75: Chapter 75 Enduring the Death Curse!

The moment the green light left the tip of the wand, the air in the entire stone chamber was sucked dry.

Harry's eyes were still closed, blood from his forehead smearing half his face, his wand hanging at his side, tip pointing toward the ground.

The trajectory of the Killing Curse was straight, without arc or deflection, like a nail aimed at his sternum.

Quirrell's mouth remained in the shape of casting a spell, and the red eyes on the face at the back of his head were filled with greed.

Allen Potter's feet landed on the stone slab.

Spatial Displacement absorbed the momentum of his descent; his knees bent slightly, the blackthorn wand horizontal in his palm, tip pointing outward.

He did not raise his wand.

He did not cast a spell.

He simply took a step forward, blocking in front of Harry.

The green light slammed into his chest.

Harry opened his eyes.

What he saw was someone's back, the hem of a black school robe still swaying.

Then, there was light.

A sickly green light illuminated the entire stone chamber, leaving no shadows; even the frame of the mirror of erised was cast in the color of a dead man's face.

"No!"

Harry's voice squeezed out from his throat, cracking.

He reached out to grab the hem of the person in front of him, but his fingers only touched a patch of scorching air.

Laughter came from the back of Quirrell's head.

"Another one," Lord Voldemort's voice drawled. "Another fool standing in front of you."

Harry's hand remained suspended in the air, his fingertips trembling.

The green light did not dissipate.

The instant it struck Allen Potter's chest, it was swallowed up, like a stone thrown into a deep pool—no splash, no echo, only ripples contracting inward, circle after circle.

The sickly green magic refracted, bounced, decayed, then refracted, bounced, and decayed again within the interdimensional layer covering Allen Potter's body.

That independent space wrapping his soul locked the Killing Curse outside, letting it run until it was exhausted in an infinitely looping corridor.

A wave of air exploded from the point of contact, tearing the front of his robe into shreds, revealing the white shirt underneath; a patch of fabric on his chest was scorched, the edges still smoking.

But his skin was intact.

Not even a red mark.

Allen Potter looked down at the blackened scrap of fabric on his chest.

"I just had this robe measured at Madam Malkin's last month."

His voice was not loud, but the stone chamber was so quiet that every word bounced off the walls.

Quirrell's wand dropped to the ground.

His hand remained in the posture of holding a wand, fingers splayed, grasping at the air twice.

"This is impossible," Quirrell's lips were drained of color. "The Killing Curse hit, I saw it, it hit."

Lord Voldemort stopped laughing.

The red eyes on the face at the back of his head narrowed into slits, staring at Allen Potter's chest.

"Who are you?"

Allen Potter looked up.

He looked at Quirrell, then past Quirrell's shoulder at the nose-less face on the back of his head.

"Allen Potter."

Lord Voldemort's red pupils contracted.

"Potter?"

"A collateral branch," Allen Potter said. "Not important."

Quirrell bent down to pick up the wand, his hand shaking violently; he failed to pick it up the first time.

Lord Voldemort spoke from behind.

"Quirrell, don't touch the wand."

Quirrell's hand stopped.

"Master?"

"Didn't you see? The Killing Curse vanished the moment it touched this boy. It would be the same if you cast it ten more times."

Quirrell swallowed, straightening up.

"Then what do we do?"

Lord Voldemort did not answer him, his red eyes fixed on Allen Potter.

"The Killing Curse is not physical damage, boy of the Potter Family. It cuts off the connection between soul and body directly. There is no known magic that can block it."

Allen Potter slid his wand back into his sleeve.

"Then you need to update your range of knowledge."

Harry was still standing behind him, mouth half-open, blood dripping from his forehead to his chin; he was shivering all over, but his eyes were wide open.

"You, you didn't die?"

Allen Potter didn't turn around.

"No."

"The Killing Curse hit you."

"It did."

"How are you still standing?"

"Because I don't want to lie down."

Harry's brain couldn't process it; he grabbed Allen Potter's sleeve.

"Who sent you? Dumbledore?"

"No one sent me."

"Then why are you here?"

"Just passing by."

Harry's eyes reddened, but he didn't cry.

"You saved me."

"Don't get emotional yet, it's not over."

Opposite them, Lord Voldemort's voice sounded again.

"Interesting."

Allen Potter turned back to look at him.

"A collateral branch of the Potter Family," Lord Voldemort's tone savored the words. "I have killed many of your family, but I have never seen anyone who could take a Killing Curse and still stand there talking."

Allen Potter stared at the black veins on the back of Quirrell's neck.

"Perhaps those you killed felt that dying was more convenient."

Lord Voldemort's lips twitched.

"Where is your soul hidden?"

Allen Potter tilted his head.

"Guess."

"I won't guess," Lord Voldemort said. "I will tear it open and see for myself."

Quirrell's body suddenly lunged forward; Lord Voldemort had taken control. His hands no longer trembled, fingers splayed, heading straight for Allen Potter's neck.

Allen Potter did not retreat.

Inside the Portable Space, the Void arched its back, its silver eyes shining blindingly.

Peter Pettigrew slammed against the bars in the cage, his mouth still sealed, only able to make muffled grunts.

Quirrell's fingers were half a foot from Allen Potter's collar.

Spatial Displacement spread out before his palm.

Quirrell's hand slid past Allen Potter's shoulder, his center of gravity shifting, and he stumbled twice, nearly falling.

"Can't touch me," Allen Potter said.

Quirrell turned and lunged again, this time with his left hand.

The same result; the palm curved in the air and struck the stone pillar.

The crisp sound of finger bones echoed in the stone chamber.

Quirrell clutched his hand, sweat seeping from his forehead.

"Master, I can't reach him."

Lord Voldemort was silent for two seconds.

"Your body is failing."

"Master, I can still—"

"Enough."

Quirrell's mouth snapped shut.

Lord Voldemort's red eyes took one last look at Allen Potter.

"Remember this face, child of the Potter Family. Next time we meet, I won't bring just a piece of trash."

Allen Potter stood in place, watching Quirrell's body begin to convulse.

Black veins spread from the back of his neck to the sides, moving faster and faster, like withered vines scurrying beneath the skin.

Quirrell let out a wail.

"Master, don't leave me!"

"What use are you now?"

Black mist peeled away from the face on the back of Quirrell's head like a receding tide, revealing the dry, gray skin underneath.

Quirrell's body fell forward.

Harry shouted from behind.

"He fell!"

Allen Potter raised his hand, signaling Harry not to move.

Quirrell slammed face-down onto the stone slab, unmoving.

The black mist hovered above him for two circles, coalescing into a fist-sized shadow, and charged toward the ceiling with a piercing screech.

Allen Potter raised the blackthorn wand, the tip pointing at the black mist.

Spatial Displacement unfolded in front of the black mist, the distorted force field forcibly dragging its trajectory off by thirty degrees, causing it to smash into the stone wall.

The black mist let out a shriek that no human could make.

Then it burrowed into a crack in the wall, escaping through the gaps between the stone bricks.

The stone chamber fell silent.

The light from the torches returned to its normal orange.

Harry leaned against the wall, his legs going weak.

"It ran away?"

"It did."

"Why didn't you chase it?"

"Can't catch it," Allen Potter retracted his wand. "It has no physical form; I can't seal it once it goes into the stone."

Harry looked at Quirrell on the ground, then at Allen Potter.

"How on earth did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"The Killing Curse." Harry's voice was still shaking. "You blocked the Killing Curse."

Allen Potter looked down at the scorched hole in the fabric on his chest.

"What's this? A mosquito bite?"