The Little Superman of Hogwarts

The Little Superman of Hogwarts - Chapter 036 [Interrogating Quirrell]

After the troll was taken away, Quirrell was also dismissed by Professor McGonagall, and he left the second-floor corridor with a dazed expression.

"Damn Mudblood!" In the quiet and empty corridor, Quirrell muttered to himself. He really couldn't imagine that the plan he had meticulously prepared for so long would end with the killing of a little wizard! Was the troll really that incompetent?

"I don't know how things are going over there... Master, should I go and take a look now?" Professor Quirrell suddenly lowered his head and asked respectfully.

"Don't you have a brain?" A low voice came from Quirrell's hat: "I can say with certainty that Dumbledore is definitely guarding the Philosopher's Stone right now. Going there will only be throwing yourself into the net!

Follow the plan! Wait until the end of the school year to get it. Get the other things first!"

Quirrell didn't notice that there seemed to be a different shadow above his head—in the shadow, there was a blue tights, a dark red cloak behind it, and a pair of red underpants worn outside the crotch, and a large letter S on the chest.

However, what was different from ordinary Superman was—this guy's face was covered with a blue headgear with red patterns, with two yellow lightning bolts on each side of his temples, and a large, black sunglasses covering the eyes and forehead—this was Cree's custom equipment, which had just been mailed by owl a few days ago.

Because of the blue headgear, Cree at this time looked more like a Masked Rider!

The professors' offices all have a separate small compartment, and their dormitories are inside the offices. Of course, not all of them are, such as Professor McGonagall, whose home is in Hogsmeade, although she hardly ever leaves Hogwarts.

Just as Quirrell pushed open his office, the black shadow jumped down from the ceiling—"Thump..." Quirrell fell at the entrance of his office.

Cree, with a smile of revenge, dragged Quirrell into the room...

When Quirrell woke up, he found himself tied to a chair, his hands twisted over and firmly bound to the back of the chair.

At the same time, Quirrell was stripped naked, leaving only his underpants pitifully protecting Quirrell's vitals.

Behind Quirrell's head—Voldemort had also just woken up. Because the two shared the same body, both souls would lose consciousness as long as the body was unconscious.

At this moment, Quirrell's head was tightly bound by a black bag, and Voldemort also lost his sight. In fact, the back of Quirrell's head was only 10 centimeters away from the wall. If Voldemort opened his eyes, he would only be looking at a wall.

"Don't try to struggle!" An old and dull voice sounded, as if it was the moan of a dying person: "I'm using the latest titanium alloy wire. Even a giant can't break free from this kind of thing. Not to mention just an ordinary wizard."

On the other side of the office, Cree was sitting leisurely on the sofa, looking around the office.

"From now on, I ask and you answer. You must answer my question within ten seconds, otherwise I will..." Cree paused here, picked up a pencil on the table.

"Swish—" The pencil was thrown out forcefully by Cree, hitting Quirrell's foot squarely.

Cree's arm strength has exceeded twenty tons, and the speed is almost supersonic. A pencil thrown out with such force is simply a sharp bullet!

Quirrell's foot was like a piece of tofu, and the pencil was gently inserted into it. The position of the shot was right in the middle of the instep. Cree could even hear the "creak" sound of the middle toe bone being pierced—in addition, some flesh and blood emerged from both ends of the pencil, splashing onto the wall and Quirrell's legs.

Quirrell's foot was ruined...

With the insertion of the pencil, Quirrell let out an unbelievable scream, but this was his own office—in order to keep Voldemort secret, he had set up countless spells to prevent the sound from spreading out—so that even such a tragic cry could only spread within the small office and could not leak out in the slightest.

"Now stop your ridiculous voice, I'm going to start asking questions!" Cree said coldly.

"Swish—" Another pencil, but this one brushed past Quirrell's ear. The sound of the sonic boom was so ear-piercing that Quirrell instantly stopped howling.

He finally realized that this person would really kill him!

"How did Voldemort parasitize behind you?" Cree asked.

"I don't know any Voldemort!" Quirrell said, enduring the pain in his foot.

"Swish—" Cree threw out the third pencil, and Quirrell's other foot also suffered.

"Ah!!!!!!" Quirrell's roar instantly reappeared.

"I don't want to hear lies!" Cree said.

"Shut up!" Voldemort's voice came through the black cloth: "Can't you even endure this little pain?"

"My most noble... master! I... I certainly can..." Quirrell replied with difficulty.

"Pleased to meet you!" Cree teased:

"If I'm not mistaken, you two are one body with two souls, and should share the same sense of touch and pain.

So you should also feel the pain of piercing the instep. I didn't expect you to be able to not make a sound at all. Should I say—you truly deserve to be the Dark Lord! Right? Mr. Voldemort!"

Quirrell and Voldemort felt a shiver in their hearts at the same time after hearing these words.

"What do you want to do?" Voldemort replaced Quirrell and asked proactively.

"I don't want to do anything, I just want to get to know you and ask some simple little questions." Cree said: "I don't want to repeat what I said, now I'll ask the first question—in this office, what is the most valuable thing?"

"There is a small mechanism in the desk drawer, which contains hundreds of thousands of gold Galleons and some pretty good little things. You can take them away!" Voldemort said.

"Wrong answer!" Cree shot the pencil in his hand between Quirrell's legs.

However, unexpectedly—Quirrell didn't react, just shrank his legs in the wind driven by the pencil.

Wow, crap! Could it be that Quirrell's thing is so short? Cree was dumbfounded—the pencil was only about three centimeters away from the pubic bone, but it didn't hit the target!

Cree suddenly felt a little sorry for Professor Quirrell—being parasitized was one thing, but it turned out to be so short? It's not as good as me bursting it for you (in the physical sense of "bursting")!

"Do you think I'm someone who lacks that money?" Cree said: "If you don't want to suffer the pain of being castrated, now, immediately, tell me—what is the most valuable thing! Listen carefully! I'm asking, what is the most valuable thing, not those waste paper-like gold Galleons!"

"In the left drawer of the bookcase! The small bookcase!" Before Voldemort could speak, Quirrell spoke first. The cool breeze in his lower body made Quirrell give up resistance.

"Damn it!" Voldemort's voice came out. He was obviously very angry with Quirrell. He tried to threaten Quirrell but it was useless.

Cree casually picked up a hook from the table—this was a common thing in Potions—hooked the drawer and pulled it open.

The drawer had been cast with the [Undetectable Extension Charm], at least 10 feet in size, and densely packed with dozens of notebooks and books in various states.

"What is this?"

"They are all dark magic!" Voldemort said: "The most valuable thing in this room is actually only one, that is me—the great Lord Voldemort! If there is anything else that is barely worth mentioning, it is these garbage books."

Cree understood. This was the real reason why Quirrell turned to Voldemort—Quirrell felt that he could no longer move forward, so he thought of dark magic! Then it was obvious that the strongest dark wizard in the British Isles was Voldemort—these books should all have been scavenged by Voldemort in Albania.

[Good harvest!] Cree thought happily. There has always been very little information on dark magic at Hogwarts, and true dark wizards generally pass it down by word of mouth, making such valuable information rare.

"Second question—Voldemort, where is your illegitimate son or daughter?" Cree said calmly.

"I don't have any descendants! That is the behavior of inferior animals, and I will be eternally..." Before Voldemort could finish speaking, a new pencil pierced Quirrell's left leg.

"Ah!" Quirrell roared and groaned in pain.

"There are many interesting things in dark magic. To learn or study them, you must have descendants by blood, and some even require killing descendants in order to learn.

And as one of the most accomplished dark lords in this world, can you resist?

So you must have descendants, and they must have been born after 1955. I have investigated you. After 1957, you almost disappeared from everyone's sight, missing for ten years!

In those ten years you went to many places. If I'm not mistaken, your child was born at that time! And the place of birth must be in England! It may even be in your hometown... Let me think, it's called Little Hangleton, isn't it?

"In those ten years, you were not only a dark lord, you should also have been an unknown, kind father—in 1967 you came to Hogwarts again, not to seek to become a professor here.

Your real purpose is to watch your child grow up with your own eyes, just like you did back then. I think if Dumbledore was willing to let you become a professor at Hogwarts back then, then you would definitely postpone your plan to become a dark lord by at least 7 years, waiting for your illegitimate child to graduate from here, right?"

"Who the hell are you!" Voldemort had never felt the emotion of "fear" towards anyone else. If there was one, it would only be one—Dumbledore—but from today onwards, Tom Riddle's fear list has three names!

[First, Albus Dumbledore]

[Second, Death]

[Third, Super Wizard!]