The Heavens: Hogwarts Transfer Students

Years later, facing the transfer student Linde, Quirinus Quirrell will recall the terrible night when he went alone to Albania to meet Voldemort.

Now, at this very moment, in the afternoon of September 6, 1991, the sun has not yet fully dipped below the horizon.

Quirrell's clothes were soaked in sweat, and he lay weakly on the ground. The light from the candlestick on the wall illuminated his curled shadow. The poor man was convulsing and trembling unconsciously. Voldemort has poisoned him so deeply that part of his body and soul have mutated. When Linde forcefully pulled out the remnant soul, Quirrell suffered the same pain as Voldemort.

It was not the trauma that made people howl in horror, but more like the fear of falling into the bottomless abyss.

"Professor. Professor, are you okay?" The voice of the transfer student seemed to come from the surface of the water, and Quirrell felt a strong sense of drowning. Then, a warm wind blew from all around, and he felt the existence of his body again. .

"Ah! Huh! Huh—" He struggled to breathe, like a baby released from the mother's womb, and then he began to cough violently.

Linde helped the weak Quirrell up, and poured a few drops of Death Water into his mouth. This is a powerful sleeping pill, which can make the user forget the pain and fall into a temporary peaceful sleep.

"What's this?"

"Water of life and death, professor, you should have a good rest. When you wake up, everything will be fine."

Quirrell was lying in Linde's arms, showing a pitiful and desolate expression after taking the water of life and death, "No, don't let me...disappear..."

"Hush, don't worry, everything has nothing to do with you. Rest well." Linde poured some alchemy potions into Quirrell to help him recover from the pain.

After he settled the sleeping Professor Quirrell, it was his turn to deal with Voldemort's remnant soul.

Linde looked at the black soul stone in his hand. The main personality of the second-generation Dark Lord was in it. A faint green line walked on the surface of the soul stone. If you got close to the soul stone, you could hear threats and curses coming from it.

...

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter suddenly covered his forehead.

"What's wrong Harry?"

The lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead began to hurt, as if it had turned into a fresh wound. He wanted to press so that the wound would no longer be exposed to the air, but the pain did not come from the outside world, but from the soul.

He was surrounded by pain, and the joyful voices of the classmates in his ears disappeared in an instant, as if he was thrown in a lonely gray field, Harry wanted to shout out. A hallucination appeared in front of his eyes. It was a vaguely familiar face with black hair and silver pupils, overlooking Harry. He felt that he had turned into a cloud, a cold ghost. Intense phantom pain.

The black-haired figure stretched out his palm, and the sky was also covered. The palm was like a curtain hanging from the sky, and the vast and boundless blue vortex occupied the field of vision. The earth floated high into the sky, like dust, falling on the edge of the cloud.

Falling, falling, he heard "himself" cry: no...

Wang! Wang! Two barks broke the last hallucination.

Harry woke up suddenly, and the pain from his scar disappeared in an instant.

"Are you okay?" The students around asked with concern.

"I, I'm fine." Harry didn't know how ugly his face was, and he didn't speak for a while, until it was almost eight o'clock, when Ron was leaving for confinement, Harry hurried to see him off with his friends .

...

"I have not been involved in the history of the wizarding world before. But just as I have not experienced the World War, I only know the tragedy that happened during the rampage of the Dark Lord. Voldemort, Tom, when you slaughtered wizards and martyrs with the Killing Curse with impunity Melon, when you torture others with the Cruciatus Curse, you are extremely confident in your own power." Linde stroked the black soul stone in his hand, like a jeweler playing with a collection, but his tone was cold, even peaceful.

Voldemort, who was trapped in the soul stone, was doomed to be unable to defend himself. Nor would Linde want to hear his defense. No matter how noble a moralist wants to excuse Voldemort, he is at a loss for words for such a murderer, the creator of terrorist acts.

"Think about it, Fu, when you're living in peace, your work is orderly, and the Ministry of Magic is stupid, but it doesn't make you feel bad. You can communicate with people, try to make friends, have fun, go through the day, Lying in bed, reflecting on your past, tired of the foreseeable mundaneness of the future. But none of this stops you from going to a wizard bar and ordering a giggle and letting yourself laugh uncontrollably."

The soul stone was trembling slightly. It seemed that a certain Parseltongue was not friendly. He didn't want to hear young Linde talking nonsense here, condescendingly accusing him of his political orientation and life behavior.

Linde ignored Voldemort's changes, and his tone was more leisurely, "You see, people's lives are mostly like this, and people are used to peace. When you brought war and disaster to the wizarding world with the theory of blood, did you ever realize that you How reactionary is your behavior? You don’t know, yes, you rely on the power of black magic, and you are fans of those pure-blood families. Then when you choose violence, you should know that if one day, someone’s magic power wins Pass you, and that person can easily play with your life, just like you did to those innocent people."

The vibration of the soul stone was even more violent, like a mobile phone constantly reminded of incoming calls.

"That's right, I'm going to give you some flair. To deal with an unyielding person like you, the culture I came from has a hundred ways to make you decent. However, I decided to choose an interesting one. I don't know if you have Haven't read or heard of a book called Life and Death Fatigue, oh I forgot it was published fifteen years later. Have you ever heard of Six Realms of Reincarnation? Hmm? An ancient culture from the South Asian subcontinent , is it possible to be brought back to the mainland by the British colonists?"

Linde stood up and took off Professor Quirrell's purple turban, "Don't you think these coincidences are interesting? You are possessed by Quirrell, and he wraps you in an Indian-style turban. This purple cloth is like your mask (mask), your skin. Now, I will make it into the blood and flesh of a beast to carry your spirit and soul."

The raging magic power is at work, and the magic energy provided by the Eye of the Tower has the nature of divine power. Linde soaks the turban with immortal magic energy, washes away the traces left in time by this material, and then casts the transfiguration technique to transform the dead object for living things.

"I found that your nose is very short, which often makes you feel inferior, but I will help you correct this shortcoming soon. You will have a long nose, which can even reach into the potato chip packaging bucket."

The purple turban transformed into a white Borzoi. Its appearance was extremely handsome, almost heroic, but its eyes were dull. As Linde put Voldemort's remnant soul into it, the dog immediately became lively.

It roared like crazy, as if it couldn't believe it, and then showed a fierce look, trying to bite Linde, but before it could make a move, all its teeth turned into soft rubber. Its bite was meaningless, even Linde's robe could not be pierced.

"Good dog!" Linde smiled and rubbed Voldemort's dog's head, "Have you not recognized the situation yet? Tom, if you want to annoy me, then I don't mind turning you into an earthworm, and then I wear it on a fishhook up, sinking into Lake Baikal to feed the fish."

The Borzoi howled in pain and lay down on the ground crying.