"Ma... Master... Who... Who is searching... us?" Quirrell curled up in the cave like a frightened quail, his stutter was not feigned but genuine terror.
"How could I have a servant as useless as you! Use your brain! The only person who can play with Fiery Fire like this, aside from our hypocritical headmaster, can be none other than him, right?" Voldemort's voice once again echoed in Quirrell's mind, carrying a hint of dissatisfaction with Quirrell and an unmistakable anger towards Dumbledore.
"Ye... Yes, true."
Quirrell finally somewhat understood why Voldemort had fled; if Dumbledore was hunting Voldemort, everything made sense. After all, Dumbledore, as the most powerful wizard of this century, always lived up to his reputation.
"Are you thinking in your heart that I'm expected to be inferior to Dumbledore!" Voldemort's angry roar filled Quirrell with dread. The cowardly Quirrell was already worried that their hiding place might be found, and now with Voldemort's raging shouts in his mind, his already anxious heart trembled even more.
"No! No! Great Master! Of course, I don't think that way... I was merely contemplating how we might escape... how to evade such a thorough search."
"You also understand that if... if this continues, it's only a matter of time before we are found." Quirrell immediately explained, voicing his inner anxiety.
His heart was truly deeply aggrieved. Others who pledged allegiance to the Black Demon King as Death Eaters had at least enjoyed a few days of glory; he hadn't experienced a single moment of glory before being dragged into becoming a skulking rat.
He had nothing but constant threats from Voldemort and empty promises.
"Indeed, we cannot remain passive like this." Even though Voldemort was weak, pressed underneath Quirrell's backside, he could still share Quirrell's senses.
He could even detect changes that Quirrell hadn't noticed.
"What should we do?"
Quirrell tightly gripped his magic wand, as if the wand alone could provide him with some semblance of safety.
"Several professors from the school are approaching... now is not the time for a confrontation with them. We still need to use your identity to locate what Dumbledore has hidden." Voldemort did not make Quirrell stand, nor did he ask Quirrell to shift to alleviate the pressure on himself; his biggest concern now was that the Magic Stone might be moved by Dumbledore.
"Thi... Thank you for your mercy, Master, I can't fight those professors!" Quirrell's body trembled even more violently, his voice choked with emotion.
"You're nothing more than a coward! How could I have a servant as useless as you!" Voldemort cursed bitterly, venting his frustrations. He had certainly come for the Magic Stone, but who would have thought that before he even approached it, he was confronted with such a disastrous situation?
"I... I..."
Quirrell began to sob.
His heart was overwhelmed with grievance to the extreme.
"Hurry up and Apparate out of here! That person is coming!" Perhaps sensing the approach of a powerful magical force, Voldemort urgently shouted at the weeping Quirrell.
"I... I can't do it." Quirrell instinctively shrank deeper into the cave, apparently still unaccustomed to a lifestyle where he is sitting on a face.
This shrinking motion further exacerbating the friction of Voldemort's face against the ground.
He didn't notice but continued to explain, "Even though this is just the Forbidden Forest, it's already out of the range of the castle... but the difficulty of Apparition here is still particularly high."
"My magic power... My magic power is very unstable right now." Quirrell dared not blame Voldemort, though his unstable magic was indeed related to Voldemort's unauthorized 'intrusion.'
If not for the fear that unstable magic might transport different parts of his body to different places, Quirrell would have certainly Apparated away as soon as he discovered the fire dragon.
"Roar!"
Just then.
Dragon roars echoed continuously outside the cave.
The situation was clearly urgent.
"You are the most worthless of all my servants!" Voldemort panicked too, rapidly rallying his weakened soul and forcibly taking control of Quirrell's body.
Suddenly.
Quirrell's face twisted in immense pain as if countless boiling oil eruptions took place, the nauseating noseless visage of Voldemort appearing to grow as if from beneath Quirrell's skin. Their faces merged together grotesquely and disgustingly.
"I merely lost one round!"
The bizarre double-eyed gaze fixed on the blue flamed giant dragon hovering outside the cave, Voldemort used Quirrell's body to wield the magic wand, and abruptly intense spatial fluctuations enveloped them.
"Swish~"
It didn't transport them too far away, after all, Voldemort's soul was extraordinarily weak, and once Quirrell's form vanished from the Forbidden Forest, he reappeared in Hogwarts Village.
"Avada Kedavra!"
In a tranquil alleyway.
Quirrell turned and saw a horrified witness, though he hesitated, the controlling Voldemort had already raised the magic wand and cast the unforgivable Killing Curse.
"Thud!"
A flash of green light.
Pitiful, innocent person fell dead.
Voldemort, fitted against Quirrell's now pale face, looked very satisfied—this was his typical performance level! He was the great Black Demon King, feared by all, able to choose life or death at will!