Quirrell crept forward cautiously, like a startled goblin.
He was in a state of deep panic, unable to understand why his master insisted on following the two people ahead, delaying something as crucial as retrieving the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts. In his view, nothing was more important than the Philosopher's Stone. It was the one thing that could truly restore his master.
Perhaps sensing Quirrell's confusion and fear, an icy, bone-chilling voice sounded directly from the back of his head. "That Dark Wizard… the stench of unicorn blood on him is thick and unmistakable… I need the stock he has…"
For the currently weakened Lord Voldemort, unicorn blood was one of the few rare treasures that could provide real help.
In the original events, when Lord Voldemort failed to obtain the Philosopher's Stone at the start of the year, he relied on drinking unicorn blood to sustain his life and recover a significant portion of his strength.
Therefore, compared to stealing the Philosopher's Stone from the heavily guarded Gringotts, seeking out that Dark Wizard now to obtain unicorn blood was clearly much easier.
A look of sudden understanding crossed Quirrell's face, then it instantly crumpled like a bitter gourd. "Gr-Great Master, I… I… I'm afraid I can't aff-afford that many Galleons right now…"
"Useless fool! Can't you just steal it?!" Lord Voldemort's voice was filled with barely suppressed rage.
"Ah! Y-Yes! Yes… yes!" Quirrell shrank back in fear, cursing himself for his stupidity.
But immediately, a deeper worry surfaced. Dark Wizards were ruthless, desperate criminals who lived on the edge of a knife, hardened by deadly practical experience. Even the Ministry of Magic's Auror teams often had to expend enormous effort just to capture a single one.
Even if their magic was not top-tier, their insidious and vicious Dark Arts were enough to cause serious trouble. Moreover, the Dark Wizard before him was clearly not someone to trifle with. He undoubtedly possessed profound mastery of the Dark Arts.
Afraid that his Master would sense his cowardice, Quirrell could only wail inwardly. Maybe… I should try talking first…
Just as he nervously edged forward, the Old Wizard was also observing this "delivered" target from the shadows.
He had not chosen this target at random.
That man's magical ability was decent, but he radiated an aura of fear and weakness. Someone so spineless, with such a fragile will, was the perfect subject for the Soul-Swapping Spell.
Then all he needed to do was use a spell to control this fool, make him drink the bottle of "Immortality Potion" in his stead, and bear the soul curse brought by the unicorn blood for him.
Once he switched back into his own body, he would gain several centuries of life for his aging form, completely free of side effects.
If successful, this would mean that he, Enrico Foley, had perfected the Immortality Potion, discovering a path to longevity that neither relied on the Philosopher's Stone nor carried any drawbacks.
It would shake the entire magical world. His name would be praised by all Dark Wizards. No, by all wizards. And the Wizengamot would surely erect a monument in his honor.
Quirrell timidly shuffled over to a tall, dead tree, and his heart sank.
The person was gone.
They had been right in front of him moments ago. If he lost the target, his Master's punishment… he dared not think about it.
He craned his neck, anxiously looking around. Just then, a briefcase suddenly flew out from behind the dead tree and landed with a thud on the ground not far from him.
"Who?!" Quirrell was so startled that he nearly jumped on the spot. When he saw it was only a briefcase and sensed no magical fluctuations, his taut nerves relaxed slightly.
He crept forward cautiously, calling out toward the dead tree, "Mr. Dark… Dark Wizard? I… I want to discuss a trade with you. The price will certainly satisfy you…"
The surroundings were deathly silent.
No one responded.
Quirrell nervously scanned the area, his gaze finally returning to the lone briefcase, but he still did not dare approach too closely.
As he slowly stepped into the clearing between the boulder and the dead tree, the Old Wizard hiding behind the tree shot a sharp hand signal toward Roger's hiding place.
It was time to act.
But Roger showed no reaction, failing to throw the two briefcases as agreed. Seeing Quirrell about to reach the dead tree, a cold light flashed in the Old Wizard's eyes. Roger dared to defy orders...?
However, the arrow was already on the string. The Old Wizard could not hesitate. He yanked out his wand and snapped, "Imperio!"
Swoosh!
A sickly green beam shot toward Quirrell.
Just as the spell was about to hit, several thick ropes materialized out of thin air like twisting vines, blocking the Imperio precisely.
!!! The Old Wizard's pupils contracted. He had miscalculated. This man was trickier than expected.
"Mr. Dark Wizard! I… I really want to discuss a trade! The price will absolutely…" Seeing the Old Wizard finally appear, Quirrell hurriedly and incoherently explained, "I'm terribly sorry for the interruption! I… I meant no harm, I just wanted to…"
Why would the Old Wizard listen to his rambling? He brandished his wand fiercely, and several Cruciatus Curses, accompanied by shrill shrieks, slammed mercilessly toward Quirrell.
"?!"
Quirrell's pupils shrank abruptly. He was terrified out of his wits.
Quirrell was no ignorant commoner. As a professor at Hogwarts and a wizard who had traveled the world, he instantly recognized how terrifying his opponent's Cruciatus Curse was. It was top-tier.
Even among his Master's Death Eaters at their peak, few had ever reached this level, almost approaching his Master's own standard back then.
There was no avoiding it.
Quirrell decided to go all out, wildly brandishing his wand. More magical ropes appeared out of thin air, intertwining frantically and instantly weaving themselves into a massive, sky-obscuring net that tightly enveloped the entire area, including the Old Wizard.
Roger, hiding behind the boulder, abandoned the plan and bolted toward the entrance of Knockturn Alley.
By the time he had run far enough away, the giant net had shrunk into a small black dot on the horizon. But the battle only grew fiercer.
Various spell lights flashed and exploded wildly inside the net, clearly visible even from a distance.
At first, the net merely trembled violently, lights flickering chaotically within.
Then suddenly, a thick, ink-like darkness erupted inside it, as if something terrifying were slamming desperately against the net's walls, trying to break free.
From Roger's perspective, it looked exactly like a giant egg being pushed from the inside by a monster struggling to hatch.
But the struggle did not last long. With a single ear-splitting rip, the magical net tore apart inch by inch like fragile cloth, and the battlefield fell into an eerie silence.
Roger suddenly rolled up his sleeve. The mark the Old Wizard had left on his right forearm was rapidly fading, vanishing without a trace in the blink of an eye.
The Old Wizard was finished. Completely dead.
Roger was ecstatic, but his smile instantly froze.
Above the battlefield, a black figure was rising unsteadily in the air, looking as though it might fall at any moment, yet moving at a terrifying speed as it flew straight toward him.
Roger's hair stood on end.
In the entire wizarding world, the only people who could fly using magic, apart from Lord Voldemort, were Snape.
Who else but Lord Voldemort could be chasing him now?
He activated the Bio-computer's control over his legs. His muscles surged violently, and he sprinted down Knockturn Alley with all the speed his body could muster.
Knockturn Alley was usually sparsely populated, and after the fighting began, those with sharp instincts had already hidden themselves inside the buildings on both sides.
Perhaps sensing the approaching aura of terror, the Dark Wizards inside were unusually quiet, merely peering out from behind windows with grim expressions, curious to see which Dark Wizard was outside.
When they saw a young wizard sprint past, all of them looked on in disbelief.
Roger was probably the first person to openly run alone from one end of the alley to the other.
When he burst into the bustling Diagon Alley and merged with the crowd, the battle near Knockturn Alley had already alarmed many people.
Pop!
Pop!
Several Aurors from the Ministry of Magic suddenly Apparated into Diagon Alley, their faces tense as they rushed toward Knockturn Alley.