novel-bin Chapter 37 A Good Head Personally Given to a Brother
Chapter 37 A Good Head Personally Given to a Brother
Seeing that his life was in danger, Quirrell was so terrified that he begged for mercy, completely forgetting about his master. Harry ignored him and kicked him over, sending him sprawling to the sky.
Voldemort, his head lolling back, yelled, "Useless! Can't even stop a first-year wizard! Useless coward who can't even be a proper servant!"
Before he could finish speaking, Harry swiftly severed the two-faced man's head with a single stroke.
The head rolled away, and a plume of black smoke emerged, solidifying into a face.
Upon closer inspection, who else could it be but Voldemort with his flat nose?
Even a centipede with a hundred legs will not fall down when dead. Voldemort roamed the magical world for years, mastering all the dark magic in the world; even if he possessed someone and was killed, the soul could still break free.
The black mist surged, and a voice drifted out, "Harry Potter, I will keep watching you...forever!"
Harry was shocked. This thieving bird was actually a cultivator of both body and soul, and its spirit could leave its body!
He raised his sword to slash, scattering the black mist. But in a moment, it coalesced again.
The face formed from the churning black mist chuckled, "Heh... Potter, you won't be so lucky next time."
Seeing that the fellow was about to escape, Harry became anxious and suddenly remembered how Quirrell had avoided him like the plague at the Leaky Cauldron that day.
He thought to himself: Could it be that my flesh and blood are naturally the nemesis of this guy?
The black mist rolled away, and Harry didn't hesitate any longer. He bit his tongue, gathered a mouthful of true yang blood, and spat it out in one gulp.
But then a few strange hissing sounds were heard, like boiling water splashing snow, or molten lava scalding stone. A huge plume of white smoke rose from the billowing black gas, and it was actually burned by this blood!
"Ugh! Potter, the next time we meet will be your death day!"
The black aura let out a muffled cry, uttered some harsh words, and then vanished without a trace outside the door.
Harry drew his knife to give chase, but suddenly heard someone behind him say, "Harry, you can't catch him."
The voice was old, yet gentle. Turning around, I saw Dumbledore standing before the mirror, having appeared out of nowhere.
Seeing that Dumbledore was already waiting there in secret, Harry angrily shouted, "You bastard! You have the ability to scatter clouds and rain, why didn't you detain Voldemort?!"
"I'm sorry, Harry, I can't kill him." Dumbledore shook his head and said, "The prophecy is very clear: only you can kill Voldemort."
Seeing that he was trying to evade the question again, Harry was furious. "Prophecy, prophecy, what a load of rubbish! Neville Longbottom was born on the same day as me, and according to that rubbish prophecy, he can't kill Voldemort either!"
"But you are the one Voldemort chose, and that's something all wizards know."
Seeing Harry sharpening his knife, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent, Dumbledore quickly said, "Besides, aren't you planning to kill Voldemort yourself? Harry, I've always respected your choices."
Harry snorted and sheathed his knife. "If that's what the professor says, then it makes sense."
"But I have another question: why have you repeatedly led me to search for this magic stone?"
Dumbledore blinked. "Harry, why do you say that?"
Harry sneered, "Ha, the professor is just trying to fool me like a three-year-old. I jumped down from that trapdoor, and all that chess fighting, flying broomsticks, riddles, and medicine-finding—none of it looked like he was wary of Voldemort. He was clearly just testing me!"
"And then there's that Philosopher's Stone. If you hadn't been so noisy, I wouldn't have bothered looking for it. But when I did find it, the stairs started acting up, making things difficult. It's only now that Voldemort has arrived that they've become obedient and compliant. Isn't that you, you scoundrel, secretly causing trouble!"
Harry's words were as precise as thread passing through the eye of a needle, or a razor shaving a baby's hair, leaving Dumbledore speechless.
"...You're right, Harry, but I have to do it."
"Tom Marvolo Riddle was very well-behaved at Hogwarts, achieving twelve excellent grades in his OWL exams, and no teacher or student disliked him."
Dumbledore drew his wand and tapped it a few times in the air; several streaks of silver light transformed into the name Voldemort. With another wave, the letters arranged themselves into a sentence:
I am Voldemort.
"I need to know if you, like Tom, are just putting on a facade, while actually harboring... more dangerous thoughts that others don't know about."
Having said that, Dumbledore turned to look at the Magic Mirror. The image of the White Lord was reflected in the mirror, but the image was still lively, taking a piece of fluorite from his pocket and putting it in his pocket.
Immediately afterward, Harry noticed that Dumbledore's pocket was bulging.
Dumbledore took the Philosopher's Stone from his pocket, then held it out to Harry. "Harry, why do you want the Philosopher's Stone?"
"Professor, that's a strange thing to say. Everyone knows immortals are good; who doesn't want to live forever?"
Dumbledore's deep-set eyes said, "But this belongs to Nicolas Flamel. Are you going to take it away from me?"
These words carried a questioning tone, which displeased Harry. "If that old man Nico is unwilling to lend me his services, I can at least ask him about his alchemy techniques."
"But what if he doesn't want to say it? In fact, Nico is already preparing for his death. He has spent more than six hundred years proving one thing: immortality is not a good thing."
Harry sneered, "Ha! That bird-man stuffs himself full of meat and wine, so bloated he can't even get off the chair. Now he's spouting nonsense about 'soup and water not even helping,' what a sham attempt to distance himself!"
"If I see him, I'll make sure that hypocrite gets a couple of stabs!"
Harry was verbally defiant but inwardly resentful, while Dumbledore felt a tightness in his chest and a headache.
He rubbed his temples. "Harry, the Philosopher's Stone isn't as powerful as you think..."
Seeing Dumbledore's certainty that he was going to steal, Harry felt as if a hundred barrels of gunpowder were stuffed into his chest. With each contraction and expansion, anger surged into his lungs, like sparks hitting gunpowder, exploding in an instant, his heart, liver, spleen, and lungs all shifting out of place.
He brandished his knife and roared, "Hey! I, Harry, am a man of honor, a man of honor! Not some murderous, thieving, and highway robber!"
"If Nicolas Flamel is unwilling, I won't bother with him! If you utter any more insulting words, no matter how powerful you are, I'll still skin you alive!"
Harry unleashed a torrent of abuse, leaving Dumbledore stunned for quite some time.
Once his soul returned to its place, Dumbledore, instead of being angry, smiled and said with a hint of relief, "Oh, sorry, Harry, I misunderstood you."
It is true that a gentleman loves wealth, but acquires it in a proper way. Although Harry is violent and desires immortality, he is indeed a gentleman of true character. How could Dumbledore not feel at ease?
Just then, the effects of the aging potion wore off. Harry went to get a change of clothes and wrapped Quirrell's head in a robe.
Just as I was about to leave, I suddenly heard footsteps outside the door, and then I saw all the professors rushing in.
"Where is the mysterious man—Professor Dumbledore, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, good evening, Minerva."
Immediately afterward, Ron and Hermione jumped out from behind the professors, calling out, "Harry, are you alright?"
Upon seeing Ron, Harry raised his head and walked straight to him, handing him the robe wrapped around the human head, and said with a smile, "Back on the train, you wanted to see Voldemort's face, now I'll let you see it to your heart's content."
It is:
Ron's thoughtless remark was etched into the heart of the scarred young man.
Today, I present your severed head within my robe; a promise worth a thousand pieces of gold will resonate throughout the land.