AN: This chapter had to be absolutely perfect (and yet, I haven't proofread it...huh) so it took longer than anticipated. Whatever, right?
Chapter 14 - probably the halfway point in Harry's first year. Put on your big kid pants, boys and girls - this chapter is entirely Harry and Voldemort. ENTIRELY. All I can say is...if you have questions, ask.
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Enjoy.
Chapter 14: Dealing with the Devil
Harry grimaced slightly as he rubbed the dirt off his fingers, but he never dared to take his eyes off Professor Quirrell. The man in question had turned away from him briefly, leisurely moving to examine the body sprawled out in the dirt.
Harry's heart raced and his muscles burned, especially the ones in his calves has he pushed himself off the ground. The situation – was not good at all. Quirrell, a bloody teacher, had discovered him in the midst of a ritual. Harry had as good as murdered a centaur in his presence; and who knew what shape Weasley was in? The damned idiot had to go any make everything worse, didn't he?
"Not the brightest boy, is he?" Professor Quirrell questioned lightly, nudging Weasley's face with the end of his boot.
Harry watched on in silence as he edged imperceptibly towards his wand, lying innocently a few feet away.
Or rather, almost imperceptibly, it seemed.
Professor Quirrell's head snapped quickly back to Harry. Through the shadows, Harry could make out the traces of a grin. It was hard to miss those eyes, as well.
"Now, now, Harry, do you really wish to pick a fight this early on?" Professor Quirrell goaded softly, slowly turning to face him.
"Considering the fact that you have attacked me every damn time we meet, it's probably my turn to turn the tables, right?" Harry gritted out, balling bloody fists at his sides.
Professor Quirrell tipped his head in acknowledgement, taking assured strides to approach Harry. In turn, Harry's body tensed as his scar seared with a sudden pain. If the man tried to vanish on him again…
"Tell me something…Harry," Professor Quirrell drawled, face to face with the boy. "Do you even know to whom you are speaking?"
Harry scoffed, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. "Quirinus Quirrell – former Muggle Studies professor, and a rubbish Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Wrong."
Harry raised his eyebrows, silently urging the man on. Instead, a dark chuckle was all he received in response.
"The Weasley child had a dog with him," Professor Quirrell said. "Very amusing, isn't it, that the dog had the common sense to turn and flee when Ronald Weasley himself did not? Look at him now…lifeless."
Harry ignored the jolt of dread that raced down his spine. He was not happy with the boy, but he really hadn't meant to kill him.
"So he's dead then?" He eventually managed to get out. Professor Quirrell raised an amused eyebrow, but it seemed that the man refused to answer that question as well.
"That is not important," Professor Quirrell said, surprising Harry. Really, the boy's life was "not important?"
The red eyes locked onto his own were shining in eagerness. "Let us instead talk, Harry Potter. If I were to ask you how you managed to survive a Killing Curse cast by the most powerful wizard in the world, what would your answer be?"
Harry looked down, the intensity of the red eyes and the danger in the man's voice rattling his senses. Regrouping himself quickly, Harry steeled his expression, looking up once more. "I'd say that I couldn't be sure, but the wizard got what he deserved, trying to off me."
In three quick strides, Harry found himself looking up into Professor Quirrell's darkly amused face. Harry's eyebrows knitted together as the pain originating in the scar on his forehead hit a crescendo.
"And if that wizard who, as you say, 'got what he deserved,' stood in front of you today," Professor Quirrell murmured, so softly that it was nearly a whisper. "Would you say the same?"
Vaguely, Harry noticed that his breath was coming quicker in short pants. The weight of his legs, astonishingly, seemed to have disappeared with a Feather-light Charm. Despite this, Harry felt the stirrings of anger. Professor Quirrell was toying with him again.
Again.
"Yes," Harry spoke through gritted teeth. "And if he was standing in front of me, I'd ask him what the hell he was thinking, planning to kill off a toddler."
Harry flinched violently as a hand came down to pat him on the shoulder. Regrouping once more, Harry realized that Professor Quirrell was laughing at him.
Laughing!
"Harry Potter, you are not even aware of how much I admire you," Professor Quirrell said, shaking his head in mirth. "Enough of these games, then - Lord Voldemort, at your service."
What. The. Fuck?
Harry took an involuntary step back, tripping on the heap that was his discarded robe. A quick hand grasped his wrist, pulling him even more quickly back to a vertical base. The red eyes of…Lord Voldemort?...stared back at him, even more amused than before.
"Perhaps 'at your service' is a bit of a lie," Voldemort continued, as if Harry had not tripped and interrupted him. "I serve no one – it works the other way around."
The blasted eyebrow was raised in Harry's direction once again. "Please do tell me when you've pulled yourself together, Harry Potter; we have much to discuss."
To say that Harry's emotions were turbulent would be a gross understatement. The fear and anxiety of having another – two others, at that – bear witness to his ritual was unsettling. Even more so, that unsettlement mixed with anger, frustration, and the combination frayed at his nerves.
This man…the man standing in front of him, wearing the appearance of another, was as dangerous and powerful as they came. Harry could almost sense the man's power through the goose bumps lining his skin, pulling his skin taut and forcing his muscles to tense even more.
What was he supposed to feel? Awe? Contempt? Lord Voldemort had singled him out, a courtesy that Harry was sure would flatter many people, with the desire to…talk? Is that truly all the man wanted? Harry let out a small snort of air through his nostrils. Of course that wasn't all he wanted; the man was a Dark Lord – a leader, an aspiring ruler.
More than anything, one thought lingered in the forefront of Harry's mind.
"You killed my parents," Harry stated matter-of-factly.
A twitch of thin lips gave way to a humoring nod. "Yes. I did."
Harry looked up into remorseless red eyes. He took a deep breath and turned away, reaching down to the ground. That utterance was all that was needed for an emotion to rule his actions.
That emotion was anger.
Scooping up his wand from the pile of his discarded items, Harry arched his lower back, moving to stand upright. A wand, however, jabbed at his neck.
Harry glared back at Voldemort's daring expression, his upper lip quivering with restrained malice.
"Do you want an apology?" Lord Voldemort asked callously, inspecting the fingernails of his left hand. "I could give you one, if that would settle the matter; however, the apology would be completely insincere."
The anger in Harry's heart bubbled over, making itself known in his throat. "I don't want an apology, Voldemort; I want retribution."
The man scoffed, digging his wand into the side of his neck. "For what? For an act committed a decade ago? For a crime in which I have already suffered a fate worse than death for? Harry Potter, if anything, I deserve recompense for what you have caused."
Harry's mouth fell open on its own accord. "You think I owe you? Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. You come into my house, annihilating the only chance I would ever have at a normal life, and you demand payment from me? You're mental, Voldemort."
"It is only through my grace, my mercy, Harry Potter, that you are still breathing," Lord Voldemort snapped. "And do you really wish you that you had had a 'normal' upbringing? That is neither here nor there, however…you say you have no idea how you survived my Killing Curse and I believe you. In fact," he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. "I don't think you'd be so lucky as to survive another one. What do you say we test that theory, Harry? Feeling up to defying the laws of nature once more?"
Harry ignored his fleeting heart. "Go ahead," He goaded the man. "Try it. I'll make sure you regret this one as well, you bastard."
The wand at his neck prodded painfully at his trachea for a moment before being pulled away. The dratted grin was back on Voldemort's face, all traces of anger gone.
"A bastard," The man nodded. "Yes, I am most certainly that."
Harry rubbed at his throat with his left hand, his right coming up with his wand to point at the man in front of him.
"I killed my own father, if it is any consolation," Lord Voldemort revealed smugly. "A muggle of the worst sort. He turned his back on my mother and on me before I was even born."
Harry listened in silence, his anger slowly leaving him as self-preservation kicked in. Honestly, what had he been thinking trying to pick a fight? That was no way to get out of this unscathed. Voldemort, it seemed, was invested in his own story.
"My mother…she was no angel, either," Voldemort continued, shaking his head in ironic humor. "A squib, or nearly one. Foolishly, she enslaved my father, having no hope of seducing the man of her desires herself.
"My parents' incompetence landed me in an orphanage where I spent the first eleven years of my existence – oh, I see I have your attention now, don't I, Harry? We are so similar, after all. Both powerful, both originating from unseemly backgrounds – does your contempt for the non-magical population run as deeply as my own, I wonder? Being raised amongst the dogs, it is hard not to develop that ire, that itch that cannot be scratched."
Lord Voldemort had begun pacing with his speech, but now stared again into the boy's eyes.
"We even look something similar, as you will see when I regain my own body," Voldemort acknowledged. "And through all of this, Harry – from our first meeting until now – I have done whatever possible to aid you in your own discovery of magic."
Harry shook his head in denial. "Lucius Malfoy provided me with the book on ritualism. Severus Snape…I think he knows what I am doing. During class a while back, he had us brew a potion that required Runespoor's venom. What have you done?"
A pleased grin marred Voldemort's face. "Who ordered Lucius Malfoy to provide you those books? Who revealed to Severus Snape the need for you to obtain Runspoor's venom? Who provided the unicorn horn that you have neglected to mention? I did.
"I have watched you perform each of your three rituals, Harry. I have kept an eye on you from your first day at Hogwarts until now." The sadistic grin morphed into a satisfied smirk. "I even provided you with the runes for your second ritual."
"No," Harry whispered softly. That was Dumbledore. Right? And Lucius said he no longer followed Voldemort!
Voldemort tilted his head to the side. "What use is having a full-fledged Potions Master as a follower if you are not going to use his talents, Harry? Polyjuice is such a simple disguise, and so easily overlooked when one has the ability to act."
Harry looked down, the edges of the runes on his forearms peeking out of the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.
"Looking for lessons, are you, Harry?" Voldemort smiled.
Harry ignored the man – he was, but from Voldemort? "Why did you pick these, then? Constancy, responsibility, what do they mean to you?" Harry questioned.
Voldemort chuckled darkly. "Despite what I said earlier, I do not blame you, I hope you know," The man uttered softly, dismissing Harry's inquiries. "It would be so easy to hold a grudge, Harry, but the fault lies with me. More than anything, your ambition to succeed has placated my anger. You live, and have not wasted your life wandering about."
"I made a mistake, that night. What exactly that mistake was, I still am not sure. Inexplicably, you survived when I turned my wand to you, and you caused me the most pain I have ever experienced. Ahhh…such pain, certainly beyond tolerance – but I withstood it and was ripped from by body as it turned to ash, condemning me to a miserable existence. As I said, it would be only too easy to hold you accountable.
But I do not. You lived. I survived. And Quirinus Quirrell approached me, the weakling he is, hoping to use me to bolster his own reputation. And I couldn't stand for that, could I? He…lent me his body, but has since betrayed my good will."
Harry could barely keep track of the man's words; watching the man pace had left him disoriented. Pinching the bridge of his nose to lose that sense of dizziness, Harry asked the question prevalent in his mind: "So is he alive?"
Lord Voldemort tapped his chest lightly with both hands. "In this body? Yes, he is alive – but only just."
"What have you been up to since then? Surely you are not here by coincidence?" Harry questioned, gesturing vaguely with his wand hand. He had to stifle the sense of outrage he felt when Voldemort did not so much as tense at the motion. Damned Dark Lord…
At Voldemort's pleased expression, dread formed in the pit of Harry's stomach. Surely nothing good could come from that look.
"Understand, Harry, that before Quirrell had approached me, I was forced to use to the bodies of animals to sustain myself. I was in no position to do anything else. However, when Quirrell arrived, so generously offering himself to me," Voldemort's grin was positively ferocious at these words. "I was finally given the opportunity to do more than simply exist.
"Overpowering the man was only too easy. Quirrell is untalented, he cannot tolerate pain, and he's weak. After defeating the pathetic man, I turned my sights to bigger goals."
Harry stiffened, watching warily as Voldemort approached him once more.
"Do you know what is inside the castle at this very moment, Harry Potter, tucked away and hidden from the rest of the world?" Lord Voldemort murmured lowly as he rubbed the fingers of his left hand together, as if imagining whatever the object was was resting in his palm.
"The Philosopher's Stone, Harry," He continued unblinkingly, gazing directly into Harry's eyes. "A stone of mystical properties – a stone that will restore my body to me. It was my intention to obtain the Philosopher's Stone before Albus Dumbledore could procure it, but I was unsuccessful."
Harry mind jolted to life when he considered the man's words. "You mean Gringotts, right?"
Voldemort tilted his head downwards in acknowledgement, his red eyes locked onto him under harsh eyebrows.
"So you want the Philosopher's Stone," Harry repeated, imagining such a stone as he spoke. Honestly, he wouldn't mind having a stone like that, himself – and he still wasn't even sure what it was, either. "But you've failed to explain what that has to do with me. You've confronted me several times, going so far as to attack me. You've been in contact with Snape and Lucius Malfoy. What do you want, Voldemort? What do you want from me?"
Red eyes flashed with unspoken plans and indecipherable ambitions. Voldemort took a step closer, standing toe to toe with Harry.
"I want a great many things, Harry Potter. I want to regain my body. I want to rule the Wizarding World. I want every man, woman, and child to recognize me as their master, their savior, and as their Lord who will lead them into a better world.
"But more than anything, Harry – right now, I'd like to negotiate."
Harry looked at Voldemort in disbelief.
"You've got a weird way of showing it," Harry said, snorting. "Let's hear it, then. I'm sure it will be good."
Voldemort smirked down at him before looking over his head out into the woods. "I have an offer for you, Harry – one that you should consider carefully. Recently, I came to the decision that Quirinus Quirrell is no longer a suitable host. The man was supposed to aid me in my attempt to obtain the Philosopher's Stone, but his effort has been…deplorable."
Voldemort looked at him once more. "And so, Quirrell will be disposed of. But you could perform much more competently than Quirinus Quirrell, couldn't you, Harry?"
Harry found himself grinning at the thought. "Could I? Definitely. But why would I want to help you, Voldemort? Do you realize what you are asking me to do? By helping you get your body back, I'd be restarting the war. I have no desire to do that, thanks."
Harry's nerves had calmed - as much as one's nerves could calm in the presence of Lord Voldemort, that is – and he found himself smiling. Voldemort was as good as asking for help. From him. That revelation left Harry…satisfied.
"You see, Voldemort," Harry whispered victoriously. "I'm the one in control, here. I'm the one with the leverage. Why should I help you? Why should I help the man who murdered my parents? You obviously need me much more than I need you."
If Harry could frame the scowl that was currently on Voldemort's face, he would have done so in a heartbeat. The moment he had the Lord Voldemort at his feet – framed in a picture.
"I…deeply respected your parents," Voldemort grunted out. "They were amongst the most dangerous witches and wizards that opposed me. And because of this, they forced my hand."
"Do you expect me to care?" Harry uttered mockingly, enjoying the look of contempt flashing across Voldemort's face. "I don't give a shit. But look at you – a Lord, bending his neck for help from a school boy. You are path-"
In a flash of force and pain, before Harry's brain could even process what had happened, Harry's back cracked soundly against the trunk of a tree. A hand clawed at his scalp, fisting his hair in a vise before Harry could even utter a sound.
Through the sharp pain searing through his spine and the red eyes nearly glowing in anger, Harry realized he had gotten carried away – way too carried away.
"I am the fucking Dark Lord Voldemort," Voldemort growled, barring Quirrell's yellowed teeth. "And if you even think you can get away with talking to me like that, you are woefully mistaken."
The muscles in Harry's neck cramped slightly under such a tight hold, but Harry was focused on one thing.
"How did you do that?" Harry gasped out. "You didn't even raise a hand. How does someone cast a spell without casting a spell?"
Harry looked up, aware that he was nearly touching foreheads with Voldemort, and the soft laugh his ears sensed brought back the fear Harry had originally experienced.
"After everything you've done in this forest," Voldemort nearly purred. "You still hold that silly notion that magic is cast only through the hands?"
"That's what the books the school's assigned all say," Harry defended, wincing as he arched his back. "I had assumed all magic was stored in the body and channeled through the arms and chest or whatever. I recall the term 'core' being used once or twice – "
"That term is completely inaccurate," Voldemort replied harshly. "What sense would it make for magical beings to 'store' magic? We are magical. Our magic runs through the body of its own volition. No part of the body is not saturated with magic."
"…Really?" Harry could not help but say, intrigue coloring his voice. "So how do we cast spells, exactly?"
The hand gripping Harry's hair loosened, but Voldemort's mutinous expression did not change. "The traditional manner of casting spells joins wand movements and incantations to fuel the formation of the spell. The wand movements are made to mimic patterned lines that appear in the runes that make up the spell."
Seeing Harry's puzzled expression, Voldemort elaborated. "For example, the Levitation Charm was created with two simple runes – the rune representing flight and the rune for constancy. The 'swishing motion' mimics the largest line in the rune for constancy, causing your magic to continue fueling the spell until purposefully ended. The 'flicking' motion imitates the origin line in the rune for flight."
"Origin line?" Harry asked hollowly.
Voldemort's upper lip curled in amusement, but he continued on in his explanation.
"Witches and wizards have a system much like the nervous system in their bodies – I assume you remember the nervous system from primary?"
Harry nodded slightly, spurring Voldemort on.
"Magic flows within the body through this system, but there are small points within the body where magic does tend to slow in its movements and build up. This phenomenon was first classified and labeled in the magical culture of ancient India as 'chakra.' There are a handful of these nodes within the body, and magic spreads from them, soaking every cell in the body from these points. As such, magic enters and exits the body mainly through chakra nodes. The main exception to this is that magic can leave the body through the blood; the circulatory system within the body is closely related to these chakra points and their passageways."
Harry found himself murmuring in amazement. "So spells can be cast from any of these points?
Red eyes relaxed as a lazy grin adorned Voldemort's face.
"And you wanted magical lessons from Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort uttered mockingly. "Why would you wish for lessons from him when a much more capable instructor stands before you?
Harry grimaced unpleasantly, drawing another dark laugh from Voldemort.
"I would not neglect mentioning any practices of magic, Harry – knowledge is power, and magic is power multiplied exponentially, after all. You desire to learn the Dark Arts? Done. Who has broached the depths that are the Dark Arts more than I? I've dabbled in Alchemy, Transmutation, Ritualism, Celtic and Druidic Magics, and more…much more. You require an instructor? Let me let you in on a secret, Harry – I've always desired a pupil for my teachings, but none have proven themselves worthy of me."
Voldemort ran his hands down the sleeves of Harry's shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles that his abrupt assault had caused, a fuliginous smile gracing his face.
"In return for your service, Harry, I will lend you my knowledge and expertise – both, you will soon find, are invaluable."
Harry's mind raced as he looked warily at the man in front of him. Ultimately, he was being offered knowledge in exchange for directly causing the Dark Lord to return.
Quite a difficult decision.
Would he be forced to choose a side? Would anyone know? Even more importantly, could he trust Lord Voldemort to honor the agreement and allow him to walk away unscathed?
Probably not.
"Okay," Harry muttered, doing his damnedest to keep the inner turmoil out of his expression. "I get a personal tutor while you get a mystical stone that gives you your body back; somehow, that doesn't seem quite fair, Voldemort. What else do you have for me?"
Lord Voldemort's eyebrows rose before a chuckle past from his lips. "What I've just offered you, Harry, my Death Eaters would kill for – "
"Your Death Eaters," Harry abruptly pointed out. "And they killed anyways. I'm not your follower, Voldemort, and I have no intention of becoming one. So pardon me if I ask for a bit more – a vow to neither infringe on my person or to harm me in any way for the duration of this…agreement would be a nice start."
Red eyes narrowed. "Done. I will not harm you – like I said, I have no intention of doing that –"
"And no one else can know," Harry intervened once more. "If we're to do this, I want no one else ever knowing it was I who brought you back."
"If you interrupt me again, you will regret it," Voldemort warned him lowly. A sharp brow perked suddenly. "You're quite the demanding little brat, aren't you?"
Harry shrugged, grinning boastfully. "I have all the leverage, don't I? Might as well milk it for all it's worth."
A chilling laugh rang out through the clearing as goose bumps made themselves known on Harry's skin. Voldemort swooped in quickly once more, an arm draping itself around Harry's suddenly tensed shoulders.
"Leverage," Voldemort grinned savagely. "Leverage, you say? Harry Potter – what leverage do you have now?"
"Wha-"
"Avada Kedavra."
Harry's heart fluttered as he felt the air around him displace and green light burst forth from the end of Voldemort's wand. Harry shuddered at the closeness of the spell as it made him feel sick. His eyes, however, widened as they tracked the spell. It sizzled through the air, passing like a bolt of lightning through the Deltas drawn from Harry's ritual, over the charred husk that was once Tuscas –
Right at the sprawled body of Ron Weasley.
The green light lifted the body from the leaves surrounding the boy, rolling the weight along the
"Y…y-you killed him," Harry cried, physically shaken. That spell, the Killing Curse…holy shit.
"Whoops," Voldemort uttered jeeringly. "Well, there goes that leverage, eh, Harry?"
Harry looked up into the satisfied face of a man that scared him. He shook of the arm from his shoulders, stepping quickly out of the man's reach to his left.
"Why would you do that?" Harry demanded. "Why kill him when he had nothing to do with this?"
"Who said I killed him?" Lord Voldemort laughed. "Did the boy twitch? How do you even know he was alive when I cast the curse? For all we know, you killed him, Harry.
"And now I grant you another offer on top of everything else: my knowledge, my protection, your wellbeing for the duration of the agreement – and now my help in covering up your…escapades in this clearing, including the body of Ronald Weasley."
"I can clean up the situation myself, thanks," Harry scowled scornfully.
"Can you?"
Voldemort's wand was pointing at him once more as Harry felt the air leave his lungs. Surely the man wouldn't…
"W-what an u-u-utter t-trav-travesty it would be," Voldemort stuttered gleefully, acting like the incompetent man he was possessing. "A b-boy as-assaulted in the F-f-for-forbidden Forest by a c-c-classmate – k-killed by a friend.
"You'd be locked up," Voldemort murmured, his red eyes showing no remorse as he stepped closer to Harry. "Shipped off to Azkaban before you could say 'Quidditch.' Is that really what you want, Harry Potter? Allow me to help you. Help yourself. Aid me in my quest. I will reward you like no others have ever been gifted. I could hand you anything and everything you desire. You are a remarkably bright boy; use that brain."
Harry's mind froze over as the seriousness of the situation settled before him; Ron was dead – either by his hand or Voldemort's. Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Wizard of the century had sought him out, promising gifts in return for his acquiescence – "graciously" forgiving him of his past transgressions. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. That was probably not a good thing to do with Voldemort leering at him like that.
No one would know, right? If his safety was guaranteed, what could it really hurt?
'Hundreds upon thousands of people,' Harry mentally sighed. But half of them would be muggles, right? Who cared about them?
Wait – what was Voldemort even striving to accomplish?
"What was the last war like?" Harry found himself asking. "Why did you start it? What do you want to accomplish?"
Voldemort nodded approvingly. "Very good questions. The last war – well, let me backtrack – I started collecting followers whilst I was a schoolboy at Hogwarts. They all desired my approval, my friendship, and were willing to do my bidding to receive these gifts.
Ultimately, I came to the realization in my second year that I would have the opportunity to change the Wizarding World with my actions. Older students flocked to me, hoping to 'help' the young prodigy on his way to greatness. Girls wanted to date me, boys wanted to befriend me – everyone wanted a piece of molding the greatest wizard to ever pass through Hogwarts.
I poured my beliefs out to these people, Harry. They anointed me their leader. In Slytherin, the purebloods hoped for a wizard that would repeal many of the modern laws passed by the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic. Fortunately, Harry…I dream bigger than that."
Voldemort had begun pacing again and Harry hung on the man's every word. This…was not what he had expected.
Voldemort looked at Harry through hooded lids.
"I was born in the year 1926, Harry Potter. I grew up in the muggle world, watching them devolve into primates as they threw around their explosives, killing millions and millions.
"It was chaos, the World Wars," Voldemort continued softly. "I bore witness to what muggles were capable of. Mass murders without a thought. They kill out of fear and anger. If they were to discover us, Harry, a superior race living amongst them, how long would we last?"
Harry found himself nodding as Voldemort approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Red eyes met green, and no emotions disrupted the connection
"Magic is everything to me, Harry. Magic is why I exist – it is why I still live to this day. It is my culture, my religion, my past, present, and future. I will do whatever is necessary to protect it. All of it.
"In the past century - not only in Britain, but in countries around the world - wizarding laws restricting interaction with muggles have become much more lax. We now pander to the muggleborns and the half-bloods, trying to incorporate their muggle relatives so that they may live vicariously through their children in our World. That is…unbelievably foolish.
"Throw into that that our British Ministry of Magic is incompetent, hypocritical, and all around corrupt – and imagine that, a Dark Lord calling politicians corrupt. It is about damn time someone did something about it."
Harry's eyes were wide and Voldemort spoke much more passionately.
"The 'victors' write history, Harry. When you 'defeated' me as an infant, the victorious side labeled me as a terrorist, a ruthless serial killer. I am neither of those things. I command respect. I wield magics of the most varied nature. I exemplify what we can become, and so do you, Harry! We have grown despite the pestilent environment that was our childhood. We have both seen what deplorable creatures the muggles are! We can do better – you and I! – we can give the witches and wizards of our country, our world, better lives! No longer will we hide in the shadows – this world is ours, and I intend to take it back!"
Mere inches separated them. Harry's breath came out in short pants that puffed fog into the air. Voldemort stood silently, leaning down and ruthlessly refused to look away.
"We can rule, Harry," Voldemort whispered. "We can be kings – gods, even – we can live forever. We can do better. All you have to do is follow me."
"We can do better," Harry whispered dazedly. He looked down at the hand outstretched, almost touching his chest.
We can be kings – gods, even…
Harry coughed and looked away.
"So…," He muttered, toeing at the dirt under his foot. "Back to this deal of yours. My body to host…you. You want the Philosopher's Stone and in return you will grant me your knowledge and tutor me in whatever I choose. You will promise me my health and your protection for the duration of our agreement as well as helping me clear up this lot," Harry waved vacantly to his ritual site and the body of Ron Weasley. "What do you plan to do about that, anyway?"
"Avada Kedavra."
Harry jumped forcefully, looking up as that unpleasant sensation of the Killing Curse being cast near him crept back into his body. Voldemort stood several paces back, pointing his wand overhead.
"Jesus Christ, Voldemort, that scared the shit out of me," Harry gasped.
Voldemort smirked in response. "Quirinus Quirrell, mentally unstable as he is, completely snapped. He kidnapped and murdered a student before committing suicide. The Wizarding World will roar in outrage, Albus Dumbledore will face an inquiry, and you will get off Scott free."
"Do we have a deal?" Voldemort smiled lazily.
"How will you…er – you know, split from Quirrell?" Harry winced.
A chilling grin formed on Voldemort's face. "Like this."
A dark hazy mist drifted out of the back of Quirinus Quirrell's turban and red eyes turned back to their original pale color. Suddenly, Quirrell started screaming in agony as tears fell. The black haze laughed with an eerie echo as Quirrell regained control of his body.
"H-Harry P-Potter," The man wept feebly. "P-Please help m-me. My insides – the hu-hurt…AHHHHHHHH!"
Harry watched in horror as the man slumped over and fell with a dull thud and his wand sparked before dying out.
"Okay," Harry stated, shaken by the ordeal. "You have to promise a less…lethal split form me than that as well."
The mist laughed again echoing through the forest. "Of course, Harry. Do we have a deal?"
Harry resented his emotions – they were driving him wild! Fear. Anxiety. Worry. Awe. Hope Motivation. If they would all simply stop for a second, maybe he could process what was happening.
Actually, he knew all too well what was happening. He was going to be the cause that started another war. At least it would be interesting.
"S-so how is this going to work?" Harry asked, his heart thumping in his chest wildly. The mist floated in front of him and Harry could have sworn he could make out two red eyes floating faintly in the mist.
"Just close your eyes, Harry, and leave the rest to me," Voldemort responded. Harry nodded, letting his eyes relax. Just before his eyelids shut, the black mist rushed forward rapidly, heading straight for him.
A sensation similar to being doused with cold water spread through his body, running up and down his limbs before settling in the back of his skull. Harry grit his teeth and scrunched his eyes closed, trying to fight off the dizziness that had settled over him.
The ground was moving underneath him as something was happening in the back of his head. Harry staggered heavily, letting out a quick exhale. His senses failed him for a moment, and the next he knew, his cheek was resting in the dirt as Voldemort muttered words of encouragement in the back of his mind.
'I've got you now. Relax – I'll handle everything. You will never regret this decision, Harry.'
'I'd better not,' Harry countered before consciousness slipped from his grasp.
Mischief Managed.
Man, that was hard to write. So many little intricacies and nuances that had to be considered - so many little details that needed to be touched upon but not fully discussed...it was a tough chapter to finish, let me assure you.
So! Harry found his "instructor." Ron is dead - and let me say, many of you were wishing death upon him. Tut, tut...not nice at all. Voldemort has gotten what he wanted, as well. The Philosopher's Stone is nearly within his grasp, Harry is (temporarily) under his command, and he's about to get his body back while having the chance to further corrupt Harry and his morals...perfect night for him
Several of you expressed interest in me making a Twitter account for the story, so I went ahead and did so. If you would like to follow the story, head to Twitter and type in "BrigadeEitD" in the search engine there. You should see the "red eye" photo.
If you don't have Twitter or don't want to follow the story, that's fine. However, if you'd like to see what I'm saying on there, you can just bookmark the page and check every now and again. If you have questions, you can reach me there or on this site. I'll endeavor to make sure everyone receives an answer.
You guys rock. I'm going to bed.
Regards,
Brigade