Halloween. The most celebrated festival in the Wizard calendar. In the Muggle world, an excuse for the Dudley Dursleys of the world to bully their neighbours into giving them sweets, completely legally. Well, most of the time. Whereas in the Wizarding world, it was a recognised celebration of all Magical life, except, Harry had thought to himself, Mudbloods.

Hogwarts had certainly gotten into the swing of things, decorating itself with jack 'o lanterns and cobwebs. Although some argued that the latter was down to Filch's lacklustre caretaking, due mostly to the fact that Professor Dumbledore had begrudgingly asked him to inherit the role of Groundskeeper from the luckless predecessor. It had been three weeks since Hagrid's incarceration in Azkaban and rumours were abound that his proximity to the Dementors was taking a heavy toll. Harry felt no remorse upon hearing this, in fact he was joyful. The giant who had been so kind to him, had given him his first ever birthday present, had taken him to Diagon Alley for the first time and had bought Harry his very own owl. And had then changed completely at, quite literally, the drop of a hat. He hadn't longer spoken to Harry, not even acknowledged him. In fact on several occasions he had deliberately barged into Harry, knowing full well who would take the blunt of the collision, before muttering something about his parents rolling in their graves. Harry was glad he was locked up in Azkaban. And he was even more glad that in nineteen years, eleven months and nine days, he would be dead.

Draco had promised to meet Harry in the Great Hall for dinner, as he had to speak to Professor Snape after class. Harry had made his way to the Common Room, gotten changed and was now on his way to meet him. As he walked through one of the dungeon corridors, he heard an annoyingly familiar voice.

"Potter," it was the infuriating mudblood, Granger, "Might I have a word?" She was polite but Harry knew Hermione hadn't approached him to talk about the weather.

"What do you want, Granger?" Even saying her name made Harry's skin crawl. His hands absent-mindedly clenched into fists.

"Ever since we arrived you've been less than friendly to Neville and Ron Weasley. I'd like to ask that you be a bit nicer to them in future."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll have to tell Professor McGonagall," she said in a tone that Harry believed to be one of attempted authority.

"McGonagall has no power down here, Granger," Harry had had enough of her cowardly attempts to defend her fellow classmates,"Now get back to your own Common Room, where you belong you filthy little Mudblood," Granger's eyes widened in shock, and all of her previous composure was discarded as she ran in the oppposite direction towards, Harry presumed, the Gryffindor Common Room. On her way, she nearly ran straight into Professor Quirrell, who was caught off-guard and subsequently lost his balance. His turban unravelled on the stone floor, though he seemed not to notice and began to upright himself. Harry looked at what he thought was Quirrell's face, but the features were different, less defined. As the cold eyes of the man before him returned his stare, Harry's scar began to burn as if his head had been dipped in molten lead. Harry collapsed on the floor in agony and began to scream. As Harry grasped at his forehead, Quirrell re-applied his turban and ran to the young boy. As the pain subsided, Harry was sure he could hear Quirrell talking to someone, but the voice sounded muffled..

"He has seen too much. What shall I do, master?"

"The boy has chosen Slytherin, he will be willing."

"Are you sure Master?"

Harry struggled to his feet, still holding his head as the pain ebbed away. Upon hearing him rise, Quirrell turned to face him.

"W-what's wrong, my b-boy, are you alright?"

"Who was that you were talking to, Sir?" Harry had said it without thinking, which, after hearing the anger in the other's voice, was perhaps not the best course of action. Quirrell sighed. This was not what he had wanted at all. He had thought this day wouldn't have come for many years.

"Someone that you've met before, Potter," Quirrell stepped closer, lowering himself to kneel face to face with Harry,"Lord Voldemort."

"Lord Voldmort, Sir? The man that killed my parents? But he's dead."

"Not anymore, Harry. I have been nursing the Dark Lord back to health and have been sustaining him by means of Unicorn blood. But I am about to acquire something that can ressurrect the Dark Lord permanently. The Philosopher's Stone."

"Sir, why are you telling me this? If I told Professor Dumbledore, you'd be sharing a cell with the giant in the darkest corner of Azkaban."

"But you won't Harry, I know you won't. I have known since the moment you were placed in Slytherin that you will be of great use to the Dark Lord."

"But he killed my parents!" Harry half-bellowed. Quirrell raised his hand over Harry's face, muffling any sound that came from him.

"Be quiet, boy! Your parents fought against the Dark Lord, like many others, because they feared his power, not because, as you have been told, he is evil. Our Lord merely realised that the Darker traits of Magic were also the more powerful and decided to harness them fully. Any man or woman who raise their wand against him was as weak as they were stupid. The reason Lord Voldemort targeted your parents in particular, was because of you, the one person in existence with the potential to defeat him. But now that you have chosen the path of a Slytherin, you can serve the Dark Lord rather than feel his wrath! The things you could learn, the power you will wield, think of it Harry! Together, we can restore the Dark Army to it's former glory!"

Quirrell made a convincing argument. Voldemort had killed his parents, but he never really knew them. And with the power of the Darkest wizard who ever lived, Harry would be free to seek vengeance on those who tried to take advantage of him. His vile Aunt and Uncle for one. And especially Dudley. He would make sure he would be the first to die. Or maybe it would be more poignant to force him to watch his parents die first? And no doubt Professor Dumbledore had great plans for him, using him to defeat the Dark Lord, only to take all the credit later. No. Harry controlled his own future, and the only foreseeable moment Dumbeldore would be a part of it was as he dragged his lifeless body before Voldemort,taking his place as his second in command.

"What about Draco, Professor?"

"Draco's father is a close follower of the Dark Lord, and was once what is known as a 'Death Eater'. Draco will no doubt follow in his footsteps. Rest assured, he will not be harmed."

Harry's mind was made up. He would serve Lord Voldemort with his best friend by his side. Forever.

"What must I do?" Harry asked. Was there an initiation ritual? A virgin sacrifice? Harry had wanted to cut open a Muggleborn, to gaze upon the colour of their blood.

"Make your way to the Hall, Mr Potter, and wait for my signal. I have a troll to catch."