A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 42 Oath

Owen walked quickly down the dimly lit corridor and descended the stairs into the castle's underground area.

The cold, damp air from underground rushed in, dispelling the slight drowsiness in his mind and making him incredibly clear-headed.

"Phew, that was close." Irving breathed a long sigh of relief; tonight's experience had really given him a headache.

"No, I seem to have forgotten something." He narrowed his eyes, quickly rubbed his right fingers together, and then instantly returned to the wall-facing space.

Everything in the space remained the same, as peaceful as ever, except for a replica of Irving standing there blankly, like a silent sculpture.

Irving's expression shifted, and he stared intently into the clone's eyes. A moment later, as a dizzying, tunnel-like sensation washed over him, his consciousness shifted into the clone, and the memories he had fragmented returned to his brain without hindrance.

"I see." He raised his eyebrows in realization.

Without further delay, he left the space facing the wall and returned to his body, which had stopped in place.

"Looks like he got away with it, but he didn't even use an oath to bind me?" Owen glanced suspiciously at the long corridor behind him. "Could Voldemort's brain really have been split into seven parts?"

"Let me think... Judging from Voldemort's behavior, he's really weak right now. Limited by Quirrell's physical condition, he only dares to use some less burdensome spells. Even Legilimency can't be maintained for long, and its power isn't strong either." Owen analyzed, pursing his lips. "He can't control his body for long, and Quirrell's body is being eroded by him, constantly weakening..."

"In short, Voldemort is at his weakest and most vulnerable right now, so of course we should..." Owen paused, then changed direction and headed towards the Potions office, "...of course we should kick him while he's down. Hopefully, Professor Snape is in his office."

Everything he did before was just to keep the other party calm. If Voldemort had demanded a magical oath, Owen would have naturally used other methods to feign compliance and then quietly plotted to kill him. Now that there's no oath to bind him, why would Owen keep him around? Of course, he'd report him and devise a proper way to send him back home.

After all, Voldemort was truly a hopeless case. He ruined his mind by creating Horcruxes, yet he arrogantly enslaved his followers. Following him would have led nowhere. If he had been even slightly more capable, Owen wouldn't have stood so firmly on Dumbledore's side.

After taking only two steps, Irving suddenly felt a sharp pain on the back of his left hand. This pain quickly spread from his arm to his chest, as if his heart was being tightly constricted by a thin fishing line. Pain and a feeling of suffocation enveloped him, causing his whole body to tremble slightly.

He staggered and grabbed the wall for support, which prevented him from falling to the ground. He gasped for breath and looked down at his burning left hand, only to see a strange black symbol that had appeared on the back of his hand at some point. The pattern resembled a variant of the letter "V," shimmering with the deepest black.

"Wait, no, this is an oath? When did this happen?" Owen didn't have time to think about that question anymore. He quickly dismissed the idea of ​​reporting it and reaffirmed his own resolve. After a long while, the punishment for almost breaking the oath finally subsided, and the symbol on the back of his hand disappeared as if nothing had ever happened.

"Okay, I take back what I just said. Voldemort's brain isn't completely broken yet..." Owen took a deep breath and closed his eyes to feel the relief after the pain subsided.

He leaned against the wall, frowning slightly as he reviewed the various details from before. Then he suddenly opened his eyes: "It was when Quirrell was chanting the sound-blocking spell in the office! It seems he learned something from Voldemort, or perhaps Voldemort himself chanted the spell..." Owen recalled Quirrell's exhausted state after chanting the spell, probably because Voldemort had secretly come out for a moment.

"Hmm..." Owen held his wand in his hand, unconsciously spinning and tossing it smoothly between his fingertips, a playful and sly smile instantly spreading across his face: "Hey, luckily I wasn't completely unprepared."

He had anticipated this, so for all the promises he made, whether in the Forbidden Forest or in Quirrell's office, Owen made sure they came from his own mouth, not from the other party who asked him to agree. His words, while seemingly firm, actually left him considerable room for maneuver.

For example, when Irving said, "I'll help you get the Philosopher's Stone," he said "get," not "obtain." Letting them touch it counts as getting it. Besides, "help" is a very subjective word. Irving can help with all his might, or he can only help a little. When he helps and how he helps are all up to Irving himself.

For example, regarding Harry's situation, Owen was the first to say, "I will monitor him." But that was all; whether or not to tell them the truth, and how much truth to tell, was up to Owen himself.

"Another vow is: when the Dark Lord truly returns, I will follow him..." Owen couldn't help but chuckle. He said "follow," not "loyally follow." "Hmm, if I follow you and then ambush you, don't blame me. But by then, I should have already broken the curse of this vow."

As long as it's not an extremely binding spell like "Unbreakable Oath," other oath spells have loopholes. Owen wasn't afraid that the other party would force him to make an unbreakable oath, since there was no third person here holding a wand to witness their actions.

"So, the only binding oath I'm now bound to is that I cannot tell or remind anyone of what happened tonight in any way." Owen turned around indifferently and continued walking towards the common room. These words, spoken by Quirrell, carried strict restrictions that were clearly unavoidable, but ultimately harmless.

"So, after this is all over, how am I supposed to explain to Dumbledore how I fell victim to Quirrell's Imperius Curse?"

……

Inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Quirrell murmured, his voice trembling, "Master... Master, you've been too lenient with him. He doubted your identity and kept making excuses; he wasn't sincere at all! He should be punished..."

"Quirk, are you questioning my decision?" a cold voice rang out beside him. "Or are you trying to teach me how to do things?"

"No...no, Master!" Quiro quickly shook his head.

"A Shafik child? Very interesting, and not simple at all. I never expected that such a person could emerge from the increasingly cowardly Shafik family. The potential of purebloods is indeed limitless." Voldemort's voice was very soft, with a hint of barely perceptible reminiscence. "Intelligent, cautious, cunning, very talented, and very clear-headed... at least much more clear-headed than you, Quirrell."

"Master...Master, I was only loyal to you..." Quirrell sobbed.

"There's no need for such words. Voldemort knows everything, and you've regretted it more than once." Voldemort's tone was cold and impatient. "Your thoughts can't escape my notice, Quirrell."

"I originally intended to control him using other methods, but he has piqued my interest." He continued in a whisper-like voice, "I want to see what choices he will make and what potential he will unleash when he is in dire straits and plunged into darkness, heh heh..." His laughter was cold and mocking.

"Master, aren't you worried he'll turn against you?" Quirrell shrieked. "He's completely disloyal to you!"

"So you'd better hurry up and get the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell. Don't disappoint me again," Voldemort hissed. As the Dark Lord who once brought endless fear to the wizarding world, he feared no one as long as he could regain his body; at most, he only harbored a slight apprehension towards Dumbledore.

"Or do you think Voldemort at his peak would be defeated again? Once is enough, just once... only Harry Potter..."

"No, that's not what I meant, Master..." Quirrell said, trembling.

"I believe this Shafik won't disappoint me; he'll help me figure out what kind of magic the boy who survived is possessing," Voldemort murmured. "What exactly is this 'protagonist aura' that the fax machine mentioned? Is it enough to defeat the great Dark Lord?"

Even with his extensive knowledge and insight, he had never heard of such a talent.

Indeed, Harry Potter is his formidable rival!

(End of this chapter)