Chapter 93: Desperate Battle

Professor Quirrell cast a Cruciatus Curse, but neither of them was hit; Allen and Harry both took cover.

“Buy time! Our reinforcements are almost here!” Allen shouted to Harry.

After the recent barrage of spells, he realized how powerless he was against an adult wizard—because Harry was present, the Unbreakable Vow restrained him from using any black magic he knew, and apart from black magic, his strongest offensive spell was merely the Petrification Charm, which could not penetrate Quirrell’s Armor Spell.

He and Harry had cast at least five or six Petrification Charms at Quirrell, all blocked by the invisible armor surrounding him.

If either of them was hit by even one of Quirrell’s spells, they would lose combat capability immediately.

The power gap was immense, but now they had no choice but to fight to the death.

“Allen, think of something!” Harry shouted, also realizing the dire situation.

Professor Quirrell sneered as he advanced toward their hiding spot, taunting, “Come out, my student. Death is but an instant—I promise my spell will spare you any pain.”

Allen was hiding behind the Mirror of Erised, his mind racing—he couldn’t think of a single spell he knew that could threaten Quirrell; he simply knew too few spells.

Suddenly, a flash of insight struck him—he remembered an earlier attempt to apply the Transfiguration Spell in combat.

Back then, with no other means to learn more spells, he had focused on developing applications for the ones he already knew, hoping to have a tactical option in emergencies.

In the end, his attention always returned to Transfiguration—though it required long preparation and was prone to failure, its upper limit was the highest among all the spells he knew.

He had brainstormed countless applications for Transfiguration and tried many experiments, but after Quirrell began tutoring him, he gradually abandoned further development of the spell.

What Allen now recalled was one such experiment: at the time, he had only known how to transfigure one object into another, and during his trials, he discovered that imparting significant potential energy to the transformed object did not notably increase the difficulty.

For example, transfiguring a spring versus a compressed spring was roughly equally difficult, yet the compressed spring possessed immense elastic potential energy.

Allen believed this elastic potential energy could be the key to breaking through Quirrell’s invisible armor.

But Quirrell’s footsteps were drawing nearer—Allen had to act quickly.

His palms were slick with sweat; he knew many hunting traps relied on elastic potential energy, but he had no time to construct such a trap— to ensure success, he could only choose the simplest, most brutal method.

He swung his wand and cast Transfiguration on the stone tiles beneath him; under immense pressure, he succeeded on the first try.

He transfigured a steel bar, embedded diagonally into the ground, bent to its absolute limit—hidden behind the mirror, invisible to Quirrell.

Just as Allen completed the transfiguration, Quirrell stepped behind the mirror, relaxed and confident—he didn’t believe a first-year student could pose any threat.

Then he turned—and saw a dark shape hurtling toward him; his invisible armor shattered like an eggshell, the steel bar paused only briefly before continuing its strike toward Quirrell…

But that brief pause gave Quirrell just enough time to twist slightly—the bar still struck his left arm, which now hung limp and lifeless…

Allen had no time for regret—he seized the moment and scrambled to Harry’s side.

“I’m out of options—that Transfiguration was pure luck to even hit Quirrell! Next time he’ll be on guard! Do you have any ideas?” Allen said quickly to Harry.

Harry shook his head rapidly, then suddenly seemed to remember something.

“Quirrell seems terrified of touching my skin—his hand broke out in blisters when he touched me earlier!” Harry told Allen.

Allen sharply noticed the burn marks on Quirrell’s palm…

Quirrell was now utterly enraged—he couldn’t believe a first-year student had inflicted such damage on him.

He glared fiercely at the stone pillar where Harry and Allen hid, cast a protective Armor Spell on himself, then raised his wand and aimed at the pillar:

“Explosive Blast!”

The moment Allen heard the incantation’s beginning, he sensed danger—he shoved Harry away and shouted, “Run!” then rolled to the side himself.

The pillar shattered under the blast, breaking into several pieces, shards of stone flying everywhere…

Allen and Harry crouched, covering their heads—but this was only the beginning…

Quirrell kept casting Explosive Blasts on every possible hiding spot; Harry and Allen were forced to scramble desperately, dodging one explosion after another.

Finally, a large shard of stone crashed hard onto Allen’s back—he saw nothing but blackness, collapsed to the ground, his wand slipping from his grip and flying far away…

Allen struggled to rise, but then he heard a sound that shattered his hope—he heard Harry’s scream.

He snapped his head up toward the scream—and saw a vision that made his eyes burn: Harry lay motionless on the ground, blood gushing from his body…

Allen was now truly desperate—he knew he had exhausted every option; his last hope had always been Harry.

Because he knew Harry was the protagonist of this world, the one blessed with fate—if a miracle were to occur today, defeating Quirrell and Voldemort, it would happen to Harry!

But that hope was now utterly destroyed.

He struggled to his feet, staggering toward Harry, not even glancing at his wand—he knew Quirrell would never let him retrieve it.

Quirrell had stopped casting; he stood smugly, watching the two boys utterly defeated.

Allen collapsed to his knees before Harry, trembling hands trying to stem the gushing blood—but it was useless; warm blood seeped through his fingers, soaking his pants and robe, and he couldn’t stop it no matter how hard he tried…

This was the first time in both his lives that Allen had seen so much blood—blood belonging to his friend.

Allen felt Harry’s life slipping away, his own heart sinking with it…

Harry’s lips turned pale and trembled continuously; Allen noticed Harry seemed to be trying to speak—he carefully pressed his ear to Harry’s lips and heard, in a faint whisper:

“I hurt… I’m so cold…”

Allen’s heart shattered.

He suddenly lifted his head and looked at Professor Quirrell.

“I surrender.”