Shame

For a fleeting moment, Belvina truly wanted to kill Quirrell.

As the youngest daughter of the Black family, although she had never used the Killing Curse, she knew about the Unforgivable Curse.

Moreover, with her magical powers and the negative emotions of anger and violence she was experiencing at that moment, she was capable of using the Killing Curse to take Quirrell's life and summon Death.

But Belvina ultimately didn't do it. She realized that her emotions were malfunctioning and that there was danger lurking around her. At the last moment, she barely regained her senses.

Belvina's right hand, which was holding the wand, fell naturally as she slowly stepped back.

However, that familiar sense of danger, the warning that rose in my heart, did not dissipate with each step I took; instead, it intensified.

A wave of panic swept over her instantly, making it hard to breathe, causing her to break out in a cold sweat, and her heart, hidden beneath her ribs, pounded weakly, as if it might fail at any moment...

Merlin, what will happen to Basilda? What will happen if the girl who always thinks of her finds out she died tonight?

Having brushed with death is always unsettling. As someone who has died once, Belvina is not afraid of death; she is more afraid of losing.

At this moment, her regained rationality told Belvina that if she had just killed Quirinas Quirrell, Quirrell would definitely not be the only one to die in this abandoned classroom tonight.

And Bassheda Bablin, the silly girl who knows Belvina best, will be Death's next target.

"So weak, Belvina, you know that spell perfectly well." Quirrell's lips parted, but the voice didn't come from his mouth; it came from within his body.

Belvina took another step back and remained silent.

"I'm starting to appreciate you," Quirrell said again, his voice weak, like a candle flame in the wind, as if it would go out at any moment.

A tremendous panic surged through Belvina once more, seeping into her body, expanding relentlessly, crushing her internal organs, and clogging every orifice of her body.

The suffocating feeling made Belvina feel that death was so close to her, and she could even smell the stench of death.

The situation wasn't at its worst yet, and Belvina was still managing to maintain a semblance of calm, but she knew she couldn't hold on much longer; her trembling legs were already sending her distress signals.

Two minutes later, Belvina was still standing, not collapsing to the ground. Panic and fear had not managed to break her; they had only made her extremely vulnerable and easily defeated.

"How should I address you?" Belvina asked tentatively, her voice hoarse and unpleasant. "The Dark Lord? Or Quirinas Quirrell?"

As the panic subsided, Belvina quickly considered her current situation.

Clearly, Quirinas Quirrell was overwhelmed by some unknown reason, his emotions were on the verge of collapse, which is why he became hysterical, spoke rudely to Belvina, and said things he would never normally have the courage to say.

At first, Belvina was able to remain calm despite being constantly provoked, but at a certain point, her emotions inexplicably intensified and gradually became uncontrollable. Anger and humiliation led her to recklessly pull out her wand, and she did not hesitate to vent her emotions by killing Quirrell.

Belvina may not be exceptionally intelligent, but her mind is always quick; how could she not understand the intricacies of the matter?

Since the start of the school year, the Voldemort that Dumbledore has been searching for has been hiding inside Quirrell's body!

"Occlumency, Walbug and Orion have taught you well, Belvina," Quirrell—no, Voldemort—said. "The great Voldemort is proud of you, child."

It sounds like a kind elder encouraging an outstanding junior, even using the affectionate term "child," but anyone who believes it is more foolish than Quirrell.

"You didn't die that night after all." Belvina tried to remain calm as she racked her brains for a way out.

Instead of raising her wand to fight Voldemort, she was thinking about how to escape unscathed; this cowardly behavior was very unlike Belvina.

A person's name is like a tree's shadow. It would be a lie to say she wasn't afraid. Belvina wasn't that fool Quirrell. Even if Voldemort was truly weak, she wouldn't be as presumptuous as Quirrell, thinking she could take him down single-handedly.

More importantly, Belvina knew her own body was in trouble; something was wrong. Although she hadn't figured out the cause, she was certain that she was truly incredibly weak.

"The great Voldemort will not die," Voldemort said. "I have already conquered death."

Without a trace of pride, Voldemort spoke calmly, as if conquering death was something he took for granted.

"I was very happy on the first day of school, not because I was back at Hogwarts, but because I saw Harry Potter, and of course you," Voldemort continued, "a fine pure-blood wizard, and a wizard from Black."

Quirrell's body remained in place, his bloodshot eyes wide with terror, making him appear to be the most fearful one in the room.

"I'm honored to make you happy," Belvina said, offering only flattery for now, as she needed time to calm her agitated state and figure out what had gone wrong.

I don’t know if it’s because he can only talk to that idiot Quirrell, but Voldemort was unusually talkative tonight and seemed to be in a lot of conversation.

"I haven't been this happy in years." Voldemort's weak voice betrayed no sign of joy.

Quirrell's body suddenly moved, stiffly but definitely, much like Paul Bernard's failed alchemical dolls, with stiff limbs and joints that could not bend.

Quirrell's bloodshot eyes grew even more terrified, and he couldn't even call for help from Belvina, who was not far away.

"Dumbledore, and Potter, they're both in this castle, while I had to lie low, waiting for my chance—ten years have passed," Voldemort continued. "But now I'm back, Voldemort is back, and stronger than ever before!"

Only at this moment did Voldemort's weak voice show clear emotional fluctuations.

He was proud, he was smug, and he carried a disdain for Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

Belvina's fingers twitched slightly, very subtly. She was already able to move freely, but she still couldn't find the key.

Belvina stood still, neither making a move nor running away.

The situation has improved somewhat, but the crisis has not been resolved; in fact, it has gotten worse.

Quirrell took a few mechanical steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Belvina until they could see the whites of each other's eyes.

"Belvina, Belvina, do you want me back?" Voldemort's emotions shifted, and he even seemed somewhat endearing at this moment. "You don't need to answer. I know very well that you don't want me back, less than those people, and you might even wish I were truly dead."

The tone was genuinely friendly, but the underlying meaning of the words was anything but friendly, like a rollercoaster ride with its ups and downs.

"It's alright, and don't be afraid. I will mercifully forgive your betrayal and disloyalty, and bring you back under my command to lead you on the unfinished business. This time, no one can stop me."

After holding back for over a decade, the old man became very talkative. Voldemort spoke eloquently in the abandoned classroom, arranging everything for his comeback in just a few words.

"And you, Belvina, you lent a helping hand when I needed it, and although your intention may not have been to help me, I have still decided to reward you."

Voldemort finally shut up; he was waiting for Belvina to express her stance, waiting for her to pledge her loyalty.

After a moment, Belvina spread her arms slightly to her sides, took a small step back with one foot, bent her knees, nodded, and said, "I am happy to serve you."

This posture made Belvina feel extremely humiliated. She knew Voldemort was watching her, so she could only empty her mind and try not to think about anything.

"After tonight, we will meet again, Belvina." Voldemort raised his hand and gently patted Belvina's shoulder. "Then you will realize how wise it was not to recklessly wave your wand at me."

With that, Voldemort manipulated Quirrell's body to walk out of the classroom, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

Belvina maintained the humiliating posture, as if trying to etch the day's humiliation deep into her very bones.

It was a long time before she finally collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, her chest heaving, one hand angrily pounding the floor, the other clutching her forehead in pain.

Her head was throbbing with pain; sometimes it felt like she was being pricked by needles, sometimes like she was being burned by flames, and sometimes like she was being smashed flat by a hammer.

Perhaps, fainting as an escape is a kind of relief.

It was cold at Hogwarts tonight, but large beads of sweat rolled down Belvina's forehead.