Author's Note: I'm afraid I can't update anymore right now because my fingers are literally cramping up from all the typing. However, if they are better in a couple of hours, I will sit down to write some more. The next chapter will be very fast to write as it is the entire events of the underground chamber with Tom's first meeting with Harry Potter. I will try to lengthen their conversation some more. Anyway, enjoy!

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

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

Quirrell nodded.

"Then we have lots of work to do..."

CHAPTER 30: THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE

For the rest of the summer, Tom fed Quirrell all sorts of stories about what he could do, what they could do together, and what Quirrell would become after it was all done. Quirrell listened eagerly and eventually stopped stuttering as much. Tom took this to mean that he had officially gained Quirrell's trust and that Quirrell believed in him and in his temporarily-lost powers.

As he was not yet ready to leave the forest, looking like this, he instructed Quirrell to do a little bit of research whenever he left him. Quirrell always came back with food and Tom would sit and eat while he listened to Quirrell recount what he had learned. He wanted him studying as much as possible, studying ways to retrieve his powers—to restore him back to life.

Finally, at the very end of July (coincidentally, on Harry Potter's 11th birthday), Quirrell returned with good news at last.

"It is c-c-c-called the Philosopher's S-s-stone. I r-r-r-read about it-t-t-t in this v-v-v-very old, dusty b-b-boook."

"Go on," said Tom.

"It was c-c-created by D-d-d-dumbledore's alchemy p-p-p-partner, s-s-sir, Nicholas F-f-f-flamel."

"WHAT DOES THE STONE DO?!" barked Tom, who was growing very impatient, and had no time for background histories.

Quirrell jumped up in fright and his stutter became worse.

"I'm sorry," said Tom, quickly. "Come back here."

Hesitant, Quirrell sat back down.

"I didn't mean to snap at you," Tom invented wildly, "You have to understand, I have been banished for 10 years now and have been forced to survive like this," he gestured to himself. "Don't take any offense, I am only just very eager for something better to happen for me."

"I u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-understand, s-s-s-s-s-s-sir," said Quirrell, with a small smile.

"So, tell me," said Tom, "What does this stone that you speak of do exactly?"

"It c-c-c-c-can transform any m-m-m-m-metal into pure g-g-g-g-g-gold."

"And what can it do for me?" said Tom, who was growing bored with this conversation.

Though, admittedly, he was still grateful to have some human contact after living so long without it.

"It is s-s-s-s-said to p-p-p-produce the Elixir of L-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l"

"Life," finished Tom.

"Y-y-y-yes," said Quirrell, nervously. "M-m-m-m-master, c-c-could you p-p-p-p-please rid me of m-m-m-my sttutttttter already?"

"All in good time," Tom promised. "Now, about this stone?"

"Ah, y-y-y-yes," said Quirrell, quickly. "Well, the Elixir l-l-l-l-l-lengthens the d-d-drinker's lifespan, m-m-m-m-my lord."

"Does it now?" said Tom, thoughtfully.

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

"One of history's finest creations," said Tom. He paused, then looked at Quirrell seriously. "Where is it, the stone?"

"Well, I've b-b-b-b-been s-s-s-s-spying like you've t-t-t-t-told me to, s-s-s-s-sir,"

"And?"

"And D-d-d-d-d-dumbledore only just recently p-p-p-p-p-placed it in Gringotts B-b-b-b-ank!"

"Which vault, do you know?"

"Of c-c-c-c-course, m-m-m-my l-l-l-l-l-l-l"

"Yeah, yeah," said Tom, who was growing impatient again but struggled to keep his voice. "Good work, Quirrell. Very well done."

"T-t-t-t-t-thank you, m-m-m-m-master," said Quirrell, happily.

Tom stayed quiet for a long time. He knew what had to be done next, but the question was: would it work? Would Dumbledore perhaps see it coming and be prepared ahead of time? Tom would have to act carefully. Better yet, Quirrell would have to act carefully. Tom would be waiting for him here in the forest the entire time. And then, afterwards, when the deed was done, he would rise again and finish where he'd left off.

"Quirrell," he finally said. The man looked at him hopefully. "Get your cloak. You have a long journey ahead of you."

What was taking him so long? He was a wizard, after all, and was capable of apparition, wasn't he? Was he not learned in the magical arts? Was he not going to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year? Tom did not bother telling him that he had cursed the job a long time ago and that Quirrell would not last the year. Tom thought about it long and hard and decided that, when the process was complete, Quirrell would probably be dead. Such a pity.

Tom laughed out loud and then stopped just as quickly. Nagini would have laughed at that little joke. Oh, how he missed her. And his Horcruxes. Were they too, safe? The diadem was, for sure. The locket was safe too. Kreacher the elf had tested all the protective enchantments for him and sure enough, they were tight. No one knew about the ring and the cup was safe in Bellatrix's vault. But the diary…it was in the hands of that traitor, Malfoy. Would he have the nerve to try and do something to it? Tom really wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"Finally!" cried Tom once he'd spotted Quirrell. Quirrell was slowly walking through the woods towards him, his head bent down low.

"Well?" said Tom once Quirrell had reached him. "How did it go? Did you get the stone? Give it here, let me see it. I dare say it will take us a while to figure out how to work it, but it'll be worth it in the end."

"M-m-my lord," said Quirrell in barely more than a whisper.

Tom stared at him.

"You didn't get the stone, did you? DID YOU?"

Quirrell shut his eyes tight and shook his head. He looked like he was in pain. Physically.

"What happened?" said Tom, in a very low voice.

Quirrell did not speak for a long time. The wind howled through the trees and Tom could hear distant animals running.

"WELL?!" he barked.

"Dumbledore," said Quirrell.

It was the most anger Tom had felt since that Halloween night, all those years ago. He was furious. He was raged. He was ready to rip Quirrell bit by bit. But he knew he couldn't do that just yet. As much as he hated having to admit it, he knew that he still needed him. But in his rage, Tom did something he had not expected of himself. He forced himself into Quirrell. Quirrell shrieked and cried out in pain. He fell to the ground and trembled and squirmed. Finally, he stopped moving.

"Now, I shall keep a better eye on you," declared Tom.

"Y-y-yes, master," whispered Quirrell.

Hogwarts had not changed in the slightest, though for Tom, everything was different now. He was a less tolerant lord—less forgiving, and angrier than ever. Seeing Dumbledore again did not help this. He still made Tom fearful, even to this day—even after everything that they had been through. Still, Tom could not deny that it was good to be back at Hogwarts.

He had gotten rid of Quirrell's stuttering just the week before they returned to Hogwarts. Living on the other side of his head was certainly less comfortable than existing as whatever he was now, but it did allow him to see everything inside the castle, even with Quirrell's new turban wrapped tightly around him, covering him completely.

"Wherever did you get it, Quirinus?" asked the tall witch called Professor McGonagall.

"I r-r-r-r-r-received it from an Af-f-f-f-frican P-p-prince, Minerva," replied Quirrell, who was not enjoying having to fake the stutter. "I-i-i-i-it was a compens-s-s-s-s-ation for my h-h-h-h-help dispo-s-s-s-sing of a z-z-z-z-z-zombie."

"My," said McGonagall, who looked to be very interested in the story Quirrell was inventing. "Well, people are saying you also encountered vampires in that forest? And had a bit of trouble with a nasty hag… is this true?"

"W-w-w-w-w—well, you c-c-can't go believing everything you h-h-h-h-h-hear, can you, M-m-m-m-m-Minerva?"

"I suppose not," said McGonagall, who did not look pleased with this answer.

"Very good," said Tom once they were alone again. "You're learning quickly."

"You're too kind, my lord," said Quirrell as they walked along the corridor, passing by the Bloody Baron who huffed at the sight of Quirrell and flew right through him for the fun of it.

He disappeared at the end of the hall, though they could still hear his cackling.

"I never liked him," said Tom, absentmindedly.

At long last, September 1st arrived and in came a wave of new students. Tom knew exactly what this meant and had Quirrell wait in the Great Hall with the other professors, so he could get a good look. Quirrell seated himself next to a man with long black hair and folded his hands on the table nervously.

"Good summer, Quirrell?" said the cold voice Tom recognized at once.

"Y-y-y-yes, thank you, S-s-s-s-severus," replied Quirrell.

"Your stutter seems to have gotten worse," said Snape. Tom tried very hard to suppress his excitement, but hearing the voice of one of his most trusted Death Eaters, after so long, was like music to his ears.

"Did you really battle a vampire?" said Snape.

"W-w-w-w-well, you can't go b-b-b-b-believing everything you h-h-h-h-hear, c-c-c-can you, S-s-s-s-severus?"

"Mhm," said Snape, who sounded most suspicious.

"Do better than that, you fool!" Tom hissed into Quirrell's ears. Quirrell coughed loudly.

It seemed to take a while for the first years to arrive, but finally, Professor McGonagall opened the doors and led them through the Great Hall. Tom listened carefully as she instructed them to line up for the Sorting Ceremony.

"Let me see him!" Tom hissed. "I have to see him!"

Obliging, Quirrell turned round to talk to Severus, his turban now facing the crowd. Tom squinted through the purple until he caught sight of some glittering candles and smiling students sitting at the four familiar house tables. He drowned out Quirrell's conversation with Snape completely and focused on trying to find the boy. Where was he? He most certainly would have come, by now.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall finally called.

There he was. The little boy stepped forwards nervously. He looked just like his father…the same messy black hair and round glasses . . . and a scar. There was a scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt…it looked to be in the exact same spot Tom had pointed his wand that night, all those years ago. This was the mark he had left from his curse which had quite tragically rebounded upon himself.

The boy sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. Tom could not take it any longer. He had to get his hands on him.

"DO IT!" he hissed at Quirrell. "DO IT NOW! KILL HIM!"

But Quirrell did not respond and merely continued to talk to Snape.

Tom knew he was right…he knew that it would be most unwise to attack the boy now, in the middle of the ceremony, right in front of Dumbledore. Oh, but he had to. He needed to get his hands on him. He was yearning to.

"GRYFFINDOR!" bellowed the hat, which did not surprise Tom at all.

The Great Hall roared and cheered, deafening everyone. Soon, the feast began and conversations began to overlap one another. Quirrell had stopped talking to Snape and was now slicing his food. Tom was losing his patience and knew he would have to work twice as hard at keeping his cool if he wanted to get anywhere.

"Ask him about the stone!" he hissed into Quirrell's ears. "Severus is my most trusted, most loyal servant. He will help you out!"

"Say," said Quirrell, conversationally, "Dumbledore informed me earlier that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to all staff and students."

"Yes," said Snape, slowly.

"Why is that, do you know?"

"How thick are you?" cried Snape. "It's because of the stone, of course!"

"The stone?!" gasped Quirrell. Snape seemed to have noticed this because he said, "What do you know about the stone, Quirrell?"

"THE STUTTER!" Tom hissed into Quirrell's ears.

"N-n-n-n-n-n-nothing!" Quirrell said quickly to Snape.

"You seem to have lost your stutter there for a moment, Quirrell," said Snape, suspiciously.

"It c-c-c-c-c-comes and g-g-g-g-goes, S-s-s-s-Severus," said Quirrell, quickly.

"That's got to be a bitch," said Snape.

Quirrell laughed nervously and proceeded to eat. Even Tom laughed a bit. He was glad to hear that Severus had not changed one bit. A little while into the feast, he started up another conversation with Snape, trying to cover up for his little mistake. While his head was turned, Tom managed to get another good look at Harry Potter. And then, quite unexpectedly, the boy met his eyes. His hand flew to his forehead and he winced. Tom stared. What had just happened? He read the boy's lips as they said, "Nothing, I'm fine," to the red-haired boy sitting next to him. But Tom knew better than that.

The boy's scar had just hurt him. That was very strange…most peculiar. Tom had spent nearly all his life reading and studying everything there was to know about magic. He had gone further than any other wizard in wizarding history. And yet, still to this day, there were things that surprised even him, the Great Lord Voldemort. How peculiar.

All throughout the next month, Quirrell tried (on Tom's orders) to get into that room on the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side without being noticed by anyone. But wherever Quirrell went, Snape was just behind him. It was most frustrating.

"He is just doing his job," Tom told Quirrell countless of times. "Dumbledore thinks that Severus works for him. Severus has to make his cover convincing, doesn't he?"

"I still don't trust him," muttered Quirrell.

"Your job is not to trust him, Quirrell," Tom reminded him.

"Yes, sir," said Quirrell.

Quirrell spent his mornings and afternoons teaching classes, his evenings trying to get into that room, and his nights hunting unicorns in the Forbidden Forest and letting Tom feast on their blood. Tom had read about unicorn blood back in his Hogwarts years and sure enough, it fueled him now and gave him a little more energy. Still, he hated having to resort to living like this. He missed having his full-grown, snakelike body. He missed Nagini. He missed his life and he wanted it back. And Harry Potter would surely pay for it sometime soon.

"Don't let the boy touch you!" Tom reminded Quirrell over and over again as there were a few close incidents in class.

"What'll happen if he does?" Quirrell asked when they were alone.

"I do not know for sure but it is dangerous to allow him to touch you," replied Tom. "The boy is protected by some extraordinary magic. It'll be dangerous for us."

Soon, it was Halloween—the anniversary of Lord Voldemort's defeat. Luckily, Tom had had a brilliant idea overnight and so he fed it to Quirrell just as soon as he awoke. Quirrell did not seem to like the plan but nonetheless, he went through with it, on Tom's orders. As the rest of the school feasted in the Great Hall which was lit by hundreds of pumpkins, Quirrell diverted a large mountain troll and helped him to enter the castle. The troll was very stupid but it would do the trick. Then, putting on his best acting skills, Quirrell stormed into the Great Hall.

"TROOOOOLLLLLLL IN THE DUNGEONS!" he shrieked. Tom could not help but laugh beneath the turban. "TROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"

Professor Dumbledore jumped to his feet and stared at him, as did the rest of the Great Hall.

"Thought you ought to know," Quirrell added, before he collapsed to the ground, feigning unconsciousness.

Lightning and thunder struck and the next minute, the students were shrieking with terror and pushing and shoving each other to get out.

"SIIIIIIIIIIILEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" called Dumbledore. The Great Hall froze. Tom could see students standing above him, all of them looking frightened. "Everyone would please not panic. Now, prefects will please escort students back to their houses. Teachers will follow me to the dungeons."

Quirrell waited until most of the teachers were gone and then jumped to his feet and followed the students out. He raced up the stairs, climbing three at time. He didn't know how much time the troll would grant him, so he ran as fast as he could.

"FASTER!" Tom hissed into his ears, so Quirrell obeyed.

Finally, he reached the third-floor corridor and then quite as suddenly, froze.

"Well, well, well," said Severus Snape. "What brings you here, Quirrell?"

"I…I…I…"

"Ask him what he's doing here!" Tom hissed.

"W-w-w-w-what are y-y-y-you doing here, S-s-s-severus?"

"I might ask you the same question, Quirrell," said Snape. "The students are in their houses. The teachers are out, trying to deal with the troll. What brings you here? Most peculiar, don't you think?"

"I….I…..well, I…. uh, I…."

"If I were you," said Snape, "I would turn around and walk away right now."

"Y-y-y-yes, S-s-s-s-s-s-severus," said Quirrell, and he slowly turned around and began to walk away, still feeling Snape's eyes on him.

"He was only just doing his job!" Tom repeated for the thousandth time, as Quirrell walked along the Dark Forest, looking for unicorns.

"I don't care what you say, I'm telling you he is on Dumbledore's side!" Quirrell muttered.

"DID YOU FORGET WHO YOU'RE TALKING TO?!" barked Tom, causing Quirrell to gasp with shock. "DID YOU FORGET WHO IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF YOU? DID YOU FORGET WHAT I COULD DO TO YOU IN AN INSTANT? I DON'T NEED YOU THAT MUCH, QUIRRELL, I COULD EASILY DISPOSE OF YOU. EASILY!"

"My apologies, m-my lord!" cried Quirrell. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that!"

"Just get me the stone and I won't kill you," promised Tom.

"Y-yes, master," said Quirrell.

The next couple of months flew on by. Each day was the same as the last. Quirrell taught his classes, ate in the Great Hall with the other teachers, carefully avoided Snape and Dumbledore, hunted unicorns in the night, and tried hard to think up a new plan to get to the stone. But as the months went by, he still came up with nothing. Soon, it was the first Quidditch match of the season—Gryffindor versus Slytherin. And Tom, having grown tired of seeing the Potter boy walking around the castle every single day, decided to take action at last. He possessed Quirrell's mind beyond comprehension that morning, so that Quirrell's thoughts were blocked completely with Tom's own. Then, he followed the rest of the school out into the stadiums, reciting the spell he'd once read.

As soon as the Quidditch match began, he started working. It took a while for the charm to work as Tom was still out of practice. But soon enough, it started to show and Harry Potter's broom began to react. He swirled and swirled in the air, trying hard to hold onto that pathetic little broomstick.

"Keep eye contact!" Tom instructed Quirrell and he did so. "Don't let him live. Kill him—kill him now!"

It wasn't working. There was a barrier—something blocking the spell. Tom could feel it. He could almost hear it—he could almost hear the counter-jinx working. What on earth was happening?

"It's Snape!" hissed Quirrell as he slowly began to return to his self. "I told you, I told you! He's muttering a counter jinx! He's trying to save the boy...hmph!"

Quirrell had just been shoved by someone and he stumbled in his seat, having already broken eye contact with the boy.

"He's doing it because Dumbledore probably instructed him to!" hissed Tom. "You are too predictable; I bet Dumbledore can see right through you!"

The boy managed to get back on his broomstick and continue on with the game. Tom sighed heavily. At this rate that they were going, he'd have preferred that Wormtail himself returned, and not this pathetic, useless old—

"I can understand everything you're thinking, master!" muttered Quirrell. "We're sharing the same head, remember?"

"Then, for Pete's sake, show me that you are not wasting my time!" hissed Tom.

Things did not brighten up by Christmastime. Tom told Quirrell to try the stone again once the students went away for the holidays. The castle was almost empty and so Quirrell took advantage of the opportunity on Christmas Eve in the dead of night. He just about managed to get past the library doors when suddenly, out of nowhere, came Severus Snape. He pinned Quirrell hard against the wall and stared at him in the darkness.

"S-s-s-severus, I...I..." stuttered Quirrell.

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," muttered Snape, in a low voice.

"I...w-w-w-what do you m-m-mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

There was a low muffling sound somewhere nearby. Snape turned around furiously, looking for the source of it. A moment later, he turned back to Quirrell and pointed a threatening finger at him.

"We'll have another little chat soon," he declared, "once you've had time to decide where your loyalties lie."

"Ah, professors!" cried Filch, who'd just reached them. "I found this in the Restricted Section. It's still hot. That means there's a student out of bed!"

Quirrell followed the professors into the library and they began to search for the one who had carried the lamp. After about an hour, they decided that whoever it was had gone back to bed and so they bid good night to each other. Just before departing, Quirrell spotted Snape giving him a cold look. He nodded fearfully and retreated to his room.

"He suspects me!" he cried as he took off his turban.

"You're too obvious, that's why!" hissed Tom. "Severus Snape is a very clever man, of course he'd suspect you!"

The next big thing occurred a few months later. Tom and Quirrell were in the woods hunting one night, when suddenly someone appeared…someone whom Tom had been urging to meet. He did not understand what the boy was doing here (or how Dumbledore could have let him wander on his own in the night), but he did not waste his time trying to figure it out. He rose to Quirrell's feet and began to slowly approach the boy, keeping his black hood over his head. The boy looked startled and frightened. He tried to run but he tripped over a few twigs and lay there, staring up at Tom. Just as Tom was about to reach for the boy, a centaur jumped up from behind one of the trees and scratched his face. Trying hard not to yell out, Tom and Quirrell vanished from the scene.

It was the closest Tom had ever gotten to Harry Potter since that night, all those years ago. And it felt so good, standing so close to him. He wanted to do it again, but knew it would be foolish to assume that this would happen anytime soon. So, he spent the rest of the year hoping for the stone to just turn up, knowing that Quirrell was too useless to actually manage to get his hands on it.

However, on the 4th of June, something extraordinary happened. Tom was too weak and tired to pay too much attention to how he'd managed it, but sure enough, Quirrell got into that room at last. He went past all the protective enchantments that Dumbledore and the other professors had placed. He got to the very bottom chamber and stopped in front of a mirror.

"Very good, Quirrell, very good!" hissed Tom. "You have turned out to be useful after all!"

"But…but where is the stone?" said Quirrell, confused.

"Don't worry, the stone will arrive soon," Tom assured him, "Along with the boy. He is on his way. I can feel it."

And tonight, Tom hastened to add, he would rise back to power.

After 10 dreadfully long years.

Note: If anybody is interested, or hasn't seen it yet, there is a great movie on YouTube called "Magic Beyond Words". It's about JK Rowling and how she started writing the series. It is very inspirational for those of you who are aspiring authors. Let me know if you watch it! I recommend it to anyone who wants to be a writer or who simply loves this magical series and wants to know how it all began.