Hogwarts of a certain magic

You can search for "a magical Hogwarts novel (www.soxscc.com)" in Baidu to find the latest chapter!Soon, the keys filled the sky, emitting fiery heat, and the whole room was like a stove.

In this case, Quirrell couldn't tell which was the key to open the door, and he himself was caught in the ocean of keys.

Voldemort, who was full of blisters, screamed in pain and urged Quirrell to leave quickly, or he would be killed.

An hour later, Quirrell, a third-degree burn patient, finally struggled through the barrier of Professor McGonagall.

At this moment, he broke his arm, limped on one leg, and his whole body was burned with dead skin. Only one life was left. Like a zombie, he walked to the last room with difficulty.

A long line of blood dragged on the ground.

Quirrell tremblingly opened the last door. Fortunately, there was nothing terrible here, only a table with twenty small bottles of the same style.

As soon as Quirrell crossed the threshold, a flame rose up behind him, sealing the doorway.

This flame is unusual, purple.At the same time, a black flame burst from the door leading to the front.

He was trapped in the middle.

Quirrell walked to the table, grabbed a roll of parchment on it, and read it carefully several times. Even his eyebrows were burnt away, revealing deep wrinkles.

"Dumbledore's numbered bottle, drink it, and send you back to where you were. Snape's numbered bottle will lead you forward... other poisons."

Quirrell pondered for a long time, and asked in a hoarse voice: "Master, do you know which bottle the potion that passes through the flame is in?"

Quirrell could hardly think on his own, and the pain in his body made his head explode.

"How do I know?" Voldemort glanced at the sheepskin scroll, disdainfully said: "Snape does not know, Dumbledore does not know, Snape knows, Dumbledore knows...

Obviously, Dumbledore used superb panic!"

"Hypocritical, he used to say that he never had to take care of his mind..."

Quirrell was speechless. Is it time to discuss Dumbledore's hypocrisy?

In desperation, Quillo conjured a quill pen and began to write and draw on the parchment.

At the end of the writing, he still couldn't determine whether Snape's number was two or four!

Schrodinger's potion!

"What to do?" Quirrell was anxious.

Is it a one-half probability, is it necessary to stud?

But the result of failure is to drink the poison and die at this last level!

At this moment, Quirrell thought of the popular roulette in Eastern Europe.

It was a cruel gambling game, and the rules were very simple. Among the six magic wands, one of them was cast a death curse!

The sorcerer who bet on life must constantly choose from them, then point the wand at his head, and then activate the magic inside.

Those who live can take away all the prizes, and those who lose will be left behind!

It is said that the previous generation of Dark Lord Grindelwald is a master in this area.

When he was at Durmstrang School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he kept betting against the students, but he never lost!

Grindelwald has never lost, but that doesn't mean he won't lose.

Looking at the logical question that seemed to be in no danger at all, Quirrell couldn't laugh anyway, tears rolling in his stomach.

"Hurry up!" Voldemort urged.

"But...Master, I might die, no one will help you get the magic stone." Quirrell pleaded.

"No, I said I want to give you eternal life, even if you die, I can resurrect you."

Voldemort whispered softly:

"Hurry up, Quirrell, choose one! The important thing now is to get the magic stone. Time is really precious."

Quirrell looked at Snape's row of bottles, and finally hesitated for five minutes in the number two and four, and put his right hand trembling on the number four bottle.

He swallowed.

Since this semester, Quirrell has experienced various physical sufferings, but after the potion entered his stomach, the scorching heat from his chest made him feel a very strange feeling.Read quickly www.kuaiyankanshu.org

It goes deep into the heart, but it hurts deeply.

He knew he had chosen the wrong one!

wrong,

It means dying.

Quirrell still doesn't want to die, otherwise why would he survive in the forests of Albania to this day?

But the feeling of death was so real that Quirrell could feel life passing by. The feeling was not like physical pain, but almost spiritual suffering.

Suddenly, Quirrell felt that he had two hands and took the wand from his pocket.

Quirrell fell to the ground, trying to see who it was, but tears flowed from his eyes, blurring his vision.

He raised his weak arm, wiped the tears from his eyes, and finally saw the man's appearance clearly.

--Voldemort.

Voldemort's body was as big as a baby. He was sitting on the ground panting. A hideous face occupies almost half of his body. The color was as dead white as chalk, and his red eyes were shining. Below were two snakes as thin as snakes. Long nostrils.

Voldemort had left Quirrell's body, he was back in Albania, sitting on the ground, staring at Quirrell.

"Unfortunately, Merlin was not able to be with you, Quirrell." Voldemort said coldly, "You made the wrong choice and lost an opportunity."

"But, no matter if you die, I didn't think you would succeed.

You know, Quirrell?

I am tired of you a long time ago, tired of your weakness, let me suffer so much... You damn!"

Voldemort babbled, and this time seemed to be more talking.

"It would be fine if I came a year earlier, Tywin is an excellent servant, but unfortunately he has entered Azkaban now..."

Quirrell's red eyes stared at Voldemort stubbornly, tears that couldn't stop running down his pale, blood-stained face.

"You promised me." Quirrell murmured.

The expression on his face was distorted with extreme pain."Master, I'm really sorry, but you promised me..."

"Yes, the merciful Voldemort did say that he would give you eternal life, so he would not break his words."

Voldemort took Quirrell's wand and began to chant.

Quirrell's body suddenly lit up with a green light, which was the magic that Voldemort had cast a long time ago.

Just wait for Quirrell's death to make sacrifices!

Quirrell is a useless servant, but he still occupies a place in the next plan.

As Voldemort cast his magic, smoke drifted from Quirrell's body.

Quirrell was lying on the icy ground, feeling warm blood flowing from the wound under his ribs.

His blood is about to drain.

Quirrell suddenly felt that he had regained some strength. He raised his blood-stained hands, and his hands became paler and paler, as if they were about to turn into mist.

Yes, he felt that his body was gradually melting into the mist.

Soon, the pain disappeared completely.

Quirrell laughed happily.

Voldemort also laughed.

Quirrell slowly became transparent in his sight.

Quirrell became a ghost.

...

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(Thanks to the "Feng Ling Fifteen" and "Tao friends, please stay here" for their rewards)