Quirrell glared at Dylan, his eyes filled with hatred.
"They taught you counter-curses against dark magic, fine—but they actually taught you dark magic too? Are they insane?"
Dylan tilted his head. "What are you even talking about? How could a professor possibly teach me dark magic?"
"Stop pretending! If they didn't teach you dark magic, how could you possibly know an Unforgivable Curse?" Quirrell snapped.
Dylan blinked innocently. "I'm a first-year student. How could I possibly know an Unforgivable Curse? I think you've gone mad from trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone."
Dylan looked Quirrell up and down, as if seeing him for the first time.
"The one speaking earlier wasn't you, was it? Could it have been the so-called mysterious figure Harry mentioned?"
Quirrell was momentarily stunned by Dylan's reaction.
Why was this little brat denying everything he had done?
Could it really not have been him?
Was it someone else who had attacked him and his master in the Forbidden Forest last time?
Quirrell furrowed his brows and examined Dylan carefully.
Seeing that Dylan had seemingly come alone, Quirrell's eyes flickered with calculation. Suddenly, he dropped his angry expression and instead curved his lips into a smile.
"Since you already know I'm here for the Sorcerer's Stone, yet you still dared to come alone… Could it be that you're also interested in it?"
Dylan didn't deny it outright. Instead, he gave it some serious thought.
"Nicholas Flamel, before he created the Sorcerer's Stone, had a dream in which an angel told him he would receive a miraculous book."
"After that, he purchased a book titled *The Book of Abraham the Jew* for just two Florins."
"He spent twenty-one years deciphering it, gathering materials as he studied, and eventually succeeded in creating the Sorcerer's Stone."
Quirrell's brows knit tightly together. "Where did you learn all this? No—what are you trying to say?"
Dylan chuckled. "I'm telling you, instead of chasing after a stone made by someone else, why not create something even greater?"
"If I'm not mistaken, you want to use the Sorcerer's Stone to help the Dark Lord return, don't you?"
Quirrell's frown deepened. "So what if I do?"
"Tsk." Dylan glanced at the turban wrapped around Quirrell's head.
"Let me guess—when you first realized I had entered the room, the voice that warned you came from the back of your head."
"Could it be that the infamous Dark Lord—Voldemort—is currently stuck to your stinky, rotting skull?"
Quirrell's face darkened.
This first-year not only knew his master's name but dared to say it outright?
He must have a death wish!
"How dare you say that! My master will be furious!"
"And?"
Dylan looked genuinely confused.
"And—?! I was considering recruiting you, but now that you've insulted my master, you will die!"
Quirrell raised his wand toward Dylan.
"Will I?"
Dylan remained smiling as he calmly pulled his hood back over his head.
Quirrell attacked in an instant. "Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of deadly green light shot toward Dylan.
But instead of hitting its mark, it passed straight through his body and struck the wall behind him.
Quirrell froze. He quickly scanned his surroundings, wand raised, moving cautiously.
"Child, perhaps there's been some misunderstanding between us. Why don't you come out, and we can resolve it together? Don't you want to study the power of the Sorcerer's Stone?"
"The ability to bring the dead back to life… to turn anything into gold… to grant eternal life… Are you really not tempted?"
"Your parents are Muggles, aren't they? They'll die one day, as all Muggles do. You, a Muggle-born wizard, must understand that better than anyone. Wouldn't you want your parents to stay with you forever?"
Quirrell spoke to the empty room as if trying to persuade himself. Yet, apart from his own voice echoing back, there was no sound—not even another person's footsteps.
"Fool! He's already behind you!"
A voice suddenly hissed from the back of Quirrell's head.
Quirrell whipped around.
Before he could react—
"Sectumsempra!"
A surge of magic struck him.
Yet there was no visible flash of light.
"AHH!"
It all happened too fast. A sharp, tearing sound filled the air, like fabric being shredded.
Quirrell's robes split open in several places, and deep, jagged wounds blossomed across his skin. It was as if invisible serpents were slithering across his chest and arms, carving deep, merciless gashes into his flesh.
Blood spurted from the wounds, splattering across the stone floor in a crimson spray. The sight was immensely satisfying to Dylan.
"This spell… It's almost as if Professor Snape tailored it just for me. I picked it up way too fast!"
Not only had he learned it quickly, but he had unleashed its full power immediately!
**[Message]: Congratulations! You've severely wounded your professor. You have unlocked a new achievement!**
As the system notification chimed, Quirrell's anguished screams echoed through the room.
His body staggered backward uncontrollably as he clutched at his wounds, desperately trying to stop the blood from pouring out.
But no matter how hard he pressed, the blood wouldn't stop.
"How do you know that spell?!"
Quirrell's eyes glared menacingly at Dylan.
If it hadn't been for Dylan attacking him last time in the Forbidden Forest, as a first-year student—though the exams were over now and technically he wasn't *that* new anymore—then—!
Someone, anyone, tell him: Who taught Dylan such powerful and aggressive dark magic??
Is this really something a first-year wizard should be capable of?
Hmm? Should it be? Is this even reasonable??
"You idiot, stop your bleeding quickly—I can feel my life force slipping away!"
That hoarse voice echoed again from the back of Quirrell's head.
"Master, I-I'm already trying to stop the bleeding..."
"Use *magic*, you fool!!!"
"Huh? Oh, right..."
Quirrell hesitated for a second, then quickly raised his wand.
"Reparo!"
Magic surged from the tip of his wand, covering his body in a shimmering light.
However, the wounds on Quirrell's body only briefly paused before the bleeding resumed.
The hoarse voice spoke again, this time tinged with frustration.
"Don't you know the counter-curse for *Sectumsempra*?!"
Quirrell froze, then suddenly remembered.
"Right, that spell was created by Snape—it can't be healed with a simple mending charm."
He hurriedly raised his wand again. "Vulnera Sanentur!"
As the spell left his lips, Quirrell immediately felt the flow of blood slow and finally stop.
"Two more times! How much longer must I keep teaching you everything myself?"
Quirrell's hand trembled, but he quickly cast the spell two more times in rapid succession.
"Vulnera Sanentur!"
"Vulnera Sanentur!"
After the second repetition, the remaining traces of blood on Quirrell's body began to fade, and his wounds started to close.
It wasn't until the third repetition that the injuries fully healed.
Dylan also knew that if you didn't want to leave scars, you'd have to apply dittany to the wound afterward.
But in this situation, Quirrell clearly didn't have the chance.
—Not that he would care about his appearance anyway.
He was already ugly enough.
"Let me *see* around us myself!"
**[Latest chapter first released on 69BookHub!]**
"But Master, last time, you personally—"
"Silence!"
Quirrell immediately shut his mouth, too afraid to say another word.
Instead, he cautiously scanned his surroundings while hastily removing his turban once again.
Soon, a smooth, snake-like face appeared—two narrow slits for nostrils and eyes as cold as a serpent's.
Squinting, he took control of Quirrell's body and raised the wand himself.
"This cursed mirror… Dumbledore placed it here. The Sorcerer's Stone, hidden all this time..."
At this point, Voldemort had completely taken over Quirrell's body.
With a slight flick of the wand—no incantation necessary—the Mirror of Erised floated effortlessly into the air and began to rotate around him.
Soon enough, when the mirror reached a certain angle, its reflection suddenly shifted from the empty room to something else entirely.
Apparently, even wearing an Invisibility Cloak couldn't hide the deepest desires within one's heart from the Mirror of Erised.
Voldemort's icy eyes gleamed.
He instantly shifted his position, moving to another side of the room. Though there was still nothing visible in the mirror's reflection, a vision of a peaceful manor appeared faintly in the glass.
Voldemort sneered in disgust. "Pathetic fantasy."
Just then, he saw a red stone fall from the clouds in the reflected sky.
It landed on a lounge chair—only to vanish the next second.
—As if someone had slipped it into their pocket.
Under the Invisibility Cloak, Dylan suddenly felt his pocket grow heavier.
—Clearly, the Sorcerer's Stone, hidden and sealed within the Mirror of Erised by Dumbledore's magic, had passed from the illusion in the mirror straight into his hand.
Dylan's mouth twitched. *"Why didn't Dumbledore just completely seal the Stone inside the mirror?"*
Dumbledore had hidden the Sorcerer's Stone within the mirror as a final defense: only someone who wanted the Stone but had no intention of using it would be able to retrieve it.
That was the method Dumbledore had designed for obtaining the Stone.
But still...
Dylan couldn't understand it.
*You could've just sealed it inside completely—break the mirror, break the Stone. Whether someone wanted to use it or protect it, no one would've been able to access the Stone through the mirror then, right?*
And now, the Sorcerer's Stone had somehow ended up in his pocket—
**[Notification]: Congratulations! You've obtained the legendary Sorcerer's Stone and unlocked a new achievement!**
Another system message popped up, but Dylan didn't have time to check it.
Voldemort's eyes were now shining like a pair of thousand-watt light bulbs, blinking rapidly.
"Just as I thought, just as I thought! That foolish old Dumbledore—I've found the Sorcerer's Stone after all!"
Using the direction indicated by the mirror's reflection, Voldemort had roughly pinpointed Dylan's position.
He immediately aimed his wand.
No incantation was needed.
A flash of sickly green light shot from his wand in a deadly arc.
Beneath his already tattered billowing robe, thousands of pitch-black venomous snakes suddenly surged forth, slithering over each other in a frantic rush. Their forked tongues flickered menacingly as they intertwined and coiled, spreading rapidly in Dylan's direction.
These magical creatures, their scales gleaming with a tar-like sheen, let out a collective hissing sound that sent a shiver down one's spine.
Dylan was momentarily taken aback.
"What in the name of power strips is this—Orochimaru?"
However, he wasn't particularly frightened by the swarm of black serpents.
There was nothing a well-placed Fiendfyre couldn't solve.
Of course, given that Dumbledore might very well be watching from the sidelines, he refrained from using dark magic—
**"Partis Temporus!" (Path of the Fire God!)**
Thanks to Professor McGonagall's meticulous tutelage, Dylan had more or less mastered the art of secondary spell shaping.
As soon as he extended his wand from his sleeve, a roaring inferno materialized in an instant. The surging flames twisted and coiled into two towering walls of fire, rushing forward with terrifying momentum.
Wherever they passed, stone bricks vaporized into nothingness, and the serpent horde writhed and contorted in agony before being reduced to charred ashes in the blazing inferno.
A pungent stench—sulfur mixed with the sickening reek of burning flesh—filled the air.
With his mastery of advanced Fiendfyre, Dylan's research into the nature of flames had progressed rapidly.
Though his **Path of the Fire God** spell might not yet match Dumbledore's level, it was already formidable in scale.
Moreover, he had seamlessly integrated Fiendfyre's devastating properties into it.
As a result, his **Path of the Fire God** wasn't just about clearing a path—it incinerated and annihilated any living thing that dared to obstruct him!
**HSSSSS!!**
The agonized screeches of burning serpents filled the room.
Fragments of charred black scales, not yet fully incinerated, rained down like a sinister black drizzle.
"You've already mastered magic at this level?"
Voldemort hadn't expected a mere first-year brat to wield such advanced spellcasting proficiency.
After all, secondary spell shaping required not only an exceptional degree of control over magic but also an intricate level of precision in manipulating spells.
**Path of the Fire God…**
A flicker of intrigue flashed through Voldemort's eyes at the sight of the spell.
"Damn you, Dumbledore!"
Voldemort raised his wand once more.
Still, he did not utter an incantation.
However, not all the serpents had rushed toward Dylan. Some had slithered along the edges of the battlefield, escaping the reach of the raging flames.
As they reached the walls of the chamber, they suddenly froze in place.
Hundreds of serpents, under Voldemort's control, linked together—heads to tails—their scales grinding against one another, sparking eerie dark-green embers.
Then, astonishingly, the writhing black snakes began **transforming into a solid black wall.**
To prevent Dylan from escaping, additional serpents slithered down from the ceiling, merging seamlessly with the walls below.
Dylan arched a brow.
"This kind of transfiguration…"
(End of Chapter)