Chapter 58
Floating in the air didn't grant him any increase in combat power, but it did make him far more agile.
After all, his evasion options had expanded from two directions to four, and he no longer had to worry about attacks from behind.
He gazed at Voldemort before him, sensing the relentless pull of Legilimency pressing in from all sides, and let out a soft chuckle.
It seemed Voldemort truly wasn't in top form—otherwise he wouldn't rely solely on this one trick against him. But unfortunately for the Dark Lord, that particular technique had no effect on him now.
Gabin didn't wait for Voldemort to make another move. With a flick of his wand in his right hand, he cast another Levitation Charm—this time on the stones, leaves, branches, dirt, and assorted debris littering the ground.
Under his control, the mass surged forward like a raging torrent toward Voldemort.
The dark flood twisted like a giant python, coiling twice in the air before lunging downward with crushing force.
Voldemort gave a casual wave of his hand. A Shield Charm materialised in front of him, blocking the onslaught of rubbish entirely.
At the same time, he extended his right hand and flicked a finger. A beam of black light shot from between his fingers, piercing straight through the dark python and hurtling toward Gabin.
Gabin didn't know any Shield Charm—that wasn't first-year material. Just as he prepared to dodge, a bolt of lightning streaked up from below, shattering the black beam into scattered wisps of raw magic that dissipated harmlessly in the air.
It was the unicorn. It had come to help.
A surge of joy rose in Gabin's heart. With the unicorn present, he no longer needed to worry about defense.
At that moment, two inconspicuous specks of light hidden within the dark flood reached Voldemort's face.
The silver glow in Gabin's eyes flared brightly. He swung his wand with force, stretching the magical pathways of his Lumos spell to their limits and pouring a wild rush of magic into them.
A blinding flash erupted right in front of Voldemort. Two brilliant stars blazed within the black torrent, staring at him like enormous, unblinking eyes.
Voldemort instinctively shut his eyes—an automatic reaction of any living being. Even though he was now a soul possessing Quirrell's body, the glare still affected him.
The Shield Charm around him faltered and dissolved. That was exactly the opening Gabin had been waiting for.
He swept his wand again. The dark flood halted; branches, leaves, and debris scattered wildly through the air. Then he pointed his wand directly at Voldemort's position and shouted inwardly:
"Incendio!"
A searing, brilliant, endlessly blazing torrent of flame erupted from Gabin's wand like a coiling serpent of fire. It began no thicker than the wand itself but rapidly swelled until it was as thick as Hagrid's arm.
The flames roared forward like a high-pressure jet of water, engulfing Voldemort in the blink of an eye. Intense heat scorched the air, the blaze raging fiercely. Gabin had poured more than half his magic into this single Fire-Making Spell, making its power truly formidable.
At the very least, Malfoy below was stunned speechless. The red glow of the flames illuminated his face, reflected in his wide eyes as though something deep inside him had been scorched away.
The spell raged for perhaps ten seconds before Gabin cut it off. His body descended to the ground, breathing heavily.
His vast reserves of magic were now more than half depleted. Aside from the time he'd rescued Hermione, he'd never pushed his magic this far—but the results were clear. Even without fresh magic feeding it, the ball of flame continued to burn fiercely, showing signs of spreading outward.
Gabin felt the waves of heat in the air. The needle-like prickle of Voldemort's gaze had vanished. He wondered how the Dark Lord had fared.
Death was, of course, impossible. At worst, Voldemort would abandon Quirrell's body and revert to a wandering soul once more.
After all, he still had his Horcruxes, and none had been destroyed yet.
Yet when Gabin looked into the heart of the flames, he couldn't help feeling astonished.
Voldemort appeared completely unharmed.
He stood amid the inferno, tongues of fire licking at his cloak without causing the slightest damage. They merely stirred the fabric like a gentle breeze, making it flutter and rise.
"Impressive magical reserves," came the hissing, serpentine voice, cold and mocking. "A pity it's not Fiendfyre."
The invisible, needle-like stare returned. Gabin forced his magic to surge and boil once more.
He gripped his wand tightly, inwardly acknowledging that Voldemort was indeed Voldemort—not so easily dealt with. He'd hoped this attack would at least force the Dark Lord to retreat, but it had no effect whatsoever.
Fortunately, he wasn't arrogant enough to believe victory was assured. He'd prepared other moves and should be able to hold out until help arrived.
Some time had passed since he'd fired the red sparks.
Once Hagrid arrived—with his half-giant strength—he could withstand the pressure. Then the professors from the school would come, and Voldemort would ultimately be forced to flee.
Just as Gabin readied another spell, thunder rumbled overhead. Countless fine raindrops began to fall, extinguishing the flames he'd conjured.
At the same time, sounds approached from the surroundings—many footsteps pounding toward them, like the beat of drums.
Voldemort glanced upward, then at the unicorn. Finally, his body rose into the air and drifted backward into the shadows.
Faintly, something seemed to drop from Voldemort's form, landing on the still-smoldering grass nearby.
With a flick of his wand, Gabin summoned the object. It floated before him.
It was an ordinary bottle—the palm-sized kind wizards often carried when traveling, used to hold everyday items like salt, mercury, silver powder, and the like.
Gabin opened his magical sight and peered inside. It really was just an ordinary bottle; the contents held only trace amounts of magic, with no complete magical circuit.
Frowning, he tossed the bottle to Malfoy. Specks of light materialized and gathered on Malfoy's face.
"Open it and see what's inside."
Malfoy stared at the bottle in confusion. Had that person left this behind?
Under Gabin's gaze, Malfoy cautiously uncorked it. Instantly, a foul stench assaulted his nose, nearly knocking him out.
"Cough! Cough cough! Cough cough cough!" Malfoy hacked violently, almost spilling the contents.
Gabin sniffed the air, puzzled, and glanced toward the direction Voldemort had fled.
Inside the bottle was allicin—garlic extract. The smell was at least ten times stronger than regular garlic, and some wizards firmly believed it could repel werewolves and other dark magical creatures.
In the entire school, perhaps only two people carried such a thing.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirrell.
And the Potions professor, Snape.
Was this a frame job?
Doubt flickered in Gabin's mind, but at that moment, the owners of those approaching footsteps arrived, coming face-to-face with him.
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