74: Chapter 74 Voldemort's Killing Curse

Allen's feet had not yet touched the ground when the sounds from below reached his ears.

"Potter, do you think silence can change anything?"

Quirrell's tone was steady, a complete contrast to his classroom persona.

Harry's back was pressed against the stone wall, his right hand clutching his pocket tightly, his wand held horizontally across his chest, the tip trembling incessantly.

"You won't get it."

"Won't I?" Quirrell took a step forward. "Look at your hand."

Harry looked down; the hand holding the wand was trembling.

Quirrell stopped and turned his body to the side.

The face on the back of his head spoke.

"Harry, you are so much like your father."

Lord Voldemort's voice came from the back of Quirrell's head, sounding like someone dragging a chain across a stone wall.

"Just as stubborn, just as foolish, just as unable to see the situation clearly."

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Don't mention my father."

"Why not?" Lord Voldemort said. "He had the same expression before he died. Holding his wand, blocking the doorway, not even managing to cast a decent spell."

Harry's Adam's apple bobbed.

"You're lying."

"I never lie about such things." Lord Voldemort's red eyes narrowed into slits. "Your mother held on for a few seconds longer. She knelt on the ground begging me to spare you, her hair disheveled, her knees pressed into the wooden floor."

"Shut up."

"I gave her a chance. Step aside, and you wouldn't have to die. She refused."

Sparks shot from the tip of Harry's wand, then died out.

Lord Voldemort continued.

"Do you know what her last words were?"

Harry didn't answer; the lightning scar on his forehead was already throbbing a deep red.

"She said, kill me, don't touch Harry." Lord Voldemort's mouth twisted, forcing an arc onto that lipless face. "So I killed her first, then touched you."

Harry hissed, "You didn't manage to kill me."

"Yes." Lord Voldemort admitted, his tone devoid of annoyance. "That was an accident. But accidents won't happen a second time."

Inside the Portable Space, Peter huddled in the deepest part of the cage, ten fingers gripping the iron bars, his fingernails turning white.

The Void's silver eyes were fixed on the outside world, the tip of its tail pulled taut.

Allen hung at the corner where the ceiling met the stone wall, his body wrapped in a Spatial Thin Layer. He could see the outline of the Philosopher's Stone in Harry's pocket, and he could see the black blood vessels on the back of Quirrell's neck pulsating rapidly.

Peter's lips moved.

Allen glanced at him.

Peter gestured a word: Run.

Allen didn't move.

Below, Lord Voldemort's patience reached its limit.

"One last time, Potter. Hand over the stone, and I will let you walk out of this room alive."

Harry shook his head.

"No."

"No?"

"You killed my parents, and you still want me to help you." Harry's voice was trembling, but he bit out every word firmly. "Dream on."

Silence for two seconds.

Lord Voldemort laughed.

That laughter came from the back of Quirrell's head, bouncing off the walls of the stone chamber.

"Quirrell."

"Master."

"His right hand." Lord Voldemort said. "Destroy it."

Quirrell turned around, facing Harry directly.

His left hand was still smoking; it was the one burned when he touched Harry's skin earlier. The blisters had already burst, revealing the raw pink flesh underneath.

He raised his wand with his right hand.

Harry took a half step back, the back of his head hitting the stone wall.

"Professor Quirrell." Harry called to him. "You don't have to listen to him."

Quirrell's hand paused for a moment.

"Shut up, Potter."

"He's using you, look at yourself."

The corner of Quirrell's mouth twitched.

Lord Voldemort spoke from the back of his head.

"Quirrell."

"Yes, Master."

"Don't talk to the food."

Quirrell's shoulders tightened, and the tip of his wand aimed at Harry again.

Harry raised his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

The red light shot from the tip of the wand and hit Quirrell's chest like a stone thrown into water, not even causing a splash.

"First year." Lord Voldemort commented. "Using a first-year disarming charm against me."

Harry's hand was shaking.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The spell grazed Quirrell's shoulder and hit the wall, shattering into white mist.

"Try another." Lord Voldemort said. "I'll wait."

Harry's wand was unsteady, the tip circling in the air.

Quirrell took a step forward.

"Master, you said to destroy the hand, what spell should I use?"

Lord Voldemort was silent for a breath.

"Use that one."

Quirrell's body swayed.

"Master, that is—"

"Use Avada Kedavra." Lord Voldemort's voice dropped half an octave. "Aim for his right hand. I don't need him to be able to hold a wand. I just need him to be able to open his mouth and tell me where the stone is."

Quirrell's Adam's apple rolled.

"Master, the Killing Curse will—if it hits any part of the body—"

"Are you questioning me?"

Quirrell's spine bowed, as if someone had stepped on his neck.

"No, Master."

"Then do it."

Quirrell took a deep breath, the tip of his wand slowly lowering, aiming at Harry's right wrist.

Harry looked at the wand.

"You're going to kill me."

"I want your hand." Quirrell said.

"The Killing Curse means death if it touches you." Harry's voice was cracking. "You know that."

Quirrell didn't answer.

Green light emerged from the tip of the wand.

Not sparks, not mist, but that thick, sickly green, like rotting lake water stirred up and smeared into the air.

Allen gripped his blackthorn wand in the Spatial Folding corner.

This isn't right.

In the original plot, Quirrell's skin would be burned if he touched Harry, backlashed by Lily's ancient blood magic, and he wouldn't be able to cast the Killing Curse at all.

But now Quirrell's right hand was intact.

He had learned to be smart. He didn't use his hand to grab; he was standing three steps away, using his wand.

This timeline had deviated.

Allen's Spatial Perception swept toward the Castle.

Dumbledore's magical signature had just passed the chess room and was traversing the flying keys chamber.

Two minutes left.

He looked at Quirrell's wand tip again.

The density of the green light was climbing, the magic compressed to the size of a bullet, the wand tip terrifyingly steady.

Quirrell wasn't shaking anymore, his eyes filled with red light. That was Lord Voldemort holding the wand for him.

One and a half minutes.

Not enough.

Peter was frantically slapping the bars in the cage, his mouth sealed, unable to make a sound, his face flushed a liverish color.

The Void's body arched, the silver eyes reflecting that ball of green light growing brighter outside.

Allen stared at Harry.

Harry had nowhere to retreat.

His back was pressed against the stone wall, his wand held in front of his chest, the tip pointing upward, unable to block anything.

The scar was bleeding, a thin line sliding down from his forehead, passing over his eyebrow, and dripping into his eye.

Harry wiped it with his sleeve, the blood blurring half his vision.

He was still staring at Quirrell.

"I won't give it to you."

Lord Voldemort spoke from the back of his head.

"Kill him."

Quirrell's wand tip lowered to the lowest point, the green light coalescing into a complete ball of light.

"Ava—"

Harry closed his eyes.

Allen released the edge of the Spatial Thin Layer.

His body fell vertically.

The wind rushed into his sleeves, the blackthorn wand flipped from his palm to his fingers, tip pointing downward.

Inside the Portable Space, the cracked pocket watch in the ebony box jumped, a blue light flashed and then died.

The Void suddenly looked up.

Peter stopped struggling, his round eyes fixed on the figure falling rapidly against the outer wall of the space.

Allen watched the stone floor getting closer, watching that ball of sickly green light at the tip of Quirrell's wand.

He spoke.

The voice was only audible to himself.

"The original plot doesn't matter anymore."

Quirrell's mouth was still moving.

"—da—"

The green light expanded.

Allen's toes were six feet from the ground.

Spatial Displacement spread out at the landing point, discharging the momentum of the fall.

His gaze crossed over Quirrell's shoulder, taking one last look at Harry's tightly closed eyes.

Then he raised his blackthorn wand.

"—Kedavra!"

The green light left the wand tip.