"These are yours, Mr. Borgin." Quirrell took out a bag and threw it towards Caractacus Bock.
"Damn it, don't call me by my name, Quirinus Quirrell." Bock growled angrily, and shouted Quirrell's name even louder, not wanting to suffer any disadvantage.
Then the sound of gold coins colliding echoed in the empty shed. Bock did not catch them. Facing these flying little cuties, he instead took a few steps vigilantly, bringing himself closer to the exit.
Quirrell sneered, seeming to be laughing at the other person's timidity, but Ani could detect a hint of self-mockery in it.
Aini didn't think there was anything funny about Old Bok's behavior. Timidity and caution cannot be confused. He was able to stay in the gray area for many years and maintain such a great reputation. This caution definitely contributed the most.
Bock ignored Quirrell's taunts. In his eyes, Quirrell was like a monkey standing in front of a giant python. His momentary pride could only bring him pathological madness, but he forgot that as soon as he lowered his head, the python would Can swallow him clean to the bone.
Even though the huge sum of money was at his feet, he still stared at the arrogant fool in front of him without even looking at the money bag on the ground.
After casting an iron armor spell on himself, Bock took out a brown bead, and there was a strange crack in the middle of the bead.
According to the seller, these are the remains of a beholder, but it is difficult to tell exactly what they are. After all, creatures such as beholders have not appeared since the Dark Ages.
But this eyeball does have mysterious powers. It can store objects and identify whether they contain traces of black magic.
Bock used his peripheral vision to aim at the money bag on the ground. A piece of yellow gas poured out from the pupil of his eyeball, wrapping the money bag. After a few breaths, the gas was sucked back, and the money bag also successfully slimmed down, like a block. It lay limp on the ground like rags.
Seeing that there was no change in his eyeballs, Bock took out a big bag, shook his eyeballs and poured out the gold coins.
"900 galleons for your sincerity." Bock threw the box in his hand towards Quirrell, using almost the same method as when Quirrell handed over the money bag just now.
Quirrell reached out to catch it, opened it and looked at it. Unfortunately, Aini couldn't see what was in the box due to the viewing angle.
At this time, Old Bock responded with the same sneer.
"Young man, there is no harm in being cautious. If I wanted to harm you, you would have died twice." Bock said with disdain. He was not a good-tempered person.
The customer is God? Want to maintain customer base? What the hell are these!
Bock knows his business, and no matter how good the service is, people who don't need it will not even step into a Bock store.
For those in need, you are a golden sign. At least in England, you can only provide many things, whether you like it or not.
"Ha~" Quirrell's tone became even more disdainful, "No one can kill me with a single item. You should be glad that you didn't have any evil intentions. Your life is not enough to pay the price of fooling me. Now, disappear from my eyes." "
Ani chuckled, facing strange dark magic items, even Dumbledore would be affected, let alone you, a poor unlucky person.
After writing a note for Quirrell in his small book, Bock decided to double the price of the next transaction.
As for killing Quirrell, it was impossible. To despise a customer was completely different from killing a customer. That would leave him with no further income to purchase black magic items for research.
Keeping his face facing Quirrell, Burke slowly exited the Shrieking Shack.
Burke had left for a while, but Quirrell stood there and did not leave.
A few minutes later, Ani discovered that Quirrell began to tremble, and as time went by, he was shaking more and more violently, and his limbs were moving irregularly, like a master who was summoned by a god.
Naturally, Quirrell was not a master, and asking the gods was just a joke, but the devil did bring one.
"Why did you wake me up? Is everything done?"
In the past, Voldemort's hoarse words were emotionless, but now they were full of pain, and [the dryness of life] tortured him all the time.
Even Aini, who is on the opposing side, has to say "submit". This old man is not only cruel to others, but also unambiguous to himself.
The rise of the Dark Lord is by no means a fluke. On the one hand, Tom's extraordinary talent is also indispensable.
"Great master, I've got it." Quirrell opened the box again, "Master, this is it. I saw it once three years ago. It can't be wrong."
"Very well, Quirrell. You did not disappoint me this time." Voldemort's words became slower and slower, and began to tremble.
"Master, with it we can start action tonight, and then the great you will regain eternal life!" Quirrell's voice was full of relief. He has suffered too much torture, and no thoughts can be hidden from the back of his head. With that thing on his mind, he could only force himself to worship Voldemort devoutly all the time in order to avoid some "shouldn't have" thoughts appearing in his mind.
"No, Quirrell, it's not the time yet." Voldemort thought of the temptation after enrolling in the school. The Philosopher's Stone was not there at all. He knew why. Dumbledore needed this to protect the students at the school.
Wait, wait, the time is approaching.
Dumbledore would definitely choose to start their bet at the end of term, what a cunning old creature.
But he would tell him that no one can fool the great Dark Lord, and no one's rules can override his own will.
"Master, how long will it take? Your devout servants are all impatiently waiting for your resurrection." Hearing Voldemort's answer, Quirrell's heart sank with a thump.
Fortunately, he reacted immediately and praised Voldemort loudly in his heart.
"Very well, Quirrell, the Dark Lord will not treat his loyal servants lightly." Reading Quirrell's inner words of praise, Voldemort seemed to see the supreme glory that had left him and was about to return. Let him explain to his subordinates for the first time.
"One month, Quirrell. In one more month, until the end of the term at Hogwarts, I will let you taste the beauty of following the Dark Lord."
Voldemort vaguely saw the past. Wizards from ancient and time-honored families gathered under the high platform. They either had wealth and power, or were extremely talented and powerful.
But everyone, everyone except himself, can only crawl under the high platform, only the great Dark Lord stands high above.
This is an honor that even Albus Dumbledore has never enjoyed.
"no no!"
Quirrell's shrill shout interrupted Changyi's thoughts. Voldemort glared angrily, but he looked at the corner of the shed through Quirrell's eyes.
"Oh, ah! ah! ah! ah!"
Then Quirrell's screams turned into screams. His hood gradually expanded, pushing the hood down on his head, and an inexplicable shape expanded from the back of his head where Voldemort resided.
Soon the turban broke, but instead of breaking into pieces vertically, it split into strips horizontally, wrapping up the escaped Voldemort from top to bottom.
