Chapter 52: A Dangerous Encounter

"It's you. Gaunt!"

Quirrell stared at Erwin in horror, not expecting Harry to be the only one entering the chamber.

 There was also this troublesome interloper.

He had clearly adjusted the potion so that only enough remained for one person.

‘Oh, but this person has a phoenix. That explained it.’

"Fool. Turn around!"

Another voice suddenly erupted from Quirrell's body, startling Harry.

"Yes, esteemed master."

Quirrell replied respectfully, then turned and slowly unwound his scarf, revealing something truly horrifying.

Harry felt as though he were being watched by a terrifying monster.

He wanted to scream, but no sound would come.

Even Erwin felt disgust rise in his throat.

It wasn't the back of Quirrell's head at all, but a face, chalk-white and dead, with two terrible, bright red eyes glaring from it.

Most disturbing of all, it had no nostrils.

Erwin had long known that Voldemort resided on the back of Quirrell's head, but he hadn't expected the reality to be a hundred times uglier than any depiction he'd seen.

"Harry Potter."

"Look at what I've become," the face rasped.

"I must borrow other people's bodies to survive, but there are always those who will let me into their hearts and minds."

The face turned slowly toward Erwin.

"Erwin Gaunt… All can be forgiven… After all, we’re tied by blood."

"My mother was also from the Gaunt family. I know of your talent. Bow to death… join me, and in time you will rise to be my right hand…"

Erwin couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m proud to admit it, Voldemort: I’m quite the model student at Hogwarts, with top marks in every field: intellectual, physical, and ‘Moral’.”

Voldemort misread the calm in Erwin’s voice as fear of Dumbledore.

He spoke again.
“Do not concern yourself with Dumbledore. He is not immortal.”

"Boom!"
An explosive fireball blasted toward Voldemort from directly in front of Erwin.
Erwin was too lazy to listen to Voldemort’s nonsense and hurled the fireball straight at his face.

Voldemort hadn’t expected the young wizard before him to attack so suddenly and failed to react in time.

When he regained his senses, the fireball was already about to strike.
In desperation, Voldemort dodged with an extremely awkward roll.

“Is this still the feared Dark Lord?”
Erwin quipped, but his wand hand didn’t stop moving.

In one smooth motion, he cast three spells in rapid succession toward Voldemort, forming a triangular formation in midair.

This time, Voldemort wasn’t careless.

He released three counter-spells that accurately intercepted Erwin’s attacks.

“Do you really think I couldn’t defeat you last time in the Forbidden Forest?”
Voldemort spoke.

He had only been careless before, never expecting this younger wizard to possess such powerful magic, magic capable of countering his Avada Kedavra head-on.

“Harry, go and retrieve the Philosopher’s Stone. I’ll deal with him.”
Ignoring Voldemort’s outburst, Erwin gave his command sharply.

Harry immediately dashed toward the Mirror of Erised upon hearing him.

Voldemort didn’t stop him; after all, his plan required Potter to obtain the Philosopher’s Stone.

“Sectumsempra!”
Two invisible air blades shot toward Voldemort, swift and nearly undetectable.

With his keen senses, Voldemort managed to evade only one.
The other sliced into his thigh.

“Ahhh!”
A scream tore from behind.

Perhaps because the body wasn’t Voldemort’s own, he felt no pain, but Quirrell was suffering terribly.

“Damn it!”
Voldemort summoned a cloud of black mist to repair the injury.

Although he felt nothing himself, the wound still impaired the body’s movement.

Voldemort now realized the young man before him was extraordinary.

From their brief exchanges, he could clearly sense that Erwin’s spells were far more powerful, cast with effortless precision.

‘This can’t continue,’ Voldemort thought anxiously, uncertain when Dumbledore might arrive.

“My servant, Quirrell… give me everything.”
As he spoke, despite Quirrell’s agonized resistance, the black mist surged violently through the host body.

Quirrell’s screams echoed throughout the chamber.

Erwin frowned.

Although Voldemort was far from his prime, he possessed no shortage of sinister methods.

He recognized this form of magic from the Restricted Section, an ancient technique that forced a wizard’s magic to ignite, unleashing power far beyond normal limits for a short time.

Sure enough, fiery red flames began to gather at the tip of Voldemort’s wand.

The magic coiled across the floor like living fire, expanding wildly until it formed the shape of a gigantic flame snake.

The serpent of fire hissed and slithered toward Erwin.

At that moment, Velora above Erwin’s head released a long, piercing cry, her wings bursting with golden phoenix flames as she dove to meet the fiery python head-on.