Hello all! This is the author speaking. I'm terribly sorry for the horrendous wait. I have a multitude of excuses, varying from bedridden by sickness to death in the family. I know excuses aren't new chapters and I am sorry. And on top of that its a interlude and not a chapter. But do not fear, I'm already well over half done with the next real chapter and I should have that up in a few days.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. You guys are should get a medal!

Darkness swirled within darkness and was gone.

"Who's there?" A strong masculine voice echoed thru the surrounding forest. The man stumbled for what had to be the thousandth time in the dark. "Curse this thrice be damned forest. Curse this whole bloody country! 'Vampires stalk the villages on the outskirts of the black forest,' they said. Bollocks! Vampires have more taste than to live in this wretched place."

Several wolf howls pierced the silent night air. The man glanced up at the sky and seeing the full moon nestled high in the night sky, he snorted. "Now, werewolves, that I'd believe. Bloody creatures have no sense of class."

A faint hissing noise rose up amidst the wolf howls, seemingly coming from every-which direction. Swiftly he drew his wand, while simultaneously pulling his dragon-hide cloak tightly around him, leaving only his wand hand and part of his face open. "Now, now then. That doesn't sound like a normal beastie." The hissing grew louder. "Hmm, not a friendly type are you, love?"

A thunderous crashing echoed in the dark. A cold smile crossed his lips. "A big one, ain't cha?" He pressed a long, thin finger to his lips, in thought. "You can't be dragon, environment s'not quite right. Are you a Naga perhaps? Or maybe . . . a Basilisk?" He seemed almost giddy at the last prospect. He shook his head, snapping himself back to the task at hand; he had a creature to hunt.

The hissing was suddenly replaced with a guttural, rasping voice. "Quirrell."

Quirrell whipped around and fell into a standard dueling position. "A Naga then. Come on out, love. Don't pay this little ol' wizard any mind."

A wheezing laugh drifted hauntingly out of the forest. "Close, Quirrell. But we are not of the Naga." A form that was little more then wisps of smoke and vapor. But a form that had a very recognizable face.

He stumbled back, and fell to the ground. "You!" Quirrell pointed at the spectre with a shaky finger. "You're supposed to be dead. The Potter boy killed you!"

Voldemort snarled and lashed out at the trembling Quirrell. The shadows of the forest thrashed over Quirrell's body, leaving slashes all over his clothes and flesh. The spirit approached the trembling, and now bleeding, Quirrell. Voldemort forced his anger down before speaking. "You know, we could make you great Quirrell. You would never want for anything. All you ever dreamed of; power, wealth, respect, it's all within your reach. And all you need to do is lend us your body."

Quirrell shakily spat out the blood that was welling up in his mouth. His body was still wobbly from the attack, but his resolve was not so easily shaken. Flipping Voldemort the bird, he answered in an unsteady voice. "Piss off!" Quirrell knew it would probably end up being painful but he had to add on last dig anyway. "A boy barely a year of age defeated you not ten years ago, what power could you possibly have, let alone to offer me."

The ethereal eyes of Voldemort glowed a bright red that burned at Quirrell's very soul, an image that would be imprinted in his mind for many nights to come. All Quirrell knew after that was pain. For how long he didn't know, all he could grasp was that his bones were on fire. When unconsciousness finally came to claim him all Quirrell could do was weep.

Quirrell's eyes fluttered as sunlight pierced the forest canopy and shined down on his face. Groaning in pain as consciousness slowly returned to him, he once again he tested the bonds that held his hands an feet in place, a useless gesture he knew, but he still had to try. It had been days since his capture by Voldemort. Quirrell's waking hours were few and far between thanks to Voldemort's tender administrations.

Quirrell felt the tears gathering in his eyes already. His will had been washed away in the floods of pain, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he cracked. And so did Voldemort.

The ground around him rustled violently. As one the dozen or so snakes that had been his guards for the last days raised there heads and hissed in what Quirrell assumed was some kind of greeting. The shadow form of Voldemort waved his hand and the serpents retreated back in to the forests.

"Come now, my dear Quirrell. Is this really necessary?" Voldemort asked in what was supposed to be a sweet, kindly voice. "It's not even a permanent possession. I'll only need your body till I can find a way to create my own again."

Quirrell slowly tried to move into a sitting position; half way up blood welled up in his mouth and sent him into a coughing fit. He forwent trying to speak, knowing his throat was still to raw, and glared at Voldemort. His glare managed to last until the second wave of shadows converged over his body.

-Sigh- Disapointing I'm sure, but it is something is it not? Anyway I'll have the next chapter up soon.

Oh and by the way, does anyone know why I can't have indented paragraphs? Or asterisks?