Melee wizards at Hogwarts

"Some people are alive, he is dead."

For some reason, Parsifal suddenly felt this way, but what was worse was that the protagonist of this thought was himself.

A ball of black-red extremely violent twisted flames was brewing in front of him, but he was in mid-air, slashing forward with all his strength, without any chance to block or dodge.

If you guessed it right, this was exactly the spell that Peter Pagerew once used to use one finger as a price when he drove down a street. The damn mouse is now sleeping comfortably in the Gryffindor Tower not far away. .

There is no doubt that this spell is only more effective when used by its creator himself.

Moreover, Quirrell gave an entire arm.

"law"

The moonlight on the unicorn's horn spread out, creating layers of light like water. The twisted flames began to diminish almost visibly to the naked eye, and the expanding fire was suppressed for a moment. But it was still twisting, struggling, and roaring silently.

Unicorns are not that silly pink "pony" that likes to wander around Hutai Road, but an extremely pure creature, and their horns have a purifying effect. Negative energy in front of them is like encountering a natural enemy.

But even that is not enough, far from it. The black-red flame was expanding, and it only took two, no, one gasp, for the flame to turn into a black dragon and completely devour them.

"Tsk, it's overturned."

Parsifal could already see Voldemort's face. It was handsome, but now it looked completely weird. It was covered with lines emitting a blue halo, and his facial features were twisted into a group of hideous features. His mouth opened slightly, as if he was sneering, "Stupid."

He clenched the long sword in his hand, the heat distorted the air, and the silver blade seemed a little skewed to him. He did not try to escape, or use the portkey to seek some luck, but continued to cut with great determination.

Black-red, twisted flames rose.

In Parsifal's mind, fire represents many things, blood, bravery, hope, and danger. Thousands of years ago, the first humans relied on fire to establish the first civilization, and turned the Neanderthals into a unique culture with a long history.

This kind of cultural heritage has been passed down for a long time, and even more than 7000 years later, the custom and tradition of Guangdong people eating lakes and building their own people still remains.

But at this time, the black-red flame that exploded did not bring him any of these feelings. Instead, it seemed to go to the other extreme, cold, twisted, malicious, crazy, and greedy. It has no light, no warmth, but is even more dangerous. The ground, gravel, and werewolves it passes through are all painted black.

The flame itself seemed to have a will of its own.

It was whispering, roaring, and angry.

And all this is passed on to its victims.

The moonlight brilliance of the unicorn was directly destroyed by the exploding black-red flames. The huge body was taken away by the shock wave and hit a thick tree. It was covered in scars and fell into a coma.

Parsifal was still insisting. He held the sword in his hand tightly with all his strength. The sword trembled slightly, conveying a slight sense of stability to him.

Amidst the black and red fierceness, the silver barrier in front of him was crumbling. The lion brooch on the chest has already bloomed its strongest light in the face of such terrifying malice. The red color is burning, and the silver lines are slowly fading and deforming.

The shadow of the lion appeared in mid-air, and it kept roaring, allowing Parsifal to recover a little from the twisted malice. It looked at Voldemort unwillingly and wanted to bite his throat out through the barrier.

It is too old. A thousand years have taken away a lot of its energy, and Parsifal is far less powerful than its original owner, which is not enough to support it to exert all kinds of wonderful power.

The red brilliance from the brooch was fading, and physical fatigue and mental depression swept over him at the same time, but Parsifal entered a somewhat strange state at this moment.

In front of him was Voldemort's ferocious smile, but it was also the edge of a steep cliff. On top of the cliff, a black currant was growing.

Every evening, a farmer-looking man would come over with a small cup of dark red blood and water it. But it would rather not need this kind of "nourishment". Because of the toxicity in the blood, its leaves are yellowing, its trunk is twisted, and even its roots are shrinking.

Wind, sun, and rain make the black currant seem to be deprived of the meaning of its existence. Because of lack of nutrients, it won’t bloom, and because it won’t bloom, it won’t bear fruit.

But it persisted in the end, or at least survived.

Even it doesn't understand why it can do it. Maybe it's just luck, or maybe there's something else.

Until ten years later, a sharp blade cut it down.

Meaningless miracles, meaningless life, eventually turned into the obsession of this black currant, which sat lonely in the window of Ollivander's wand shop for decades.

Until suddenly one day, a little wizard walked into the store.

“Life is about constantly putting the impending death away from oneself.”

For some reason, such a sentence suddenly appeared in Parsifal's mind. The silver sword in his hand became more and more solid. It was not "perfunctory" from the transformation technique, but shone with moonlight and red brilliance. of truth.

Without any sound, the long sword cut through the thin barrier between him and Voldemort, leaving a long scar on Quirrell's back, through which he could almost see his pale sternum and filthy organs.

"what"

Two overlapping screams sounded out, one cold and one humble, and Quirrell's body suddenly turned into black smoke and rose into the air.

The twisted flame seemed to have lost some support. It suddenly lost its shape and turned into a shock wave that spread out, knocking the already powerless Parsifal away and hitting the tree trunk behind him firmly.

"cough."

A mouthful of blood was spit out. The "enhanced" state had ended. The originally exquisite lion brooch had turned into a ball of metal whose original appearance could not be seen. The silver long sword was mottled and full of cracks and was turning into a wand. .

“avada keda avada”

Voldemort, who had returned to his human form, pointed his wand directly at Parsifal, who had collapsed. His face was full of anger and disbelief.

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh"

A dozen spears were thrown at him with a sharp sound of breaking through the air. His expression was distorted, and finally he gave Parsifal a fierce look and turned into black smoke and left.

What rushed out of the woods was the burly centaur Bain, Firenze and Ronan, and an elderly centaur whom Parsifal didn't know followed closely behind him.

"Damn ghost, you still know how to come back"

For some reason, Parsifal, who survived the disaster, just wanted to be skinny.