CHAPTER 23:
VOLDEMORT MAKES HIS MOVE
Voldemort was ecstatic. He was in a state of happiness he had rarely been in, even before his defeat, and that he hadn't actually been in since said defeat. The Materia he had tested both in the Forbidden Forest, and in the Room of Requirement, and it was certainly a boon. While Voldemort's arrogance knew no bounds, if there was a magic that he thought he could use, he would use it, regardless of whether you needed a wand, or these crystalline orbs.
He had determined what the Materia did, other than what the Potter brat had already told Quirrell. The green one, which healed, was useless for most of his purposes, though better to be safe than sorry. Healing magic could be useful if necessary. The blue one he had little patience for: he didn't intend to die again. The red one, well, he was astonished when he summoned Phoenix, only to begin howling with laughter. The irony was that Dumbledore had a pet phoenix, but this one was immensely more powerful. The yellow one's various spells were an eclectic bunch, but he got the hang of the more useful ones quickly.
He knew that with these spells, he had what he needed to get past any enchantments and obstacles in his way. He was going to wait until he could get a hold of a dragon egg to bribe that oaf Hagrid about how to get past the Cerberus, but that had proven unnecessary. All he had to do was kill the damned mongrel beast (albeit as quietly as possible to avoid alerting anyone else), and then make his way down through the trapdoor beneath.
That being said, he wanted to kill two birds with one stone. He intended to bring Harry Potter down, partly to kill the Boy Who Lived as part of his triumphant return, and partly because you never knew whether you needed a meat shield for traps. Even if he failed to get the Stone, and he was left to wander the world as a bodiless wraith (temporarily) once more, he would be satisfied to know that Dumbledore, along with that Gainsborough woman and that Calamitas bitch, would be horrified upon seeing Harry Potter's bloodied and mutilated corpse. In fact, he hoped it would be their Boggart for a long time to come. The thought would keep him warm at night, he believed.
As for how he would get Harry to come with him…well, he had that covered too. Quirrell had a memory in his mind, of going to a Muggle movie a couple of years after Voldemort's downfall. Return of the Jedi. A quote from the movie came to mind, of a conversation between a young man called Skywalker, and a decrepit old pseudo-sorcerer called Palpatine. "Your overconfidence is your weakness." "Your faith in your friends is yours."
The movie was a ridiculous, conceited work, albeit a visually spectacular and impressive one. Voldemort wondered whether the makers had wizards on hand to help with the special effects(1). It was a useless speculation, save for whether he might save that particular group of Muggles from a slow, painful death. Immortalising his rise to power in film was an intriguing idea. He had vaguely fond memories of the few films he had seen while growing up in the orphanage, how they captured the imagination and ensnared the senses. Nothing like magic, of course, but still, he had to admit to himself if to nobody else that Muggles sometimes weaved a magic all of their own. Which was why they were so dangerous, even when they were beneath him.
In any case, Harry's friends and family were his weakness. Voldemort didn't consider his followers friends, though he used that endearment often enough with them. They were, ultimately, disposable to varying degrees, even dear Bellatrix. And who did Voldemort have for family? His mother perished not long after giving birth. His father was a useless and arrogant Muggle noble who discarded her. His uncle and grandfather were a bunch of inbred dullards who were as unworthy of their legacy as the descendants of Slytherin as much as a Muggle would be. And only his uncle remained alive, little more than a half-insane mess in Azkaban(2).
Voldemort took great pleasure in committing patricide, even if it was only by proxy, by sending his uncle Morfin Gaunt to murder them, using the Imperius curse. It was a means of divesting himself of his past, from both sides of the family. His only concession to his family was when he took the Gaunt Ring. Nothing so proud should belong in a family of incestuous near-Squibs, anyway.
If truth be told, Voldemort was just as disgusted with Purebloods as he was with Halfbloods and Muggleborns. His maternal family was an extreme case, true, but many Purebloods were a lot of half-inbred idiots, regardless of whether or not they followed the blood purity creed. They tended to be more useful because they knew more magic than the rest. That, and they were also more easily controlled, as long as you told them what they wanted to hear. That they were special. That they were superior.
But there was only one person who could be superior, who deserved to be so. Voldemort had learned early on that in order to become superior, one had to seize power, no matter how you did it. You had to be willing to sneer at taboos in order to gain power over people, over life, and even over death itself. Only then could you be considered worthy of that power.
As he made his preparations for the night's activities, he thought back to that night over ten years ago. The Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra, invariably killed the target. The only true countermeasure was to either avoid the spell, or else have something (or someone: Voldemort had once interposed a treacherous underling's comrade between him and the spell) between you and it. And yet, not only did Harry survive a direct hit from the spell (and with only a scar to show for it), the damned thing rebounded, destroying Voldemort's body, and leaving a wraith. If it weren't for the horcruxes, Voldemort would be dead, and it was a chilling thought. Voldemort's thanatophobia was paramount, though he would never admit it to another living soul, and the thought of how close he had come to oblivion chilled him to the bone.
What had protected Harry Potter? Voldemort had pondered that very problem over and over again. He had all the time in the world to do so, and it was one of his preoccupations, other than getting a new body and assuring his immortality. And while it wasn't healthy to brood, the simple fact was that Voldemort wanted to know for a number of reasons. Firstly, to survive the Killing Curse had no known precedent that he knew of, and perhaps it could help him remain immortal. Secondly, he wanted to be prepared before he faced the brat again, for whatever thwarted Voldemort once could thwart him again. Know thy enemy. And finally, he had to admit to genuine curiosity, behind the thwarted frustration. Lord Voldemort may have been ambitious, true, but he also had a thirst for knowledge that would be the envy of many a Ravenclaw. Most of it dark knowledge, but if something actually interested and intrigued him, then he wanted to know the answer.
He had narrowed things down to a small number of possibilities, but his pet theory was Lily Potter, née Evans, had stumbled across some ritual or other, an obscure one, that would protect her son. But why not use the same ritual on themselves? Voldemort did not know. He did not like being ignorant, either.
Of course, it would all be a moot point ere long. He intended to kill Harry Potter. The Killing Curse may have rebounded, but it didn't mean other curses could be used in inventive ways, or using his own Materia against him…and there was also throttling the little bastard, or snapping his neck. Not exactly a dignified way for a Dark Lord to kill his foe, but there was a certain visceral appeal all the same.
First, though, he would need to bring the brat. Which was where his Manchurian Candidate spell came into play. The Mudblood Granger and the Blood-Traitor Weasley succumbed easily. He considered whether to bring Gainsborough into it or not. He decided against that after some thought. While she could be good leverage, her absence from the Hospital Wing might be noted swiftly. And attacking Professor Calamitas wouldn't end well.
He managed to ensnare Granger and Weasley with the spell during the DADA class. After dinner, they would bring Potter with him, by hook or by crook. He also sent a letter to Dumbledore with a strong compulsion charm, meaning that the Headmaster would be halfway to the Ministry of Magic (on broom, rather than by Floo!) by the time that Voldemort got things together.
He grinned inwardly. Soon, he would have the Philosopher's Stone, and this carcass he was hitching a ride on would be of little use. And the Boy Who Lived…would become the Boy Who Died. All was right in the world.
Potter's friends had brought him right on schedule. Quirrell, on Voldemort's command, said, "So nice of you to join us, Mr Potter."
The boy was glaring at Quirrell. Voldemort had the notion that the boy had suspected them for some time. "What did you do to them?"
Ah, so he had spotted the curse. "Nothing too bad. Just a little curse of my master's design," Quirrell said. "Ms Granger, and Mr Weasley…on my command, which is to say if Mr Potter shows any inclination to harm my person, or too much insolence…kill yourselves. Use a Cutting Curse on your necks."
"Yes, sir," Granger and Weasley chorused, raising their wands, pointing them at their necks.
"Bastard," Potter snarled.
"Language, Mr Potter. I'd take off points…but that would be something of a moot point."
The boy scowled, before he said, "You're the puppet. So who's pulling the strings?"
"I'm sure you can guess," Quirrell said amiably. "But we have no time to dilly-dally. Come along, Potter, lest you wish to see your friends kill themselves messily. Or perhaps I can make them use the Cruciatus Curse on themselves."
Voldemort had to admire the defiance on Harry Potter's face. Not only that, but the promise of a slow, painful death in those emerald eyes. The boy had a lot of spirit and bravery. No wonder he had been Sorted into Gryffindor. It made him wonder how his now deceased spy, Pettigrew, ever made it into that House. After all, he only joined the Death Eaters out of fear, and had spent the past decade hiding as a bloody rat! Bravery Voldemort could admire, and it was clear that Harry Potter was his parents' child, no matter what he claimed his surname was.
Quirrell unlocked the door to the third floor corridor, and gestured for Harry to go inside. He then sent the two brainwashed friends after them, before joining them, and locking the door behind them with a charm more powerful than the one on it. Dumbledore's arrogance knew no bounds, it seemed.
Quirrell looked defiantly at the Cerberus, who was stirring and waking up. Voldemort decided to make the beast's death prolonged and painful, as a preview to Harry for his own death, as well as to make that half-breed oaf Hagrid suffer. "Bad Breath!" Quirrell snarled, touching the Materia.
The Cerberus was immediately engulfed in pungent, ink-black smoke. A threatening snarl died in its throats, and it slumped, asleep. "Aqua Breath(3)!" Quirrell cried out.
Spheres of water surrounded the Cerberus' three heads, and bubbles blasted out of their mouths as the water rushed down their throats. The dog twitched, convulsed, and spasmed, drowning while in a magically-induced sleep. Voldemort smiled at the thought of the water filling the monster's lungs. It was a slow, painful death, and the only thing that Voldemort wished was the case was that the beast was conscious enough to feel the pain to the utmost.
The monster dog subsided, and as the spheres of water disappeared, mucus drooled out of the mouths. But Voldemort wanted to make sure. Voldemort did not believe that there was any such thing as overkill.
"Beta!" Quirrell yelled.
The carcass of the Cerberus was consumed by what looked like a nuclear explosion in miniature. It was consumed within seconds, the pungent ashes scattering around the room.
Thus is the fate all those who oppose me will suffer, Voldemort thought to himself. Let this be the sign of my advent and my ascendancy. Lord Voldemort rises again.
Quirrell ushered Harry to the trapdoor, his brainwashed friends in tow. Opening it, he then shoved Harry and his friends down, before carefully lowering himself through. Time to confront what pitiful defences Dumbledore had in place around the Stone…
CHAPTER 23 ANNOTATIONS:
Another chapter that took a long time to get out. Ayiyiyiyi…
So, we get some insight into Voldemort's character. I wanted him to have some more nuance. It's clear from canon that he holds everyone, even the Purebloods, in contempt. I wanted to give some insight into that.
1. Voldemort showing his ignorance of special effects, as well as his admiration of them. Then again, ILM have probably been called special effects wizards…
2. I'm assuming that Dumbledore doesn't visit Morfin Gaunt until at least after the events of The Chamber of Secrets, when he needs to know about the Horcruxes and Voldemort's past.
3. I am NOT calling it 'Aqua Lung'.
No soundtrack suggestions this time. Sorry.