Chapter 34: Conversation

The atmosphere in the room suddenly became awkward and oppressive.

Professor Quirrell stared silently at the floating light orbs in the sky, lost in thought.

Allen, unsettled by the oppressive mood, felt at a loss and dared not press further by retorting the things Quirrell had just said to him.

Finally, Allen couldn’t hold back—he softly changed the subject and explained, “Actually, I meant to use this on Malfoy; I just couldn’t resist just now!”

Seeing Allen had given him an out, Quirrell ended his stare and smoothly followed up, “Is S-B short for SuperBoy? Why would you praise Malfoy?”

Allen was stunned by Quirrell’s words—he never expected S-B could be interpreted this way in another language system. He remembered that the English title of a talent show he’d watched in his past life, “Happy Boy,” was also SuperBoy. A thousand unspoken complaints surged in his mind, but he had no way to voice them.

Allen could only mumble, “Now that you mention it, it does sound like that. Let me think of something better to draw on Malfoy’s head!”

With this diversion, the room’s atmosphere instantly eased.

But Quirrell’s face seemed to flush with embarrassment; he returned to his shadowed seat and hid his face in darkness.

Allen spoke cautiously, “You just said...”

The shadowed Quirrell abruptly cut him off: “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Allen asked blankly.

“How did you think of improving the Lumos spell that way?” Quirrell asked bluntly.

This left Allen speechless—but the question didn’t stump him. He had a universal excuse: “A year ago, I suffered an extremely violent magical surge that severely damaged my brain. Though treatment fully healed me, since then, strange ideas keep popping into my head.”

Quirrell was left speechless by Allen’s bizarre excuse. Was it true that mentally unstable people had broader thoughts, and intellectually disabled children brought more joy?

Seeing Quirrell fall silent, Allen tried again to resume the interrupted topic. He said carefully, “You just said that as long as I improved...”

Quirrell interrupted him again: “Why did the Sorting Hat take so long to sort you on opening day?”

“The Sorting Hat said it couldn’t see my thoughts—it claimed some spells had no effect on me,” Allen replied honestly. He truly didn’t think this was worth hiding.

The shadowed Quirrell grew even more agitated. He looked at Allen and felt utterly at a loss for how to proceed. He felt he had become the prey, while the former prey now stood on his vital spot, making him deeply uncomfortable. Now he was constantly on the defensive—what should he do?

Quirrell regretted this meeting. He was also growing angry and humiliated. He wanted to end this awkward scene quickly.

So he silently cast Unseen, Wandless spells—Imperius and Obliviate—on Allen. But they vanished like stones into the sea, yielding no reaction whatsoever...

This made Quirrell feel even more miserable...

This little wizard couldn’t be beaten, couldn’t be killed, couldn’t be controlled—it was driving him mad... Quirrell sighed inwardly.

At this moment, seeing Quirrell fall silent again, Allen cautiously asked: “You just said you knew about my improvement to...”

As expected, Quirrell interrupted him once more. He desperately pushed away the thought that made him feel mentally ill and demanded quickly: “How did you improve this Lumos spell?”

Allen apologized to Quirrell: “I can’t tell you. I still have many debts—I need this to pay them off.”

Quirrell sneered, “Such a simple spell—I can guess how you improved it without you telling me!”

He drew his wand.

Quickly casting Lumos, colorful orbs of light appeared rapidly at its tip—some spinning, some flickering—but none could leave the wand’s end...

Allen watched Quirrell’s face in the darkness, illuminated intermittently by the shifting lights, and noticed his expression growing darker.

Allen was stunned by Quirrell’s casting speed—while Allen took one moment to cast Lumos, Quirrell cast five or six. Quirrell was indeed as proficient as Allen had originally thought; his casting speed proved his strength.

After casting dozens of Lumos spells, Quirrell finally stopped. The place where he sat sank back into darkness.

But Allen refused to let Quirrell off the hook. Quirrell’s display of power only strengthened Allen’s resolve to cling to him as a mentor. He spoke for the fourth time: “You just said that as long as I improved a spell—even Lumos—you’d teach me all your knowledge. So please, guide me in the future!”

Then, overcome by the spirit of humility, he bowed deeply—ninety degrees, Japanese-style.

In the darkness, Quirrell sighed deeply, walked slowly to Allen’s side, lifted him up, and said calmly, “Meeting such a fine student today brings me great joy. I will surely impart all my knowledge to you—may you use it wisely.”

Allen was overjoyed and repeatedly assured Quirrell.

But Quirrell sighed again, his expression turning sorrowful. Allen’s heart tightened.

Quirrell said: “It is a pity we met so late, teacher and student. But alas, my time is short. I can only pass on as much knowledge as I can before I die!”

Allen was stunned again. He thought: What trick is this now? Though suspicious, he had no choice but to play along.

“Professor, what happened?” Allen asked.

“A few months ago, I wandered into the Dark Forest of Albania and was ambushed by a magical creature. I suffered grave injuries. Now I survive only on potions.” Quirrell spoke slowly.

“Then I can report this to Professor Dumbledore! He’s the greatest wizard of this age—he must have a cure!” Allen eagerly tried to shift responsibility away.

“No need. I’ve already found a cure—I won’t trouble Professor Dumbledore. But I’m still missing some magical ingredients. I hope you can keep an eye out for them.” Quirrell remained unmoved.

I believe you, you big liar! “My time is short” is clearly something you made up! Allen cursed inwardly.

But at this point, Allen couldn’t expose Quirrell.

“Alright, I’ll keep an eye out. What exactly do you need? Let me write it down.”

“The magical ingredients I need can only be found in the Forbidden Forest!”

“What? Then I can’t help. Professor Dumbledore already forbade students from entering the Forbidden Forest on opening day.”

“No, you can. Didn’t the school offer you a work-study position?”

“Yes, but it’s been ages and I haven’t gotten any notice yet!”

“Professor McGonagall has already assigned you to assist Keeper Rubeus Hagrid with tasks in the Forbidden Forest—and Professor Dumbledore has approved it!”

“What? Ah!”