"But you'd better be ready to make a sacrifice."
Louis' words cut into Quirrell's chest like a knife.
"S–sacrifice?" Quirrell's face drained of color inside the dream, and in reality, lying in bed, his body mirrored the same pallor. He tossed and turned, yet could not wake.
A nightmare! A spell of despair that prevents its victim from waking, no matter how terrifying or hopeless the dream becomes.
Even the Voldemort parasitizing Quirrell's body failed to notice—he too was trapped in a dream. The difference was that he had sunk into a blissful dream, one he had no desire to leave.
If Louis exerted just a bit more force, he could plunge Voldemort into eternal slumber, never to awaken until death claimed him.
Sweet dreams or nightmares—both were equally dangerous. It all depended on the will of the dream demon.
Inside the dream, Quirrell's face twisted with fear and fury. He glared at Louis, shouting:
"What do you mean? Why should I be the one to sacrifice? Aren't you supposed to save me? Why save me only to sacrifice me?"
Louis shrugged. "There's no choice. Your body's been taken over by Voldemort. If you want to live, you'll have to abandon it. That sacrifice is something you should be able to accept, right?"
"I can't!" Quirrell roared. "How could I possibly accept that? Without a body, what difference is there between me and being dead?"
"The difference is that you won't be completely dead," Louis sneered coldly. "The moment you handed your life over to someone else, you should have prepared yourself for this."
"First, you gave your life to Voldemort. Now, you're trying to force someone else to wrest it back from him on your behalf."
"And what makes you think I'd risk everything to save you? Because of your pitiful scraps of information? Do you think you're even worth it?"
Quirrell's body trembled. His expression twisted into malice.
"If you don't help me, you won't be spared either," he hissed through clenched teeth. "That organization is already hunting you. Once I reveal your identity, not only you, but even your family will be in danger!"
He clearly had no idea how absolute a dream demon's control was within a dream—he was threatening a man who already had a knife at his throat.
Louis didn't expose him. Instead, he deliberately feigned anger. "What do you want?"
"Save me! By any means necessary! I don't want to die!" Quirrell spat with hatred.
"Then just follow Voldemort to the bitter end. Once he gets the Philosopher's Stone, he'll leave your body. Then you'll be free again."
Louis' words struck home.
"No! I refuse! Why should that demon who tormented me be allowed to escape? I want to kill him! I want him to suffer the way I've suffered!"
At that moment, Quirrell was like a rabid dog, consumed with hatred, desperate to tear Voldemort apart.
"Then you'll have to rely on yourself," Louis said flatly. "Go to Dumbledore. He can help you."
"But in this state, I can't expose him! The moment I try to speak Voldemort's name, he'll kill me!" Quirrell's eyes were bloodshot. "Is that all your advice amounts to?"
"That's why you'll need to sacrifice," Louis replied with indifference. "Abandon your body. Free yourself in spirit, slip away from Voldemort's control."
"What… what do you mean?" Quirrell finally raised his head, and for the first time he understood from Louis' tone the true weight of those words—abandoning the body.
"That means I'll give you an ability—so that at the critical moment, your soul can leave your body. That way, you can break free from Voldemort's control and go to Dumbledore with the truth, can't you?"
The power to leave one's body, of course, came from the Sheep Talisman. Because of the unique nature of a wizard's soul and the presence of magic, a wizard's soul could still be seen and heard—making it the perfect way to deliver a message.
"You… you have such a power?" Quirrell's eyes lit up. "Quick! Give it to me—let me escape right now!"
"Now? Impossible." Louis refused without hesitation.
"Why?" Quirrell nearly broke down, the despair of hope being so close yet untouchable crushing him.
"Because if you abandon your body now, Voldemort will do the same. He'll escape instantly. He'd never allow himself to fall into Dumbledore's hands."
Louis offered a hint to the clearly slow-witted Quirrell. "Unless you can give him a reason to stay."
Quirrell wasn't completely stupid—he quickly realized what Louis was implying.
"You mean… the Philosopher's Stone?"
"Exactly. Use Voldemort's greed for the Stone to anchor him. He won't want to leave. Then you seize the chance to reach Dumbledore. With that merit, Dumbledore will surely use the Stone to save you."
Louis smiled. "The best of both worlds, isn't it?"
Quirrell fell into deep thought. After a long silence, he muttered, "So… I need to escape at the very instant Voldemort gets the Stone…"
"Correct. Once your soul abandons your body, Voldemort will have a choice—give up the Stone, or take over your body. His greed will make him choose the latter. But if you leave too early, without the Stone to tie him down, he'll simply destroy what's left of you."
Louis asked, "So? How does this method sound?"
"It's good… it's a good plan!" Quirrell grew excited again, but this time not from rage—this was exhilaration.
"Hahaha… I still have a chance! I can still take revenge!"
Louis ignored his frenzy. With a snap of his fingers, he shot the power of the Sheep Talisman into Quirrell's dream-formed consciousness.
Since it worked on the soul, it didn't matter where he planted it.
"Remember, you only get one chance," Louis warned. "The moment your soul leaves your body, Voldemort will sense it. That's why I won't give you too much power. The rest is up to you."
"Your life… should be seized by your own hands—not placed into someone else's."
Louis' form gradually faded, vanishing from Quirrell's dream.
With the dream demon's influence gone, Quirrell's self-awareness slowly sank back into slumber. His subconscious once again took control, twisting the dream into chaotic, surreal scenes.
Louis slipped out, traveling through the dreamscape as a bridge, returning to his dormitory. His roommates were long asleep, soft snores filling the room.
Hastur and Fafnir were also dozing, curled in their own simple dreams—the very dreams Louis had stepped out of.
It was late now. Time to rest.
Stretching out on his bed, Louis recalled his little visit to Quirrell's dream and let a cold smile curl his lips.
"To think you dared threaten me… go on, wait for death."
A dark malice spread through the dorm, its tangible weight so thick it made the snoring stop in an instant.
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