Hogwarts: I am Voldemort.

Chapter 3 Temptation from an old friend
The life of the owner of 36 Hall Street is busy and inspiring.

Quirrell's body has truly fulfilled a saying:
Busily broke a person into two halves.

6:7-[-]:[-]: Morning exercise, dinner.

7:12-[-]:[-]: Voldemort practices the spell.

12:1-[-]:[-]: lunch, nap.

1:3-[-]:[-]: Quirrell's acting lessons.

3:7-[-]:[-]: Quirrell's psychotherapy sessions.

7:11-[-]:[-]: Voldemort's melee lessons.

11am-1am: Quirrell's Occlumency class.

1 am - 6 am: sleep.

The days follow the same rhythm, as if to repeat infinitely, until one night, it is broken by a bat.

"Knock~knock~knock~"

The rhythmic sound of tapping on the windows attracted the attention of everyone at 36 Hall Street.

"Perhaps it is a good choice to use this bat to practice marksmanship."

Paul Castle, Voldemort's spear teacher, said jokingly.

Voldemort smiled and told them to leave before opening the window to welcome the bats in.

"Blood bags are coming."

Waving his wand, he easily used a flying spell, and the blood bag smashed through the refrigerator and flew into his hand.

"Quiet, don't worry, cutie."

Voldemort spoke softly, waved his wand, and the refrigerator door closed automatically.

Then the wand pointed at the blood bag in his hand, causing it to float into a bowl not far away and burst open.

"Give me the letter first, and then go drink."

Voldemort blocked the bat's path with his wand, and said to it.

The bat stretched out its claws, and there was indeed a black cloth strip tied to it.

Take down the cloth strip and unfold it, and the text on it appears:

The Dark Lord who is respected by Death Eaters and makes the wizarding world tremble:
If you need, you can come back at any time, the Albanian Black Forest will always have a place for you.

P.S. Your owl has been eaten by Pooh, and there may be more than one, and I'm very sorry for that.

Your forever friend: Count Nosferatu.

After Voldemort finished reading the cloth, it turned into a cloud of black mist and slowly dispersed.

In the black mist, there is an evil dark power, which is very unfriendly.

Pooh, who was drinking blood, turned his head to take a look, and then began to focus on the blood basin in front of him again.

"Mysterious man, do you really think it is necessary to do this?"

Deep in his mind, Quirrell asked in horror.

"Nothing escapes the old bee except the truth."

Voldemort responded softly, his eyes fixed on the slowly disappearing black mist.

My old friend, his words are not as friendly as his actions.

"The spell of the flame letter, can you use it?" Voldemort asked Quirrell in his mind.

"Of course, it's just not proficient." Quirrell said.

"Then, you are in control of your body, I will provide the content, and you will write the reply."

"Also, try to fill up the magic power of the flame letter. Earl Nosferatu never makes friends with the weak."

Voldemort said, exchanging control of the body with Quirrell.

Quirrell tightened the wand in his hand, and then, the wand waved according to Voldemort's dictation:

Count Nosferatu respected by the primitive blood:
I will visit your castle in the early morning of the 13th of this month, hoping to eat the blood feast made by your wife, which is an unforgettable delicacy in my life.

Another: Owl's blood is not delicious, I have prepared blood food for Pooh, it can be seen that he likes it very much.

Another: I hope you can prepare what I need, which will make our friendship go further.

Your friend forever: the Dark Lord.

When the wand was writing the last few words, it was obvious that the flames sprayed hotter.

And when everything was over, the flames burned disorderly in the air and turned into a fiery red chain.

"Pooh, it's hot, but I think you can bear it, right?"

Voldemort regained control of his body and said to Bat Pooh with a smile.

……

On the fifth day after the letter was sent, Voldemort had already begun to consider shortening the duration of Quirrell's mental health care.

But unexpectedly, Quirrell expressed his objection-Voldemort was already happy before confirming whether Quirrell's idea was correct or not.

"Quirrell, that's how it should be."

He praised loudly, as if his child got 100 points in the exam, and he was the only one in the whole grade with [-] points.

"Express your opinion, speak out your thoughts, face everything boldly, and abandon the timid self."

Along with his praise, he could feel the excitement in Quirrell's mood.

"Thank you, my master, for allowing me to say that once, I am so happy."

Quirrell became bold again, and Voldemort still gave him affirmation-for him who has nothing, if calling "Master" is a reward, then he will not be stingy.

"Tell me your reason, Quirrell, and I will think about it seriously."

"Psychotherapy is good for me to learn Occlumency. I can't be [-]% sure, but I have this feeling."

Quirrell's words surprised Voldemort.

Is there any connection between psychotherapy and Occlumency?

Maybe, maybe not, it needs to be verified.

"Try it, Quirrell, if you can, it's best to write down your experience."

While Voldemort appreciated it, he hoped that he could also learn from it.

Although he has a very strong Legilimency ability and can completely replace defense with offense, Voldemort is still willing to make more preparations.

To deal with the old bees, it is not too much to prepare too many backhands.

And Quirrell also excitedly agreed, and started to organize his notes from that day on.

"Perhaps, this will become a rare reference book for Occlumency practitioners."

After Voldemort encouraged him again, he chose to remain silent.

In fact.

When one of the two souls controls the body, the other soul's thinking is also mentally draining.

and so……

In alternate uses of the body, the non-user should politely choose silence.

The days calmed down again, and nothing changed until the dawn of the thirteenth of July.

"Come Quirrell, Apparate, to the place where we first met."

Swap body control, then...

"Snapped."

The surroundings were pitch black, and Voldemort could vaguely feel strong squeezes from all directions.The chest seemed to be tightly strangled by a few iron hoops, the eyeballs seemed to be squeezed into the brain, and the eardrums also entered the depths of the soul, and then...

"Snapped."

With a soft sound, he was already at the foot of a mountain surrounded by black mist.

"Nice job, Quirrell."

There was encouragement and envy in Voldemort's tone.

It's okay to use someone else's body to practice ordinary spells, but it's too dangerous to practice Apparition.

Controlling Quirrell's body will always have some uncomfortable feelings, which cannot be changed, and Voldemort can only accept it helplessly—at least it is much better than the wandering state of the previous ten years.

He comforted himself in this way, and at the same time, greetings sounded not far away:
"Dear Dark Lord, welcome to Mount Oregino."

　It is still the day of asking for tickets every day, plain and unremarkable
　　
　
(End of this chapter)