Author's Note: So I'm sick...which is why there'll probably be tons for you to read today. Good for you guys but I'm all restless and frustrated lol. Anyways, a bunch of you guys requested a chapter in LV's point of view. I wasn't planning on one but you guys really wanted it. I was afraid to try my hand at Voldemort because I don't think I do him justice but much to my amazement -even if this chapter is terrible- I had a blast writing it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think okay?

Little Gem
Lord Voldemort's PoV

How does one judge a person? This was a question I found myself contemplating with alarming frequency during my life. Do you judge them solely by their wealth? Perhaps by the beauty they possess? Or maybe their past deeds – heroic or malicious – revealed some nugget of truth of what lay deep below surface. One could argue that none of these are proper standards, much too shallow for the depth of the human soul but I found over time that peculiar as this trinity appeared to be, they were the most reliable grading scales.

One knew what to expect of the lavishly wealthy – they wished to be beautiful in the eyes of those that surrounded them. They strived for immaculate houses, reputation, appearances. Everything they ever did was solely based on greed and their strive for perfect beauty, even those who claimed to seek power did so for image of power to lord over their acquaintances who also strove for their own perfect beauty. Vain, narcissistic, and callous – these were the ones that would do anything for and to protect perfection.

The beautiful were perhaps the most tolerable. They were just as vain as those who coveted their splendor but they were consumed by another disease, longing. Plagued by a continual lust for more they very rarely realized that it was not more opulence that they craved. So in their ignorance they feasted on shallow vanities like gluttons trying to fulfill this craving, never noticing they killed off every sensitivity. Hollow, cold, and vicious – the beautiful tore every facet trying to find this craving and in the end pushed themselves into the sensual challenge of advanced magic in order to feel anything again.

Then there were those who managed to perform some great feat and the tide of fame was their particular brand of drug. The heroes, who had all done something that garnered favor and they expected it to last forever. When their fifteen minutes of fame were over the crash back to normalcy was unbearable and they either sought out a new quick way to the top or they buried themselves in delusions of grandeur – sometimes they did both. They were addicted to the spotlight, to the power that came with it, and to self-assurance it made them feel. After all, no great feat was ever completely moral. Guilt, denial, and jealousy – the heroes were forever trapped in their own secret moral justification, prone to extreme violence when you threatened that validation, and always on the lookout for the next rise to the top.

This categorical system had never failed me. Sometimes one person would a mix of two but everyone fell into neat little boxes in the end. I never had a problem sorting through and using these weaknesses against them. The world was nice and simplistic this way – I saw the threads of reality and manipulated them to my own ends. For fifty-five years I was a force of nature, unmovable and unstoppable, completely beyond the laws that governed other men.

Fate, it seems, had no such illusions.

I had expected my downfall to be a hero. I had expected him to be riding the monstrous wave a glory that my plunge into the deepest chasm in the ocean had created. For all my intelligence, I had expected my hero to be the definition of the stigma I had been trying to abolish. A self-proclaimed light wizard that would set forty years of my blood, sweat, and tears back so far that moving forward would be essentially starting from scratch. I had expected my downfall to be my negative – everything that I wasn't; brash, foolish, and prejudice.

What I found, however, was far from any expectation or preconceived notion I had held.

Harry Potter was a paradox. The little boy with Killing Curse eyes was quiet and gentle yet loved loud and boisterous debates. He was cheerful, bubbly even, yet he was clinical and cold; he wore his heart on his sleeve and gave it to no one. The boy spoke to everyone and yet made no friends. He was incredibly smart and driven but he was easily bored and made no effort in his grades. In an effort to learn as much as he could as fast as he could, the boy lived in the library and drown himself in a headache inducing combination of subjects.

Harry Potter was uncouth, untrained, and undisciplined but he was beautiful and he knew what he craved. He was a diamond freshly extracted from the earth, uncut and unpolished, but I could see him.

For the first month I watched, I observed from afar the cause of my destruction and burned away all my preconceived notions as the boy broke them in half. I began to study him, analyze him in a way I would a new creature. I learned his habits, the topics that made him shine, his weaknesses, his dislikes, and I began to figure out what made Harry Potter tick.

Slowly I unraveled the boy until my observations from a distance grew into solid facts and then I made my move. I wanted closer, I wanted to penetrate the shallow surface and pick apart who Harry Potter was beneath the open-minded, lazy, brilliant boy.

I was greeted openly with all of the trust only a child could manage. It was fascinating to watch his mind expand, growing by leaps and bounds, but it was also disconcerting. Potter's mind was a mirror into my childhood that I had no interest in revisiting. So I didn't delve into the boy's mind as I normally would have. I stayed on the surface in my intrusions and waited patiently for the boy to open up to me willingly. The waiting game became one that I enjoyed immensely. Instead of tearing open a flower I watched as it blossomed in my hands, a spectacular sight to behold.

When the boy came to me the first time, shy and insecure, asking about dark magic I was not as surprised as I should have been. The boys thirst for knowledge, though chaotic and sporadic, was vast and uncontrollable. And who was I to deny him? I began to dictate responses instead of watching from the side lines as Quirinus humored the boy and everything changed.

My warm reception to his unorthodox questions fused a bond between us that ran just a bit deeper than student and teacher. Much to my surprise it was not wholly one way. Potter became Harry and my sterile clinical exploration of who Harry Potter was became contaminated with a grudging fondness. As our conversations grew more substantial Harry grew more comfortable and I grew ever more curious. Just how far could I push the boy before he turned tail and ran to Dumbledore, scared of where our conversations led?

I was careful of course, always letting the boy seek me out and choose the topics of our conversations. But each time I nudged him harder, pushed him farther – slowly ripping away his rose-tinted glasses in which he viewed the world. It was glorious to watch as the boy realized how corrupt wizardkind was. Harry loathed the rampant prejudice that plagued our world, from creature's rights to blood status, to magic and house – he resented it all. That resentment pushed him ever farther into sturdy, independent thought that would last long after I had left.

The day I had been anticipating for a while still left me surprised when it dawned. Harry sought me out and this time the conversation plunged farther than it ever had before into the icy depths of danger. I had my escape plan ready – the traps mapped and the stone just waiting to be taken – should our conversation not end well.

Harry learned of glamours and I watched as he bloomed even more under my watchful gaze. There were possibilities, Harry had exclaimed loudly, creating whole glamours of people or surroundings – actual illusions. I had been so tempted to show him just how true his words were. I could show him magic that would sweep him away and leave him breathless in wonder. It was the first time I found myself wishing to reveal myself to him but it would not be the last.

Over the next two months Harry's visits were as frequent as they were spontaneous. Out of nowhere the boy would show up with a bright, lazy smile and sparkling eyes to talk of anything that suited his fancy. Without even being aware of it I began to look forward to his visits even going so far as to plant a few of my own books within Ravenclaw Tower when Harry had expressed his urge for more. He was restless and annoyed with how his peers tread so cautiously around him. With all the beauty of his growth I had been blind; I began to realize that he was resenting how confined he felt.

My final attempt at pushing Harry farther was in the form of a book called The Black Arts. In his naivety he never realized that no self-respecting Ravenclaw would ever bring that book anywhere near Hogwarts. I waited for him to realize it or for him to turn it in when he realized the consequences that were so heavily outlined in the book for practicing such arts. Once again the paradox of a boy with Killing Curse eyes fascinated me with his bold and daring expression of interest in blood magic.

In my youth I had dabbled in Necromancy only long enough to create Inferi. I had gone furthering in mastering soul magic than any other and I had pursued Illusion and Elemental magic farther than any other in recorded history. But I had never had the time to explore an unknown branch of magic from the ground up.

Mere months ago the idea of someone taking what was mine – and I considered this project mine as I had filed it away for my later perusal – would have enraged me. Yet I found myself keenly aware of not only how it didn't bother me but how I was excited to see him explore. Harry never confessed to more than an interest but I saw the gleam in his eyes and I wondered how he would fare when he was so undisciplined, so restrained. Once a dog breaks his leash they tended to over exert themselves in the hazy euphoria of freedom.

I found myself fervently hoping that once Harry fashioned himself wings he would not fly too close to the sun.

Throughout my time at Hogwarts I kept close watch on the suspicions of others. I made sure to engage in conversations – rather I forced Quirinus to – and made sure that the more outlandish rumors of the debates happening in my classes were kept far away from the other Professors. Yet I was realizing my time was going to come to an end. It all wrapped up so nicely that the saccharine ease of it all sickened me.

Dumbledore brought in the Mirror of Erised, an artifact I was not familiar with, as yet another safeguard. I understood that I would have to act before he set it up or risk the time it would take to figure it out. Then Harry was called to Dumbledore's office and I watched with a growing sense of dread. I realized that in my time here and my time with Harry I had grown rather fond of the boy, so much so that watching him walk to the Headmaster's office left me feeling as though he were walking away from me – as if I were losing a possession I cared for greatly. I had tried to shake such nonsensical thoughts away but fear of losing something as precious as Harry snaked its way around my spine.

I tried not to but I found myself seeking the boy out for the first time. He avoided me like I was plague. Scared and withdrawn, I wanted desperately to understand what had caused such emotions to surface after I had spent so long making his eyes sparkle in excitement. I had known this was coming, I told myself, I had prepared for this. My preparations had been woefully lacking. I gave one last attempt to uncover what was wrong with my precious paradox – I initiated our game. I sunk in to the familiar mind easily, just a shallow dive to alert him to my presence, and was harshly removed with a viciousness that had never found purchase in our game before.

So I stopped. The time had come for my experiment to end and my time at Hogwarts was rapidly expiring. Winter Solstice was a pleasant irony too sweet to ignore so Quirinus prepared for our departure while I stewed in cold fury. There had been no objections to my swift theft of the stone. Dumbledore had gone to the Hogs Head to once again try to mend fences with his brother and the professors were all drunk merrily on Yuletide wine. There was no time but I couldn't stop myself from throwing out a mental net trying to find Harry as we left the castle.

I found him in the forest a little ways off the beaten path that I showed him in his detentions. I should have ignored him, should have taken the precious time I had to make my escape permanent while Dumbledore raced back to the castle. Instead I changed course to the east, flying low in the fog for cover. The boy was mildly happier than he had been the last few days but the exuberance I had grown fond of was notably absent.

Quietly I circled around in front of him and there should have been no way for him to know I was watching but Harry's gaze shifted to me unwavering and confident. So I rose up from the cover of fog and glided forward slowly wondering if he would once again leave.

"Harry…Potter…" I rasped with my own voice for the first time in months. It was harsh and gruff from disuse but the boy's eyelids drooped to a lazy half-gaze.

"Voldemort." My silent fury grew. He knew whoI was. He had found out who I was and had run.

He should have known better, not one person has ever outrun me. I'd killed them all.

I moved forward watching the boy I had come to favor watching me. "Yesss…" I hissed quietly. "I have watched you…studied you…" I had watched him bloom under my care and tutelage and I would continue to do so as he withered away under the constraints Dumbledore would place on him. "So inquisitive…chained up like a starved dog…"

"I'm not a dog!"

The laugh that escaped me was not to be held back. It was full of derision and humor and welled up from deep within. There was the ferocity I had grown accustomed to, it was a shame this would be the last I saw of it. Maybe in a few years when my paradox matured he'd have it on the battlefield. I could see it now, how his eyes would sparkle dangerously and he would be a force to be reckoned with. I would hunt him down to the ends of the earth and I would watch him bloom once again under my ministrations. He would blossom and I would cherish him in death.

"So bold and unafraid…You defied all of my expectations…I wonder…Will you defy another?" I wanted him to understand what was happening, to live in the fear of knowing I would come for him. Yet I couldn't deny that I was horribly curious as to what he would do, how he would react.

"Do you know why the third floor corridor is out of bounds? Do you know what was hidden there?"

"No, I didn't care." Another burst of laughter came pouring out and I almost smiled fondly. No, he didn't care. He had been much too enamored with me and his learning to care about Dumbledore's foolish games.

Harry was waiting for me to tell him what was hidden there. His Killing Curse eyes alight in curiosity. All previous traces of his dour mood had seemingly vanished which was quite the quandary for me. Now more than ever he should have been hateful, spiteful, and belligerent even. Yet he looked at me as he had all term, even now that he could see my red eyes and knew who I was. I contemplated the possibility of having been wrong in my assumptions as I spoke and watched the boy closely. "The Sorcerer's Stone was hidden deep beneath foolish traps…"

The boy's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates but still there was no fear, no anger, there was nothing but excitement, the exuberance I had been searching for. "Yes I see recognition in your eyes. You know what it does and who I am, no know this: I have taken the stone."

His gasp was delicious and I inched myself closer, the magic crackling around us in anticipation.

"I will leave here tonight and the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort will be imminent… Will you, Harry Potter, try and stop me?"

I knew he wouldn't even if he wanted to; Harry was much too intelligent to think he could possibly win. Yet I searched him for deceit, for any loyalty to Dumbledore, and for any resistance to me. What I found was quiet speculation. It was as if some sort of revelation was happening and I waited eagerly for him to come to me, as he had before. He would blossom in my hands or he would never blossom at all.

After a long period of heavy silence Harry spoke with a soft smile that came only from finally understanding something. "I've decided I believe in fate."

Before my mind could contemplate his words Harry continued, "Whether you are the mass murderer bent on world domination and destruction or the revolutionary fighting for a just cause, it doesn't matter. I am a boy you can't kill and you are a man I can't kill, I was destined for a wand you couldn't fight and you were destined for a wand I can't fight. I believe we're meant to be friends – fated even."

His words startled me to the core. I had spent many years contemplating the prophecy which marked my doom and even though I found no trace of it within Harry's mind I found the concept of misinterpreting a half heard fortune leading to a full fruition amusing. A boy with the power…but in all my time unravelling Harry never once had there been any whisper of any power I did not know of and none of them were of any threat to me. That our wands were meant never to fight only compounded my curiosity but did not overly worry me.

A plan started to come to together in my mind as I regarded Harry in serious contemplation. He stared back at me hesitantly expectant but bright eyed and fearless.

I don't believe I had ever been or ever would be so pleased to be wrong. Something had upset Harry but it had not been me and it clearly had not been any dark magic debates. Which meant Dumbledore was sticking his nose where it wasn't welcome. Harry Potter was still mine.

Slowly I closed the chasm between us and reveled in the pressure of our magic intertwining. "You continue to fascinate me little gem. I hope you continue to do so for a very long time."

I would be watching him closely. I would watch as time wore away and smoothed his edges and as trial and error polished him until he shone. Yes, my little gem had quite a ways to go but it would be a fascinating journey to behold.