Whether Quirrell looked back or not didn’t matter.
Vincent knew the Dark Lord beneath the turban had already seen him.
Quirrell rose into the air and flew after him, his rain-soaked black robes billowing like a specter in the storm.
Vincent plunged back into the forest.
This time, he carefully controlled the distance between them.
Sometimes he sprinted.
Sometimes he slowed.
Always remaining just close enough to smell the overwhelming odor of garlic surrounding Quirrell…
And beneath it…
The faint, sickening scent of decay.
Whenever Quirrell began to lose track of him, Vincent deliberately revealed himself for the briefest instant before vanishing into the undergrowth again.
Behind him, Voldemort’s furious voice echoed through the trees.
“You incompetent fool!”
“You can’t even catch a least weasel!”
“I-I’m sorry, my Lord…”
Quirrell’s trembling apology followed immediately.
Vincent didn’t dare relax.
An ordinary wizard would have struggled to pursue such a small Animagus through dense woodland.
But Quirrell wasn’t alone.
He carried Lord Voldemort with him.
I just have to survive until morning.
Once Ms.
Kenna discovers I’m missing, she’ll seek help from the wizarding world.
Then the Aurors can deal with this.
That single thought kept him moving.
Suddenly…
He felt the wind.
That wasn’t right.
The storm had raged all night, but inside the forest, the trees blocked almost all of it.
Now…
The canopy had become noticeably thinner.
Somewhere nearby…
He heard the distant roar of traffic.
Vincent’s heart sank.
“What?”
His Animagus form moved far faster than a human body.
Without realizing it…
He had crossed the entire forest.
The orphanage now lay far to the southeast.
The open meadow where he had transformed was even farther behind.
He had reached the forest’s northwestern edge.
Beyond it…
A coastal highway stretched into the distance.
And beyond the road…
The sea.
“I need to get back into the forest.”
“I have to circle around.”
He immediately turned.
Too late.
A cold voice behind him began chanting an unfamiliar spell.
The forest changed.
The comforting familiarity he had relied upon vanished almost instantly.
The earth around the trees cracked apart.
Ancient roots tore free from the soil.
Towering trunks twisted as they slowly rose upright.
The trees…
…were moving.
Vincent’s eyes widened.
Tree magic?
Or perhaps…
A powerful form of Transfiguration or Charm magic.
Whatever it was…
Quirrell was forcing the forest itself to attack him.
Massive branches swept toward him from both sides.
Roots writhed across the ground like enormous serpents.
Voldemort blocked the rear.
The awakened trees sealed every escape route.
There was only one direction left.
Forward.
Vincent threw himself between two snapping branches.
Twigs scraped harmlessly across his sleek fur as he squeezed through the narrowing gap.
A powerful gust carrying the smell of salt struck his face.
The forest ended abruptly.
Ahead lay a steep slope overlooking the highway.
Far below…
Headlights pierced the rain.
Only a handful of vehicles traveled the lonely coastal road at this hour.
Among them…
A long-distance coach approached steadily.
Behind him…
The animated trees continued crashing through the forest.
Vincent made his decision instantly.
He leaped.
The highway rushed upward.
The coach roof grew larger.
Rain blurred his vision.
He concentrated.
“Softening Charm.”
The spell struck the roof.
Instead of denting inward…
The metal softened like warm wax.
His tiny claws sank harmlessly into the flexible surface.
The impact disappeared almost completely.
A heartbeat later…
He cast another spell.
The metal instantly returned to normal.
Vincent glanced behind him.
Quirrell had already emerged from the forest.
Still pursuing him.
“Without a broom…”
“Even Voldemort can’t outrun modern transportation.”
The thought had barely crossed his mind before another realization struck him.
No.
That wasn’t true.
The smell of garlic…
And decay…
Still lingered behind the moving bus.
Voldemort’s unnatural method of flight allowed Quirrell to keep pace surprisingly well.
Vincent slipped through a slightly open rear window.
The bus interior was warm and stuffy.
It smelled faintly of wet clothes, raincoats, and damp socks.
Only a handful of passengers remained awake.
Two elderly women slept quietly by the windows.
A pair of backpackers whispered to one another.
“…Did the roof cave in just now?”
“…You’re imagining things.”
At the front…
The driver casually rested one hand on the steering wheel while a pack of Dunhill cigarettes sat beside him.
Vincent darted beneath a row of seats.
An empty cola bottle rolled gently across the floor.
Outside…
Rain continued hammering the windows.
Inside…
His mood grew heavier.
Leaving the forest had solved one problem.
But created another.
There was nowhere left to hide.
If Quirrell attacked the coach…
Vincent would have no choice but to leave.
Otherwise…
Every innocent passenger aboard would become collateral damage.
But once outside…
There would be no trees.
No tall grass.
No cover.
He wouldn’t survive long.
“I need another wizard.”
“Someone who can alert the Aurors.”
But where?
The orphanage was impossible.
Returning would only endanger everyone there.
Neville wasn’t an option either.
Vincent didn’t know where the Longbottom family lived.
London…
There were certainly plenty of witches and wizards in London.
The Ministry of Magic.
Diagon Alley.
The Leaky Cauldron.
Any of them could help.
The problem…
Was distance.
The last time Vincent had traveled to London by bus, the journey had taken nearly two and a half hours.
Now he was somewhere unfamiliar.
Finding the correct route…
Changing buses…
Traveling through the night…
Would take even longer.
Can I survive another three hours?
He wasn’t confident.
His thoughts gradually settled on the translucent panel floating at the edge of his vision.
“Are we there yet?”
A sleepy child yawned.
“Not yet.”
“The weather’s terrible.”
“Go back to sleep.”
None of the passengers realized the jolt they had felt earlier hadn’t been caused by the storm.
Hidden beneath the seat…
Vincent rested one tiny paw against the empty cola bottle.
“My Softening Charm worked…”
“But my panic made me enlarge the bottle by mistake.”
“Fortunately, I corrected it before anyone noticed.”
He decided to avoid dangerous spells from now on.
The safest option was simple practice.
“Colovaria.”
The bottle’s label changed from red…
To blue…
To green.
Again.
And again.
The system panel continued updating.
[Additional Talent Requirement: Cast 100 spells while in Animagus form.]
[Completion Progress: (45/100)]
[Completion Progress: (46/100)]
[Completion Progress: (47/100)]
…
One cast after another.
The numbers climbed steadily.
Quirrell—and Voldemort—were still following.
Sooner or later…
They would find a place with no witnesses.
Then they would attack.
Vincent knew the truth.
Even with the extraordinary ability to cast spells while transformed…
His current magic was nowhere near strong enough to defeat Voldemort.
His only hope…
Lay in unlocking the next talent.
[Completion Progress: (48/100)]