Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle

The strength of magic is affected by talent and time, and dueling skills and magical attainments can also be accumulated with age. No wizard can grow as fast as Voldemort.

Holding up the candlestick made of his withered arm, Melvin's eyes swept over the creepy face, over the snake-like nose and eyes.

Are the characteristics of snakes also a gift from some magical animal?

Even the essence of his soul was distorted. What kind of dark magic did Voldemort use to transform himself?

……

"Don't be foolish and surrender to me, otherwise you will end up like your parents, who begged me for mercy before they died..."

"lie!"

"Well, child, your parents were both very brave. Your father preferred death to surrender, but it was a futile struggle. Your mother fought tooth and nail to protect you, but she didn't have to die... Now, give me the Philosopher's Stone in your pocket. Don't let your mother die for you in vain."

"..."

Harry wanted to scratch that face with his wand, but he rationally restrained the urge to rush forward to fight. Firstly, his hands and feet were still tightly tied with ropes, and secondly, he wanted to continue to delay time to see if he could wait for Hermione to bring reinforcements.

Quirrell backed toward him, a grim grin on his ugly face.

Harry backed away cautiously, the rope around his ankles so tight he was afraid he would fall.

Just as Quirrell grabbed his neck, the scar on his forehead began to hurt again, and Quirrell let out a scream even more shrill than his own. He bent over and covered his hand. The place where the hand touched him was red, swollen, and bubbling, as if it were burned by flames.

Harry realized that the ropes that bound him had been untied at some point. He looked at Quirrell wailing in confusion, touched the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket, thought for a moment, and decided that turning around and running away was an option, but it would definitely not be as fast as Quirrell's spell-casting speed.

"Can't run, can't hesitate..."

Last time I hesitated and missed the opportunity.

Harry was furious and rushed forward with his fist raised.

Harry punched the twisted snake face, his eyes went dark, and the scar hurt so much that he almost fainted. But Quirrell was obviously in more pain, and he couldn't hold his wand anymore, covering his head and wailing.

"Ah! ah! ah—"

Quirrell's screams and Voldemort's roars mixed together, like the harmony of Neville and Ralph singing.

Harry gritted his teeth and punched again, and he gasped. The pain was so severe that he couldn't think, nor did he want to think. He just punched Quirrell's bald head and Voldemort's face again and again.

The headache was getting worse and worse, and his vision was blurry. Harry couldn't remember how many times he had thrown a punch. He could no longer hear Quirrell's screams, and his punches seemed to have missed.

His consciousness was becoming increasingly blurred, and he could vaguely hear Hermione calling before he fell unconscious.

Chapter 71 Afterwards

The young wizard's tender fists repeatedly hit his cheeks and head. The young wizard had little strength, and his punches could only cause limited damage. But the moment the boy's fists touched his skin, the unbearable burning pain made Quirrell wail uncontrollably.

Every bone in his body became a red-hot iron, his blood was like flowing magma, his vision blurred, and the severe pain caused Quirrell to instinctively resist. He began to struggle violently, trying to push away the boy who was pressing on him and punching him, but any touch would only cause more intense pain in his body.

"Master...Master..."

Quirrell let out a shrill scream, his body covered with marks of burns, and red light appeared in the cracks of his skin.

"Please... Great Dark Lord..."

His cries received no response.

The Dark Lord residing in the body was also roaring.

The boy punched him on the head again and again, his strength gradually exhausted, and his punches became weaker and weaker. In the end, he was no longer able to swing his fists, but his hands were pressed tightly against his face. This continuous contact was even more unbearable, as if it directly ignited his soul. Quirrell felt that his body was on the verge of breaking.

As the body was about to be destroyed and the consciousness became increasingly blurred, the pain actually subsided.

Quirrell squeezed out the last bit of strength from his flesh and blood and reached out his hand, tremblingly grasping the turban that he remembered hanging in front of him.

Nothing was encountered.

He vaguely remembered that he had already taken off his turban, and the Dark Lord could see what was happening outside.

"Why...why won't the Dark Lord help me?"

Invisible and intangible flames enveloped his body, and his soul and magic power turned into firewood. His perception of his body was weakening, and the pain was getting weaker and weaker. Quirrell's pupils became dilated, and before he completely lost consciousness, he vaguely saw a gray-black dark smoke rushing out from behind his head.

That was the ghost of the Dark Lord, who dragged himself into the abyss of pain and finally abandoned him mercilessly.

Quirrell felt light and airy, as if his life had never been sucked away by ghosts, and his flesh and blood had never been eroded by death. He was like a healthy and complete wizard.

When did he take the initiative to give up the good things he once had...

……

"Dear Mr. Quirrell, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and supplies. The semester begins on September 9st. We will await your reply by owl before March 1st!"

……

"Quirinus Quirrell, Ravenclaw!"

"Another Muggle nerd, so boring..."

……

"Mr. Quirrell, I'm sorry. Your grades are excellent, but you don't quite meet the requirements of the Ministry of Magic. If you are interested in other departments, you can continue to submit your resume."

"Mr. Quirrell, I'm sorry, we only recruit pure-blood wizards, but we need a clerk stationed in Africa, mainly responsible for procurement work. Are you interested?"

……

"Quirinus, welcome back to Hogwarts. I believe you will become an excellent professor and provide the best Muggle Studies courses to students."

……

"Professor Quirrell, hahahahahaha... look at how ridiculous he is. A grown wizard stutters in class. Is he worthy of being a professor?!"

"My father told me that his grades were okay, but his abilities and personality were so poor that no one wanted to hire him. Dumbledore took pity on him and hired him as a professor."

……

"Hic~ The Firewhisky at the Hog's Head is still the best. Have you heard that the legendary mysterious man is not dead? He has been lurking deep in the Albanian forest for years, waiting to make a comeback after Dumbledore's death?"

"Your brain has been tainted by expired alcohol, and you're still talking nonsense like that? God... what good is there in the mysterious man's return?"

"If you ask me, what's wrong with that? Now the half-bloods and mudbloods are stepping on our heads, and that person... supports pure-bloods."

"Weren't enough purebloods killed in the last wizarding war? Idiot..."

……

"Quirinus Quirrell, you are the first to find me. The goddess of luck is guiding you."

"Silly boy, you're still young. I can forgive your absurd notions of good and evil. There's no right or wrong in this world, only power, and those incompetent who can't access it. Pledge your allegiance to me, and I'll grant you unprecedented power, make those who once despised you pay the price, and grant you endless wealth, power, and status..."

"Idiot! Useless! Why couldn't you bring back the Philosopher's Stone? What on earth could I expect you to accomplish?!"

"Of course I am willing to forgive you. Give me your body and I will tell you what to do... It's just a small price to pay. As long as you get the Philosopher's Stone, I will grant you a healthy body, powerful magic, and even a long life."

……

Memories overwhelmed his consciousness. Quirrell was no longer able to struggle and lay quietly on the cold floor. His eyes were sore and weak that he could hardly see. No tears flowed. All the fluids in his body had dried up.

He could faintly hear the sound of bones and flesh breaking, and it began to turn into ashes and dissipate. Quirrell suddenly trembled, and in a trance he thought of the corpse he had just destroyed. Just like himself at this moment, he wanted to reach out and retain the ashes, but he could do nothing.

The smoke and dust cleared.

"hiss……"

The gray-black ghost was like billowing smoke, and the twisted snake face turned into a transparent and illusory existence. It didn't care about the disappearing Quirrell and the unconscious Harry, and rushed towards the exit with a gust of cold wind.

Before leaving school, Melvin could barely be considered a theoretical scholar. He spent a lot of time in the library of Ilvermorny, reading through the magical theory knowledge accumulated over hundreds of years. Occasionally, when he encountered doubts, he would consult the professor. After receiving the gift from the horned water snake, he began to think about how to use it to quickly increase his magic power, but it was just ordinary magic research and he had never personally witnessed the real cutting-edge magic.

At this moment, Melvin stared at the evil ghost that was stirring up a strong wind with his eyes wide open. He did not feel any fear at all, but rather a little excited. Is this the most powerful dark wizard in history?

"Lihuo..."

The orange flames rolled, instantly illuminating the dim room. Night moths and bats became restless and scrambled to avoid the area, but this flame that instilled fear in living creatures could not stop the ghosts for even a moment.

[Expected Guardian]

Silver light mist surged, and painful howls came from the gray-black smoke, but it still failed to keep him.

The old headmaster who watched the whole process did not react much and seemed to be lost in thought. Melvin was also thinking about what state Voldemort was in. He had no tangible entity, but was completely different from a ghost.

A ghost that is neither alive nor dead...

"Professor!" Hermione held up the unconscious Harry and looked up at the two of them, her face indignant. "What are you still doing standing there?!"

The old principal came back to his senses, his face a little embarrassed, and coughed: "Here it comes."

……

School doctor's office.

Madam Pomfrey left the ward to get her medicine filled.

Ron was mainly hit on the head and woke up that afternoon. Harry's physical injuries were lighter, just a slight scrape on his fist, but his brain was in more trouble. Madam Pomfrey said that he had received too much stimulation in a short period of time and needed to sleep for a few more days.

Hermione was also examined by the school doctor and was diagnosed with being stimulated and frightened. She needed to drink half a bottle of euphoria and have a good rest.

At this moment, she was lying on the hospital bed, the quilt tucked in tightly, making it difficult for her to move. There were two pillows under her head. She could barely see the old principal and the young professor beside the bed. Her eyes kept moving, looking back and forth at the two of them over and over again.

Professor Lewynter's two reminders and Headmaster Dumbledore's deliberate observation, the whole thing was wrong from beginning to end, as if it was deliberately arranged.

It is very likely a deliberate arrangement!

Melvin turned and looked at her.

"..."

The little witch subconsciously looked away, then reacted and stared straight at the professor, showing no sign of weakness.

Hearing that Harry and Ron were fine, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and began to explore the truth of the matter. After asking a few more questions, she was pushed to Madam Pomfrey by Professor Lewyn and forced onto the bed.

He tucked the quilt like this on purpose.

"Unnecessary personnel please leave the ward and do not disturb the patients' rest!" The school doctor, Ms. Pomfrey, is kind-hearted and not afraid of power. She doesn't even give face to the headmaster.

Dumbledore coughed lightly and left with Professor Lewynter. Their conversation grew increasingly distant.

"Quirrel is a gifted but sensitive boy. When he was in school, his shyness and sensitivity caused his classmates to laugh at him. Perhaps because he felt weak, he was particularly eager to prove himself and wanted the world to look at him with new eyes and take notice of him. At some point, he became interested in the dark arts...

"Motivated by curiosity and a desire to be noticed, Quirrell began to explore the qualities required to become a Dark wizard. Later, his mind was clouded by the Dark Arts, and he believed that he could track down Voldemort and even learn advanced magical techniques from him so that he would no longer be a laughing stock.

"He was naive and conceited enough to believe he could control the meeting with Voldemort. Although Voldemort was now very weak, he easily controlled the lost wizard, and Quirrell was powerless to resist..."

Hermione tried to turn over to hear more clearly, but the quilt restrained her tightly, like a binding spell. She struggled a few times but to no avail. The headmaster and professor gradually walked away, and the sound disappeared completely.