The Silent Bookstore Manager at Hogwarts

Professor Quirrell was in great pain. Harry's words had indeed deeply pierced his heart: yes, he had once been a Ravenclaw, and that was his proudest achievement. Even someone like him could graduate from Ravenclaw and become a qualified wizard.

However, now, under the control of the face behind his head, he has become a pathetic existence like a beast, without a wand or spells, chasing after a first-year wizard like a primitive man, just because it was an order from his "great" master to obtain the Philosopher's Stone, and then he would become the Dark Lord's most powerful assistant under the guidance of his great master...?

Even a first-year wizard knows what fate awaits him, the poor professor who is parasitized. Professor Quirrell himself could not possibly be unaware of what the Dark Lord is, but he has no choice but to obey his orders, as that is the only way to prolong his life.

"I......."

Professor Quirrell took a deep breath. Harry pulled out a sword in front of him, a sword that appeared out of nowhere. The face behind Professor Quirrell's head once again lashed at his fragile soul. Voldemort could no longer wait. The unicorn's blood had indeed prolonged his life, but this painful state of being a living dead and the constant loss of life left Voldemort with very little time left. He had to either get the Philosopher's Stone or die with this poor, possessed creature. Voldemort could never choose the latter option.

"What are you waiting for? Are you really weaker than a child?!"

Voldemort urged Professor Quirrell once again. He didn't know what to say, so he could only numbly walk forward, trying to reach out and touch Harry's body. But without a doubt, he failed. In Harry's eyes, the only difference between the stiff and slow Professor Quirrell and the wooden stake for practicing swordsmanship was that he could move, and Professor Quirrell's body was more fragile, nothing more.

Harry didn't know why Professor Quirrell wasn't using spells or other powers, but he knew he had absolutely no chance of failure under these circumstances. The only problem was...

"Professor Quirrell, are you really willing to accept this?"

The numb Professor Quirrell seemed not to hear this, still trying to find a way to subdue Harry and take the Philosopher's Stone, even though he didn't know where it was hidden.

"Professor Quirrell, do you really want to be seen as one of the Dark Lord's henchmen?"

Harry asked calmly once again. He could clearly sense that Professor Quirrell's current state was not right, or that he was not a henchman of the Dark Lord at all. Professor Quirrell was fundamentally different from the typical Death Eaters that Red had told him about, as well as the cases that he had heard from Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.

"A coward driven by the fear of death and the desire for life..."

Harry quietly concluded that the more irritable and angry Voldemort became, the more it revealed his pathetic and incompetent nature, and also reflected Professor Quirrell's current state.

"I have one last question..."

Harry spoke, his words carrying an unknown magic that made anger surge through his blood. Professor Quirrell and Voldemort had become living dead after drinking the blood of the unicorn, and because of this, they hadn't noticed the strangest thing in the room: the temperature was rising steadily, in an abnormal way.

"Enough!" It wasn't Voldemort who shouted, but Professor Quirrell. He didn't want to hear anymore. He wished he had died back then, so that everyone would think poor Quirrell was just harmed by Voldemort, instead of becoming a disgrace to Hogwarts and a henchman of the Dark Lord.

"I...I will..."

A fire was slowly growing in Quirrell's heart, burning away his mind which had been closed off by the will to survive. He dared not think about the last question Harry had left unsaid.

"Professor Quirrell, do you really think Voldemort will let you live?"

Voldemort roared angrily. How could he not understand what Harry meant? This cowardly body had only chosen to submit to him in order to survive.

Quirrell was about to speak when he heard the sound of something piercing flesh, a sound that was very, very familiar, like...

Professor Quirrell looked down at his abdomen, where a longsword had pierced through his body. Surprisingly, he could no longer feel the pain. He simply watched as his flesh slowly knelt on the ground. Voldemort was furiously tormenting his fragile, almost nonexistent, soul, but Professor Quirrell felt a sense of relief.

"Harry, my savior... how will people view Quirrell?"

"A Ravenclaw who gave terrible lectures... a hero who died fighting against Voldemort's plot."

Harry didn't speak against his conscience. He met Quirrell's gaze honestly, and after realizing that he had no way out, a fire burned in Quirrell's eyes.

"No, you lowly maggot, how dare you disobey your great master?!"

Voldemort roared. He could indeed control Quirrell's body, but Quirrell had now given up his life and soul, only to find peace before he died.

"Alright, you truly despicable maggot, stop yelling at a time like this, it sounds awful."

Red appeared in the secret room as if he had appeared out of thin air. Professor Quirrell stared in astonishment, because Red now looked no different from a ghost.

"Harry, my body won't arrive for a while, but judging from the current situation, you've almost finished... I'll give you some homework, consider it your final exam."

Red waved his wand, and Voldemort's mouth lost its ability to make a sound. It opened its mouth silently, looking somewhat comical.

"Separate Professor Quirrell from Voldemort... using [Illumination]."

Harry paused for a moment, looked at the dying Professor Quirrell in front of him, and couldn't help but ask.

"Will it work? Professor Quirrell won't even live past that time."

"Just like you said, isn't it? Even the rebel who only started to fight at the very end shouldn't be buried with a lowly maggot. If you can't live a noble life, at least you should die a clean death."

Red spoke, his face calm. Quirrell was taken aback for a moment, then accepted his fate with a bitter smile.

"Come on, at least let me die cleanly."