Chapter 47: Conversation

Late night.

Professor Quirrell’s office.

The office remained dim, still filled with the heavy scent of potions...

A large purple turban floated in midair, as if controlled by an invisible hand, swiftly flying to the fireplace, where its surface burst into green flames and instantly turned to ash...

From a shadow in the room, a wand extended, gripped tightly by a pale hand...

The wand’s owner clearly despised the smell of the burning purple turban and pointed it at the fireplace, muttering: “Scourgify!”

A gust of wind swept through, carrying away the thick smoke and ash left by the burning turban up the chimney...

Then the room fell silent...

After an indeterminate length of time, a young voice timidly spoke up:

“L-L-Lord! The plan has... has... failed again! It’s all my fault, your incompetent servant, once again disappointing you. Please, Lord... Lord... punish your servant!” The voice grew stammering, its fear reaching its peak, trembling with terror.

After a long pause, a cold, sharp voice spoke:

“No, you did well today! We simply lacked a bit of luck!” The voice was as cold as ice, devoid of warmth or emotion.

“Your performance today was commendable—you kept yourself in check before that old fox Dumbledore! I’ll spare you punishment this time!” The cold voice finally showed a hint of variation.

“Ah! Merciful Lord, thank you for your mercy, thank you for your kindness toward your feeble servant! Your servant will remain eternally loyal to you... Wuwuwu ...” The young voice grew emotional, then began to choke with sobs.

“Enough!” The cold voice grew impatient.

The young voice instantly fell silent. “Yes, Lord!” Fear now filled every word.

The room fell silent again.

After a long while, the young voice spoke up once more, timidly: “Lord! Snape seems to have begun suspecting me. He won’t tell Dumbledore, will he?”

“Hmph! Snape will never earn the old fool Dumbledore’s trust! As long as he has no proof, it’s fine!” The cold, sharp voice carried a hint of contempt.

“As for Dumbledore, he will certainly suspect you!” The cold, sharp voice grew more serious.

The young voice gasped, sounding panicked.

“Pathetic! Are you really that frightened? Even if Dumbledore suspects you, he’ll never guess that I share your body!” The cold, sharp voice held a trace of anger.

“Besides, as the greatest wizard of this century, Dumbledore won’t act on mere suspicion to investigate you.” The cold, sharp voice dripped with mockery.

“No one understands Dumbledore better than I do. He clings to foolish principles—laughable! Ridiculously persistent! Absurd principles!” The owner of the cold, sharp voice grew contemptuous again.

The one with the young voice seemed to exhale deeply.

“Lord, what about Allen Finis? Should we stop guiding him from now on?” The young voice asked cautiously.

“Foolish! This happened right under Dumbledore’s nose, and Finis isn’t stupid—doing this would plainly tell both Finis and Dumbledore you were faking unconsciousness! Are you trying to make Dumbledore suspect you even more? Cough...coughcough...”

The one with the cold, sharp voice suddenly became furious.

Having spoken so much at once, his voice grew weak by the end, and he began to cough.

“Lord! Lord! Forgive your foolish servant! Your servant deserves to die! Please, Lord, take care of your body... don’t let your servant’s stupidity harm your noble form...” The young voice turned tense and terrified again.

The one with the cold, sharp voice coughed for a long while before finally stopping.

“We must maintain the status quo. Finis is sharp—he mustn’t notice any flaw! I’m more afraid he’ll grow too nervous to come himself!” The owner of the cold, sharp voice spoke harshly.

“Besides, Finis is useful to us. With his intelligence, our plan’s success rate will rise significantly, and we won’t need to strain this body so much. This body’s deterioration is accelerating!” The cold, sharp voice suddenly grew calm.

“Lord, you are truly wise! Your extraordinary wisdom is forever the guiding light for your foolish servant!” The young voice turned instantly sycophantic.

“Though Finis is mentally flawed and can resist my Legilimency, the Dark Lord has never relied solely on Legilimency to manipulate minds! Eleven years old—this is the age most easily influenced. I will guide this young man onto the right path and make him my loyal servant! When I regain my strength, defeat Dumbledore, and reclaim control of the magical world, I’ll have a proper chat with Finis about today’s events!” The cold, sharp voice turned rational.

The young voice offered another round of praise.

“At that time, Quirinus, I shall grant you the most powerful force in the world! Your rank will be second only to mine, and I shall train you as my heir! You shall become Dark Lord II—what do you think of that title?” The cold, sharp voice turned suddenly alluring.

“ Wuwuwu ~ Great Lord! Your foolish servant has failed you so many times, disappointed you so often, yet you show such mercy, such magnanimity! Your servant is deeply moved! Your servant will devote everything to our cause!” The young voice, overcome with emotion, became incoherent.

Yet the cold, sharp voice suddenly grew weary and serene, as if its owner had slipped into memory.

“Quirinus, do you know what kind of life I’ve lived these past years?” The cold, sharp voice paused—but gave the young voice no chance to speak.

“I, once the Dark Lord who ruled the magical world, have been a wandering spirit for eleven years! Eleven full years!” The cold, sharp voice brimmed with intense hatred.

“For eleven years, I’ve hidden in remote mountains and wilds, possessing small animals, eating raw meat and drinking raw blood, living only in stinking beast dens—no warmth in winter, no relief in summer! None of that matters! What matters is that I’ve lost most of my power! Every second of these eleven years has been the cruelest torment!” The cold, sharp voice grew low and heavy.

Then the owner of the cold, sharp voice began to chant...

“Pain! Suffering!”

“My hatred burns in the abyss!”

“The world shall tremble under my torment!”

“The pitiful Ministry shall crumble in my wrath!”

“In the end, all old order shall be destroyed!”

“Under my shadow, all who defy me shall turn to ash!”

“Therefore, for the sake of final victory, I can swallow this—and I must swallow it!” The cold, sharp voice grew resolute, delivering its final declaration.

“Huh? Swallow? Lord, you swallowed it?” The young voice asked, puzzled.

“Foolish! Foolish! Foolish! How stupid are you!” The cold voice erupted into hysteria.

“Ah! Lord, I’m sorry! Forgive me this once! Lord, don’t...”

“Crucio!”

“Ahh! Aaah!! Aaaah!!!”