76: Chapter 76 Shock and Crushing Victory

"What was that? A mosquito bite?"

As Allen's voice fell, only the soft crackle of torches remained in the stone chamber.

Harry steadied himself against the wall, his gaze falling on the scorched robes on his chest.

"The Killing Curse hit you."

"Yeah."

"You should be dead."

"You should also learn to shut up."

Professor Quirrell's wand rolled to the foot of the mirror of erised; he looked at his hand, then at Allen.

"Master, he is not dead."

Lord Voldemort, attached to the back of Professor Quirrell's head, stared with red eyes at Allen's chest.

"I see."

Professor Quirrell's lips trembled.

"That was the Avada Kedavra."

"I know what that is."

"But it hit him."

"Shut up."

Harry pressed his hand against his pocket, his voice tight.

"Allen, are you really a Potter?"

Allen drew his blackthorn wand.

"Asking now? You're a bit slow."

"You are also a Potter, why haven't you said anything?"

"I introduced myself as Allen Potter on the first day of school."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then mean something else. Ask me when you make it out alive."

Professor Quirrell took half a step back.

"Master, we must leave. Dumbledore will be back soon. The stone is on the boy, and there is also this monster."

Allen raised his wand.

"The word 'monster'… people at St. Marys Orphanage used it, but it wasn't very effective."

Lord Voldemort stared at him.

"An orphanage?"

"Are you familiar with it?"

The red eyes fixed on Allen's face.

"A child of the Potter Family, actually raised in an orphanage."

"Do you want to talk about childhood?"

"I want to know where you have hidden your soul."

Harry's face turned pale.

"Soul?"

Allen didn't even look at him.

"Don't discuss this with him; his qualifications are lacking."

Lord Voldemort let out a short laugh.

"Qualifications lacking?"

"Cutting yourself into pieces and attaching yourself to the back of a Professor's head to stay alive—your understanding of the soul is quite frugal."

Professor Quirrell's face twisted.

"How dare you insult the Master!"

Allen looked at him.

"You still have time to speak up for him?"

Professor Quirrell bent down to pick up his wand.

Harry shouted urgently.

"Allen, watch out!"

Allen flicked his wrist, pointing the tip of his wand at the ground.

The space around Professor Quirrell's right arm constricted inward; the arm that had just touched the wand was locked by a force field, and the sound of cracking bone echoed through the stone chamber.

Professor Quirrell fell to his knees, clutching his broken arm with his left hand.

"Master, save me!"

Lord Voldemort's face turned toward Allen.

"Spatial Magic."

"Correct."

"First year?"

"According to the class schedule, yes."

"Who exactly taught you?"

"Sleep."

Professor Quirrell was in so much pain he pressed himself against the stone floor.

"Master, my arm is broken."

Lord Voldemort said coldly, "Useless. You still have the other hand."

Professor Quirrell tremblingly reached for the wand with his left hand.

Allen watched him.

"Touch it again, and I'll break the other side."

Professor Quirrell's hand froze in mid-air.

Lord Voldemort barked.

"Pick it up!"

Professor Quirrell gasped against the stone floor.

"Master, he really will do it."

"I told you to pick it up!"

Harry looked at Allen.

"He can't cast spells anymore, don't kill him."

Allen turned his head.

"Who are you pleading for?"

"I'm not pleading for him, I'm saying Dumbledore will handle it."

"Dumbledore hasn't walked in yet."

"He will come."

"That's why I need to be quick."

Lord Voldemort chuckled.

"Potter, the person you saved is begging you to let your enemy go."

Allen looked at Harry.

"Did you hear that?"

Harry gritted his teeth.

"I just don't want you to become like him."

"Then you're overthinking it."

Lord Voldemort took over.

"You don't need to become me to kill; you just need a reason."

Allen's gaze fell on the back of Professor Quirrell's neck.

"You have plenty of reasons, but unfortunately, you can only hide behind someone else's head now."

Lord Voldemort's face twitched.

"Professor Quirrell, stand up."

Professor Quirrell used his left hand to support himself.

"Master, I cannot stand."

"Stand up."

"My bones are broken."

Allen said, "He doesn't understand human language, can't you understand your own bones?"

Harry gasped for air.

"Can you say less?"

"Can you keep the stone covered?"

Harry immediately pressed his hand over his pocket.

Lord Voldemort looked at his movement.

"The stone is indeed there."

Harry's expression changed.

Allen clicked his tongue.

"You're certainly a dedicated bait."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know, you're always like this."

Lord Voldemort said, "Enough."

Professor Quirrell's body was forcibly pulled up, his neck tilted back, fully revealing the face on the back of his head.

Lord Voldemort stared at Allen.

"You remind me of someone else."

"Tom Riddle?"

The torchlight flickered.

Harry was stunned.

"Who is Tom?"

Professor Quirrell let out a wheezing sound.

"Master, he knows your name."

Lord Voldemort's voice became shrill.

"How do you know that name?"

"Reading books."

"What book would write that?"

"Guess."

Black veins extended from the back of Professor Quirrell's head down to his neck.

"I will dig you out."

Allen raised his wand.

"Let's start with you."

Professor Quirrell, forcibly driven by Lord Voldemort, rushed toward Allen, dragging his broken right arm and reaching for his throat with his left hand.

Harry shouted, "He can't touch me, but can he touch you?"

"He can't touch me."

Professor Quirrell's left hand brushed past Allen's shoulder; Spatial Displacement guided his hand to the other side, causing him to lunge into empty air and crash beside the mirror frame.

Allen pointed his wand tip at his left shoulder.

"Spatial Collapse."

The force field contracted, and Professor Quirrell screamed as he was pinned to the ground.

Lord Voldemort shrieked.

"Stop!"

"It's too late to say that now."

"How dare you destroy my servant?"

"Your servant was just trying to kill Harry."

"Harry Potter was meant to die anyway."

Harry gripped his wand tightly.

"You're the one who should die."

Lord Voldemort turned to him.

"Child, I have already died once."

Allen added, "The results were poor."

Harry almost lost his breath.

"You're still joking now?"

"Should I cry with him instead?"

Lord Voldemort let out a shrill, angry sound.

"A collateral branch of the Potter Family, you will pay the price for today."

"You pay first."

Allen's wand aimed at the back of Professor Quirrell's neck.

Professor Quirrell pleaded.

"Master, do not leave me, I beg you."

Lord Voldemort said, "You are useless now."

"I have done so much for you. I brought you back, I stole the stone for you, I entered Hogwarts for you."

"And then you failed."

"Master, give me one more chance."

"Opportunities are for the strong, Professor Quirrell."

Professor Quirrell let out a sobbing sound.

"I don't want to die."

"Then hold him off for me."

Allen saw the black veins at the back of Professor Quirrell's head begin to retract.

"Trying to run?"

Lord Voldemort said, "I will remember you, Allen Potter."

"That doesn't sound very valuable."

"I will uncover the secret of how you blocked the Killing Curse."

"You can get in line."

Lord Voldemort's remnant soul detached from the back of Professor Quirrell's head; black mist poured out from the split skin, carrying corrupt magic.

Professor Quirrell lost his support and collapsed to the ground.

Harry stepped forward.

"Professor Quirrell?"

Allen raised his hand to stop him.

"Don't touch him."

"Is he dead?"

"Not completely yet."

"What do you mean?"

"He has been hollowed out from within."

The black mist hovered in mid-air, and Lord Voldemort's voice came from it.

"Harry, next time, there will be no mother to save you."

Harry raised his wand, his hand still shaking.

"I won't be afraid of you."

Lord Voldemort laughed.

"Whether you are afraid or not does not matter."

Allen raised his wand.

"Too much talk."

Spatial Displacement unfolded in front of the black mist; the mist's path toward the ceiling was deflected, and it slammed obliquely into the stone wall.

Lord Voldemort's shriek filled the stone chamber.

Harry covered his ears.

"Did you hit him?"

"Just made him take the wrong path."

The black mist bounced off and tried to drill into another crack in the stone.

Allen pointed his wand again.

"Wrong turn again."

The air in front of the stone crack twisted, and the black mist was pulled aside, slamming into the side frame of the mirror of erised.

The mirror surface chimed softly; the remnant soul dispersed and then re-aggregated.

Lord Voldemort roared.

"You cannot keep me!"

"I know."

Harry urged, "Then don't let him run!"

Allen looked at him.

"Do you have a bottle?"

"What?"

"If not, shut up."

The black mist drilled toward the corner.

Allen did not pursue further; he simply pressed his wand against the ground, using a Spatial Thin Layer to isolate the remaining dark magic.

Lord Voldemort's final voice came from the stone crack.

"Allen Potter, I will come back for you."

"Remember to bring a usable body."

The black mist vanished into the stone crack, and the smell of corruption faded.

Harry slid down against the wall.

"He ran away."

"Yeah."

"You said earlier you knew you couldn't keep him."

"No physical form, drilling through walls, passing through stones, and moving through cracks—I didn't bring a suitable cage."

Harry looked at him.

"You make it sound like catching mice."

Inside the Portable Space, Peter Pettigrew huddled in the corner of his cage, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Allen glanced at the inner wall of the space.

"Mice are more troublesome than him."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Professor Quirrell on the ground moved slightly, his lips twitching, his left hand fumbling on the stone floor.

"Mas...ter..."

Harry wanted to go over.

Allen blocked him with his wand.

"Have you forgotten what just happened?"

"But he looks like he's dying."

"He was already dying."

"We have to save him."

"The Hospital Wing cannot heal a body that has been possessed by Lord Voldemort."

Harry was silent for a moment.

"Can Dumbledore?"

Allen looked toward the path they had come from.

"He is almost here."

"How do you know?"

"The footsteps are too loud."

From the distant corridor came the sound of magic crashing through flames.

Harry stood up, his legs still weak.

"Are you going to stay?"

Allen looked at the blood on his forehead, then at his bulging pocket.

"Do you want me to stay?"

Harry didn't answer.

Allen walked to the mirror of erised, bent down to pick up the wand Professor Quirrell had dropped, and supported it with a Spatial Thin Layer.

Harry asked, "What are you doing with that?"

"Evidence."

"For Dumbledore?"

"Depends."

"Allen."

"Speak."

Harry stared at him.

"Thank you."

Allen paused for a heartbeat.

"You're welcome."

"I really thought I was going to die."

"You almost did."

"If you hadn't come..."

"Don't use 'if'; it's meaningless."

Harry touched the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket.

"Why did you come?"

"Passing by."

"You're lying to me."

"Then consider it me being unable to sleep."

"You're always sleeping."

"Tonight is an exception."

The footsteps in the corridor grew closer, and the cry of a Phoenix came from behind the stone door.

Allen raised his hand, and the knut anchor point on the ground lit up.

Harry urged, "Are you really going to leave?"

Allen looked at him.

"Give the stone to Dumbledore."

"And what about you?"

"You never saw me."

"What?"

A Spatial Thin Layer opened before Harry's eyes.

"Remember this: don't go looking for trouble."

Harry pressed, "Allen, whose side are you really on?"

Allen stepped into the folded shadows.

"I am on my own side."