0108 Voldemort

"You, you, you how dare you!"

Having been verbally torn apart by Sherlock, Quirrell couldn't help but fly into a rage.

He could no longer contain himself and raised his wand, intending to show this detestable boy what he was capable of.

Both Sherlock and Harry felt their hearts sink at the sight.

Just then, a hoarse voice spoke up:

"Let me see him, face to face—"

This scene left Harry and Hermione utterly astonished, as the voice was actually coming from Quirrell himself.

Only Sherlock seemed to raise an eyebrow slightly and let out a quiet "Oh."

Quirrell's whole body trembled: "But Master, you haven't yet recovered—"

"I still have this much strength—"

Quirrell was still hesitating when the voice suddenly deepened, "Hurry up, I'm not that weak yet."

This time, Quirrell hesitated no more. Trembling, he raised his hands and unwrapped the turban that had been wound around his head, which had always smelled terrible.

The moment the turban was completely thrown to the ground, the three of them discovered that Quirrell's head was actually very small.

Though not as small as a troll's brain, but it was much smaller than they had imagined.

Then, he slowly turned around in place.

At that moment, Harry and Hermione nearly cried out in alarm.

Where Quirrell's back of the head should have been, there was actually a face growing!

It was a terrifying and hideous visage, chalk-white in color, with crimson eyes that glowed with an eerie light.

This face had no nose, only two snake-like slits for nostrils.

Without a doubt, this was the person known as the most notorious dark wizard in history, whose shadow had loomed over the wizarding world for over a decade, making wizards afraid to even speak his name to this day.

Voldemort.

Sherlock frowned.

Though he had long suspected something was wrong with Quirrell, he hadn't expected Voldemort to coexist with Quirrell in this manner.

'How to put it?

It was quite undignified!'

"Harry Potter, we finally meet!"

The moment he spoke, his lips immediately became twisted and crooked, making his already hideous face even more nauseating.

Harry wanted to speak, but found he couldn't make a sound.

He tried to step back, but found his legs had suddenly become uncooperative.

"You are the savior of the wizarding world, the one who defeated the supreme Dark Lord, so why are you nervous?"

Harry still couldn't give an effective response; the pressure Voldemort brought was simply too great.

He instinctively looked to his side and saw Hermione tightly gripping Sherlock's arm.

As for Sherlock, he looked as if he had expected this all along.

He stared at the back of Quirrell's head and slowly spoke: "Finally willing to show yourself, Voldemort?"

The moment Sherlock spoke, Harry breathed a long sigh of relief.

His legs finally regained sensation.

Voldemort's gaze had now shifted to Sherlock: "It seems you guessed long ago, didn't you? You little brat who dares to speak my name directly—"

Facing the wizarding world's "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Sherlock showed no fear at all.

He said calmly, "You once spied on Harry through Quirrell's eyes, and on Halloween night, Quirrell's performance was so clumsy it was hard to ignore."

At these words, Quirrell's body shook, and Voldemort's face twisted violently.

But then he laughed, "Sherlock Holmes, you're good, really good. Even when I had my full power, few among my Death Eaters could match you—"

Sherlock waved his hand in disgust, "Don't compare me to your brainless followers. Honestly, you're quite disappointing."

"What did you say?"

Hearing Sherlock's words, Voldemort's voice immediately became shrill.

"Isn't it true? The 'Supreme Dark Lord' has fallen so low as to stick to someone else's back of the head, wrapped in a turban all day. In such a dark environment, no wonder you can't grow hair or a nose, and you've made yourself stink."

"Enough!"

At this moment, Voldemort could no longer laugh.

When Sherlock had been insulting Quirrell earlier, he hadn't minded much.

But now that the mockery was directed at him, he finally felt the sting.

Sherlock's tongue was truly venomous!

Though just an eleven or twelve-year-old wizard, he was no less cutting than the most sharp-tongued Death Eater under Voldemort's command.

"Potter, Holmes, we can talk," Voldemort said, ignoring Hermione and addressing Sherlock and Harry: "I can see you have ambition and ability. Why confine yourselves to a small school? We could cooperate!"

Sherlock laughed disdainfully.

Faced with such crude temptation, he couldn't even be bothered to refute it.

Harry roared in anger: "You killed my parents!"

"Yes, yes, I did indeed do that, but look—what have I become!" Voldemort said in his sinister voice: "Now I'm nothing but shadow and vapor—only when sharing a body with someone else can I have form."

Harry laughed bitterly with rage: "And that's my fault?"

As time passed, Harry gradually found his fear of Voldemort beginning to dissipate.

His mind began to work more actively, thinking about how to verify what Dumbledore had told him.

He certainly couldn't just stand there and take one of Voldemort's curses.

Harry didn't realize that the Felix Felicis was already quietly taking effect.

Voldemort was equally unaware of this and continued trying to tempt them with words:

"As long as I get the Elixir of Life, I'll be able to create a new body for myself. With my powerful magic, reviving your parents wouldn't be difficult. So why won't you help me?"

Hearing Voldemort say he could revive his parents, Harry couldn't help but pause.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, Voldemort suddenly waved his wand, and the massive Mirror of Erised flew up and landed in front of Harry.

Caught off guard, Harry didn't know what Voldemort intended, but instinctively glanced at the mirror.

To his surprise, this time the mirror didn't show his family.

Only a confused-looking Harry himself.

But soon, the Harry in the mirror smiled.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a bright red stone, winked, and put it back.

According to what Dumbledore had said earlier, this mirror could reflect a person's deepest desires.

Though Harry did indeed desire to get the Philosopher's Stone at that moment, it was only to prevent Voldemort from obtaining it.

For himself, his greatest wish was still to reunite with his family.

So why was the mirror behaving this way?

While he was puzzled, he suddenly felt something heavy drop into his pocket.

Harry's face immediately darkened as he understood—the mirror's illusion had become reality.

He had actually obtained the Philosopher's Stone.

Besides Harry himself, both Sherlock and Voldemort realized what had happened immediately.

Voldemort sensed it through his magical perception.

Sherlock deduced it through the nature of the Mirror of Erised, Dumbledore's arrangements, and Harry's changing expressions.

He instantly understood Dumbledore's intentions.

"Hmph, I knew that old fool was up to something," Voldemort complained about Dumbledore, but his tone was full of excitement, "Quickly give me the Philosopher's Stone in your pocket!"

"Never!"

Though Harry didn't know why the Philosopher's Stone had come to his pocket, he refused firmly.

"Don't be foolish!"

Having confirmed the Stone's location, Voldemort became more direct in his threats and inducements.

He looked at Harry with a vicious gaze:

"To save your own life, submit to me—otherwise you'll end up like your parents. Before they died, they begged me to spare them—"

Harry's parents were his absolute weakness.

Hearing Voldemort openly insult them like this, Harry's anger exploded: "You're lying!"

"How touching—" he said in his hoarse voice, "Courage is a very precious quality, and I've always admired brave people—yes, your parents were indeed brave back then. I killed your father first, and he fought me bravely to the end. Your mother didn't have to die, but she desperately tried to protect you. I had no choice but to send her to join your father. Now, give me the Philosopher's Stone, don't let your mother's sacrifice be in vain."

Quirrell slowly stepped back two paces, allowing Voldemort to gradually approach Harry, that evil face once again showing its hideous grin.

His lips twisted even more grotesquely.

Just then, a shout rang out: "Attack!"

Faster than the voice was an explosive curse.

In fact, once Voldemort realized Harry had obtained the Philosopher's Stone, he was already preparing to switch from temptation to force.

He just hadn't expected someone to move faster than him.

While he was still talking, Sherlock had already struck first, sending an explosive curse his way.

Unfortunately, though Quirrell had been mockingly defeated by Sherlock earlier and couldn't refute him, he wasn't fundamentally weak.

Or rather, to be chosen by Voldemort as a host, his abilities had already been proven.

So even though Sherlock's spell came without warning, he still managed to dodge with a quick sidestep.

However, at that moment, two more spells came at him one after another.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The moment Sherlock shouted to attack, Harry and Hermione also struck simultaneously.

Harry endured the pain from his scar and used his most practiced Disarming Charm.

Hermione's Disarming Charm wasn't practiced enough, so she instead cast the Leg-Locker Curse that Malfoy had once used on Neville.

To get revenge on Malfoy for Neville, she had practiced this spell extensively, so her proficiency was quite high.

Though not very powerful, if it could actually lock Quirrell's legs together, it would be extremely beneficial in this situation.

Unfortunately, Quirrell was indeed the man chosen by the Dark Lord.

As Dumbledore had once told Sherlock, he was an excellent Ravenclaw.

So, he managed to cast a Shield Charm on himself before being hit by the two spells.

This way, though Harry and Hermione's Disarming and Leg-Locker Curses hit him, they only made his movements pause briefly without any substantial effect.

Fortunately, taking advantage of the opportunity Harry and Hermione had created, Sherlock successfully rushed to Quirrell's front.

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