"Hurry up and leave! Go back to the school and pretend you never left!"
After Voldemort issued the command to Quirrell, he fell silent, and the fused face gradually faded away. However, he realized that after relaxing, he failed to successfully transfer to the back of Quirrell's head. It was as if some weak but existent force had drawn him once again towards Quirrell's behind.
Truth be told, Voldemort was extremely reluctant, but his weak soul had wielded magic twice using another's body, and he couldn't muster any extra strength to resist.
"Damn it!! What's wrong with your body!?"
Voldemort blamed Quirrell for the issue.
"I... What's wrong with my body?" Quirrell was also on the verge of tears. He felt that Voldemort probably had some quirks, always trying to burrow towards his behind.
Could it be that this Black Demon King intended to stay there forever?
In such a situation, would he even dare to go to the toilet!
"Just leave..." Voldemort weakly responded from Quirrell's backside, once again feeling his mouth overlapping with one of Quirrell's bodily organs.
"Alright, alright." Quirrell held back discomfort and quickly exited the alley. He turned back to look at the fallen witness, his eyes showing a fleeting moment of pity and helplessness.
"Don't blame me."
Quirrell silently prayed for a moment and left the secluded alley swiftly, running towards the crowded street where, at this time, Hogwarts Village still had quite a few people strolling about.
"Wanna play chess, sir?"
Someone raised their hand to block his way, startling Quirrell with the sudden inquiry.
"Get out of the way!"
He quickly pushed aside the person blocking him, directly knocking them to the ground. Moreover, he even mimicked Voldemort's glare and fiercely stared at the chess player setting up a stall.
"You brought this upon yourself!"
After seeing the chess player's alarmed expression, Quirrell felt a little less suffocated and promptly hurried toward the castle direction.
"Master, could Dumbledore have... predicted that you would come back?" Quirrell, after all, being a Ravenclaw student, regained some clarity after calming down from danger.
"Of course, you foolish thing, you're only now realizing the scheming of deceitful Dumbledore? Ultimately, it's just me playing chess with this professor of mine."
"He wants to completely get rid of me, so he cast aside what I urgently needed as a wager. On this point, both he and I are in a state of mutual understanding. I voluntarily entered the game, but now it seems he is far more insidious than I imagined." Voldemort's voice slightly regained some force.
He spoke through gritted teeth, with intense unwillingness, "Of course, we didn't lose everything, we still have a chance, the one who laughs last will certainly be me!"
"As long as we get the Magic Stone, as long as we get it... Ha, Dumbledore will understand what it means to play with fire." Voldemort's voice echoed in Quirrell's mind.
The information he had was that Dumbledore attempted to use the Magic Stone to extend his life, borrowing it from the Legendary Alchemist to brew the Elixir of Immortality at Hogwarts.
Clearly, this wasn't a piece of news that could stand much scrutiny. Most wizards with some judgment and sense wouldn't believe it. After all, an age of over a hundred for a powerful wizard is still considered the prime of life, thus Dumbledore wasn't in urgent need of the Magic Stone to extend his lifespan.
Voldemort knew this.
And Dumbledore knew Voldemort knew this. Yet, as long as the Magic Stone was truly in Hogwarts, Dumbledore believed Voldemort would surely come.
The fact indeed turned out this way.
The consecutive disappearance of several Soul Artifacts had made Voldemort feel somewhat threatened, but upon hearing the news of the Magic Stone, he couldn't help rushing over. It's a treasure that could truly resurrect him, of course, he couldn't possibly resist the temptation. He wanted to return to the human world, which was no easy task.
"The ultimate winner will be me!"
Voldemort was firm in his heart as he frantically followed Quirrell from behind.
He was unaware.
Right opposite the face he was stuck to, the middle-aged wizard that his servant Quirrell had pushed, was slowly standing up from the ground after letting out a sigh.
"This certainly makes one feel like it's a rotten day."
The middle-aged wizard dusted off his backside without any regard for appearance.
"Looks like I'm going to die childless. Tsk, tsk, couldn't even stop them, they're rushing to death like a broken cog. Their senses aren't even as sharp as those careless German folks."
He sat back at his chessboard, even though Quirrell's figure had long disappeared into the crowd, his eyes seemed to still reflect the image of Quirrell.
Or rather, the image of the face on Quirrell's backside.
"A bit early, but it shouldn't affect much." The chess player buried his head in arranging his pieces. He didn't look up but sensed someone had sat opposite him.
"Want to play chess?"
The chess player wasn't surprised in the slightest.
He just continued placing his pieces.
"Aren't we already playing?" The young wizard smiled warmly, his head topped with long, lush brown hair braided simply, cascading naturally over both shoulders.
Arthur King.
The Hogwarts Professor of Alchemy.