Chapter 423 Injuries

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The moment he felt the texture of his skin instead of a hard mask, Quinn’s eyes wide in astonishment went to the Hogwarts professors who had come out along with Dumbledore. The entire faculty core hadn’t come outside— obviously, they had left some with the students.

But that was good, thought Quinn— less number of people who needed to be subjected to Obliviation. He raised his hands towards them, but then Dumbledore stepped between him and the professors.

“Get out of the way,” said Quinn, his voice hoarse.

“I can not allow you to do that, Quinn,” said Dumbledore.

“I don’t need your permission!”

“You are hurt, Quinn, you are not thinking correctly. . . I know you feel distressed now, but we should take care of those injuries first,” Dumbledore raised his empty hand; at the same time, he had his wand ready in his other. “It’s a dark curse; if we don’t treat it immediately, it will cause long-term, or worse, permanent damage.”

Quinn gritted his teeth, and his breathing flared in anger for a moment before he put his hand down. He looked down at his left shoulder and saw that the Noir suit over his shoulder and chest had disintegrated away, and the skin underneath had already turned an ugly blue; he scowled when he saw the slight wrinkling in a spot, and even though Quinn didn’t know the nature of the spell, he could guess that it was eating away his body.-.

He spat in anger. Dumbledore was correct; he needed to treat the injury before it became a problem he couldn’t get rid of easily. But as he was about to cooperate, everyone jolted at the deep voice from outside the ward.

“Who could’ve imagined”— Quinn turned as his body pained and saw Voldemort getting up from the ground on his knees— “that the Invisible Vigilante would be you. . . . ” Voldemort straightened his back, and if not for the scowl that marred his face and the dagger sticking out of his chest, no one could tell that he had just been stabbed. “Quinn West, grandson of George West. . . scion of high society getting his hands dirty as an outlaw. . . how unexpected,” there was no mirth in Voldemort’s voice, only a deadly cold.

The Dark Lord reached to his chest and yanked out the protruding dagger with a grunt. The blade on the dagger was thicker than the norm as it was intended for penetrating scales much sturdier than human skin, not to mention that it was accompanied by Basilisk venom. So it was mind-boggling seeing him not trembling on his feet, coughing up blood, or at least foaming out of his mouth.

Voldemort raised the dagger and waved his wand over it for the blade; it glowed blue. “What is this?” he had seen the Basilisk venom being pushed out of the micro pores in the metal. “. . . Is it some sort of poison? Against me?” he chuckled, but then his eyes turned serious as he raised the blade closer to his eyes. “Basilisk. . . Basilisk venom? You, how did you get—”

“From the Chamber of Secrets,” Quinn spat out the blood in his mouth. “I took it off the corpse of your pet snake. How did you like the irony?”

Voldemort seemed surprised, but that only surfaced on his face; his words told another story. “If it was another person, they would have already sealed their fate, but as you said. . . my pet snake.” He sneered, “This body of my mine is immune to poisons. . . and that includes Basilisk venom.”

“Lie!” yelled Quinn. “I can see it on your face; you’re sweating fountains. You might be immune to poisons, but no one just becomes immune to Basilisk venom. It isn’t even a traditional ven— Avada Kedavra!” Quinn, mid-sentence, raised his hand and hurled a Killing curse toward Voldemort.

A silver shield burst forth in front of Voldemort and absorbed the Killing curse. “Invisible Vigilante being impatient doesn’t seem fit with your image. . . however, now that I know you’re but a child, it doesn’t seem as out of the picture.”

Quinn was furious. Having used anger to provide him the last boost through the pain so he could stab Voldemort was now running rampant inside his body as boiling rage. The balance of emotions had been breached.

He turned to Dumbledore, “What are you doing— AaAAarghh!!!” A flash of pain burst forth in the area he had been hit and infected by Voldemort’s dark curse. He fell to his knees, keeling over on the ground, hissing and groaning in agony.

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“Quinn!” Dumbledore knelt beside him.

“The more you use magic,” said Voldemort viciously, “the more the curse will eat away at you. Harry Potter is dead, Invisible Vigilante will soon be dead, now it’s your time Dumbledore. The moment I break this ward, I will end you. Soon, it is time for you to go on the next great adventure.” Voldemort smiled evilly before he apparated away.

Before Dumbledore could do anything, Quinn grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. There was anger crackling in his eyes. “Kill him right now! I have all of the remaining! We can finish him today! Kill him!”

No matter what Voldemort said, Quinn didn’t buy his claim of being Basilisk venom. The legendary serpent was not an ordinary snake; the venom was as special as the eyes. Voldemort was a weak point, and with Dumbledore wielding the Elder wand, it was possible that Voldemort could be killed without greater complications.

“I will get rid of the remaining ones. . . while you duel him. . . and when you finally kill him. . . he’ll be dead for good,” Quinn spoke between labored breaths. “Come on. . . this is. . . a great. . . chance.”

First, Dumbledore’s eyes widened; Quinn felt hope and satisfaction as he knew he had tempted the man enough to take action on the information he had just dropped. But then, Dumbledore shook his head.

“No!” Quinn pushed the words out of his mouth, “Please, go. . .”

“We need to treat you. It is already looking bad,” said Dumbledore studied the wound, and the flesh seemed to have gotten much worse. “It’s still on the outside; we can’t let it reach your heart or even lungs.”

“I will be fine. . . Go!”

“I can’t take the risk—”

The anger made Quinn’s speech clear up as he smoldered, “You were willing to sacrifice Harry. What happened to— For the Greater Good, huh?!” Another flash of piercing pain assaulted Quinn’s body.

“That was because I thought I had no choice regarding Harry,” Dumbledore said solemnly as he conjured a stretcher beside him. “Moreover, you, Quinn, are too much to be sacrificed. A brilliant young man like yourself is not something I’m willing to exchange against Voldemort’s death.”

Quinn wanted to speak, but couldn’t get a word out; every single one of his muscles felt like they had been pulled taut. In the moment, he even forgot what he would say or yell in response. So he lay there glaring at Dumbledore as he was put on the stretcher and carried away.

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Voldemort apparated inside the Hogsmeade town hall, Death Eater’s base of operation. He staggered to the room that he had taken over as his own and slumped down on his chair. He scowled in disgust when he felt his robe stick to his skin when he sat down. He grabbed it, threw it away, and observed the stab wound in his chest— the blade had missed his heart.

He tightened his grip on his wand; it was slipping from his cold and clammy hand. He touched the wandpoint near the wound and chanted under his breath for the wound to glow in a sparkling blue color like a crack leaking light in a dark room. “Argh!” he groaned as the wound wriggled, dark blood poured out, and then discolored shreds of flesh floated out.

Even though he had claimed it, the truth was, as Quinn West had said, he wasn’t immune to Basilisk venom. He had never experimented on Basilisk venom immunity— he never thought that he, a Parseltongue, the Heir of Slytherin, would ever need to be worried about being poisoned with snake venom. The only reason he wasn’t on his way to death right now was that his body was a superior product of magic and rituals— he could simply make modifications to his body and get rid of the venom; similarly, he could even completely recover from dark curses.

The door flung open with a loud, anxious voice full of desperation. “My Lord!” cried Bellatrix as she rushed towards him.

“Stay away, Bellatrix,” he ordered, not hiding the annoyance in his voice. “Keep quiet and don’t breath loudly.” He glanced at ex-Unspeakable, who stood near the door, studying him with a critical eye. “Rookwood. . . I need your help in healing. You can approach.”

Rookwood walked near him and conjured a chair to sit on. After a few diagnostic spells, Rookwood spoke, “We should retreat for today, My Lord. Harry Potter is already dead; we can call this operation a success—”

“We are not returning!”

“Your injuries are worrying.”

“It seems you didn’t hear me correctly, Rookwood,” he glared at Rookwood. “I didn’t say that I need you to heal me; I said I need your help. I will heal myself, and you will be simple support. When I’m done, I’m going to go break the ward and kill Dumbledore! Now, I do as I say.”

“Yes, My Lord,” said Rookwood, bowing his head.

They were about to start when he heard rushed footsteps coming towards the room. The next second, Dolohov appeared at the door with his usual stern expression on his face, but Voldemort could see the tension in his eyes.

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“What is it?” he asked.

“My Lord, one of the scouts, sent in a report,” said Dolohov in his deep voice. “Aurors have somehow infiltrated our ward.”

“WHAT?!” screeched Bellatrix. “How dare they?! I will cut them down!”

“Be quiet, Bellatrix,” Voldemort could feel a headache coming up. Aurors infiltrating was a problem. If he was not injured, he could’ve handled them without a problem with Death Eaters, but he couldn’t delay the healing— Basilisk venom wasn’t something that even he couldn’t ignore.

“How did they get in?” he asked.

“We weren’t able to identify that,” said Dolohov. “The scout spotted them sneaking around a corridor in the east part of the village. Near Zonkos, I believe.”

The ward stood strong, and if it breached, he would know, thought Voldemort. Which meant that they came another way. ‘But where?’ As Voldemort formulated alternatives, a jolt of pain broke his immersion, and he cursed the Invisible Vigilante—

“Invisible Vigilante,” he uttered. How did he get in? The most logical answer appeared in his mind the next moment. “Labyrinth. . . he must’ve informed them of a door that he must’ve left,” he gritted his teeth. Damn Wests! They were being a thorn in his side.

Voldemort conjured a fresh set of robes over his body, and he already could feel it getting drenched. He suppressed a groan as he got up.

“We can take care of them. You should stay put, My Lord,” said Rookwood, standing up as well.

“I’m bringing down the ward,” said Voldemort, and that was enough for all three Death Eaters in the room to understand what he meant. “Ready everyone; tell them to prepare themselves. Bellatrix, follow me out.”

He staggered outside the town hall and stared up at the ward he had set up. He raised his wand up and, with a grunt, shot a single shot of magic up in the sky. The silver spell left behind a shimmering trail as it climbed itself towards the sky, and when it reached the ward boundary, the spell got absorbed into it, and then slowly, the ward began to shrink. The boundary over Hogsmeade turned translucent and rapidly shrunk until the ward was only covering the Hogwarts territory. Dumbledore would start emptying the damn castle out if he left Hogwarts unchecked.

“Arm,” he ordered.

Bellatrix rolled up her sleeve and presented her arm marked with the Dark Mark to him. He grabbed it and pressed his wand over the tattoo. She hissed, but he kept pushing magic in. Dark clouds began to gather in the sky, with thunder crackling across the valley.

He felt the spatial fabric wrinkle and ripple until everything scrunched up before stretched out to taut and then went back to normal.

“Let’s see how the Aurors feel now,” he said as he stared at the Giants looming over the buildings. He smiled through the pain when he heard the howls echo around the village and could sense the bloodsuckers duck in and out of shadows.

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Quinn West – MC – Anger running rampant.

Voldemort – Dark Lord – Venom!

FictionOnlyReader – Author – If it was someone else, they would’ve done as Rookwood suggested. But I feel like Voldemort would push forward; that’s why I didn’t make him retreat. The other scenario was Quinn provoking Voldemort by telling him that Harry was still alive so that he wouldn’t leave, but I decided against it.

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