"How could he possibly block the Killing Curse?"
Outside Hogwarts, somewhere in the shadows, Quirrell—now possessed—was in unbearable agony. His body could barely think, and the unicorn blood's curse had made him neither man nor ghost.
At this point, what flowed through his veins no longer seemed like blood, but molten, toxic mithril.
Yet his master didn't care about his condition in the slightest. Voldemort was screaming inside his mind, shouting incessantly—making Quirrell's pain even worse.
Voldemort, utterly selfish as ever, couldn't care less about anything else. He didn't know—or care—that Uruguay had a population of 3.457 million while Australia had over 47 million kangaroos. If the kangaroos ever decided to invade Uruguay, each Uruguayan would have to fight fourteen kangaroos.
Had he ever considered that?
Of course not!
He only cared about himself!He only cared that his fully leveled-up Killing Curse—his ultimate skill—had somehow failed!
As if the only thing he knew how to do was "Avada Kedavra."
In truth, that curse fired at Harry had been cast by Quirrell. But the fact that it had been blocked wounded Voldemort's pride deeply.
If the Killing Curse could be defended against, then what right did it have to be called an Unforgivable Curse?
But really, this was a small matter.
Plenty of spells could be resisted or countered. Some even had direct counter-curses; and even if one were struck, as long as death wasn't instant, one could be revived with the proper counter-spell.
Still, that didn't stop Fiendfyre from being one of the most dangerous dark spells, nor did it make Sectumsempra any less lethal.
At least the Killing Curse remained the same—touch and you die.
Charles Gold might have blocked it once, but could he block it forever?(The fifty wizards slain in a certain Russian forest all nodded in ghostly agreement: "Well said, General.")
Voldemort soon calmed down.
"So, you can defend against the Killing Curse, can you?" he sneered. "But can you take it head-on?"
For when a man is hit by Avada Kedavra, he dies. Before that curse, all are equal.
So what if it was blocked once? Charles Gold couldn't eat a Killing Curse and survive, could he?
As long as Voldemort attacked by surprise—lied, schemed, ambushed—eventually, he'd kill him.
And when that happened, Voldemort would not be blamed for being dishonorable!
At that thought, Voldemort let out a healthy, self-satisfied laugh.
"Heh—heh heh heh!"
Quirrell: "…"
You've got time to laugh, but not to save me?
"Master—! I can't hold on much longer—"
His body trembled in unbearable pain, almost breaking apart. He had barely drunk any unicorn blood, gaining only a trace of vitality—and the recent battle had already burned that away.
He had gained nothing but the curse, leaving him worse off than before.
"Useless fool!"
Voldemort cursed viciously.
He couldn't even handle such a small task! If Voldemort didn't still need this vessel, he'd have killed Quirrell already.
"Hogwarts will surely tighten security in the Forbidden Forest now. That route's done. We'll have to buy more unicorn blood instead."
"Buy…?"
Quirrell's face went pale.
He'd already spent nearly all his savings on that dragon egg. Where would he find more money?
And even if he had it, unicorn blood couldn't simply be bought. Not even in Knockturn Alley.
Not because dark wizards were moral—but because none wanted to deal with such a cursed thing. Who would willingly become a half-dead, eternally tormented wretch?
If not for the curse, unicorns would've been farmed long ago and harvested like cattle for potion-making!
Spare me the "cruelty" argument.
Killing unicorns was cruel—but killing dragons wasn't?Even Dumbledore studied dragon's blood!
"What should I do then, my Lord?"
"You can't just let me die—"
Quirrell collapsed to the ground, groveling like a beaten dog.
And indeed, Voldemort couldn't afford to lose him yet. There were still wild unicorns out there, but in Quirrell's condition, he wouldn't survive long enough to find one.
With no other choice, Voldemort decided to risk contacting one of his former followers.
"Write a letter. Let's see if my servants still remember their loyalty!"
Of course, he wouldn't dare reveal himself directly. The message had to be subtle—just enough to suggest that he still lived. His chosen target? The one he deemed the most cowardly of all: the Malfoy family.
From what he knew of them, they would've immediately cut ties the moment he fell from power.
At first glance, that made them seem unreliable—but in fact, that very fear made them predictable. Lucius Malfoy, ever the trembling opportunist, would be terrified at even the rumor of his return.
The faster he had disavowed Voldemort back then, the faster he would crawl back in terror now.
All Voldemort needed was a vial of unicorn blood. In exchange, he'd "forgive" Lucius. Surely Lucius would weep with gratitude and kiss the ground before him!
Under Voldemort's command, Quirrell, sweating and shaking, wrote the letter.
A day later, that letter appeared on Charles Gold's desk.
"He's really back!"
Lucius Malfoy wept like a child.
"He'll kill me—he'll kill me for sure!"
Charles said nothing, only examining the parchment in silence.
Its contents were brief, but the essence was clear:
Greetings. I am Lord Voldemort of Nigeria. I am not actually dead—my demise was merely a strategic deception. I have hidden vast treasures across the land, but alas, my current form is weak and I urgently require a small donation — specifically, one vial of unicorn blood. Once my restoration is complete, I shall personally visit you upon my flying broomstick, and all past betrayals will be forgiven.
To make it credible, Voldemort had included several secret details and enchantments. The letter Charles now held was a copy Lucius had made by hand.
"He says that once he's reborn, he'll forgive your betrayal," Charles murmured as the parchment burned to ash in his palm.
But Lucius only shook his head miserably. "He has never been that forgiving."
"I can tell you where he wants the blood delivered. We can't let him come back! Or perhaps…" Lucius hesitated, "perhaps we could curse the blood instead?"
"No," Charles said firmly.
"You'll give him pure unicorn blood. No tricks."
"But—"
"Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy. To him, you'll appear utterly loyal—obedient to the letter. Even if he truly returns, he won't harm you. He'll need you as his model follower."
"But if he does come back—"
Lucius shuddered. He never wanted to live through those dreadful days again. Life was good now—prosperous, peaceful. With Charles as his bridge to Fudge, the Malfoy family's influence had flourished beyond anything in years.
"Relax. He won't truly return—at least not yet."
Charles smiled faintly.
"Because neither Dumbledore nor I will allow it."
(End of Chapter)