Chapter 106. The Erumpent Charging Down the Corridor
"Master, that sounded like Harry Potter's voice?"
Quirrell, creeping cautiously along the corridor, cocked an ear to the sounds drifting up from downstairs and whispered to the Lord Voldemort at the back of his head.
After the series of events earlier, Lord Voldemort had grown wiser.
Knowing that the person he was attached to was unreliable, he decided not to sleep at all.
"Follow him, find him, and see whether there's a chance to kill him..."
"Yes, my Lord..." Quirrell nodded, a flicker of delight in his heart, and at once turned and set foot on the stairs leading down.
If he could seize the opportunity this time, he would surely reverse the abysmal impression he had left in Lord Voldemort's mind.
But he had only run a few steps down the stairs when the tip of his foot struck something soft.
His body instantly lost balance.
With a cry, he pitched forward onto the stairs and tumbled head over heels to the bottom.
Lord Voldemort, on the back of his head, banged against the steps again and again, seeing stars, but perfectly shielded Quirrell so that he suffered no serious injury.
"What is the matter with you?" Lord Voldemort seethed with fury and helplessness.
He had not imagined that this fool could even trip while walking.
A different thought could not help but occur to him.
Had Quirrell deliberately lured him to mount him in the Forest, and then seized the chance to harm him?
Quirrell did not answer.
He nimbly scrambled up, whirled round, whipped out his wand, and spat out an incantation, shooting a spell.
With a bang, the wall blew open into a crater.
A faint chill breeze wafted through.
When the drifting dust cleared, there was nothing there.
Quirrell's heart pounded.
He stared fixedly up above and involuntarily held his breath.
He had just been chatting with Lord Voldemort.
If someone had heard and it leaked out, the consequences would be disastrous.
Dumbledore might well come charging over the very next second to flay him and hang his skin from the castle to dry for all to see.
Silence shrouded the surroundings.
Quirrell held his pose and stood rigid for a full minute.
Lord Voldemort lowered his voice and said, "Is anyone there?"
"My Lord, just now I kicked something soft.
It seemed like a person's foot," Quirrell replied.
Lord Voldemort pondered for a moment.
"Take me over to have a look.
Do not let that person slip away."
"All right." Quirrell raised his wand, got up with extreme care, and felt his way step by step to the top of the stairs.
But even after traversing the staircase, he found nothing amiss.
What his toe had struck seemed to have vanished.
"My Lord, did you find anything?" Quirrell asked in a low voice, glancing around.
"No," Lord Voldemort answered coldly.
On the way up, he had extended his magic to probe, and there was nothing at all.
He rather suspected that Quirrell had simply slipped, feared being blamed, and had deliberately found an excuse.
"Shall we still go after Harry?" Quirrell asked.
"Forget it; no.
Continue to inspect the fourth floor," said Lord Voldemort.
Quirrell nodded, and had only just turned and lifted his leg when a whooshing came from above, as if a great bird were flapping its wings.
Quirrell looked up by reflex.
A creature that looked like both a reptile and a giant butterfly unfurled blue-green wings and dived at him viciously, the spines along the edges of its wings glinting coldly as an ear-piercing screech rang from its mouth.
Quirrell's eyes bulged.
He meant to use magic, but his wand had only just lifted when the creature had already slammed into his face.
Quirrell flailed his hands to drive it away, instinctively backed up two steps, missed his footing, and toppled backwards down the stairs once more.
"Ow..." Quirrell lay groaning on the floor.
His not-yet-healed injuries worsened, and it felt as though his very bones had cracked.
"Quirrell!" Lord Voldemort roared in fury.
The rage in his heart burned, and the back of Quirrell's head was hot as molten rock.
Two heavy collisions in a row left Lord Voldemort's mind groggy.
He had nearly been knocked out of Quirrell's body.
Quirrell scrambled up in a hurry and stared ahead warily.
"My Lord, I was just attacked by a Swooping Evil!"
"Swooping Evil?" Lord Voldemort's voice held some doubt.
"Are you sure you didn't mistake it?"
"N-no," Quirrell replied.
"I saw it quite clearly.
It was exactly the same as what I saw in the textbook before!"
"Mm..." Lord Voldemort considered.
"Be careful.
The person who set the traps in the Forest is likely close by you.
Quirrell, find that person at once.
Whenever we are about to act, he appears at the crucial moment to thwart us.
He very likely has some method of tracking our movements.
If we don't catch him, we will never succeed!"
"Understood, my Lord..." Quirrell nodded solemnly, spoke an incantation, and a little inky arrow appeared hovering just ahead of him to the side.
Quirrell watched the arrow's direction as he cautiously made his slow way upward.
When he once more reached the corridor above, the arrow beside him quivered slightly and shifted bit by bit towards another direction.
"Got you, you wretch—let's see where you run this time!" The corners of Quirrell's mouth tugged up into a smug smile.
He sprang round towards where the arrow pointed, raised his wand high, and opened his mouth wide to spit out some swaggering words.
But what appeared in his field of vision was not the person he had expected, but a creature a touch on the large side.
A tall, powerfully built Erumpent nearly filled the corridor.
Its massive forelegs scraped at the floor, and hot air snorted from its nostrils.
Quirrell's wand trembled, and the Erumpent lowered its head and thundered forward.
With a rumbling of hooves, the entire castle seemed to shake.
"Merlin's beard!" Quirrell's mind went blank with fright.
He whirled and fled in panic, terrified of being impaled on that sharp horn.
The slumbering portraits on the walls were all startled awake.
Seeing the behemoth in the corridor, they scurried about within their frames in terror.
Only after a dozen seconds did it occur to them that they were portraits and the Erumpent could not hurt them.
They then settled in to watch the spectacle with ease.
They gradually split into two camps.
Some cheered on the Erumpent, urging it to run faster and not let that black-robed wizard—who looked no good—get away.
Others shouted for Quirrell to run faster, lest his blood spatter their portraits in a moment.
Though Quirrell ran for all he was worth, how could two legs outrun four?
He had gone but a few steps before the Erumpent overtook him.
The Erumpent's sharp horn stabbed precisely into Quirrell's backside, sinking in a little.
Quirrell shrieked over and over, clutching his rear and howling in pain.
"M-my Lord, help me, please..." By the second stabbing, Quirrell could do nothing else and decisively chose to beg for aid.
"Say nothing; someone's coming," Lord Voldemort replied swiftly, and fell silent.
Face crumpled, Quirrell glanced at the Erumpent behind him, clapped both hands over his backside, and tore ahead for dear life.
"Mori, don't chase.
Quickly, make yourself smaller!" As the Erumpent passed a statue, Duncan's voice rang out.
Mori started, and in the blink of an eye its body shrank into a little bug about the size of two fists.
It was scooped into the folds of a long wizard's robe to be concealed.
Duncan, who had taken an Invisibility Potion, stood pressed against the wall and let out a sigh of relief.
Fortunately, he had made it in time.
The next second, with a soft pop, Albus Dumbledore appeared borne on Fawkes's flames, his expression severe as he surveyed the surroundings.
"Dumbledore, what's going on?" Professor McGonagall hurried up with the other professors in tow.
She had already been asleep, but her bed had suddenly begun to shake, nearly throwing her out.
She had woken and rushed over.
"I'm not sure.
I've only just arrived myself," said Dumbledore, shaking his head in pyjamas.
"There was just an Erumpent chasing a wizard in black robes?" bellowed a portrait on the wall.
"Erumpent?"
"A wizard in black robes?" Professor McGonagall and Snape exclaimed at the same time, in tones of astonishment.
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