"Master, that child, Harry Potter... he lives up to his name. He's terrifying."
Lord Voldemort remained silent, for he too was recalling that fleeting moment—the subtle intimidation flickering in the boy's eyes.
In that environment, the boy seemed to merge with his surroundings; the ground beneath his feet became his sovereign domain, the pub his palace, the bar his throne. A simple, casual fan meet-and-greet speech turned into a saint's sermon that stirred the soul, with the entire atmosphere shifting at his whim.
And right before he left, that divine, unassailable aura of a king, majestic and inviolable... it was practically the ideal version of himself that Voldemort had always envisioned.
What kind of charisma was this? He even doubted his own senses.
Why did he feel that this mere Potter possessed such a terrifying presence?
Even he, the infamous second-generation Dark Lord, didn't have that kind of aura.
The boy seemed to have sensed something, but he probably wasn't sure yet, so it was just a flash before he returned to normal. He didn't do anything to Quirrell... but that didn't make sense either. Why would he have a special attitude toward the harmless Quirrell?
Or perhaps he was just casually testing the mettle of a Hogwarts professor? Not targeting anyone in particular?
It reminded him of his own first days at school. Already gifted with exceptional talent, the self-taught Voldemort who had mastered some spells without instruction had also wanted to probe Hogwarts' depths.
But the one who came to fetch him back then was named Albus Dumbledore.
And now, the one Harry was facing was named Quirinus Quirrell.
Both were Hogwarts professors—not exactly equals, but the difference was night and day.
Young Tom had played a tough game back then. Over half a century later, young Tom had become old Tom, and even now, if he had to face the Dumbledore of those days again, he still wouldn't win.
Many years ago, Tom, who had grown up in a Muggle orphanage, hadn't known about his wizard heritage at first. But once he could control his innate magic—like moving objects without touching them or speaking to snakes—he began engaging in theft and revenge, behaviors that made the other orphanage children fear and shun him.
That summer, Albus Dumbledore, who was then a Transfiguration professor but already one of the world's most powerful wizards, came to the orphanage.
He had heard about some of young Tom's misdeeds, including hanging a child's rabbit and claiming others' belongings as his own.
Hoping to guide Tom toward redemption, he used a burning wardrobe to force Tom into a confession.
This taught young Tom a lesson that Harry, after his transmigration, also understood.
Power was the reason for kingship.
The weak, lacking power, must submit to the strong.
And for the past century, Britain's strongest had undoubtedly been Dumbledore.
This left Voldemort with a permanent psychological shadow; he could never forget the White Wizard's inscrutable fire magic for the rest of his life.
Back to the present: this prophesied archenemy of his, the child who ten years ago had truly used some unknown means to rebound the Killing Curse, reducing him to his current state, was clearly still in the early stages of encountering the wizarding world.
But his performance outshone even Voldemort's own back then—under Dumbledore's guidance, he had learned restraint, but this boy was more confident, more... exceptional.
In the Leaky Cauldron, many wizards had just met him for the first time, yet they already showed signs of wanting to pledge allegiance and become his loyal hounds.
Voldemort had seen people flock to him plenty of times, but only after advancing to higher years.
Back then, as an orphan relying solely on his "ability to fight" to conquer Slytherin, Voldemort had grasped the law of the strong ruling as king and aspired to become a fearsome Dark Lord.
With his ambition and strength, he attracted fervent pursuit and worship from some pure-blood students at the school.
They formed the Knights of Walpurgis, the precursor to the Death Eaters.
But the self-serving Tom merely treated his followers as servants with useful value.
Their ranks were diverse: "the weak seeking protection, the ambitious hoping to bask in his glory, and the naturally cruel drawn to a leader who could teach them higher forms of cruelty."
But those people in the pub just now seemed conquered by a long-held admiration and fantasy turning real, with the actual person even more charismatic than imagined—it felt purer somehow.
He still couldn't understand it. The child was only eleven? No matter how he thought about it, it didn't add up. How had he trained himself like this? Where did that power, charisma, and presence come from? Was he truly born to be king?
Voldemort recalled the prophecy again, the one his loyal servant Snape had relayed to him—
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches—born to those who have thrice defied him—born as the seventh month dies—and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal—but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not—and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives—the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
The prophecy was indeed true; this child was more exceptional than he had imagined.
Voldemort grew even more anxious.
According to the prophecy, only one could survive... and he had already died, his body destroyed by his own supremely powerful Killing Curse—before Harry appeared, Tom had always believed his Avada Kedavra was the strongest in history.
No one understood the Killing Curse better than him! (Accordion)
And no one could resist it, not even himself.
After being hit head-on by the Killing Curse, he had only survived completely thanks to the power of his Horcruxes, lingering in a state between life and death.
The one who survived was the other. If the prophecy was correct, if he couldn't kill him, then he himself could never truly live.
The boy was already this formidable now; once he grew up, wouldn't Voldemort have no chance at all?
"Master, in that moment of the handshake, I felt like he could kill me at any time. His little hand was strong and firm; the instant he gripped mine, I knew I couldn't escape, and I had no power to resist... it was like I was the child."
Quirrell wasn't stuttering now.
He didn't have to play the fool when talking to Voldemort.
Contrary to what Harry imagined, Voldemort was braver than he thought—or rather, more reckless.
He had been even weaker before, only able to possess particularly frail creatures like rats. After a decade of recuperation, he had regained a bit of his magic and could control Quirrell.
He spent most of his time hiding in Quirrell's turban, undercover with him, including heading to Hogwarts and traveling alongside Dumbledore.
If Harry knew, he'd probably sigh in admiration: when there's work to be done, the boss really steps up himself for the undercover mission.
Perhaps it was because he had no body, and with Horcruxes as a safety net, his state couldn't get any worse, so he wasn't as cautious as in life. He could afford to be reckless—Dumbledore couldn't kill him a second time anyway.
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