N-A-A Chapter 36 Scarface Angrily Slays Two-Faced Man
Chapter 36 Scarface Angrily Slays Two-Faced Man
Picking up where we left off. Hermione solved the riddle, then cried out in surprise, "No! How could this be!"
Seeing her expression change, Ron quickly asked, "What's wrong? Are the riddles on here too difficult? Didn't you understand them?"
"How could that be? Don't underestimate my intelligence." Hermione rolled her eyes at him, then said worriedly, "There's only one potion among these that will allow us to continue forward."
Ron was puzzled. "Then why not just divide it into three portions and drink it?"
Just then, a burst of blackish-purple flames suddenly rose from the entrances and exits in front of and behind the door, and even dozens of meters away, one could feel the scorching heat on their face.
Ron clicked his tongue and said, "Well, it seems this fire isn't going to let us all get through."
Hermione picked a bottle from the table and said, "This is the potion that can pass through flames, but who's going to drink it?"
Harry bowed and stepped forward. "Brother and sister, please return. I have settled my score with Voldemort."
Knowing that Harry was determined to kill Voldemort, the two stopped trying to dissuade him, said some encouraging words to him, and handed him the medicine.
"Harry, you must be very careful. Nobody knows how much dark magic the Dark Man knows."
"Let's go get Professor Dumbledore now." Hermione picked out another round bottle and said, "This bottle contains medicine that will get us back. It's enough for Ron and me."
The group said their goodbyes, and Ron and Hermione also flew away through the fire. Harry took off his robes and undergarments, and took out the aging potion to consume.
In no time, his limbs stretched out, his appearance matured, and he became a man in his prime. Harry clenched his fist, thinking of Voldemort again; the malevolent aura in his heart just wouldn't dissipate.
He put on his robe, took the medicine, and felt as if his entire body had fallen into an ice cave; his breath turned to frost, and his beard and eyebrows were covered in snow. It was only this bone-chilling cold that could ward off the divine fire of the Purple Heaven.
Without further hesitation, Harry grabbed his knife and wand and dashed through the fire.
As the saying goes, swallowing potent age-inducing medicine and pouring fire-avoiding liquid down the throat. Remembering the blood feud of his parents, the orphan's heart burns with karmic fire. Enraged, he wields his demon-subduing staff and wields his monk's knife to slay the black demon.
Harry walked through the fire and saw a spacious, empty house. In the center stood a mirror and a man with his back turned, wearing a large hood.
Harry didn't see the man's face, but recognized the turban, and exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"
"Yes, it's me." Quirrell turned around and said, "I was just wondering if I'd run into you here, Potter."
"Ah, you've taken that aging potion again, but this time I can—"
Before he could finish speaking, Harry shouted impatiently, "You damn bastard, you're going to get yourself killed today!"
"Where is that damned Voldemort?!"
"You're looking for my master?" Quirrell scoffed. "You seem to think a little too highly of yourself, Potter."
Harry, unable to find Voldemort, was seething with rage. Quirrell's constant chatter only fueled his fury.
Just as he was about to chop off the bird's head with his knife, a hoarse sound suddenly rang out. It was intermittent, like a wire scraping against a bronze cauldron, a harsh and mocking sound, like a dull saw cutting through damp wood.
"Let me... meet with him, I need to talk to him face to face..."
The strange noise came from nowhere, and Quirrell was terrified. He said, "But Master, your body has not fully recovered yet."
"I still have that much strength..."
Harry gripped his knife and wand tightly, on high alert. Quirrell shakily removed his headscarf, revealing his bald head, and turned to face him with the back of his head.
"Harry Potter...we've finally met..."
Harry caught a glimpse of Quirrell's head and gasped – there was a pale, ghostly face embedded in the back of the guy's head!
This face was grotesque; two holes in its flat nose spewed a putrid stench, and its fleshy lips revealed two rows of jagged, rotten teeth. Its serpentine eyes were chilling and terrifying. It was truly a demon fleeing from the deepest hell, a monster soaked in a pool of human blood.
When Harry saw the face, he felt a sharp pain in his scars, a series of groans echoed in his mind, and flashes of green light appeared.
Although he had never seen Voldemort's true face, the scar on his forehead was painful for no reason. Who else could it be but the blood feud that killed his parents?
This time, the enemy revealed his true form, nearly causing the Scarface to break his magic wand and shatter his knife hilt. His face was twisted and hideous, and his two rows of teeth were grinding sparks. Even Zhong Kui, who could capture all the evil spirits in the world, would be terrified at the sight of him.
"Oh, Potter, are you trembling?" Voldemort chuckled. "I thought... you drank the elixir to kill me..."
Before he could finish speaking, Harry, knife and staff in hand, rolled away, roaring, "I'll kill you, you bastard!"
Harry lunged, but Quirrell, wanting to protect his master, quickly turned his head and pointed his wand at him.
Seeing him turn around, Harry tried to dodge. But the Two-Face pointed at the mirror and cast a Flying Charm, causing Harry to face the mirror.
This magic mirror, called Eris, possesses wondrous powers and contains a hidden world within. No matter how many gallons or cartloads of silver you hide inside, you will only see a fraction of your reflection in the mirror.
This mirror makes it easy to hide things, but difficult to retrieve them. Just one glance will reveal all the greed in your heart; only those who are without desire or wants can retrieve things from it.
The magic mirror reflected Harry's image, which then transformed into Harry slaying Voldemort, with James and Lily cheering him on; in another illusion, a tall man and a short man carrying a shoulder pole were seen laughing to themselves; in yet another illusion, Harry and his heroes were eating the elixir of immortality made from the Philosopher's Stone.
The magic mirror shone and shifted several times, but the Philosopher's Stone did not emerge from it. Voldemort roared, "Damn it! Harry Potter! You dare call yourself the savior?!"
Ignoring the mirror, Harry drew his knife and charged forward, shouting, "I can't save the world, I can only kill you!"
The menacing aura drew near, and Quirrell raised his staff to cast the Killing Curse. Before he could even utter the incantation, Harry unleashed a devastating attack.
The spell hit him squarely, knocking Quirrell's wand away and sending him sprawling to the ground. He cried out in terror, "Why do you know the Disarming Charm? That's not a spell a first-year wizard should know!"
Harry ignored him and swung his knife to strike as he got closer.
Voldemort, sensing something was wrong, quickly cast some evil curses, causing Harry's scar to throb with pain.
"Fool! Pick up your wand... Now! Kill him!"
The scar, though painful, was nothing compared to having flesh torn open, or a sword piercing the heart. Harry, having faced death many times before, was no match for such mere pain.
He swung his sword and chopped off Quirrell's right foot.
"Ahhh! My feet! My feet!"
Chilo, in pain, fell to the ground, rolling around and howling in agony.
Harry held the frost-white mithril ring knife upside down, the tip hissing as it sliced across the ground, sending sparks flying everywhere. Quirrell's three souls shrunk to the size of a mustard seed, and his seven spirits scattered into dust.
He struggled back, pleading, "Wait! Harry, little Harry, have you forgotten? I even taught you Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Harry's blue eyes flashed with a fierce light. "I'll spare you, but give me back my parents' lives!"
Amidst the trials and tribulations, Harry encounters the Two-Face, witnessing the malevolent aura emanating from the heavens. A curse is cast upon his scar, a blade flashes, severing his ankle. Harold Harry's heart is heavy with ten years of hatred; even the two-faced man cannot stop him. To find out what becomes of Quirrell, stay tuned for the next installment.