Conversation in the Carriage

After Victor boarded the carriage, students continued to stream into the various carriages, preparing to embark on their journey to Hogsmeade Village.

Because there were quite a few people, even though the students avoided riding in the same carriage as the professor, people still approached Victor's carriage.

It was Quirrell.

Quirrell wore a purple headscarf today, and his gait and expression were still somewhat neurotic. But when he appeared in the bright sunlight, the others were surprised to find that Quirrell actually had a rather delicate face and a tall, slender figure.

If he didn't reek of garlic, he would be a very popular professor.

In fact, that's how he used to be. A few years ago, Quirrell was quick-witted and amiable. Therefore, many older students were extremely surprised when they saw the Quirrell of today—

They couldn't understand why people could change so much in just one year.

"No—you don't mind if I sit down, Professor Victor," Quirrell stammered.

As he approached, a strong smell of garlic hit him, causing Victor to frown.

"Sorry, I ran into a vampire in Romania. You know how it is with vampires, once you get involved, you can't get rid of them. I had to spray garlic water a lot to avoid trouble."

As Quirrell spoke, he stepped onto the carriage, his boots making a "thud" as they hit the wooden planks.

Victor didn't object to him sitting down, but simply watched Quirrell sit opposite him, and then said tremblingly:

"You should be able to understand, right? I didn't expect you could see death too."

"Saw death?"

"Oh, those are the Nightshades over there. Only those who truly understand death can see them."

"When they approached you, you turned to the side, so I guess you could see them. They looked—a little ominous."

Upon hearing this, Victor glanced ahead.

The carriage was pulled by two emaciated horse-like animals. Their bodies were so thin that the ribs on the front and the tibia on the legs could be clearly seen under a thin layer of black skin. Even the outline of the intestines could be seen with each breath in the waist and abdomen, which was quite horrifying.

Furthermore, although their bodies resemble overly thin horses, they have two bat-like wings on their backs, heads resembling dragon heads covered with tiny horns, and two hollow eyes burning with blue fluorescence.

This is Ye Qi.

As Victor looked over, the Night Chicks began to run forward. All the students had boarded the carriages, so they spread their wings and raced towards the end of the road.

The school and the dense forbidden forest outside the window began to recede rapidly.

"Shuashua——"

The wind whistled past on both sides of the carriage.

No wonder the students acted as if they didn't see them; it turns out that only those who have witnessed death can see Ye Qi.

When death was mentioned, countless faces flashed through Victor's mind instantly.

At this point, Quirrell stammered again, "I thought there wasn't much death in the Far East. When...when did you start seeing them?"

"Death is everywhere," Victor said calmly.

"We don't have Nightshade here, but the mortality rate is very high. As for when I first saw one... it was probably when I saw Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother."

"little Red Riding Hood?"

"A child. Her red hat had magical properties, capable of warding off giant wolves in the forest. But when she left, the wolf ate her grandmother, and the two became one, so the hat's effect was lost."

"Later, she made a deal with me using her hat, asking me to take care of the wolf for her."

"The wolf's head is still hanging inside the door on the second floor of my house."

What is all this?

Quirrell choked, feeling as if he had heard a lot of news, yet it was no different from not hearing anything at all. Little Red Riding Hood, the wolf—these words seemed to have nothing to do with the British magical world.

How could such a diviner claim that his soul is "bloated"?

No...

Victor suddenly countered, "And you?"

"Me?" Quirrell shuddered, as if startled by the question. "Perhaps it was when I fought the zombies."

"That time, I was invited by my African prince friend to deal with his zombie problem. Those zombies were able to survive because they wore cursed gold. When I used my skills to peel off the gold, they all turned into a pile of dust."

"That's terrifying, they used to be Muggle pharaohs..."

Quirrell suddenly fell silent, his face twitching, as if recalling a scene he didn't want to think about anymore.

"What does Pharaoh mean?" Victor asked with great interest.

"A leader in Muggle history. But knowing that doesn't really matter, I don't want to mention it again..."

"Meaningless? Is that why you stopped teaching Muggle Studies?"

"Yes, yes, Defense Against Dark Magic is more useful, I prefer it."

"Sometimes it's better to be honest with yourself, Professor Quirrell," Victor suddenly said.

"Your spirituality says you're lying, and if you continue like this, your destiny star will begin to dim. Perhaps it's the same thing I mentioned last time. If you want to return to a normal life, my suggestion is always valid—it's just that you'll have to work harder to afford it."

Victor and Quirrell stared at each other in silence. For a moment, Quirrell was speechless, and he felt his heart stop for a second. He dared not ask anything more, afraid that Victor would expose the fragile truth.

But at that moment, the carriage suddenly began to slow down. A wizarding town, completely different in style from Diagon Alley, came into view.

Hogsmeade has arrived.

After the car stopped, Quirrell mumbled, "...I don't need it."

"Oh well."

Victor raised his eyebrows, said nothing more, and simply pushed open the door and left.

……

Almost the instant Victor disappeared from sight, Quirrell's face turned deathly pale.

"Master—Master—please believe me, I absolutely did not mean to go against your principles!"

Suddenly his legs went weak, and he collapsed to his knees on the carriage floor, his lips trembling.

"I don't know what he was thinking—how could he—"

"Shut up!"

As Quirrell trembled, a faint voice suddenly came from inside the carriage where he was alone. The voice was sharp and seemed to come from beneath his thick purple headscarf.

The voice made Quirrell's face turn even paler.

Oh, of course he knows who that is.

That's Voldemort.

His superior, the man he met in the Albanian forest. When Quirrell spoke to Voldemort, he suddenly stopped stuttering. His face stopped twitching, his expression stopped being strange, only revealing a deathly pale look of excessive fear.

The shrill voice disappeared for a moment, then rang out again: "You're so stupid! I told you to test him, and you didn't find anything out. Instead, you revealed more and more about yourself—"

"But, Master, I don't think he knew about us, otherwise he would have told Dumbledore long ago."

"madness!"

A sharp, angry voice rang out, and in that instant, Quirrell almost uncontrollably shuddered, unable to speak, and clutched his head in pain.

"Foolish...foolish...of course he saw through it. He brought it up in front of you time and time again, and you still had illusions?"

"You're all talk and no action! If you continue like this, he'll go to Dumbledore!"

Voldemort's voice paused again, as if his roar had exhausted him. When he spoke again, his voice was noticeably weak:

"...Go ask him, go make a deal with him...I know that damned fortune teller thinks you're profitable, otherwise he wouldn't have offered to get rid of me for you..."

"Disguise yourself, find him, and then ask him..."

"If you pay the same price, will he also be able to strengthen your soul...?"