had been frozen in mid-air began to move again, and the sluggish Death Eaters regained their normal speed.
He heard a clear, melodious sound behind him—
A majestic eagle formed from blue light suddenly spread its wings behind him, creating a gust of wind that made the hem of his trench coat flutter wildly.
The eagle's form is extremely clear, every feather is glowing, and its eyes are filled with unparalleled wisdom and majesty.
Allen adjusted his purple-striped fox mask, which had been blown askew by the strong wind. A gentle, calm voice reached his ears, sounding like a sigh, a heartfelt lament.
The voice suddenly spread out, echoing throughout the Great Hall, as if declaring its intentions to everyone.
"I no longer pursue illusory power; wisdom is my true home."
I went astray.
"Now, all I want is to preserve the spark in the darkness."