Harry sent the man an assessing look. "I see, then I wish you success in this new endeavour."
'Perhaps he had yet to realise the stone is fake? Then again I couldn't sense the soul shard on him so I'm not too sure.'
Frustrated, but making sure to hide it with his occlumency shields, Harry turned and made his way out into the surrounding guests.
~ July 15th 1992, Quirrell's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Quirinus Quirrell knew he wasn't the most skilled wizard in the world, however he liked to think that he was adept in certain areas - certainly more so than the average fool. Yet standing now, he felt like he could take on Merlin himself.
He had served his Lord faithfully from when he was still a teenager until his Lord had been defeated by that retched halfblood brat. His loyalty and devotion never wavering during the ten years his Lord had been lost, not even once. Yet now he could feel his undying allegiance was faltering; he had borne his Lord's spirit for a year, willingly and even eagerly, but now he was torn. The Philosopher's Stone: a priceless, o ne of a kind magical artefact, was within his grasp quite literally. The foolish old man's feeble traps and protections had been nothing to him and now he stood holding one of the world's most precious substances, the key ingredient to the elixir of life and the sole object capable of making gold out of anything.
'I could do anything and be anybody with such a powerful artefact,' he thought. However, as soon as the thought entered his mind it also vanished, a pain not unlike the Cruciatus curse quickly taking its place as his Lord made his anger at the traitorous thoughts known.
"Such treachery," the rasped out.
leathery
voice Quirrell quickly remembered his place. "Never, my Lord."
"The Philosopher's Stone… with it I shall be reborn!"
Quirrell felt a rush run through him. His Lord reborn. In that moment any fleeting plans he may have had about the stone vanished as he knew he would do whatever it took to help his Lord return to his former glory.
"Yes master, soon you shall take your place once again above us all. You shall have your revenge on the Light and that brat Potter," Quirrell said, hoping to regain his Lord's favour. Instead he felt a rush of fury before it was masked. Quirinus had been confused when he had met Harry Potter. The boy was nothing like what he had been expecting. He was quiet, smart, and most surprisingly a Ravenclaw. Where was the Light's noble little lion? Their little Light Lord? The boy he had met was honestly somebody he could see growing up to be a fine wizard, however his loyalty to his Lord had kept him at bay. He refused to harbour fond thoughts about the brat who had caused his Lord's downfall that's what he kept firmly in his mind every time the child would do something he approved of.
Yet, slowly, this strict notion of hating the child dwindled; he had felt his Lord's fascination with the boy from the moment Harry Potter had been read out during the child's Sorting. He had felt his Lord's hunger to observe his so-called defeater, the Boy-Who-Lived. At first, out of loyalty to his master, he had planned ways to do away with the child, but not only were opportunities scarce with the brat's little collection of friends always hanging of him like mindless drones, he felt his Lord's captivation with the first year continuously grow.
"The child is… not a concern…," the serpentine voice rasped out, the sound sending chills down Quirinus' back. It wasn't the words that caused the reaction and caught his attention, however, it the feeling that he got from his Lord. He didn't know whether to feel sorry for the child or not, as his Lord was intrigued and felt almost possessive over the young Ravenclaw. ~
Tenyears as a spirit, lost and wandering untethered, had not been part of Tom's plans for Lord Voldemort or the Dark side. That was one of the few rational thoughts that managed to filter in through the haze of anger, pain, and madness.
~
Harry Potter. Such an ordinary name for the boy who had brought about his destruction.
~
Eyes the colour of the killing curse. ~
The thoughts filtered through Tom's consciousness, more clearly now than ever before. Before he had joined onto his follower's mind and possessed his body, Tom's thoughts had been scattered and hazy. Now he was able to make sense of his thoughts and the world around him. It was hard, exhausting, but slowly he drew to some set conclusions.
He had been defeated. Him. By a baby.
He couldn't quite remember why yet, but he knew he would eventually.
~ He shall be marked as his equal.
~
Quirinus watched as the Potter-Black Heir moved through the crowd with easy grace, silently navigating away from him. The crowd seemed to part for him naturally, people often not even noticing their own deference to the small boy.
He had watched the boy from afar since his master plan with the stone had failed. It had been a fake, a well-crafted imposter of the real stone.
He had done everything right for the ritual, hoping to restore his Lord and when he had failed he had feared his Lord's reaction. Instead his Lord laughed, manically at first before it turned genuine, something Quirrell had never heard before. Finally, he had simply ripped himself free, promising Quirinus that he would be rewarded for his aid. After that Quirinus wasn't sure what had happened. The pain of their separation had been too much. He had never felt anything like it—it was a never ending, all-consuming darkness that he didn't think he would escape from. However eventually he had, slowly able to pick himself up, his body shaking with effort and his magic dangerously drained.
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