Chapter 91. The Helpless Voldemort
"Ah, Master, did you not hear it?" Quirrell said in surprise, rather suspecting that Voldemort had dozed off.
At that moment a crisp birdsong rang out from the treetops, and Quirrell jolted all over and hastily looked up through the gaps in the branches.
Beside that fire dragon there had somehow appeared a second creature—a massive Thunderbird—which wheeled in the sky with imposing presence.
At the same time, heavy ink-black clouds rapidly gathered and veiled the moon, and with flashes of lightning and peals of thunder it was as if the end of the world had come.
"Bother..." Quirrell cried, and before Voldemort could answer his question he bolted forward as though fleeing for his life.
This made things hard on Voldemort.
The drooping boughs of the trees along the way seemed to have grown eyes, lashing his face again and again.
"Fool, stop at once!" Voldemort roared.
If this lashing went on, not only his nose—other parts of his face might be beaten flat as well.
But Quirrell, intent only on running away, acted as if he had not heard.
Far from stopping, he actually quickened his pace.
Voldemort drew a deep breath and was forced to rebuke him in an even harsher voice, a killing intent rising in his heart.
Startled, Quirrell stumbled and had to halt.
He glanced up at the thunderclouds about to take shape and said in a panic, "Master, if we don't leave now, it will be too late!"
Voldemort did not answer.
He observed Quirrell's condition closely, wanting to work out what exactly had happened.
"Merlin's beard..." Quirrell looked up, his voice trembling.
In his sight, with a crash, the pitch-black sky turned bright as day.
A lightning bolt as thick as a water barrel slanted down from the ink cloud, like a sword of judgement falling from the heavens to stab toward him, and he had no way to dodge.
Quirrell's eyes widened.
He put all his strength into casting a defensive spell, hoping to withstand that descending lightning.
Yet after only a few seconds he failed.
The protective barrier had not broken, but he was injured all the same, his internal organs wracked with pain.
Quirrell collapsed powerlessly to the ground, the metallic tang of blood spilling from his mouth.
Feebly he begged Voldemort to take him away, and a thought even rose in his heart—was Voldemort already dissatisfied with him, intending to dispose of him here in the forest and find another follower?
Voldemort said coldly, "There are no magical creatures whatsoever."
"But..."
"You are being deceived.
What you are seeing is not real," said Voldemort.
After his observation just now, he had finally worked out Quirrell's current strangeness.
Quirrell had been pitting his wits against the air—or against magical creatures that only he could see.
Yet he ignored the truly dangerous things, letting those little devices that could burn, explode, or strike with lightning injure him at will.
"How can that be?" Quirrell looked blankly toward the sky.
The fire dragon and the Thunderbird were still soaring above him.
They even joined forces to attack, flame and lightning twining together and rushing straight at him.
"Never mind the sky.
Move two steps to the left and you won't be hurt!"
Catching a faintly glowing leaf on the ground out of the corner of his eye, Voldemort said in a deep voice.
"Ma—Master..."
"Obey my command!"
"Y-yes, yes..." Quirrell gritted his teeth, gave up resisting the assault from above, and moved as Voldemort directed.
What he had not expected was that the torrent of flame and lightning poured over him without end, yet could not inflict the slightest harm on him.
"Well?" Voldemort asked.
"Master, I'm truly all right!" Quirrell said in delight.
Voldemort ordered, "Let me take control of your body."
"Ah? Master, your strength right now..." Quirrell said, a little hesitant.
"I will restore you.
I have no wish to be your eyes forever, guiding your steps," said Voldemort.
"Oh, all right, all right..." Quirrell nodded repeatedly and at once relinquished control of his body.
Voldemort guided Quirrell's hand to wave the wand and softly uttered several incantations, then said, "It is done."
Quirrell blinked and looked into the distance.
The Thunderbird and the fire dragon circling in the air, and the white mist coiling through the forest, had all vanished.
"So it was all false after all..." Quirrell murmured, then said gratefully, "Thank you, Master."
Voldemort asked, "Since when did you start seeing those magical creatures?"
Quirrell thought for a moment.
"It seems it was not long after I saw that troll..."
"It appears your plan has been discovered again.
He set up mechanisms here and waited for you to come!" Voldemort said coldly.
Quirrell's heart gave a jolt.
Severus Snape flashed through his mind, and he opened his mouth without making a sound.
Though he had not told Snape the detailed plan, Snape knew he would be entering the forest today.
If Snape bore disloyal intent and searched the forest carefully, it was entirely possible he would find the troll Quirrell had hidden.
"Did you tell someone the plan?"
Sensing Quirrell's abnormality, Voldemort said through gritted teeth.
"I—I told Snape..." Quirrell's lips moved slightly.
"The professors keep their mouths very tight, so it's hard to prise from them anything about the plan for guarding the Philosopher's Stone.
I thought Snape had once been Your servant, so I told him everything, hoping he would help me..."
"Snape?" Voldemort murmured, his eyes flickering.
Only after a long moment did he say, "Did he help you?"
Quirrell nodded.
"Before I set out today, he told me about all the obstacles."
"Did he?" Voldemort asked.
"Do you think it is possible he laid these traps?"
"I—I don't know," Quirrell stammered.
"However..."
"However what?"
"Earlier I prepared to find a chance to kill Harry Potter, but he stopped me," said Quirrell.
"He said that if he killed Harry Potter himself, it would be safer for You."
"Oh?" Voldemort considered it.
"Has he acted?"
"Not yet," Quirrell shook his head.
"He said Dumbledore's protection of Harry Potter is very strict and he has not yet found a chance.
He fears exposing himself, but he promised me he will definitely kill Harry Potter."
"Is that so?
Then let us first see whether he can do it," Voldemort said, closing his eyes.
"Go back, Quirrell."
"Aren't we going to take the Philosopher's Stone?" Quirrell suddenly remembered, looking around for the troll.
"What, your plan is already exposed and you still want that troll to keep leading us to our deaths?" Voldemort replied.
Quirrell came to his senses and then asked, "Will Dumbledore find out..."
"Since he has not shown it, we shall assume he does not know," Voldemort replied.
"Oh..." Quirrell limped toward the castle.
"Remember to fetch me some potions that can restore strength," said Voldemort.
He was now surviving by attaching himself to Quirrell, and Quirrell's serious injuries would also sap his own energy.
"Yes, Master..." Quirrell answered.
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