Two silver beams shot out from the tip of the wand.
They intertwined around Quirrell's body, flickering with a faint, eerie glow.
His body twitched slightly.
His eyelids fluttered.
His lips parted as a low, hoarse groan escaped him.
"Ah…"
Slowly, Quirrell opened his eyes.
His gaze was cloudy and vacant, as if shrouded in a deep fog.
His vitality was visibly drained.
Even when he saw Snape and Moody pointing their wands at him, and Flitwick running toward them with his short legs, he showed no signs of resistance.
Moody's frown deepened at the sight.
With a wave of his wand, a thin, blue-black magical film formed, binding Quirrell's limbs tightly, leaving only his head free to move.
"Impedimenta! Snape, release the binding curse. We need him to talk."
Hearing Moody's command, a flicker of displeasure crossed Snape's face.
Nevertheless, he waved his wand, dispelling the binding curse.
Quirrell's body loosened slightly, though he remained restrained by the Impediment Curse.
He couldn't move anything except his head, yet made no attempt to struggle.
Only low, incoherent humming sounds escaped his throat.
"How did you catch him? Was there a fight?" Moody pressed his wand to Quirrell's chest and stared directly into his lifeless eyes, searching for any flicker of deception.
Snape answered coldly, "He came here alone. I hadn't planned to arrest him in the dining hall—too many students were around. But he suddenly attacked them, so we had no choice. Three Stunning Spells brought him down. His condition was normal."
Moody listened, his frown unwavering. Something didn't sit right.
According to Snape and McGonagall, Quirrell shouldn't have suspected anything.
So why did he suddenly attack students?
It made no sense.
Snape, noticing Moody's skeptical expression, sneered slightly.
He uncorked a small bottle in his hand and said, "If there's a problem, ask him directly. I made the Veritaserum myself. No one can resist it."
Moody hesitated for a moment but nodded.
His instincts screamed that something was off—but he couldn't yet place it.
Snape approached Quirrell with the open bottle, ready to pour the clear liquid into the professor's slightly parted lips.
"Wait!" Moody barked suddenly.
Snape turned, clearly irritated.
"What now? Forgot to order tomorrow's Daily Prophet?"
Moody ignored the sarcasm.
He turned to Tonks. "You, guard the door. No one comes in unless I say so."
Then to Flitwick, he said, "Filius, prepare for battle."
Flitwick and Snape exchanged looks, both thinking Moody was just being paranoid again.
Still, Flitwick complied, drawing his wand.
Tonks pouted as she walked to the door, though she left a small crack open—just enough to peek inside.
Snape gave Moody a disapproving glare but said no more.
He slowly tilted the bottle and poured the Veritaserum into Quirrell's mouth.
The liquid slid down his throat.
He let out a faint, hoarse hum.
"Who is your master possessing now?" Snape asked. "Is it Slytherin Prefect Marcus Flint?"
Everyone held their breath, watching intently.
Quirrell's lips moved slightly.
A faint shadow passed through his lifeless eyes.
He murmured weakly, "They… are looking for… fu…"
Before he could finish, a strange red light flashed in his eyes.
His face went stiff, masklike.
He turned deathly pale.
His eyes slowly closed, and he fell into total silence.
Outside, Tonks leaned closer, trying to hear more.
But all she caught was quiet.
"Is it not working?" she muttered.
Suddenly—BANG!
The door burst open with a thunderous crash, slamming into Tonks and knocking her back.
Pain shot through her chest as she hit the floor hard.
She looked up, dazed—and saw Professor Flitwick fall on top of her, blood oozing from his forehead.
"Professor!" she gasped.
Her eyes darted toward the dining hall—and what she saw froze her blood.
An enormous monster stood inside.
Its body was covered in silver scales that gleamed coldly under the light.
Its limbs were as thick as tree trunks, ending in razor-sharp claws.
It loomed tall—easily over eight meters.
It had burst out from Quirrell's body.
Nearby, Snape lay bleeding on the floor among shattered dishes and overturned tables.
Only Moody remained standing, though pale and injured.
He pressed one hand to his bleeding chest but stayed composed, eyes locked on the creature.
His suspicions had been correct.
This wasn't Quirrell anymore.
It was a magically modified Inferius—a puppet of dark magic, waiting to be triggered.
Moody, relying on years of combat experience, had dodged the creature's initial blow and countered with a spell.
But the silver scales acted like armor—the spell bounced right off.
He glanced at Snape, who lay in a pool of blood.
There was no way he could take this creature alone.
The monster raised its claws and roared, "For the Dark Lord!!!"
It charged at Moody.
Without flinching, Moody pointed his wand at his legs.
"Enhancement Charm!" he shouted.
A burst of magical energy surged through him.
With his wooden leg thudding rapidly, he dashed across the dining hall.
As he ran past the creature, he flicked his wand behind him, drawing a long arc on the ground.
The floor responded, lifting and warping upward.
The monster stumbled, caught off guard, and crashed to the floor with a tremendous thud.
Moody turned quickly and shouted, "Obscuro!"
A crimson beam shot from his wand and hit the creature square in the eyes.
"ROAR—!"
The monster howled, clutching its face.
Blood gushed from its now-blinded eyes, staining its scales deep red.
Moody didn't waste a second.
He pointed his wand toward Snape's unconscious body.
"Severus Snape, Accio!"
Snape's body lifted from the floor and flew toward the doorway.
Moody reached the door, grabbed the stunned Tonks, and shouted, "Run!"
FOR MORE CHAPTER
patreon.com/Jackssparrow