A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 39 The Invisible Clash

"Are you implying that I should kill you?" Quirrell said coldly, looking at Owen's smiling expression.

Owen shook his head, bent down to brush the mud off his clothes, and said, "Obviously not, Professor. Since I'm giving you this advice, it means I won't betray you. Of course, I think you must have your own reasons for not killing me just now..."

The more composed and confident you appear, the more respect you will receive; conversely, the more you humbly yield and beg for concessions, the more you will be despised and threatened. Irving is very skilled at manipulating people's hearts.

Owen had to handle this verbal exchange with caution, because judging from the unprecedented magic Quirrell had previously displayed, even if Quirrell didn't want to kill a student and attract Dumbledore's attention, he probably had ways to make him wish he were dead. However, as a pure-blood wizard of distinguished lineage and a natural follower of the Dark Lord, Owen's identity would be taken more seriously, giving him room to maneuver.

Of course, what Irving needs to be most careful about now is not to let his thoughts wander, but to follow his instincts and habits to guide the conversation, and to avoid making eye contact with the other person, so as not to be detected by any possible mind control.

"Why didn't you tell on me?" Quirrell asked with a playful tone.

"Of course it's because my life and fortune are still in your hands, Professor," Owen grinned, speaking the truth sincerely.

At this point, even though the other party's attitude may seem to have softened, this is actually the most dangerous time. If Irving were to try to be clever and tell a lie like "I'm willing to help you," it would only increase the other party's vigilance and murderous intent, causing the situation to completely collapse. Sometimes, telling the truth is the best trick, a deception that targets people's hearts.

After hearing Owen's answer, Quirrell nodded slightly and raised his wand slightly. The rain that was relentlessly pelting Owen was blocked by an invisible barrier, but he was still wet and muddy, looking quite disheveled.

"Thanks, Professor. Haha, this weather's really not good for chatting, is it?" Owen said, fiddling with his wet hair, his tone slightly relaxed.

Owen's attitude gave Quirrell a confusing feeling, unsure whether it was from the relief of finally not getting wet in the rain or from Quirrell's softened attitude. This piqued Quirrell's interest, but he wasn't particularly wary, because he believed he had everything under control with Owen, and that the little wizard before him couldn't possibly resist him or pose any threat.

"I didn't kill you, not because I couldn't. So, what will you offer in exchange for your life?" he said condescendingly, his tone cold and mocking. Then, he waved his hand, gesturing for Owen to follow him.

This is the time to lay down the cards, and sadly, Irving has very few to offer in front of the Dark Lord. But fortunately, the Dark Lord is currently weak and isolated, giving Irving the leverage to negotiate.

"Whatever your needs, Professor, I believe I can offer assistance." Owen straightened his back as he walked, his expression and movements exuding an impeccable nobility and arrogance—the confidence stemming from his ancient family lineage. Although he was currently unaware of the man's identity, his lineage was undoubtedly his greatest asset at that moment.

"Because I am Shafik," Owen said slowly but firmly. "I am the only son of the Shafik family, the sole heir of this generation. I can, to a certain extent, utilize the family's manpower, resources, and finances to provide you with more conveniences."

Glancing at the two wands in Quirrell's hands, and noticing the glass bottle containing the unicorn blood had been put away, Owen continued:

"I don't believe the rumors that you're a vampire at all. I think you collect unicorn blood to heal someone or prolong their life. Although its effects are very powerful, if it's not blood given entirely voluntarily by a unicorn, the person who uses it will suffer a terrible curse. I think you should be well aware of that, Professor."

"The Shafik family has no shortage of potions. Even if I can't freely mobilize all potion resources, I certainly don't lack various potion ingredients. Perhaps I can help you find some substitutes."

"Oh? You care if I hurt or even kill unicorns?" Quirrell said lazily, as the branches and bushes in front of him swayed and parted automatically, as if welcoming him through.

"I'm more concerned about myself now." Owen shook his head with a smile, then his expression turned colder. "Although unicorns are beautiful and pure creatures, in my opinion, it's no different for wizards to kill them than for hunters to kill deer in the jungle. Hunters don't care how innocent and cute the deer are..."

"As long as there's profit to be made, there will never be a shortage of killing." Owen lowered his eyes slightly. Of course, if the prey possessed intelligence and a kind and docile nature comparable to a human, that would be a different story, but obviously, it didn't need to be said in this context.

Putting yourself in the other person's shoes and using empathy to understand and agree with their behavior is an important step in ensuring the smooth progress of the conversation!

Quirrell's pale fingers slowly stroked the wand in his hand, his tone carrying a dangerously seductive undertone: "So, do you know what I'm going to do with collecting unicorn blood?"

"You don't have to tell me," Owen said warily. "You just need to use me." Though he said this, he didn't hide his curiosity.

While it's true that the more you know, the harder it is to escape, getting the other party to willingly drag him onto their side is currently the best way for Irving to ensure his safety. Once the other party speaks up, seemingly forcing Irving into a difficult situation, they subconsciously acknowledge that the two will become "one of us," thus relinquishing further offensive and controlling tactics—essentially making an unconscious concession!

"I need the elixir of immortality," Quirrell chuckled under Owen's wary yet curious gaze.

"The elixir of immortality... You have the Philosopher's Stone?" Owen looked at him with a mixture of surprise and longing. "I've learned about the elixir of immortality in my family's books. It doesn't require unicorn blood to make it. If you've seen this description in some pirated book, Professor, you'd better go find that pirate and beat him to a pulp..."

"I don't have the Philosopher's Stone, but I'm close to getting it." Quirrell sneered. "The elixir of immortality doesn't need unicorn blood, but with the addition of that blood, it can give a remnant soul a perfect body again."

"To give a remnant soul a body again..." Owen pondered the words, increasingly convinced that Quirrell was possessed by some kind of monster. He searched his mind for any magical creature that could cause this, while muttering to himself, "So, the Philosopher's Stone is at Hogwarts? Otherwise, you wouldn't have needed to infiltrate this place."

He took a deep breath and continued to increase his leverage: "In that case, as a first-year student, I'm less likely to attract the professors' attention or suspicion, making me a good helper for you. And my innate talent will allow me to better conceal my intentions from certain people once I learn to control it... This won't take long."

"Since you've given me this information, there must be something you need my help with."

Quirrell's tone instantly turned cold again: "You're smart and know how to be pragmatic, but being too clever for your own good isn't a good thing."

Owen felt a slight sense of relief; this meant things would be quick. His flawless smile returned: "Of course, you can also cast a forgetting spell on me. I won't remember anything, and naturally, I won't threaten your plans."

Quirrell's tone grew even colder: "So, you think you can use this to escape from me and go warn Dumbledore?"

"..." Owen remained silent for a long time before letting out a deep sigh. "Alright, I admit I can most likely resist the Oblivion Curse. In that case, I'll pretend I don't remember anything..."

In negotiations where there is a significant power imbalance, it's crucial to proactively reveal a weakness at the end. Selectively relinquish some bargaining power, offering the other party a small taste of advantage, creating the illusion that you've been in control from the start. Make them believe you've been cornered and have given everything, when in reality you've only offered pre-planned and manageable concessions.

"Stop trying to be clever. There won't be a next time." Enjoying Owen's disappointed expression, "Quirok" coldly warned, then a slight smile played on his lips as he slowly said in a hoarse voice, "I do need you, but not just for the Philosopher's Stone..."

"Okay, I'm willing to help." Owen also slightly curled the corners of his mouth.

This was an invisible yet deeply fraught confrontation. Fortunately, Owen maintained firm control of the conversation and held the de facto lead. The current outcome was a result of his deliberate manipulation. It must be said that the other party did show a bit more favoritism towards pure-blood wizards. If it were a Muggle-born or half-blood wizard here tonight, the other party would definitely not have been so accommodating.

At that moment, both of them looked towards the jungle on their left, and a deep, resonant shout pierced through the rain: "Who's there?"

Quirrell grabbed Owen's shoulder and lightly lifted him into the air. Owen felt the surrounding tree trunks rushing past him, raindrops slanting against the invisible barrier around him, and in just a moment, the trees around him thinned out.

Quirrell suddenly plummeted from mid-air, collapsing to his knees in the muddy water, gasping for breath and choking back sobs. His already pale face turned a terrifying deathly gray. Owen staggered to his feet, his expression thoughtful.

"Come back with me!" Quirrell stood up unsteadily and roughly pulled him by the arm toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

(End of this chapter)