A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 40 Quirrell

Inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, the flickering candlelight was incredibly dim, and the windows were covered by thick curtains. Only the continuous sound of rain seeped in, seemingly bringing with it the cold, damp air from outside.

The room was filled with a pungent garlic smell, much stronger than in the classroom. The surrounding furnishings were also in a mess, with the desk in disarray and a crucible next to it that had been used to cook something but hadn't been cleaned. The dark residue inside made Owen want to chant the "clean up" spell a few more times.

It had been some time since Quirrell returned from the Forbidden Forest, and the two men in the office still hadn't exchanged a single word. Quirrell huddled in his chair, shivering, letting out low, pitiful howls like a wounded animal. Clearly, Voldemort's use of his body had taken a heavy toll on him.

Owen, oblivious to the warmth of the fireplace, moved closer to it, bathing himself in the orange glow of the flames. His wet clothes and heavy mud made him extremely uncomfortable, and he wanted to cast a spell, but his wand hadn't been returned yet.

Owen pulled the little tabby cat, which had been huddled inside his collar, out of the room. He stroked the trembling creature listlessly, his mind preoccupied with the fax machine he'd missed again that evening. That thing was a real pain; not only had Owen failed to find it, but he'd almost gotten himself into trouble.

The little tabby cat in his hands was curled up into a tiny ball, its beautiful big ears drooping listlessly, and its long tail draped limply over Owen's wrist. It had been terrified that night, and now, soaked by the rain again, it hung its head listlessly, its eyes narrowed into slits.

Irwin brought it close to the fire in the fireplace to dry its fur.

"Professor, you look like you're not doing well." Owen turned his head calmly to look at Quirrell, who was sobbing softly, flicked open the pocket watch cover with his index finger, and said in a gentle and pleasant voice.

"It's getting late. If I don't go back soon, my roommates might think I've disappeared and rush to report it to the Dean. Perhaps we can talk when you're feeling better." He glanced at the wand that Quirrell was holding, his fingers slowly stroking the dial of his pocket watch.

"No, no... I'll be fine soon..." Quirrell suddenly opened his eyes, trembling as he pulled a bottle of bright red potion from under his desk, took a big gulp, and then started coughing.

Owen glanced at him. The current Quirrell was completely different from the one he had spoken to in the Forbidden Forest. He no longer possessed that aloof coldness and cruelty, nor did he have that chilling yet thought-provoking sense of oppression.

It must be said that although the previous confrontations were filled with invisible dangers, they gave him a long-lost feeling of exhilarating confrontation, like performing a thrilling and exciting escape magic show in front of an audience, which he found hard to resist.

"We can't do this. Too much recklessness will kill us." Owen licked his lips, narrowing his eyes like a lazy yet cunning cat, silently scrutinizing Quirrell's current state.

"Judging from his current miserable state, it's very much in line with the scenario of his body being possessed by a ghost-like dark magic creature..."

"But what exactly is that? It seems no dark magic creature could possess such a clear mind, let alone be so adept at using magic." Owen thoughtfully squeezed the cat-like creature's front paw. "This situation is more like a ghost, but ghosts have lost all their magic power, so possession is impossible... Perhaps it's some kind of special ghost?"

"This looks dangerous," he muttered to himself. Quirrell's body was clearly being eroded; what if the ghost targeted him once he couldn't hold on any longer? Judging from the current situation, it didn't seem impossible.

At this moment, Quirrell finally returned to normal, though his face was even paler, as if he had just recovered from a serious illness. He gave Owen a deep look, then struggled to his feet and waved his wand at the surrounding walls and windows. A hazy, dark mist billowed from the tip of his wand, merging into the air and disappearing.

After releasing the spell, he held his head and gasped for breath for a long time before staggering back to his chair.

"Soundproof magic, you know, this isn't a safe place for me." Quirrell let out a sharp, piercing laugh, then pointed to a chair on the other side, "You can sit there."

Owen looked down at the dark, unidentified stain on the chair, and goosebumps rose on his skin. He slowly shook his head and hugged the warm kitten in his arms tighter.

"Heh, you can talk standing up if you prefer," Quirrell said lazily, his smile appearing eerie and malicious in the dim light.

"Professor Quirrell, this is the real you. It seems your usual demeanor is all an act," Owen said with a smile.

"Yes, just like you said, the more cowardly and weak a person is, the less likely they are to attract attention. Who would suspect... poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell?" Quirrell chuckled coldly, quite pleased with himself.

"Hmm..." You're really smart! Don't you know that when a normal person suddenly becomes abnormal, it will attract more attention? Owen thought to himself, but on the surface he just smiled and agreed.

When faced with a guy who's full of stupid ideas and thinks he's all that, all you have to do is agree with him wholeheartedly, let him get carried away by the praise and forget himself, and then just wait for him to bring about his own destruction.

Quirrell coughed lightly, slightly raising his face to examine Owen, and said, "Since you've agreed to become my servant..."

"Professor, do you think you've misunderstood something?" Owen interrupted him with a smile, casually leaning against the fireplace. "If I remember correctly, I only made a deal with the...that being within you. I was willing to provide you with some assistance in exchange for my life...and freedom back then."

Seeing Quirrell's frozen expression, Owen's smile deepened slightly: "This is just a transaction, so my relationship with you—no, to be precise, with the one inside your body—is one of cooperation, not subordination. You pay your fee first, and I will naturally pay the corresponding price... until the money and goods are settled."

The initiative! You must always maintain a certain degree of initiative, no matter the circumstances! Even when at a significant disadvantage, never easily place yourself in a subordinate position, and never let others easily control you… especially since, in Owen's opinion, Quirrell isn't particularly bright. At times like this, you should seize the opportunity to turn the page on your previous statements and adopt a more favorable narrative.

Blindly giving in will only lead to ruthless exploitation. Only by maintaining a bottom line can you negotiate terms, and even if you have to sell yourself, you can get a good price. Quirrell clearly doesn't understand this principle.

Upon hearing Owen's words, Quirrell's expression instantly darkened. He instinctively raised his hand to cover his head with the large purple scarf, his voice shrill as he said, "You know I have...I have..."

"Isn't it obvious? I'm not a fool." Owen tilted his head, his gaze lingering on Quirrell's scarf. "You two give me a completely different feeling. I can even tell that you and him are in a subordinate relationship..."

"Of course, that's none of my business. I won't go back on my word, nor do I intend to interfere in your situation, Professor." Owen's words remained gentle and polite, without any presumption. "I just hope you can convey to me how I can help you."

(End of this chapter)