***I Own Nothing. All Hail Our Queen***

**Some lines directly from cannon. Some ideas inspired by the absolutely stunning story Prince of the Dark Kingdom **

The shutters creaked on the old house as Quirrell stepped over the lifeless body of an old groundskeeper. Voldemort's joy was growing within him with every step he took into the security of the Dark Lord's ancestral home. Avoiding the most warped and termite damaged floorboards, he stepped across the room to an old easy chair. The last 24 hours were the most difficult of the former professor's life.

Settling himself down into the chair, he could feel his master's impatience but it hardly mattered anymore. Without a body of his own Voldemort's more powerful soul would destroy Quirrell's and take over his body. As soon as they drank the potion made by the stone he would be dead, in the mean time he was exhausted. Mentally he focused on his aches, cuts, and the rather large gash in his leg. Voldemort's anger lessened.

It wasn't out of pity for his servant's condition. Quirrell knew Voldemort wanted a healthy body not a limping, drained shell.

As the two sat there, Quirrell kept awake only by the background drone of his master's busy thoughts, a cloud crept over the old house. Quirrell's tired eyes made nothing of the stormy weather as it closed around them and began slowly using the stone in their pocket to drain their energy into the sky.

~'*'~

The castle looked peaceful as they returned across the grounds. The windows glowed brightly through the dark, far too many lights were lit for the current hour.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty entrance hall. Professor McGonagall rushed forward, waiving away their explanation of their recent whereabouts.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, back to Gryffindor. You three," she said motioning to the professors, "better come with me, the Headmaster is asking for you."

"What happened Minerva?" Lily asked, pulling Harry closer to her.

"Not now Lily, please come along."

The three teachers looked back and forth between each other. Lily shook her head no, leaving Harry seemed like a very bad idea.

"Severus, please," the older woman pleaded.

"Yes, yes of course Minerva. Harry take the others back to your dorms-"

Harry and Lily began to protest.

"Lily, he'll be safe in the tower. Not now Harry," he said silencing the boy. "We'll come up when we're done." Snape nodded at Hermione and she led both of the reluctant boys toward the staircases.

The four teachers walked in silence toward the headmaster's chamber. Aerin was shaking and Snape placed his arm around her shoulders to calm her. The gargoyle turned to reveal the spiral staircase and faint murmurs could be heard from above.

"We believe that he let the troll in himself," came the unmistakeable squeaky voice of the charms professor.

"Yes, that makes sense," answered the older, deeper voice of the headmaster.

"But you assured me Dumbledore, you said the stone was safe! The tests were sure to stop any wizard, you said so!"

Lily raised an eyebrow to Snape at the whining voice of Cornelius Fudge. Walking through the door they took in a red faced minister, an irate Professor Flitwick and a stoic Albus Dumbledore.

"Ah, Lily! I trust your evening went well, yours too Professor O' Neill. I was just advising our Minister of the current situation."

"And exactly what is the situation, Albus?" asked Minerva, sitting in the nearest chair.

"He's lost it! One of his own staff let a troll into the school and then used it as a diversion to pass the tests and steal the stone," the Minister accused.

"Who?" asked Lily.

"Who else?" Snape's tone was dark and his childhood friend looked at him with concern.

"It was Professor Quirrell. He let a troll into the dungeon half way through dinner. He pretended to faint and Poppy took him to the hospital wing. After she left him with some pepper up potion we think he snuck into the corridor," Flitwick supplied from beside the Headmaster's desk.

"But why?" Aerin looked around in confusion. "He was still young, and he seemed so meek."

"Dumbledore and I believe that he might have been more than he seemed. He may have been part of a small group who are trying to reignite the ideas of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

All three women exclaimed their disgust at the very idea and the little man waited for them to quiet down before continuing. "Most of the people who think this way are getting on in age. We think they may need the stone to keep some of their older members alive. The group is located in South Eastern Europe according to rumor and is far too small to afford the loss of any of its members."

"So what do we do now?" Aerin looked around the room. "We're facing a small group of people who can't die of old age. We can still physically attack them. The only real difference this might make is that their group will become more attractive the longer they are allowed to continue. Their membership will greatly increase with their ability to supply their followers with endless gold and immorality."

"Those two promises may attract greater men than we think," Dumbledore said looking at Fudge.

The Minister of Magic blushed, remembering their conversation on the night Albus had first been given the stone for safe keeping.

"Well yes, lengthening one's life can seem appealing to some. This group, if it exists, is thousands of miles away and the threat of Azkaban by the ministry would dissuade any sane man from joining. What's the point of lengthening your life if you'll spend the rest of it under the care of the dementors?"

"Is there anyway to find it Albus?" Minerva asked, ignoring the Minister completely.

A twinkle came to the old man's blue eyes.

"Ah yes Minerva, it may not be in the castle but I've got an eye on it," his grin made Fudge extremely uncomfortable but calmed the others. It was a grin that assured them that the stone wouldn't be gone for long.

~'*'~

Harry wanted to scream. The three of them had been curled up on couches in the common room for nearly an hour now. The other Gryffindors had all been awake when they came in, talking wildly about the troll; the older students speculating about how exactly it got onto the grounds let alone into the school.

Slowly the other students had gone up to their dorms and left the trio sitting in silence. Harry knew he was young. He hated when other kids got indignant at being treated their age, how else were they supposed to be treated? Still, he couldn't help but feel that his history made him count as older than just the eleven years he'd lived. How many other children had had to make the choices he had or dealt with the pure insanity he'd encountered over the past few months?

Yet here he was, stuck in the common room, waiting for the grown-ups to explain what exactly was happening. His anger was interrupted by Ron murmuring something next to him.

"What?" asked Harry irritably.

"Sorry," the red headed boy turned pink. "I just asked if you two heard what Freya said to me..."

"No," Harry responded quietly, regretting his tone. "I spoke to her about me though. Sorry I bit your head off, just a bit stressed."

"We all are Harry, it's going to be okay. Dumbledore has dealt with way worse situations than a troll in the castle," Hermione concluded by pulling out a battered book and flipping through the pages.

"During rituals it's common for each person present to hear a message from the god or goddess addressing their specific needs and questions. Very rarely do all participants hear the same message. Usually this will only occur when multiple direct servants of the god or goddess are connected by a common obstacle."

"Where'd you get that?" Harry asked eagerly. "Can I see it?"

"Your mom let me borrow it after lunch so I could get a better idea of what they were doing during the ritual," she explained as she handed over the old tome.

Ron scooted closer to Harry and read over his shoulder.

"How can you make this stuff out? It's not even in English half the time," Ron squinted at the page which was covered in foreign symbols mixed with familiar words.

"She gave me another book to help me translate. It's been really hard but I like the challenge. Your mom said there's an ancient runes course I can take in third year," Hermione looked positively elated at the thought and Ron looked at her as if she were insane.

"You want to take a class on how to read little pictures?" the red head frowned as he peered at the bushy haired girl.

"They're not 'little pictures' Ron, they're runes and if you're serious about studying Old Magic with us you should probably take it too."

Harry looked up from the book, "Study with us?"

"Yes, with you and I," Hermione looked confused. "You are going to study it, aren't you Harry? There's a genealogy section in that book and Potter is one of the oldest surnames with Old Magic connections," she took back the volume and flipped to a fold out section near the end. "See? 'Potter, a family of fire'."

"I'm not sure Hermione, isn't this overwhelming? I mean this time last year if someone had shown you this exact same book, wouldn't you have thought it was just a bunch of fairy tales and made up non-sense?"

Hermione paused, looking down at the runes, "But you heard her Harry, what did she say to you?"

The words were etched into his memory, "Things are happening at this moment that will change your future forever," he whispered.

"The troll? How could a troll in the dungeon change your future?" asked Hermione.

"Maybe Freya meant that stone your mom was talking about when she woke up," Ron said, finishing with a wide yawn.

"That's right! Your mom said that the stone had been stolen." Hermione reached into her bag again and retrieved her copy of Hogwarts: A History.

"I don't remember reading anything about a stone in here," she flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning for anything she'd missed.

Harry just wanted to go to bed. His future was changed, whether he liked it or not. Yet as reluctant as he was to jump into a religion that required so much devotion, he longed for that beautiful voice to tell him again not to worry. The sense of comfort he'd felt during the whole ritual was now replaced by anxiety and fear. Goddess or not, he couldn't help but wonder if she'd been wrong, he couldn't feel any greatness in himself.

He was just about to give up on his mother coming back when the portrait swung open and she stepped through with Professor O' Neil and Professor Snape. The look on her face was as calming to Harry as the voice of Freya had been and the young boy unashamedly ran and hugged his mother.

~'*'~

Alastor Moody awoke to a burning in his pocket. Pulling a small red stone from where it was stored, he quickly switched the burning rock to his left hand, which had fewer nerves than the right.

He grunted as he pulled himself out of bed, fully dressed. He'd been practicing this mission for the past month. Whatever plan Dumbledore had in mind when he placed the stone at the school had apparently failed. When the Headmaster was sure it wouldn't work out, the chambers protecting the stone presented a rather perfect place to store the decoy stone.

The real stone had been left in Moody's care, the fact that half the wizarding world believed the old Auror was mad ensured no one would make a house call and accidentally see it. He touched the stone with his right hand and attempted to pull his scarred face into a grin. It was cooling down. When it was completely cold he would activate the charm to transport himself.

He grabbed his staff and stepped into the back yard. He'd recently taken up gardening, a tad emasculate, but it passed the time. Besides, if any one snuck up on him he'd enchanted his trowel to attack any intruders who didn't know the password.

"Abigail," he said quietly and the sharpened garden tool dropped on its course towards his head. His electric blue eye swiveled and examined a shadow in the corner of the garden.

"Are you coming then?" Moody growled and a young woman stepped forward from the shadows. Her hair was already cycling from a camouflage of grays and browns to a bright red for just a moment before settling to a mousey brown.

"Where are we going?"

"Depends. Can you follow directions? You're barely six months into training and the last thing I need is for you to slow me down, or worse, die."

"I brought my cloak," she answered, pulling a ministry regulation invisibility cloak from her bag. "I need observation hours to pass but you're always doing your missions in the middle of the night."

Mad-Eye grunted, "Stay under the cloak and don't get hit by curses. I don't know how many wizards we're heading toward."

"Should we call for backup?" Tonks asked, looking nervous now.

"This isn't ministry business yet."

"Yet?"

"Fudge only claims my side missions if they help him politically," Moody held out the stone. "If you want to come, come."

Nymphadora hesitated for a moment before touching the stone in her mentor's hand and together they were transported toward a storm covered house.

~'*'~

Voldemort had been planning this for years. He had long coveted the Philosopher's Stone but had thought himself too powerful to die and failed to obtain it during his reign ten years ago. He had chided himself a thousand times since his body was destroyed for not taking it sooner.

The Elixir of Life would give him the power to take over Quirrell's body and return to full strength. Making the Elixir would take time and patience but Quirrell was clever, weak willed and cowardly, but clever. Voldemort longed for his other servants. The company of the half-blood weakling was nauseating. Hearing the man's whimpering thoughts of aches and fatigue tried the Dark Lord's patience far more than he let the man know. Soon, he would be united with his dark followers, soon he would hear their excuses and give them the punishment they deserved.

Voldemort's thoughts became more scattered as he began to feel exhaustion overcoming him. After his many sleepless years the sensation was alarming. A moment before he lost consciousness he became aware that he felt magically exhausted as well. With the last of his failing strength both he screamed before falling into darkness.

Quirrell woke with a start. He felt even more sore than when he remembered before falling asleep. What was worse was how depleted his magic felt.

His master's silence brought him to his feet, wand out. He crept to the window and saw the strange clouds surrounding the house. A board creaked above him and he shot a stunner through the gaps between two boards.

Another creak came from the opposite end and he shot again. Even as he cast the spells he could feel his magic being pulled from him. He tried to apparate but stopped when he sensed resistance.

"MY LORD!" he screamed inside his head. "MY LORD I NEED YOUR HELP OR WE WILL LOSE THE STONE!"

A reply came from the back of his mind and he did as he was told. Attempting to run toward the door he felt the wound from the cerberus open and blood running down his calf. Reaching for the door handle he was blown backward the second it opened. As he hit the ground the red stone bounced out of his pocket and a sense of relief washed over him. Slowly regaining his strength, he moved behind a chair to catch his breath.

Glimpsing through a hole in the fabric he saw that it was clear went for the door once again. He heard something crack as he was thrown backwards once more.

Pain seared through his now broken arm and he began to whimper. "Finite Incantatem!" the Dark Lord's voice roared. When nothing happened Quirrell heard his master decide it must be an invisibility cloak. "Accio Cloak!" again nothing happened. "Must be ministry grade or better," the man spoke again, his voice not his own.

A board behind them shattered, whoever was attacking wasn't worried about causing a little damage to their bounty.

Quirrell peeked his head around the table he'd landed behind after his last attempt to escape. A green light flashed toward them and Quirrell lost control of his body all together as the Dark Lord yanked them out of the way.

"A mistake," Voldemort thought, "I should never have bound my soul to a body so weak. Where's the stone!?"

"It fell my Lord but-"

"SILENCE!" the voice roared through his mind and he physically flinched against the wall.

Heavy foot steps came down the stairs.

"Show yourself filth and I'll let you live out your life in Azkaban instead of spending your last moments begging for death in this decrepit house."

Voldemort could mentally hear Quirrell's opinion that Azkaban may be better than death and sent a wave of rage toward the tiny voice. Concentrating, Voldemort attempted to probe the room to find the enemies magic without a visible body. He sent a curse flying toward a magical signature before realizing it was simply where a spell had been cast to protect a coat of arms above the fire place. Quirrel's mind was too weak to distinguish between different types of magic. Glancing behind him, Voldemort saw that the boards the earlier spell had destroyed were covering a hole in the wall. Silently, he disillusioned himself, then cast "Quietus" and moved slowly toward the hole. A feeling of disgust grew in the pit of his stomach, he was crawling away from an opponent like a wounded animal, but he couldn't afford to loose this body with his soul so weak.

Voldemort felt Quirrel stir in the back of his mind as their hands touched grass. The storm clouds were gone and he ran toward the trees as fast as he could on his injured leg.

Making it to the treeline, Voldemort searched for the portkey that the constantly nervous professor had prepared just in case. He spotted the red can buried halfway in a pile of dead leaves and pushed all of his energy into reaching it.

Pain burst through every fiber of his being. He and Quirrell screamed in unison as their now visible body collapsed next to the pile of leaves. Convulsing with agony neither mind able to make sense of the fire in their blood.

A foot wedged itself under their stomach and flipped them onto their back. Mad-Eye Moody stood above them, wand inches from Quirrell's nose.

"Well Professor, you're a more difficult man to catch than I would have imagined. Expelliaramus." Quirrell's wand flew out of his hand and into the auror's even as the force of the spell further punished the prone man's aching body. His broken arm screamed through the myriad of other aches clamoring in his head.

"Did you just use the Cruciatus Curse?" a voice asked from behind Alastor.

"Sometimes you gotta do whatever it takes to catch scum. If Dumbledore didn't want him for questioning I'd have already killed'em. You can't be too careful with dark wizards girl. Better them dead and you with a guilty conscience then them alive with a grudge."

Moody raised his wand to bind his captive but Quirrell pushed to the front of his own mind in time to reach out and grab the can.

Knowing that where they were going was safe, both souls let themselves fade into unconsciousness.

***Have questions? Ask away! Thanks once again to the wonderful Majerus who corrects what he needs to correct and fluffs what needs to be fluffed!***