Chapter 113 Teacher, I want to learn this.
Time passed bit by bit.
The faint sound of frolicking came from outside the office door, the noise of the Weasley twins returning from who knows where.
Not long after, scattered footsteps echoed in the hallway.
These were some early-rising students.
Voldemort's expression shifted, his thoughts unreadable.
Quirrell, still not giving up, waved the rope, probing the office bit by bit.
He actually had a theory: Anton had long since escaped, slipping away right under the Dark Lord's nose. And they had foolishly been casting spells in the office all night.
But he dared not say anything, dared not ask anything.
However, his magic was gradually depleting. The cool display of summoning a rope with a snap of his fingers was gone. That was wandless magic plus a nonverbal spell, and heaven knows how proud he was of it. Now, he could only barely wave his wand to cast the spell, and the rope had become limp and weak.
Just then, Anton's figure appeared in the large high-backed chair behind the desk.
He was leaning back in the chair, elbow on the armrest, fist propping up his cheek, looking as if he had just woken up. His feet were propped straight up on the desk, and he watched them lazily.
"You really are still here!" Voldemort stared coldly at Anton.
Shrugging, Anton smiled, "Why can't I be here? You are the famous Dark Lord, the most powerful and dangerous dark wizard in history. Where could I possibly run? But I'm not without the ability to protect myself in front of you."
Shifting his back against the chair, Anton stretched comfortably.
"That was a really good sleep. Dark Lord, my professor, you see, I have a way to deal with you." Anton looked smug. "You want to devour my soul, but, hehe, guess what? The moment you pounce, I'll disappear."
Voldemort's gaze was extremely cold.
"You are indeed outstanding enough. No one has ever been like this in front of me."
"Right?" Anton's smile was brilliant. "I feel quite proud of myself too."
They looked at each other without a word. Silence. The atmosphere in the office was extremely oppressive.
Suddenly, Voldemort frowned, "Why is your mind full of messy characters?"
"Legilimency?" Anton grinned. "Occlumency is too difficult, I haven't learned it yet."
His long, slender fingers tapped his own head lightly. "This is called memory sorting, a way to organize memories and thoughts. I put computer program code on the outermost layer." (Anton was a programmer drone in his past life, as mentioned before.)
"Hehehe, Professor, I bet you can't understand code, right? According to the third of the Seven Goblin Laws of Memory, 'What cannot be understood will lead to confusion.' You'll have to take a good look at this code to get into the deepest part of my mind."
What is code?
Voldemort couldn't comprehend it.
Legilimency was no longer a winning card. He could only stare coldly at Anton. "Then, why did you appear before me again?"
Oh~
Speaking of this, Anton was no longer sleepy.
He put his feet down, twisted his waist as if his whole body was sore from sleeping in a bad position, then he stood up straight very sincerely and bowed slightly.
"My dear teacher, you just said you are the person who understands souls the most in this world." Anton's eyes lit up. "I want to learn this!"
Voldemort let out a sneer.
"Teaching you knowledge before did indeed fulfill my dream of being a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but that's all. Using the study time to influence the balance of your soul with spells, that's what I truly want."
"I have no students. If I did, they would surely be dead."
"You..." Voldemort's eyes were extremely cold, "will only become my delicious food."
Anton held up a finger and wagged it. "No, no, no, I have more uses for you."
Voldemort said nothing.
"For example, the Philosopher's Stone that can resurrect you. Maybe you can even use it to become immortal."
This was nonsense. Voldemort still sneered. If not for the Philosopher's Stone, did he think he had too long to live, running under Dumbledore's nose at his weakest?
"I can provide useful help on your path to obtaining the Philosopher's Stone!" The sincerity on Anton's face was practically overflowing. "Everything in the world has a price, and this is the tuition I'm paying."
"I don't need to rely on you!" Quirrell finally interjected, his shriek filled with anxiety and fury. "My master can get the Philosopher's Stone with just me! He doesn't need anyone else!"
He spoke extremely fast, rattling like a machine gun, "I already know all the obstacles. I'm already cracking Snape's potions, I have a way to get the secret to dealing with Hagrid's three-headed dog, and I've also found information on Dumbledore's mirror. I can get in and retrieve the Philosopher's Stone all by myself!"
Anton waited calmly for him to finish, then said teasingly, unhurriedly, and with an air of nonchalance, "On the premise that the Philosopher's Stone is in there."
"!!!"
"!!!"
Voldemort and Quirrell were simultaneously shocked.
Anton spread his hands helplessly, "Why do you both think Dumbledore wouldn't just carry the Philosopher's Stone on him? It's not particularly heavy. Isn't carrying it on him safer than any other place?"
"!!!"
"!!!"
"Professor Quirrell, why don't you go snatch the Philosopher's Stone from Dumbledore and present it to your master?" Anton's face was full of mockery.
"..."
Anton then turned to Voldemort with a smile, "Or would you rather go snatch it yourself, Professor?"
Snatch my ass!
Voldemort cursed inwardly. His mind was in chaos—that's right, why was he so convinced the Philosopher's Stone was in that room?
Did Dumbledore say so himself?
Heh, just because he said it, does that make it true? He knew how cunning Dumbledore was. That was a man who was also proficient in the Dark Arts. To treat him as a rigid, upright gentleman would be the most foolish idea.
"When Dumbledore puts the Philosopher's Stone in the mirror, or whether what's in the mirror is the Philosopher's Stone or a pile of cockroaches, that depends entirely on his own whim."
"And I!" Anton pointed a thumb at himself. "Thanks to you, my dear teacher, my relationship with Professor Dumbledore is excellent right now. I have a chance to find out!"
"..."
Voldemort didn't answer. Quirrell's mouth moved, but in the end, he didn't dare promise anything he could do.
The office fell silent once again.
Finally, the noise on the stairs outside the office grew louder. Clearly, it was almost time for class.
Voldemort waved his finger lightly, and the office door clicked open a crack. "Get out!"
"Okay." Anton nodded with a smile, slowly backing away while facing him, clearly unwilling to expose his back to Voldemort.
Gently grabbing the doorknob and pulling the door open, Anton gave Voldemort a deep look, just as he was about to leave.
"Still come on Sunday." Old Voldy's voice sounded a bit hoarse.
"Okay!" Anton smiled, a particularly brilliant smile.
He walked out softly, closed the door softly, leaving only darkness in the office.
He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs against the flow of people. Many students from his year greeted him as they passed.
"Hey, Anton." He nodded with a smile.
"Hey, Antonin." He nodded with a smile.
He made his way to Dumbledore's office, passed through the gargoyle at the entrance, and went in.
"What are you doing here to see me at this time?" Dumbledore looked up from behind his desk, a glint of light flashing across his half-moon spectacles. "Merlin's beard, how did your magic get depleted to this extent!!!"
Anton just gave a smile.
Thump!
He fainted and fell to the floor.
Dumbledore hurried out from behind his desk, exclaiming, "To be able to grit your teeth and make it to my office in this state, you are indeed, as Phineas said, of an extremely tenacious character."