Soon, the keys filled the sky, emitting a blazing high temperature, and the whole room was like a stove.

In this case, Kilow could not tell which one was the key to the door, and he himself was trapped in the ocean of keys.

Voldemort, whose face was full of blisters, howled in pain, urging Quirrell to leave quickly or kill him.

An hour later, Kilowe, a patient with a third-degree burn, finally struggled to pass Professor McGonagall's level.

At this time, he broke his arm, limped his leg, scalded all over his body, and only had one life. He walked to the last room like a zombie.

A long blood line was dragged on the ground.

Qiluo trembled and opened the last door. Fortunately, there was nothing scary here, only a table with twenty small bottles of the same style on it.

As soon as Quirrell crossed the threshold, a flame rose from behind him, sealing the door.

The flame was unusual and purple. At the same time, a black flame also rose from the doorway leading to the front.

He was trapped in the middle.

Quirot walked to the table, grabbed a roll of parchment placed on it, and read it carefully several times. Even his eyebrows were burned, revealing deep wrinkles.

"Dumbledore's bottle, drink it and send you back to your original place, Snape's bottle, lead you forward...other poison."

Kiro pondered for a long time and asked in a hoarse voice: "Master, do you know which bottle the potion that has passed through the flames is?"

Quirot himself could hardly think, and the pain on his body made his head explode.

"How do I know?" Voldemort glanced at the parchment several times and said disdainfully: "Snape doesn't know, Dumbledore doesn't know. Snape doesn't know, and Dumbledore will know...

It is obvious that Dumbledore used his superb divine enchantment!"

"Hyphorical, he used to say that he never had to take the gods and think..."

Quirrell was speechless. Is it time to discuss whether Dumbledore is false or not?

In desperation, Kiro turned out a quill and began to write and draw on parchment paper.

At the end of the writing, he still couldn't determine whether the number in Snape's hand was two or four!

Schrödinger's potion!

"What should I do?" Quirrell was anxious.

A half probability, do you have to make a comeback?

But the result of failure is to drink poison and die in this last level!

At this moment, Kiro remembered the popular roulette in Eastern European magic circles.

It was a cruel gambling game, and the rules were very simple. In one of the six magic wands, a death curse was cast!

The wizard who bets on life must constantly choose from it, then aim the wand at the head, and then activate the magic inside.

The living can take all the prizes, and the losing ones will be left with their lives!

It is said that the previous generation of Dark King Grindelwald was a master in this field.

When he was at the Demstrong Magic School, he kept betting with students, but never lost!

Grindelwald has not lost, but it does not mean that he, Quirrell, will not lose.

Looking at the logic question that seemed to be without any danger, Quirrell couldn't laugh, and tears were circling in his stomach.

"Hurry up!" Voldemort urged.

"But...Master, I may die, so no one will help you get the Philosopher's Stone." Quirot pleaded.

"No, I said I would give you eternal life, and even if I die, I will be able to resurrect you."

Voldemort whispered gently:

"Hurry up, Kiro, choose one! The important thing now is to get the Philosopher's Stone. Time is really precious."

Kilow looked at Snape's row of bottles, and finally hesitated in the numbers two and four for five minutes, and placed his right hand on the bottle number four with a trembling trembling.

He swallowed it in one go.

Over the past semester, Quirrell has suffered all kinds of physical sufferings, but after the potion enters his stomach, the burning heat coming out of his chest makes him feel very strange.

It penetrates the heart, but it hurts the heart.

He knew he had chosen the wrong choice!

Wrong,

It means death.

Qiluo doesn't want to die yet, otherwise why did he survive in the forests of Albania until now?

But the feeling of death is so real that Kilow could feel the passing of life. The feeling was not like physical pain, but almost mental hardship.

Suddenly, Kilow felt a pair of hands and took the wand from his pocket.

Kiro fell to the ground, trying to see who it was, but tears flowed out of his eyes and blurred his vision.

He raised his weak arm, wiped away the tears from his eyes, and finally saw the man's appearance clearly.

Voldemort.

Voldemort's body was as big as a baby. He sat on the ground gasping for breath. A ferocious face occupied almost half of his body. His color was as white as chalk. His red eyes emitted light, and there were two thin nostrils like snakes below.

Voldemort had escaped from Kilo's body, he returned to his Albanian state, sitting on the ground, staring at Kilo.

"Unfortunately, Merlin was not with you, Quirrell." Voldemort said coldly: "You made the wrong choice and lost a chance."

"But, it's okay if you die, I don't think you will succeed.

Do you know, Quirrell?

I have been tired of you for a long time, my weakness has caused me so much harm... You deserve to die!"

Voldemort was talking, and at this time he seemed to have talked too much.

"It would have been a year earlier. Tywin is an excellent servant, but unfortunately he has entered Azkaban now..."

Kilow's red eyes looked at Voldemort tightly, and tears that could not stop flowed down his pale, bloody face.

"You promised me." Quirot murmured.

The expression on his face was distorted by extreme pain. "Master, I'm really sorry, but you promised me..."

"Yes, the kind Voldemort did say that he would give you eternal life and would not break his promise."

Voldemort took Quirrell's wand and began chanting the spell.

A green light suddenly lit up on Quirrell's body. This was a magic that Voldemort had used a long time ago.

Just wait for Kiro to make a sacrifice before he dies!

Qiluo is a useless servant, but he still occupies a place in the next plan.

As Voldemort cast his magic, smoke floated out of Kiro's body.

Quirot lay on the cold ground, feeling a stream of blood flowing out of the wound below his ribs.

Kilow suddenly felt that he had recovered some strength. He raised his bloody hands and felt that he had turned into mist.

Yes, he felt his body gradually melting into the mist.

Soon, the pain disappeared completely.

Quirot laughed happily.

Voldemort laughed, too.

In his sight, Kiro slowly became transparent.

Quirot turned into a ghost.

...

...

(Thanks to the two bigwigs "First Five-Year Plan" and "Fellow Daoist, please stay here" for their rewards)
Chapter completed!