At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

Chapter 63 A Decaying Skin

The smell of garlic in the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office was so strong it was nauseating.

But this pungent smell, which would make any normal person want to stay away, was a sad consolation to Quirinas Quirrell.

Only this pungent aroma could mask the stench of his rotting body beneath his robes.

Quirrell stood before the mirror in the washroom, his fingers trembling violently. He was untying the heavy purple headscarf from his head.

As the fabric fell in circles, the cloying, nauseating smell of rotting flesh instantly overwhelmed the garlic odor.

The face reflected in the mirror was as pale as a corpse that had been soaking in formaldehyde for months, with sunken eye sockets, bloodshot eyes, and high cheekbones that looked as if they might pierce the skin at any moment.

"Master—Master—" Quirrell's voice was barely audible, filled with uncontrollable trembling.

He slowly turned around, facing the back of his head toward the mirror.

Where hair should have been, there was a face.

What a face it was—no nose, only two thin, snake-like slits, chalky white skin, and those eyes, staring venomously at Quirrell's trembling body through the mirror.

"You are afraid—Quirinas—"

The voice echoed directly in Quirrell's mind.

"No—no, Master. I'm just—just too weak—" Quirrell closed his eyes in pain. "This body—is about to give way."

"waste."

Voldemort let out a chilling shout.

"Is merely bearing my fragmented soul enough to bring your mediocre body to the brink of collapse? You need to replenish—Quirinus—the blood of those pure creatures in the Forbidden Forest—to slow your decay—"

"Yes—yes, Master. But lately—" Quirrell swallowed hard. "The school has been very unsettled lately. The Ministry of Magic is here, and the corridors are full of prefects and professors patrolling—Hagrid was disciplined, but the defenses at the edge of the Forbidden Forest are actually stronger—"

"Shut up!"

A sharp pain suddenly tore through Quirrell's nerves. He screamed, his knees buckled, and he collapsed heavily to his knees on the cold stone floor.

"Don't try to explain difficulties to me with your short-sighted brain! Do you think I can't sense the changes outside? Do you think I don't know what tricks that dragon, those clownish officials, and that coward Lucius Malfoy are up to?"

Voldemort's voice was laced with contempt.

"Stand up and put on your headscarf. This will be excellent cover."

The dome of the auditorium simulates the gloomy, rainy weather outside.

Quirrell did not attend the dinner; instead, he remained hidden in the foyer connecting the auditorium and the faculty corridor, observing everything.

His gaze swept across the crowd and landed on the teachers' section.

There, in the seat that was originally his, sat a well-dressed, middle-aged official with a flustered yet secretly smug expression—Chilton of the Department of Magical Creatures Control.

Any professor would feel extremely humiliated to have their position so brazenly usurped by bureaucrats from the Ministry of Magic.

But Quirrell was different. "Behold, Master," Quirrell murmured to himself, his thoughts now one with Voldemort's. "They didn't even notice my absence. The Ministry of Magic thinks they've taken over Hogwarts Highlands."

"A bunch of idiots whose souls have been emasculated by power."

Voldemort's thoughts swirled in Quirrell's mind, filled with disdain. "Lucius—I once thought he understood what true power was, but now he's obsessed with the circulation of these documents. Using legal statutes against Albus Dumbledore? It's as ridiculous as trying to bind a troll with a spider's web."

Quirrell shifted his gaze to the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was showing off something to his companions like a proud peacock. His smug, self-important expression made Quirrell feel nauseous.

"That Malfoy brat thinks a single letter from his father can topple this castle," Voldemort sneered. "But he doesn't know that his letter is exactly the kind of breeze we need. Look at Dumbledore, Quirinus."

Quirrell looked toward the center of the Great Hall. The man hailed as the greatest white wizard of his time had a furrowed brow, seemingly contemplating how to handle the upcoming Ministry of Magic's scrutiny.

Snape, sitting not far away, had a face so dark it could drip water. His eyes were fixed on Potter at the Gryffindor table, constantly on guard against the boy causing any more trouble that could ruin the school's reputation.

"Perfect—" Voldemort sighed with satisfaction. "Albus is paying the price for his ridiculous protectiveness, and Severus is completely preoccupied with red tape and Gryffindor fools. The muddier the Ministry of Magic stirs things up, the safer my hunting grounds become. Come on, Quirinus, don't waste time watching these mortals play house. Our target is on the fourth floor."

Quirrell turned and stepped into the corridor.

As he stepped into the crowd, his mocking expression vanished instantly.

His shoulders immediately slumped, his back hunched, and his eyes became unfocused. He clutched several heavy magic books tightly, as if he might scream at any moment from his own shadow.

"Professor Quirrell?"

At the corner on the third floor, he bumped into Professor McGonagall, who was on patrol. McGonagall looked exhausted; she had just dealt with two incidents of malicious spellcasting between students. The collapse of order caused by the Ministry of Magic's intervention was taking a toll on this rule-abiding vice-principal.

"Oh—Professor McGonagall—"

Quirrell took a half-step back like a startled rabbit, the book in his arms falling to the ground with a thud. He frantically crouched down to pick it up, his voice trembling with fear, "Good evening—I—I just went to the library—to look up—some information about vampires—"

Seeing Quirrell's pathetic state, unable to even speak properly, McGonagall's eyes flashed with barely concealed impatience.

In this castle, which is now in a precarious state and could be taken over by the Ministry of Magic at any moment, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor should be an important force in maintaining order, but the person in front of us is simply a complete fraud.

"Go back to your office, Professor Quirrell." McGonagall rubbed her temples, not even glancing at him. "The corridors are dangerous tonight, so try not to wander around."

"Yes, yes—I'll go back right away—"

Quirrell nodded repeatedly, then staggered into another corridor, clutching his book.

The moment he turned the corner and was completely out of McGonagall's sight, Quirrell's timid expression melted away like cream.

His eyes turned venomous again.

"Foolish women." Voldemort's sneer echoed in his mind. "They're so engrossed in the flies that they're blind to a real serpent."

At that moment, the sound of heavy objects being dragged came from high up in the castle.

That's Harry Potter and his friends moving that Norwegian spine dragon.

Because Dumbledore had issued a gag order, all the prefects, professors, and even Filch's patrol routes intentionally or unintentionally avoided the main road leading to the Astronomy Tower, or were restrained by Peeves's unusual behavior.

This means that the entire right-side corridor on the fourth floor is currently undefended.

Quirrell silently walked up to the fourth floor.

"The Aloho Cave is open."

Quirrell made almost no sound as his wand flashed with a faint, dark light.

The wooden door, which Dumbledore had strictly forbidden people from approaching, opened slowly with a soft click.

A stench and warmth wafted towards us, mixed with the heavy breathing of wild beasts.

In the center of the room, a huge creature was perched on the trapdoor.

Three dog heads, dripping with saliva, rose up simultaneously, their six eyes gleaming with ferocity.

Lou Williams let out a low growl, and the middle head opened its blood-red maw, revealing its fangs.

Quirrell pulled a harp from the sleeve of his robe. With a wave of his hand, the harp floated in mid-air and began to play automatically without needing to be plucked.

Lou Williams' roar gradually subsided, turning into a low whimper.

The three heads began to shake, their eyelids drooping.

The massive body crashed to the ground, its six eyes tightly closed, and soon began to snore.

Quirrell looked at the trapdoor.

"That slimy idiot Hagrid," Quirrell muttered, "had a few drinks laced with hallucinogens at the Hog's Head and spilled all the beast's weaknesses. And now, Dumbledore is groveling to those bureaucrats in the Astronomy Tower to protect this liar."

He bent down and opened the trapdoor.

Beneath the door lay unfathomable darkness, with only sparse sounds emanating from it. Quirrell didn't even need his wand for light; he could smell the dampness of the Devil's Web.

"Sprout's plants, Flitwick's keys, McGonagall's chessboard, Snape's potions—" Quirrell rattled off the names, including his troll. "Albus, are you taking these as tests for the savior? Or are you just fooling yourself into thinking these tricks can stop the great Dark Lord?"

"Don't underestimate your opponent, Quirinas."

Voldemort's voice stopped him from jumping.

"Dumbledore's true defense lies in the final barrier. That mirror—I can sense it's imbued with ancient love magic."

Until we find a way to break the Mirror of Eris, even if we break through all the defenses, we won't be able to get the Philosopher's Stone.

Quirrell closed the trapdoor. Lou Williams' snoring continued unabated.

He left the room and locked the wooden door again.

Tonight's probing has been enough.

He just had to wait. Wait for the perfect moment, like the final exams, or the day Dumbledore was completely overwhelmed by Ministry of Magic paperwork and forced to leave Hogwarts.

Suddenly, Quirrell clutched his chest and let out a suppressed scream.

He leaned against the wall, panting heavily, and the smell of rotting flesh instantly intensified several times over.

"I'm hungry—Quirinas—"

"This body—is almost burned to ashes by my power. I need life force—pure life force—"

"Master—but now—" Quirrell was in so much pain that his whole body convulsed, tears and snot streaming down his face.

"To the Forbidden Forest!" Voldemort's roar tore through his mind. "Now! While that half-giant is being held by the Ministry of Magic, while all the attention is on that dragon! I need unicorn blood! Only it can sustain me until I get the Philosopher's Stone!"

The remnant soul at the back of his head emitted a greedy hiss. Hunger was gnawing at Quirrell's internal organs.

"I know—Master—I'll go now—"

Quirrell stumbled and ran out of the castle.

The rain was pouring down outside, and the raindrops lashed his face, but they couldn't extinguish the burning sensation that seemed to be a deep, persistent ache on the back of his head.

He crossed the pumpkin patch and passed Hagrid's half-rebuilt cabin.

There was no one there. Just as Voldemort had predicted, Hagrid was now under the surveillance of Ministry of Magic officials, and patrols along the edge of the Forbidden Forest were completely absent.

Quirrell ventured into the Forbidden Forest.

The towering trees blocked the already thin moonlight, and darkness engulfed him like a tide.

Here, he no longer needed to pretend to be that stuttering, useless professor. He unbuttoned his robe, letting Voldemort's immense and evil magic emanate from his dilapidated body.

Sensing the terrifying aura, the surrounding animals fled in terror. The giant spider retreated to its lair, while the centaur gripped his bow and arrows but dared not approach.

Quirrell drew his wand and floated silently into the deepest part of the forest.

He could sense that in that clearing occasionally illuminated by the silvery moonlight, pure life was wandering.

He desperately needed to pour that silvery-white blood down his throat.

"Harry Potter —"

As Quirrell searched for his prey, the image of the boy laughing in the Great Hall flashed through his mind, as did that of Draco Malfoy.

He let out a hoarse laugh.

"Does the young master of the Malfoy family think that a piece of parchment can decide everything? Does Potter think that he can be safe and sound with Dumbledore's protection?"

Quirrell knew that because of the previous smuggling operation, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom, and even Draco Malfoy would be coming to the Forbidden Forest.

Patrol this forbidden forest where unicorn attacks have been occurring frequently recently.

"Look forward to that day, Quirinas—"

Voldemort's whispers echoed through the dark Forbidden Forest.

"Let them continue to revel in official documents, power, and laughable courage. When that boy who survived, in the darkest forest, without Dumbledore's protection, without the laws of the Ministry of Magic, faces the purest darkness and death in the world—"

"I will show him what true despair is."

Just then, a rustling sound came from the bushes ahead.

The captivating silvery-white light shone through the shadows of the trees, dispelling the surrounding darkness.

It was a fully grown unicorn, drinking water by a puddle, its fur shimmering in the rainy night.

Sensing danger, the unicorn raised its head and let out an uneasy hiss.

However, it was too late.

Quirrell lunged at the silver light.

A moment later, darkness completely enveloped the surroundings.

Only the strong smell of garlic and rotting blood lingered deep in the forbidden forest.