In a room on the third floor castle inside an otherwise unused castle, someone was sniveling on the stone floor. A purple turban lay forgotten on the floor as a pale wizard's features begged to an invisible force.
The young man's knees pressed on the stone floor, his black robes billowing across his defeated form, hands in a pleading motion with tears streaming down his face.
"My lord, please," begged Quirrell.
"Quiet, you fool," said a raspy voice. "Your insufficient actions caused you this…"
"My lord… It wasn't my fault. I didn't know that there would be a three-headed dog on the third floor."
"I gave you one simple job and that was to figure out the protections around the stone," the invisible man said. "Yet you failed that and now, we have the old man watching us… You drew too much suspicion."
"I'm sorry!"
"You're sorry? One more chance, and I'll find a new host because you are obviously useless."
"Yes, my lord."
With trembling hands, Quirrell picked up his purple turban that once laid forgotten on the floor, and wrapped it around his head. He heard the menacing, whispering voice in his head, threatening to find a new host if he didn't do his job properly.
In that moment, Quirrell felt powerless, as he knew there was no way he was able to get the stone without the old man's suspicions.
…
In another part of the castle, an old man with pearly-white, long hair and beard. A nose that looked like it was broken twice, and light blue eyes that normally were twinkling, wasn't, was pacing. Albus Dumbledore was deep in his thoughts.
His plans were coming together nicely.
Quirrell knew that the stone was hidden somewhere in the castle, and tried gaining access to the third floor corridor. He sent Snape to go after Quirrell after the chaos the troll division caused, and he knew the stone was still laid in the castle, with several ward protections over it.
Saeviour also knew that there was something hidden in the same corridor. He came across the three-headed dog that guarded the trap door underneath its paw, and was currently doing research about Nicolas Flamel.
There was only one setback.
Harrison Peverell-Slytherin.
The blasted brat knew there was something up. His instinct was already telling him that the eleven-year-old was going to bring him trouble in the long run and needed to figure out a way to eliminate the brat, before he unfoiled countless years of planning.
The brat should have stayed in Azkaban where he belonged. It was great for the five years when he was locked up with the only company being the Death Eaters and dementors. He had hoped that the boy would die from the exposure from the dementors or would never again set foot on the mainland as a freeman. Unknownst to him back at the end of July, the ministry and Minister Fudge had set the boy free from his cell, as new evidence came to light.
Even as a child, the eleven year old had a magical core that was already more powerful than the average wizard. It was already dark, so ominous and powerful that it was levels beyond Saeviour Potter's level.
He knew he made the wrong decision that fateful night as soon as he cast a spell on the boy's magical core, and declared that Saeviour was in fact the saviour of the Wizarding World; it was why he had Scoin Harrison Potter locked up in Azkaban, but now that he was free.
He was going to be more trouble than what it was worth.
That was why he needed to find some way to get the brat out of his way. He could always come up with something that would get the brat locked up again as he knew the casualties of muggles wasn't going to be good enough for the ministry or for the public, as they realized from new evidence that the boy like him, didn't hurt all those muggles years before.
It was easier getting the brat locked up in the first place. After all, the Potters neglected him in every means possible, but that happened beyond closed doors. He knew what would happen if the ministry found out that he had played a key role in the neglectful role of a magical child, and would be stripped of all of his titles while being investigated at the same time.
He couldn't allow that to happen.
For now until he came up with a better plan, he would keep an eye on the boy, just like he did to Tom Riddle all those years ago, when the attacks on Hogwarts began. He would do the same thing to Harrison, until he slipped.
He knew under the exterior- underneath the madness, he acted the same way as Tom Riddle had. At least, Peverell-Slytherin didn't bother concealing it like Tom Riddle had. Both of the boys were cold towards their peers, top of their class, and their childhoods were eerily similar. Funny how history had its way of wrapping around, and showing its rear countless times.
...
On countless mornings in December, the Slytherin common room woke up with frost, and ice covering the windows that made it hard to see the Black lake, or the squid that laid beneath the lake. It was no better in any part of the dungeons, where breaths were seen in small, misty clouds. Several Slytherins casted warming spells on themselves including the first years; Harrison didn't mind the cold that lingered in the dungeons.
It made him think of Azkaban, where his fellow inmates shivered, and chattered their teeth while attempting to cast a warming spell on their bodies, as the only thing that kept them warm was the thin black-and-white uniform. They intentionally kept the prison cold and was worse when the temperature dropped below freezing. The aurors didn't bother giving them any heat sources, so most times they pressed their bodies for warmth, and in many cases, got frostbite.
There were several times when there was several feet of snow, and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.
Harrison sat on a chair in the common room, the fire roaring in the background. A quill in his hand as he looked over the otherwise blank parchment if not for the three words written on it, Tom Marvolo Riddle. He knew no one actually knew the Dark Lord's real name, but it had to involve the Dark Lord about it- his instincts were telling him.
He thought about it for several seconds, before he wrote the acronym I am Lord Voldemort on the parchment and realized it crossed out every single letter in the name and that they were truly one and the same.
And now, he had to find a way to contact the Dark Lord without being suspicious.
He heard footsteps echoing to his way, and Harrison quickly made the piece of parchment vanish.
"Harrison!" He heard someone call out.
Harrison cocked his head to the side and saw the familiar pale blonde that belonged to Draco. The blonde seemed a little out of breath, but otherwise had a smile on his face- the blonde was reserved and didn't show emotions, but the common room was a different story. What interested him was the fact that he had a white letter in his hand.
"What is it?" He questioned.
"Mother and father said you can stay with us during the Yule," Draco told him.
"What made you decide this?"
....
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