Chapter 223: Voldemort's Recruitment
Chapter 223: Voldemort's Recruitment
After about half an hour, Quirrell finally hobbled his way to the room with the troll and the obstacle course set up by Snape.
But his current appearance was peculiar, as if he had aged several decades; his face was deathly pale and deeply wrinkled.
Moreover, Quirrell seemed to be severely injured, his entire body emanating a strong, bloody odor. Each step he took seemed to cause him immense pain.
As Quirrell entered the room, the extinguished magical flames rose again.
He tremblingly made his way to the table with the potion and carefully picked up the piece of parchment, reading it.
"...Neither the giant nor the dwarf holds the Death Eater.
The second from the left and the second from the right, though different in appearance, share the same scent."
A smile slowly spread across Quirrell's face.
That fool, Snape, actually thought he couldn't deduce it... How laughable! He was an outstanding student who graduated from Ravenclaw with straight O's.
Compared to finding keys, playing chess, or fighting trolls, logic and deduction were his forte.
Quirrell conjured a feather, dipped it in his blood, and began to make calculations.
"I know it!" he soon exclaimed excitedly. "This smallest bottle will allow me to pass through the black flames and obtain the Sorcerer's Stone!"
Without hesitation, he picked up the inconspicuous little bottle and gulped down its contents.
"Ugh..."
Quirrell had thought that nothing could be worse than facing those biting purple plants.
But now he realized he was wrong.
The moment his lips touched the potion, a nauseating taste flooded his mouth, as if three hundred trolls were dancing on his tongue.
Even the compost in the greenhouse smelled sweeter than this concoction.
The mental torture made Quirrell's face twist in disgust, and he quickly put down the potion after taking just a sip.
"Damn Snape!"
Quirrell clutched his stomach with one hand and covered his mouth with the other, tremblingly stepping through the black flames.
"Just you wait... Once I get the Sorcerer's Stone and resurrect the Dark Lord, whether it's Sprout or Snape, they're all going to die!"
Quirrell raged inwardly as he entered the final room.
But to his astonishment, he found that there was already someone there... neither Snape nor Dumbledore.
"Harry Potter!"
Quirrell was so shocked that he couldn't catch his breath.
"It's me, Professor," said the "Harry" in the room, turning around with a hint of panic in his voice. "I was just worried that I might encounter you here, and now you've arrived..."
"Wait. Professor Quirrell, how badly are you injured? Don't worry, I'll take you to the school hospital right away."
As he spoke, he started walking towards Quirrell.
"Stay there and don't move!" Quirrell shouted, brandishing his wand. "Now, give me the Sorcerer's Stone!"
Quirrell felt his mind was in chaos, extreme chaos.
He had envisioned countless scenarios... such as how to fight Snape or how to beg for mercy from Dumbledore.
But the one thing Quirrell had never anticipated was that Harry Potter would reach this place before him and, judging by his appearance, had been waiting here for quite some time.
How on earth did this indestructible boy get past those biting purple plants?!
"Sorcerer's Stone? What nonsense are you babbling about?"
"Harry" looked confused. "Isn't the final reward in this room the mirror? Professor, you must take a look; this mirror is truly magical. I saw myself shaking hands with Dumbledore and becoming the Minister of Magic.
He took a step forward, intending to take a closer look, but a sharp voice suddenly rang out.
"He's lying... he's lying..."
"Potter, don't move!" Kyle exclaimed, his wand at the ready. "My patience is limited, now hand over the Sorcerer's Stone!"
The shrill voice spoke again.
"You fool, can't you see it yet? He's not Harry Potter!"
"Not Harry Potter?" Kyle scrutinized the other party once more.
The messy hair, the scar on his forehead, and those round-framed glasses... it had to be Potter.
"Let me deal with him... let's talk face to face..."
"Master, you've already expended much energy dealing with the biting tulips. You need to rest!"
"Thanks to your help... I still have some strength left..."
"It's my honor, Master!"
Quirrell bent over, his hand reaching up to untie the scarf haphazardly wrapped around his head, revealing the hideous face on the back of his skull.
The face was as white as chalk, with glowing red eyes and slender slits for nostrils, resembling a snake.
"You don't seem surprised at all..." he whispered.
"Quirrell wouldn't dare come alone to steal the Sorcerer's Stone, he doesn't have the guts."
"Harry" spoke calmly, "But I didn't expect you to appear like this... Lord Voldemort."
"You know me..." Voldemort seemed intrigued.
"It's obvious, isn't it?"
"By the way, how did you realize I wasn't Harry Potter? I thought my disguise was quite convincing."
"The badge..." Voldemort said in a hoarse voice, "Harry Potter wouldn't wear a Slytherin badge!"
"What a pity... but it can't be helped. I'd rather die than wear that stupid lion badge."
Kyle took off his glasses and tossed them aside. They bounced a few times on the ground before turning back into a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean.
Headmaster Sascia had provided him with a variety of potions, including a large bottle of Polyjuice Potion.
And getting Harry's hair was easy, or rather, simple. Kyle could have tricked Harry out of his pants if he wanted to.
But there was no need for that.
"Who are you..." Voldemort said with interest, "Malfoy... Nott... or Selwyn..."
"No need to guess, Lord Voldemort," Kyle spread his hands, "Since I used the Polyjuice Potion, I obviously don't want anyone to know who I am."
"Brave, cunning... and a clear-headed thinker. It seems Slytherin has produced yet another exceptional young wizard."
Voldemort's interest piqued further as he regarded Kyle, his voice taking on a seductive tone, "You're far superior to that waste, Quirrell... Join me, help me obtain the Sorcerer's Stone... I will grant you power and riches beyond your imagination!"
"Master..." Quirrell looked aggrieved, his voice trembling, "I am your most loyal servant."
After all, he had been the one to arrive first, whether it was in the Albanian forest or navigating the treacherous obstacles before.
It had always been him aiding the Dark Lord, not this unknown person standing before him.
...
(End of Chapter)
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