Author's Note: This was written for round seven of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. My task was to write a fic that included the fragment of Voldemort which was restored in Goblet of Fire.

Disclaimer: I must not tell lies! I am not J.K. Rowling, and I do not own any part of Harry Potter.

Lord Voldemort was ready.

He was ready to rise back to power. He had spent far too much time depending on others. Days turned into months which turned into years, and he still hadn't regained his own body.

How long had it been, exactly? He had lost track long ago, too busy focusing on reaching his goal than on the amount of time it took to get there, and in the meantime he had inhabited countless host bodies. It certainly wasn't an ideal way of living, but living was the goal; Voldemort would do whatever it took to evade death.

Even after all these years, he could still remember the pain of being torn from his body – after all, it wasn't something that was easily forgotten. Raging fire and bitter ice, both at once, battling for control, threatening to overpower him. The excruciating agony was worse than the most powerful Cruciatus Curse. Despite the knowledge of his Horcruxes, he had been amazed to find himself still alive after it all finally faded. There was barely anything left of him, but he had survived. And he was out for blood.

Having no other choice at first, he had retreated deep into the forests of Albania. Virtually helpless without the ability to perform magic, he had begun to occupy host bodies, biding his time while he waited for one of his loyal followers to find him (for surely they were looking). He mostly chose snakes, naturally. But it turned out to be an inconvenient method of existing due to the tendency of the animals to die soon after he arrived. It wasn't that he cared about the snakes – quite the opposite – but he grew tired of the inconsistency and the constant moving around. He needed a more permanent habitat.

He also became more and more frustrated the more time passed with no signs of any of his Death Eaters. Why hadn't they found him yet? They were going to pay dearly once he got his body back; they would regret believing for even a moment that he was gone for good. Him, the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, dead! The thought was absurd. Didn't they know how carefully he had ensured his ultimate immortality?

Then at last, at last, he got the chance he deserved. He was discovered not by a Death Eater, but by a young professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. What exactly Mr. Quirinus Quirrell was doing in the isolated depths of Albania, he wasn't exactly sure, but he wasn't going to look into it. Lord Voldemort didn't ask questions. He simply did what he needed to do and let others worry about the consequences.

Quirrell proved to be useless in terms of bringing Voldemort back to his true form, but the Dark Lord quickly learned that he was valuable in other ways – namely, being a more suitable host for him to possess. The benefits were twofold: not only did Quirrell provide easy access to the halls of Hogwarts, but he would also be more long-lasting than the snakes, yet just as disposable in the end.

Under Voldemort's command, Quirrell developed what seemed at the time to be an infallible plan to take possession of the Sorcerer's Stone. It was the key to producing the Elixir of Life, which would grant Voldemort the everlasting life he coveted.

Yes, it was within their grasp, but unfortunately two obstacles appeared to impede them. The first of these was Albus Dumbledore, who ordered the Stone removed from its secure location in Gringotts Bank mere hours before Quirrell intended to steal it.

Needless to say, Voldemort was furious, but he wasn't going to let the Stone slip through his fingers. Not when he'd been so close. Then the roller coaster of his journey reached another high when he found out that the Stone was to be hidden within Hogwarts itself. The very school in which Quirrell already taught! It was almost too simple – or it would have been if it wasn't for the second proverbial thorn in his side: Harry Potter.

The Stone was going to be his; he and Quirrell had successfully passed all the protection surrounding the precious rock and now it was actually in his (well, technically Quirrell's) sight. It was, somehow, inside the Mirror of Erised… They only had to figure out how to make it materialize…

And then the Potter boy came swooping in to save the day, just as he had unintentionally done so all those years ago. He defeated Quirrell and gained the Stone, leaving Voldemort no choice but to flee and fend for himself once again.

Back to Albania he had gone, his last chances for rising once more rapidly dwindling. The Death Eaters were clearly not going to be any help, and there was no hope of another Quirrell. Voldemort then almost – almost – resigned himself to an eternal existence hidden away in the remote forests of a foreign country. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. This wasn't the way it was supposed to end…

But it wasn't the end. For who should appear next in the Albanian woods but Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail.

Wormtail rapidly grew to be the true key to Voldemort's return to power. He remained a trustworthy and loyal servant to his master, bringing him back home and supporting him during the months when they planned his restoration. It wasn't easy, but Voldemort knew the rewards would be worth the work. The rewards which he would reap that very night.

Everything was in place. They were in the cemetery, and the Potter boy was due to arrive at any moment. Voldemort shivered with anticipation in the small, temporary body which had been created for him. This was it.

They were perhaps only minutes away from the revival of the great Dark Lord.