Dodging the green, deadly beam of the Avada Kedavra, Viktor said with a mischievous smile:
— Shall we dance?
Quirrell was about to strike again, but a hoarse, hissing voice from the back of his head stopped him.
— Wait, let me speak to him.
— But, my Lord, he insulted you! — Quirrell hissed through gritted teeth, barely contained fury blazing in his eyes.
— He merely spoke the truth. My current state is indeed not very sightly, — Voldemort replied. Quirrell didn't argue further and reluctantly turned around so his master could speak.
Viktor's eye began to twitch at such brazen stupidity. Did they really think he wouldn't take advantage of the moment and attack while Quirrell had his back to him? Did they think he was some kind of foolish main character who would just stand there and listen to the villain's moralizing? He squinted, staring at Voldemort's ravaged face for a long time, but still decided not to attack yet and to listen to the Dark Lord.
As he lowered his wand, he heard a painfully familiar whisper, which only he could hear:
— Typical stupid main character.
Viktor began to look around, searching for the source of the whisper, but besides the frightened Harry and Hermione, there was no one else there. He sighed and refocused his gaze on Voldemort.
While Viktor was lost in thought, Voldemort looked at the young wizard with undisguised interest. Although he was only eleven years old, he had already proven that he would become a new wizard on his and Dumbledore's level. If he could persuade him to join him, Viktor would become the strongest Death Eater the wizarding world had ever seen. He had been monitoring him all year. This boy was cruel; from the very beginning, he could have been Sorted into any House, but he chose to stay in Slytherin, and for half a year, there had been "accidents" involving students. There was one drawback—he was very intelligent and cunning—but Voldemort decided to deal with that later; right now, the most important thing was to interest him.
— Viktor, I have been watching you for a long time, and you... — Before he could finish, Viktor couldn't resist and immediately fired a curse. Quirrell quickly spun around, and his wand redirected the curse to the side, slamming it into the wall with a deafening crash.
Viktor sighed in relief. He wanted to listen to Voldemort, but he started feeling like a typical hero who, instead of killing the bastard, just stood and listened until something happened that gave the villain an advantage. The thought gave him the chills.
— Sorry, I couldn't help it. You can continue talking, but please do it through the mirror. And let Quirrell keep aiming at me. It will be easier for me that way. It'll look like I have no choice and have to listen to you.
Harry and Hermione exchanged surprised glances.
Voldemort was angered by the sudden attack, but remembering Viktor's peculiarities, he decided not to focus on it for now. However, he made a firm decision: once he restored his body, he would torment Viktor until he broke his mind and turned him into a loyal dog, a perfect weapon. He calmed down and, looking at Viktor's reflection, began to speak:
— As I was saying, I have long... — Suddenly, the mirror shattered with a deafening clang, and thousands of sharp shards flew towards him like hail. Quirrell, who was closely watching Viktor's wand, quickly cast protective charms, but it was too late: small shards had already embedded themselves in his body, some even cutting Voldemort's face.
Viktor desperately grabbed his hair.
— God, I couldn't not do it! — He calmed down and looked at Quirrell. — I still have a chance to hear what you want to say.
Voldemort, with half his face covered in blood, roared with fury.
— Aaaaaaaah! Kill that scumbag!
Quirrell, with bloodshot eyes burning with mad rage, was done with formalities. His wand flew up, and he began to hurl one curse after another, not caring about accuracy, only focused on unleashing all his might on the brazen Slytherin.
Viktor, with light flicks of his wand, began deflecting the spells, which shrieked as they slammed into his shimmering shields, making the air smell burnt.
— Well, he's angry now! I think that's my bad! — Viktor shouted to Hermione and Harry, who were standing behind him, still trapped in the circle of fire.
Quirrell, driven by Voldemort's fury, moved faster than ever. His wand danced in the air, releasing streams of red, purple, and green light.
— Confringo! — Quirrell roared, and a section of the massive column behind which Harry and Hermione were hiding exploded into dust with a deafening crash.
Viktor quickly spun around and protected both of them from the flying debris by creating an instantaneous shield in front of them.
— You know, it would be easier for me if you weren't in the way! — Still with his back to Quirrell, he released an intricate stream of silvery magic from his wand which, instead of striking directly, twisted around Quirrell, trying to ensnare him.
Quirrell reacted instantly, cleaving the air stream with a powerful Reducto! Viktor used that second and, Apparating behind the professor's back, delivered a powerful kick that sent Quirrell flying across the room.
— There it is, true power! Ha-ha-ha! — Viktor exclaimed, pleased with his trick, as Quirrell slammed into one of the columns with a dull thud.
Harry and Hermione, trapped in the ring of fire, watched the battle in astonishment. Harry was simply stunned that Viktor had just kicked him instead of using magic, like in some action movie he'd seen on TV. Hermione was shocked for a different reason. Being smarter than Harry and seeing that blow, she realized that Viktor wasn't fighting seriously. Having caught Quirrell off guard, he could have used magic to immobilize or severely injure him, but instead, he just kicked him. He was playing, like a cat with a caught mouse.
Quirrell quickly got up from the ground, his eyes burning with hatred, and a thin stream of blood dripped from his broken nose. Voldemort on the back of his head roared.
— Don't play with him, Quirrell! Kill him!
Hearing his lord's words, Quirrell wanted to weep. He couldn't admit that he wasn't playing at all. In the forest that time, he really had been messing around and underestimated the first-year, which resulted in his broken ribs and arm. But now he was absolutely serious; he was putting all his strength into the curses, yet Viktor easily deflected them all. He felt that Viktor had grown stronger since then, not stronger in terms of magical power, but in the use of magic. This was no longer the inexperienced first-year he could bully, but a true duelist.
Quirrell began to look around, trying to come up with a new plan. Glancing at Harry, he raised his wand toward Viktor and fired an Avada Kedavra, then transformed into black smoke himself and flew rapidly towards Harry. When he was almost upon him, Quirrell felt something enveloping him. Looking around, he saw red smoke wrapping around him, disrupting the Transfiguration. When the spell was forcibly stripped from him, he tried to strike at the red smoke, but it dodged, flew away, and enveloped Harry and Hermione, completely concealing them from view. Then the red smoke quickly flew through the fire barrier, swirled, and flew back out, leaving them behind.
Hermione watched in surprise as the smoke passed through the flames.
— Viktor must teach me that! — she exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
— I, I want to too! — Harry raised his hand, his face as surprised as Hermione's.
Quirrell watched as the red smoke returned and transformed back into Viktor.
Standing opposite each other, they simply stared, neither moving. The silence rang in the air, broken only by the occasional crackle of the dying flames.
— You know, before I came in here, I felt that disgusting sense of fear, but now, standing across from you, I realize my fears were unfounded, — Viktor smirked, and unconcealed disdain sounded in his voice. He carelessly tossed his wand to the ground, and it clattered and rolled away. — You are weak.
Quirrell gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw muscles bulged, and without a word, he fired a curse at him. Viktor, still smiling, shattered into hundreds of black crows which instantly filled the air with cawing, and the spell flew past, leaving only a smoking trace on the far wall. Quirrell remembered what had happened in the forest and was on guard. The crows circling in the air sharply began to dive towards him. He started burning them with fire but was watchful, expecting Viktor's appearance.
Suddenly, he felt a presence near him. Quickly pointing his wand there, he found no one. The next moment, he felt a powerful, crushing blow to his stomach, which sent him crashing to the ground, doubled over in pain, spitting the air from his lungs. Viktor removed the Disillusionment Charm, walked up to him, grabbed the arm holding the wand, and smiled:
— So, where were we? — Kkkkkkrh! — A gruesome, crunching sound of breaking bone rang out.
Quirrell began to scream in pain, his voice cutting off mid-shriek when he tried to inhale.
— You know, hearing your cries of pain makes me very happy, — Viktor said, picking up Quirrell's wand from the ground and deliberately snapping it in half. The wood yielded with a crack, and the two halves fell nearby. — Something even twitched in my pants—don't think I'm some kind of pervert, it's just, you know, punishing bad guys really turns me on.
— Proud of yourself, defeating a real Death Eater? — Voldemort's calm but icy voice sounded from the back of Quirrell's head. — You have such potential, but you fight like a savage. You disgust me, mudblood!
— Hey, what's wrong with using physical force? I think it's cool! — Viktor pondered, scratching the back of his head. — Though, you know, I might be biased. Let's ask an unbiased jury for their opinion. — Viktor looked to where the Mirror of Erised had once been, and there, a small table had appeared at some unknown moment, with two exact copies of him sitting behind it. One of them, with a wide smile, stood up and clapped.
— I think that was cool! A great kick! And anyway... sorry, I forgot your name?
Viktor replied with a smile:
— I'm Viktor.
— Viktor, you're awesome! I had goosebumps the whole battle, my hands are still shaking! — He raised a trembling hand to demonstrate.
— I don't know, for me, that was too childish, — said the second copy, adjusting his glasses. At his words, the smile slipped from Viktor's face. — It could have all been done much easier. If we were giving grades, I'd give it a C... — BANG! His head snapped sharply to the side, and blood trickled from his temple; he began to slide off the bench onto the ground.
— I think it was cool! — said his first copy, holding a smoking pistol.
— You shouldn't have killed him! I'm strong and I can handle criticism! — Viktor said in surprise. — How could you bring yourself to ruin such a beautiful face?
His copy sighed sadly, lowering the pistol.
— Yes, even though we didn't agree, he really was beautiful. Those glasses suited him so well, I'm going to miss him.
Viktor nodded, agreeing with his words.
— Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! — Voldemort suddenly began to laugh, while Quirrell was still trying to recover, writhing on the floor.
Viktor looked at him, and the table with his copies turned back into mirror shards, disappearing as suddenly as they had appeared.
— You're insane! Ha-ha-ha-ha, completely insane! I've changed my mind, it's better for you to stay with Dumbledore. He really has gotten old! How could he have let you into the school? You're a lunatic!
Viktor listened to him and sighed.
— You know, laughing at someone's flaw while you yourself are an ugly head on the back of another person's head is kind of stupid. Oh well, I think it's time to end our party. — He raised his hand, and his wand rose into the air, flying right into his palm.
Voldemort finally stopped laughing.
— You think this is the end?! I, VOLDEMORT, AM NOT SO EASILY DEFEATED! — His face began to twitch and move until it merged with Quirrell's face, completely absorbing him. Voldemort rose from the ground, his body now seemed stronger, and his eyes burned red. — Although this will take a lot of my strength, it doesn't matter! Soon, with the Philosopher's Stone, I will be completely restored! — He raised the hand that held Hermione's wand and fired a powerful green beam. Viktor immediately cast a Patronus, and their beams collided, creating a blinding shockwave. Slowly but surely, Voldemort's beam began to approach him. Viktor redirected the beam, and it struck off to the side, kicking up a cloud of dust. When all the dust settled, Voldemort in Quirrell's body had disappeared. Viktor was about to follow him, but he instantly felt as if his body were chained. Due to the warm energy, he immediately knew who was restraining him and calmed down.
— Fine, let the child, the Chosen One, solve this problem himself. Haaah, I got carried away again, why couldn't I have just finished him off right away? — He stood still, mentally condemning himself. — I need to work on this, I love the theatrics too much! — Exhaling, Viktor raised his head to the high, crumbling ceiling. — HEADMASTER! YOU CAN LET ME GO! I WON'T INTERFERE ANYMORE! HONEST SLYTHERIN'S PROMISE! — With his final words, he felt the invisible bonds shackling his body loosen and vanish, finally allowing him to move freely.
He massaged his wrists as if shaking off the remnants of the invisible chains.
— I think when school ends, the first thing I'll do is look for a psychologist, — he muttered to himself, thoughtfully surveying the ruined room. — I need to work through these issues. This is the second time I've made the mistake of letting the villain escape. Although it's unlikely I'll find a psychologist who can help me learn to kill enemies immediately without unnecessary talking and dramatic speeches. Ah, the problem of the century!