Disclaimer: All Harry Potter rights and characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am simply having fun with my imagination. Thanks!

...He would destroy him and let the world know that no one, especially not some baby, could truly stop Lord Voldemort...

CHAPTER 29: QUIRRELL'S HELPING HAND

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into years. Summer after summer, leaves changing and snow falling and melting. Tom waited. He waited as a cat, as a squirrel, as a rabbit, as a snake, as a bird, and even as a groundhog. He waited in the trees, by the lake, in piles of leaves, and under blankets of snow. He waited day and night, rarely ever sleeping, however weak he was. But no matter how long he waited, no matter how he waited, no one turned up. Not a single one of the fierce hundreds that enjoyed his welcome and his protection. It was as though he had never existed.

He was weak, fragile, and most definitely alone. There was nothing for him to do except for sleep, eat, and sleep again. Every day that passed him was another day without human contact. He was beginning to feel like an animal himself. And so, having nothing else to do, he was forced to think about one thing and one thing only: Harry Potter.

He wondered, day and night, what the boy was doing. He wondered what the boy was like. He wondered where the boy lived, where he ate, and where he slept. He wondered whether or not the boy knew about him or about his own sorcery. Had Dumbledore already gotten to the boy? Had he taught him all sorts of rubbish about love? Was the boy even aware that he was famous? Was he proud of what he had done? Was he aware that, in just one moment, he had destroyed 45 years' worth of hard work?

Tom wandered the lonely woods for most of the time, thinking back to his childhood. He thought of his wasted days in that worthless orphanage with the old hag, Mrs. Cole. He thought of Billy and Dennis and Amy and how they would laugh if they saw what he had succumbed to. He thought of the first time he met Dumbledore and how, even then, he knew to stay away from him. He thought of all those days at Hogwarts, those meetings in the Trophy Room with the first Death Eaters—his friends. He stopped. It was too painful thinking of them…thinking of Avery and Rowle and Rosier; friends who had always claimed to be his most trusted, most loyal servants. Well, where were they now? Either hiding or pretending they had been cursed all along…so much for loyal servants.

Tom was angry. He felt humiliated. He felt broken and weak and vulnerable. Had he trusted his followers too much? Is that what this was about? Should he have been harsher with them? More strict? Were they not scared enough of him? Did they honestly believe that, when he would eventually return he would not seek them out and punish them for all that they were worth? And Dumbledore…did he honestly believe that Tom would let all this slide? That the boy would be safe in some muggle suburbs?

Suddenly, very quite suddenly, a twig snapped somewhere. Tom spun around. He did not currently possess any animal. It had been raining hard for several days now and he had not been able to spot a single living thing in the large forest. Whoever it was, they would see Tom exactly as how he looked—a filthy, weak, fragile little thing. The man began to approach him. He had a hungry look in his eyes. Was he a wizard or a muggle? Tom could not tell. He felt too weak to move away and his powers had been stripped from him completely, so he waited patiently by the tree. Finally, the man reached him and bent down, eyeing him carefully.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Each eyed the other with suspicion and confusion. Finally, something in the man's eyes changed. He was no longer hungry or suspicious. He looked proud and triumphed. He bowed his head low and could not suppress a little laugh.

"M-my lord!" he said in an oddly excited, hoarse voice.

Tom narrowed his eyes at him. So it was a wizard. But he had never seen him before. How did he find him? How did he know or recognize him? Tom barely looked like his self anymore.

"My l-l-l-l-lord!" said the man again, raising his head to look at Tom. "How l-l-l-l-long it's been! How l-l-l-l-long I've been s-s-s-searching for you! Searching the d-d-d-depths of the forests and the most s-s-s-secluded caves and—"

"Caves?" said Tom.

The man nodded eagerly.

"What caves?" said Tom.

"All sorts!" exclaimed the man, who was now openly beaming. "How so very h-h-h-h-h-happy I am to have f-f-f-f-f-found you, sir!"

"Who are you?" said Tom, who was still narrowing his eyes at the man.

"Oh, of course, of course!" cried the man, and he bowed his head low again. "How very r-r-r-r-r-r-r-rude of me—I am Q-Q-Q-Quirinus Quirrell, h-h-h-half blood-d-d."

"What do you want with me, half-blood?" said Tom.

"I have c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-come from a l-l-l-l-long way t-to help you, s-sir!" said the wizard. "I have c-c-c-come to asssssssist y-you!"

"Assist me," repeated Tom.

"That's right, sir!" said the wizard. "If you'll allow m-m-m-me, of course."

"I do not need assistance."

Tom did not know exactly why he had said it. He had, after all, been waiting a long time—how long, he did not know—for one of his Death Eaters to show up. But time had weakened him and he had crumbled into nearly nothingness. He could not see how he would be able to ever rise to his powers again. All he could see was Dumbledore, laughing in his office with Potter.

"S-s-s-s-s-sir," said the man, who did obviously not understand Tom. "I c-c-c-could h-help y-you get b-b-b-b-back."

"What year is it?" Tom asked him, absentmindedly.

"1991," said the man. "It is J-J-J-J-J-July, m-m-my l-l-l-l-l-l-lord."

Tom froze.

Ten whole years had passed! Ten years he had been waiting! Ten years and zero Death Eaters! How could this be?

"Where do you come from?" Tom asked as he began to move along the leaves.

"F-f-f-from Hogwarts, sir!" cried the man, excitedly. "I am a t-t-teacher there—well, I w-w-w-was a t-t-teacher but t-t-t-then I went on t-t-t-temporary l-l-l-l-l-l-leave, j-j-just to f-f-find you!"

Tom drowned out the rest of the man's talking, for his thoughts were now elsewhere. Hogwarts. The man was a teacher at Hogwarts. And ten years had passed since Tom lost everything. This meant that Harry Potter was now going to be starting his first year at Hogwarts.

"Is Albus Dumbledore still headmaster?" Tom asked, coolly, trying to suppress his excitement.

"W-w-why, y-y-yes sir, h-h-h-he's been headm-m-m-master for a long t-t-t-t-time now."

"Yes, I know that," said Tom. He turned to look at the man and frowned. "Quirrell, you…you don't sound too good."

"S-s-s-sir?" said the man.

"Quirrell, who bullied you when you were a child?" The man gulped loudly. "Who is the reason for your stuttering? What is the reason for your lack of ambition?"

"All of them," said Quirrell in a low voice a moment later.

He sat on the pile of leaves and, to Tom's horror, began to cry. Tom however, was patient. He knew that he would have to be, if he was going to get where he needed to get with this man.

"Come now, there is nothing to fret over," he repeated over and over again as the man beside him sobbed like a child.

"I'm s-s-s-sorry," cried Quirrell. "I d-don't mean to be a b-b-b-bother, it's j-j-just that my whole l-l-l-l-l-life I've been t-t-t-t-tormented for the st-t-t-t-t-t-t-tuttering, and I've just h-h-h-ad enough!"

"I understand completely, Quirrell," said Tom, lazily. "But you don't have to be tormented anymore."

"I d-d-d-d-don't?"

"No, of course not!" cried Tom. "Do you think all great wizards were born great? We all started out just like you. Do you think that in my own school days, I was not bullied and tormented?"

"From what I h-h-h-h-h-heard, n-n-n-n-n-no, s-s-s-ir."

"Well, I was," lied Tom. "I was picked on and laughed at for my second-hand books and robes. That is why I didn't have many friends. I spent most of my days studying and ended up being at the top of every class, with a gleaming prefect's badge and Head Boy title."

"Y-y-y-yes, I know that!" said Quirrell, who was now excited again. "I've learned everyt-t-t-t-thing I c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-could about y-y-y-you, s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sir!"

Tom's thoughts bounced back to Harry Potter. How would he get his hands on him? If this man could just get him back to Hogwarts...but there was also Dumbledore to deal with. Dumbledore was clever. He would surely provide ultimate protection for the boy. He would surely carry him around on his sleeve for fear that Tom would try to do something to him. He would have to think up a clever way to return. He would be able to return, looking like this.

"Well," said Tom, in a comforting voice, "Then you'll know that I am a forgiving and tolerant and reasonable lord, and I will be glad to help you out if you will, as you say you have come all this way to do so, help me out in return."

"Of c-c-c-c-c-course, s-s-s-sir!" cried Quirrell, who now jumped to his feet. "A-a-a-a-anything, s-s-s-sir!"

Maybe restoring his powers first, thought Tom. Maybe that would be a wise place to begin. But how? How could he try to come up with a solution to a problem he did not yet fully understand? If he did not know what exactly had happened to him, even after ten whole years, then how was he supposed to find a way to restore his body or his powers?

"Good," said Tom, smiling slightly. "Now, you say you have come from Hogwarts?"

"Y-y-y-es," said Quirrell.

"I should wish for you to take me back with you when you return," said Tom, simply.

"Of c-c-c-c-course, s-s-s-sir," said Quirrell.

"And in return for this little favour," began Tom, "I will rid you of your stuttering. Though—" he added as Quirrell nearly hopped with excitement, "You will have to keep up a fake stutter so as not to gain suspicion from Dumbledore and your fellow colleagues."

"I underst-t-t-t-t-tand, s-s-s-sir," cried Quirrell. "A-a-a-a-absolutely, sir!"

"Good," said Tom. "Come now, it's July you say, yes?"

Quirrell nodded.

"Then we have lots of work to do."