Chapter 55 - 57: Tic-Toc Goes the Clock - Riddle Me This
Chapter 55: Tic-Toc Goes the Clock
24 May 1992, Hogwarts
The professor applauded and called for the other students to duel. Harry half-heartedly listened to him as he analyzed their match. What happened in the duel was dangerous. Harry was almost tempted to send actually dangerous spell at McLaggen. He really needed to get a grip on this and fast.
It was a beautiful day. The birds were singing, there was no cloud in sight. It was a rare hot in Scotland, where every single student would have loved to spend outside, swimming in the lake, or just relaxing on the ground. And yet there was no one in sight. It was expected after all, it was time for the end of the year exams and every single Hogwarts student has been desperately trying to cram as much knowledge in their head in the hopes of passing. Harry's friends were no different.
Yes, for the first time in the year, Harry was actually joined by his friends in the library to study. They weren't really bad students. Daphne, especially, was very diligent in her studies, but Blaise and Tracy tended to procrastinate when it came to their studies. It wasn't anything drastic, but they needed to work a lot to catch up on what they missed. Still, they were going to pass anyway; from the looks of it, Hogwarts isn't that strict when it comes to passing. In the past decade, barely one student was held back and that was because he had to leave school for personal reasons in the middle of the semester, and literally didn't know a single thing about his curriculum when he tried to pass the exams at the end of the year.
It was all fearmongering from the professors, to get the students to take things seriously. Still, if it got students to actually start studying, then Harry was all for it. It seemed to work very effectively. Any confrontation between Gryffindors and the Slytherins had ceased entirely. There were no more pranks, no more hexing, nothing really. This was what a school was supposed to be like. Hell, even, Ron Weasley of all people was going to the library to try to grasp a passing grade, at Hermione's behest. Speaking of the Muggleborn, she looked like she was having a mental breakdown from most of the studies. Her hair was constantly frazzled and looked suspiciously close to an afro. She was constantly walking around with a book in her hand, mumbling about one subject or another.
Honestly, Harry decided that he didn't want anything to do with the Golden Trio at all. If some kind of hand of fate was making the boy who lived and his friends go on weird adventures, then he wanted to stay away as much as possible. Or it might be Dumbledore trying to 'train' Longbottom or something. Yeah, it was probably Dumbledore. Still, the detention in the forbidden forest went from zero to a hundred in minutes, just because Longbottom was there. He learned his lesson from that fiasco. One near-death experience was enough for him.
Back to the tests, they were mostly divided into written and practical exams, except for History of Magic that is, each taking half the grade. It wasn't that difficult, since they're geared towards children, really. The written portions were insultingly simple. Harry had breezed through them without any trouble. Well, there were the flying exams too, but they didn't really count. Everyone had gotten their flying license without much trouble, even Hermione who was scared of heights.
They were already finished with their potion exams, which was a relief, really. Harry was thankful that he didn't have a partner while brewing. Yeah, Hermione was a competent brewer, at least for her age, but she always kept questioning Harry during lessons whenever he chose to alter or fix a potion using his Arcane Hearing, which could get irritating after a while. Thankfully, Snape didn't really harass Harry in the exams, choosing to stay by his desk and grade papers. He was probably overworked at that time of year. Weasley creating some sort of black slimy atrocity that seemed to come to life, where he should have made a simple bruise balm didn't help his patience.
For the practical Charms exam, they had to make a pineapple tap dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them in Transfiguration turn a mouse into a snuff box – points were given for how pretty the snuff box was, but taken away if it had whiskers. These were textbook spells that they had taken in class. There weren't any curveballs in any of the exams, you were just required to redo what you had done in class. Harry honestly, didn't understand what the fuss was about.
Harry watched his friends celebrate as they finally finished their History of Magic exams. Tracy had a wide smile on her face and was singing, "It's finally over. It's finally over," repeatedly. Blaise was half asleep but looked more relaxed than he had seen him for days, even Daphne had a small smile on her face.
The Potter scion shrugged, "I don't know what you were so stressed about. It wasn't that bad."
"It was hell, Harry," Tracy answered with a glare on her face, "and I'm not going to let you bring our mood down. We're finally free. No more books for months."
Daphne seemed to come to Harry's rescue, "Come on, you have to admit that it was a lot easier than we thought it would be. There were just too many facts to memorize."
"I don't care," Tracy responded without losing her grin, "we're finally done with this hellhole."
"Speak of yourself, you lucky pricks," Harry grumbled.
Yeah, Harry was one of the last students to do his Defense practical exam and it kind of freaked him out. Apparently, Quirrell's test involved sparring with him in a duel, so it had to be done separately for each student. The Professor had given out schedules for each spar, and Harry went last. He wasn't worried about the exam, of course, but the fact that he would be alone with a potentially possessed professor, without any witnesses.
It was probably going to be fine. The man hadn't done anything to him for months and was probably focused on Longbottom and getting the stone.
Before they could answer, Harry grabbed his friends and pulled them down. Immediately, a spell splashed at the wall behind them. Two Ravenclaws were duelling, and a stray spell had almost hit them. The young Slytherins slowly walked to the Great Hall while docking.
Blaise loudly complained, "They're still doing this? Exams are done."
"Not for the upper years, they aren't," Tracy responded.
Harry did notice that Ravenclaws tended to be very vicious when it came to the end of the year exams. Apparently, there was some kind of prize for the top Ravenclaw student every year. At least, according to Tracy, that is. It had to be something big. It would explain why they kept constantly trying to sabotage each other, and curse their housemates in the back, and so forth. It was pretty toxic, but the Ravenclaws seemed to like it for some reason.
Daphne mumbled, "Ravenclaws are weird." Yeah, he wasn't going to refute that.
With a quick 'tempus', Harry was able to see the time. His practical Defense Against the Dark Arts was in a few minutes, and he didn't want to be late. He excused himself and started walking towards the classroom.
On his way, he thought about his trauma from the forest incident. After his duel with Flitwick, Harry decided to focus on his Occlumency which had a calming effect on him. Over time, he stopped hyperventilating anytime he saw a green spell, and he didn't get lost in his duelling sessions anymore, but every time saw Quirrell, he couldn't help but panic.
The Potter scion found that just spending time with his friends and practising magic in peace was a good way for him to relax. He had developed a routine of a sort. Every day, he would wake up and practice his Occlumency, and then join his friend at breakfast. They would go to class together, and then study in the library for a few hours, before going to an empty classroom to practice their spells. At night, Harry would sneak up to either the restricted section of the library or the Room of Requirements for his self-study. There was something comforting to the monotony of it. There was nothing unexpected, like unicorn attacks, or baby dragons, and he loved it. Yeah, it might be a bit cowardly to just stay away from the whole mess, but Harry wasn't a Gryffindor. It wasn't his job to protect the castle, it was Dumbledore's.
Still, despite trying to convince himself of the contrary Harry's feeling of dread grew, with every step he took towards the Defense classroom. He wanted to just avoid the exam altogether, but he couldn't really justify it to anyone; everyone else had done it, even Longbottom, who was a far more attractive target than Harry. Surely, the man wouldn't risk getting caught before attempting to get the stone, right?
And yet, Harry couldn't help but arrange a little insurance to bargain with Quirrell if something went wrong. He had something up his sleeve to at least buy himself more time or give him an advantageous position. The truth was that Harry could do very little to avoid Quirrell. He couldn't complain, since even if he was at the end of the queue, there was nothing different compared to how he treated the rest of the students, and even then, the faculty was very busy with the exams going on. Harry had exactly one move he could play and he hoped it would work.
Harry waited until the very last second before knocking on the door. For a few seconds, he hoped the man wouldn't be there, but he heard the quivering voice of his defence professor, "Come in, Mr. Potter."
Harry gulped and opened the door. The Room didn't look any different, but he still wanted to run away as far as possible from this place. The man let out a slight smile and asked, "Good, you're ready. Put your bag to the side and take out your wand. We'll get started when you're ready."
Harry did what he was instructed, and slowly but surely put his bag to the side and instinctively took a duelling stance. The professor must have noticed, "I see you're taking your duelling sessions seriously. I have to say that the other professors and I were very shocked when Flitwick allowed you entry into the club. Although, with Longbottom joining the Quidditch team, a precedent was made in breaking the age restriction to extracurricular activities."
"Yes," Harry nodded, "I am very grateful for him giving me an opportunity like this."
The man gave him a slight smile and clapped his hand, "Well, this is not the time for these types of talks. This is supposed to be an exam. Now, it's a fairly simple exam. I will give you a list of five spells that we have covered in class. You will cast these spells on the dummy at the end of the room. You will be graded on how effective your spells will be. Then, we will have a small duel, using only those spells. I shall give a grade on your performance and tactical awareness. Do you understand the assignment?"
Harry nodded. It was the exact same thing his friends told him they experienced. He relaxed slightly when the professor gave him a list of spells. It wasn't really anything impressive, just the basic cast, a knockback jinx, a tripping jinx, a petrifying curse, and a jelly-legs jinx.
In a single minute, Harry had cast these spells in succession. They were fairly simple spells that he had mastered a month after being in Hogwarts in the first place. Perhaps, with this done, he could leave the classroom without any fuss. Quirrell hadn't done anything shifty, so that was a good sign.
Of course, that hope was dashed when he turned around to see the glowing red eyes the man had. Before he could react, Harry could feel a spell coming his way with his Arcane Hearing. He dodged it immediately and sent a stunning charm by reflex. The man deflected it easily enough. The Potter scion decided to take away his opponent's sight. He could make do with his Arcane Hearing, to cast, but Quirrell who was far more experienced and skilful didn't have that luxury. With that done, Harry tried to send a lightning piercing hex at his head. It was one of the deadliest spells he had known and had a relatively small magical cost. It was like a small drill made of lightning that could actually easily kill someone. It was designed to pierce, nothing more.
He had aimed it at where he sensed Quirrell was. For a second, he felt like it worked, that he had taken the man by surprise. Unfortunately, in a fraction of a second, chains came out of the wall behind him and bound Harry. A disarming charm hit his hand, sending his wand away, and the smoke faded very quickly.
A smirking red-eyed Quirrell slowly made his way to him, twirling his wand, "That was far more entertaining than I thought it would be. I believe that we have many things to discuss, Mr. Potter."
Chapter 56: The Dark Lord
24 May 1992, Hogwarts
The Potter scion thrashed, trying to get out of his restraints, The red-eyed professor smirked as he watched his useless efforts at escaping, "Don't try to run, Potter, I have enchanted these chains myself. Bound I may be by this body's pitiful magical circuits, I assure you that my skills are not diminished."
Harry stopped, understanding how hopeless it was for him to try to escape. Voldemort had just revealed himself to him. That was bad. No, it was the worst possible scenario because it meant that there was a good chance that Harry wouldn't make it out of this classroom alive.
The possessed professor grinned, "You're not surprised, are you? That I'm not who I said I was."
For the first time, Harry chose to speak up, "Is it just you in there, or is Quirrell still hanging around?"
The dark lord snorted, "You're very perceptive, I'll admit to that. No, Quirrell is still there, but mostly dormant. He hasn't been awake for months. It was a shame I had to wrestle control over his body. He felt remorseful after Halloween, almost killing students. He wanted to confess to Dumbledore. I couldn't take that risk and so, he remains asleep. But I'm not here to speak of the snivelling cowardly waste of magic that Quirrell was, but about you. From the moment you saw me, you knew exactly how dangerous I was. Dumbledore himself was fooled, but not you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry protested.
"You're a terrible liar, Harry. You see, there's something you must know about me. I'm a master of Legilimency. After all, you did not meet my eyes for almost a year. It's almost admirable, all things considered; if I hadn't been paying attention specifically on you, I wouldn't have noticed it. You were good at it, very good, but you were arrogant. You didn't know everything. Yes, you prevented my Legilimency from taking hold, but you didn't know that I was also an empath."
Harry froze, and the dark lord burst into laughter. It was one of the worst sounds the Potter scion had ever heard, "Oh, the look on your face. Yes, I noticed you from the very first day. The other students were nervous, yes, but you were absolutely terrified to the bone, yet you didn't show it. I spied on you when you were with other professors, and you weren't even bothered. Even Severus did not frighten you. What you felt was an emotion that I was familiar with. It was the fear I felt whenever anyone saw me before my downfall. The crushing fear and mind-numbing terror, that would make your heart beat wildly. You felt it and I immediately realized why you felt that way. You knew who I was from the very first day, and it terrified you."
Harry felt a mind probe try to enter his mind, and immediately employed his occlumency, reining in his stray thoughts. The Dark Lord could not be allowed to enter Harry's mind. The secrets inside could very well destroy the wizarding world.
He expected Riddle to be angry, to start torturing. He did not expect the man to burst into laughter again, "An Occlumens at your age. Do you have any idea how rare that is? I wasn't even half that good when I was your age. You're something special indeed. But I'm not a master of Legilimency for nothing."
Harry could feel the mind probe shift and attacking specifically his mind. This wasn't a Legilimency probe anymore. It was something more, something deeper. For the first time, Harry was afraid. However, his magical crest started to warm up and Harry could feel the frustration coming from Voldemort as his attempts fail at breaking the mind protection of his crest.
Yeah, mental protections were commonly put on magical crests to prevent people from stealing the family spells inside them. Oh, it didn't protect against Legilimency as it senses the projected thoughts of the user, it simply stops deep dives into the mind. Mind magic was a very dangerous field of magic, which could potentially reshape the very personality of a person. No one wanted their legacy to become nothing by puppets, giving away their secrets to unworthy families. Harry's crest was no different in that regard. It protected his mind and for the first time, the professor's crimson eyes were not amused.
"A magical crest," he murmured, "that's how you're blocking me. I had forgotten about that particular side effect. It does explain how you were able to banish me from the forest. I wasn't able to return afterwards, and this body is starting to fail me without a steady supply of unicorn blood."
Harry realized something, "You're dying because you took over Quirrell's body. His magical channels are slowly getting acclimated to your soul and it's tearing the body apart."
The man grinned once more, "See, that's why I offered to make you into my apprentice. And yet you refused me. You could have had everything you wanted. Power, reputation, wealth, everything you could have ever desired, but you turned down my offer, knowing exactly who I was."
"It was nothing personal," Harry retorted, "you just have a bad reputation when it comes to treating your servants."
"Not everything they say about me is the truth. I do have a code of honour of sorts, and my goal is a noble one," the man answered.
"You seriously think that genocide is a noble cause?" Harry answered incredulously.
"Of course not. I do not condemn Mudbloods out of anger or hate. They are simply sacrifices. They are the price for me getting control of the magical world and achieving my dream."
"And what dream would that be?" the Potter scion asked.
"Peace…" the man murmured.
"Peace? You want to achieve peace with genocide? That's literally the opposite of peace," Harry retorted with an incredulous tone.
"Young Harry, how little you know. How little you understand. The magical world has been at war for thousands of years. The Light and the Dark have been fighting ever since history could remember. At every given moment, there is a champion of light and a champion of darkness. They are granted immense magical potential and a near instinctive intuition when it comes to magic, so much so, that history gives them the same label, even if most do not understand the implications of that name. They were called Archmages, and their very purpose was to lead their faction to victory, fighting against one another, in an endless cycle of pain and suffering. The moment a champion dies, another takes his place, and the war continues. I wish to end this war, to have peace at last."
Harry was oddly entranced by the story, "So, I'm guessing you're the dark champion…"
The man snorted, "No, I am not. There can only be a singly dark champion alive. There is a reason why Dumbledore did not kill Grindelwald. The Champion of the Light imprisoned the dark and stopped a new champion from emerging for decades. There is a reason why the light reigns supreme in this era. I am neither a champion of the dark nor of the light. I stand alone, wishing to end this senseless war."
"Then why do they call you the Dark Lord, then?"
"They do not understand, not really, what a true Dark Lord is. I have driven myself to master the magical arts. I did not have the champions' advantages, but I had my mind, and I honed it and my magic for decades until I was strong enough to challenge a champion. I performed countless rituals to hone my body and enhance my magic, I have travelled the world, learning every scrap of knowledge I could find, and I succeeded in my dream. I have even transcended Death, as you can see. I have become the first Archmage in history who was not a champion. The first Dark Lord that was not a Dark Champion. I have to say that I took Dumbledore by surprise when I first attacked. He looked so confused at having a challenger to his position."
Harry stayed frozen for a second, processing what the man just said, before answering, "But what does that have to do with Muggleborns?"
"I needed to oppose the champion directly. Dumbledore needed to be involved for it to work. The moment Dumbledore dies is the moment my plan will commence. I have built an artefact capable of detecting champions. I have snuck as a Nurmengard guard to study Grindelwald's magic, and I spent years doing my best to do the same with Dumbledore's. The moment Dumbledore and Grindelwald perish, I will track down their newborn replacements, trap them in suspended animation, frozen in time and death, where I would look after them for an eternity. Rookwood was very helpful in that regard. He was one of my most valuable followers, having worked in the temporal department as an Unspeakable. The plan was perfect and ready to be followed the moment Dumbledore died. I would have waited for the old man to die of natural causes, but the man's connection to Nicholas Flamel was very concerning. The possibility of him drinking the Elixir of Life was too high, I needed to kill him. Hence, the war. I needed to oppose Dumbledore, and I used the ideals of the opposing factors. They were nothing but tools after all."
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing, "And you were prepared to slaughter every single Muggleborn in the world. How is this peace?"
"What are the lives of a small faction compared to endless peace? Imagine a united magical world, without any wars, without countless battles. Imagine a Camelot without Merlin and Morgana fighting. Imagine ancient Greece without Zeus and Hades fighting. All over history, you can see it, the countless deaths that occurred because of this accursed war. What I have done is barely more than a drop compared to the vast oceans that are the champions' body count. It's not like it's permanent. After the purge, and I'm in control, I would have made concessions to integrate new muggleborns into the magical world."
"And where does Longbottom have to do with any of it."
The man growled at the name, and Harry had to shiver at the sound, "It was a trap. I see it now. Dumbledore set out my downfall, he tricked me into going after the Longbottom heir, and I fell for it. But that does not matter now, the plan is still in motion. It can be salvaged. After getting the stone, I will have stolen Dumbledore's main weapon and I will return to my former glory and fulfil my destiny."
Yeah, that man was insane. There was no way around it. Harry could hear the chaos of his being underneath all that veneer of civility, and he wanted to run away as far away as possible. He was in this situation because of his arrogance. He had thought that distancing himself from the story as much as possible, that staying passive would keep him safe. He chose not to change anything drastically because when the story was over, the good guys won, and the bad guys lost, and if things progressed the same, then everything would have been alright. Voldemort would die, one piece of soul after another, at the hands of the chosen one, and everything would be alright. It was why he gave up so easily on his friendship with Hermione, why he didn't just warn a professor about Hermione being in the bathroom. That surety that everything would be alright was why he was in this situation. His inaction had made him suffer. The possessed professor might be civil with his, but that was it, it was a mask. Harry was in danger, and he knew it.
Harry couldn't help himself and asked, "What makes you so sure that it's your destiny to break the cycle?"
"BECAUSE I SUFFERED FOR IT! BECAUSE I GAVE AWAY EVERYTHING THAT MADE ME HUMAN FOR MY PURPOSE," the man took a deep breath and calmed down, "I have sacrificed everything I had to fulfil that goal. I saw firsthand how dangerous these champions could be and the suffering that they caused everyone. They are a blight to the world, and I made it my mission to purge them."
There he was the dark lord. His red eyes were filled with anger and madness. Yeah, that was the truth underneath all the layers of charm. Harry did his best not to flinch at the malevolence of the released magic, "Why are you forthcoming with all of this?"
"Oh, that's very simple, Mr. Potter. You see, I will be leaving this classroom with either a new apprentice who will need to know my true goals or a dead body to hide. After all, dead men tell no tales. You see, I can tell that you will grow to be an exceptionally powerful wizard and I can't take the risk of you being convinced with Dumbledore's honeyed words. So, you're either a potential ally and perhaps even my heir one day, or you're a potential enemy. I don't particularly enjoy threats to my goal, and you will be one. This is your choice, Potter, serve or die. So, what will it be?"
Chapter 57: Riddle Me This
24 May 1992, Hogwarts
Lord Voldemort watched as the chained young wizard paled in fear. There was just something about the expression on his face that just delighted him. The terror at the thought of dying, the anger at being in the situation, the wounded pride that he would be nothing more than a glorified servant, and finally the regret for the actions that brought him to this situation.
The Dark Lord remembered this exact feeling all those years ago as if it was today. Back when he was Tom Riddle, back when he was nothing more than an exceptional student. He had just gotten his OWL results. He thought that they might be his ticket out of the hellish orphanage that he was forced to stay in. He was so foolish back then, believing in a utopian magical world.
That was until the wizarding great war came to his doorstep. Oh, the muggle one was still happening, and London was being bombed frequently, but the Ministry of Magic had tracked down every muggleborn in the country and set up a basic anti-bomb ward on their homes. It wouldn't hold up against any magical attacks, but it was more than enough to ensure his safety from the war.
No, the big shock came when two magical titans duelled in the middle of London. Grindelwald had decided to attack the city and Dumbledore was dueling with him. It was then that reality set in, that he realized how small he was in front of the two Archmages. His vision of the magical world was broken at the sight of the two duelers carelessly killing countless innocents, wizards and muggles alike, who were just bystanders to their fight.
An attack that Dumbledore redirected ripped the flimsy ministry wars as if they weren't even there and destroyed the orphanage with Tom still there. He had crawled his way out of the mess, his magic keeping him alive, and saw the destruction around him. Everyone was dead, not that he really cared about it, but magic was the only thing that saved Tom, the only thing that stopped Death from claiming him. The worst thing was that the fight ended with a stalemate with the Dark Lord retreating, leaving a devastated city in front of him.
The following day, most of the destroyed buildings were restored, and the survivors healed. The muggles chucked it up to a mass Nazi bombing after a few obliviation charms, and everyone went on their way, unaware of the constant threat of death that hung on their heads.
But Tom was aware. He remembered the emptiness. He remembered Death's icy grip almost touching him but his magic fought it off. He had almost died a meaningless death, without any meaning. On this day, he vowed never to feel such a feeling again. And thus, Lord Voldemort was born from the ashes of Tom Riddle.
At first, he directed his hatred towards Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Until that is, he researched such fights. In every generation, there were always two Archmages, one of light, and one of darkness, who fought, bringing nothing but ruin and destruction. If either side wins, another challenger would appear a few decades later, and the cycle kept going on and on until it was done. It didn't always happen in Britain, or even in Europe for that matter. But even if they were continents apart, they sought each other out and fought in their seemingly destined battles. It took years of travel and exploration to understand the nature of the light and the dark and their role in shaping the history of the magical world. He realized that to stop them, he needed to stop the entire cycle, not just Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
Thankfully, Grindelwald was imprisoned and not killed, meaning that he had time to prepare, and prepare he did. He honed his magic to a maddening degree, committed atrocity after atrocity, to hone his body and magic to compete with the absurd power of a champion. He succeeded, and with excitement in his veins, he was ready to start his revolution, to save the magical world.
And yet here he stood, barely more than a wraith, a cursed existence that could barely even be considered alive, nor have a presence in the world. He needed to rely on weaklings like Quirrell to survive. He had tricked the pathetic muggles studies professor into accepting his possession, only for the man to cowardly go back on his word when he had almost gotten a student killed. He ended up taking over the man's body before he could foolishly confess to Dumbledore, but the mismatch between Quirrell's magic and his soul was tearing the body apart, which was why he had needed unicorn blood in the first place. He had lost a chance of killing Longbottom during one of his hunts. He had lost it because of the chained boy in front of him.
Back to the boy in front of him, who was glaring defiantly at him, he amused the Dark Lord immensely. He was a brilliant boy, one that he would have assumed was the dark champion, if it wasn't for the fact that Grindelwald was still alive. He would have become a threat, but he was also a potentially powerful asset.
The boy responded, "We both know that you don't need an heir, so don't try to hone your words. It's servitude or death. There is no middle ground."
As he said before, the boy was clever but still arrogant. Yeah, he was immortal. His Horcruxes guaranteed his survival no matter what happened. There were too many of them for there to be a risk to his survival. You would need to do the impossible to gather his Horcruxes, and even then, the aftermath would be noticeable enough that he would know to change their hiding places. Why would he need an heir if he was going to live forever? The boy was right, but he was foolish to point that out. The thin veil of civility was his own protection.
Voldemort gave him a wide smile and answered, "I was planning on making you my lieutenant, of giving you control over the British Isle after my conquest. But fine, if you want to do it that way, then alright, servitude or death. Which one will you choose?"
Voldemort knew the boy's answer before he could speak it. He had seen it in the mirror, the utter desperate fear of the abyss that was death. The boy would choose servitude, he just knew it.
However, instead of bowing his head and accepting his gracious offer, the Potter boy spoke up, "Do you know why I never tattled on you to Dumbledore or anyone else?"
The possessed professor raised an interested eyebrow, "Do tell…"
"I wanted nothing to do with your war with Dumbledore. I don't trust him not to screw me over, and I definitely don't trust you. I wanted to live in peace and learn my magic, and not be dragged into a conflict that wasn't mine."
"It was your parents' conflict too," Voldemort remarked.
"Yes, and they died for it. It's no longer my problem. And yet, here you are giving me the illusion of a choice between two horrible options while being dishonest about what you represent."
While he was still somewhat angry by the boy's defiance, the Dark Lord was slightly amused. He didn't really need the Potter boy's allegiance, but he was curious. The boy was like him. He had the potential to be an Archmage, while not being chosen as a champion, and he was curious about it.
Honestly, even if most of what he had told the boy was true, he did bend facts slightly. Voldemort had no intention of restraining the champions of light and dark, but absorbing their magic, absorbing their might. Freezing them in time was the original plan because there was no other motive. Alas, in an ancient Sumerian tomb, the Dark Lord found another way. A ritual stolen from Solomon's grimoire himself, to absorb the power of a champion.
The legendary mage had tricked the champions of his era and had trapped them. He studied their power and devised the ritual. He absorbed both their powers and became the single most powerful being in history. His reign was a peaceful one, a true age of prosperity, alas the cycle continued after his death. But Lord Voldemort had conquered Death. If he performed the ritual, it would guarantee that no one would ever try to free them. The result would be peace, eternal peace, with him as the magical messiah.
Voldemort had prepared himself for the ritual, committing atrocity after atrocity, readying his magic, mind, and body, to receive the power of the champions. He would become the strongest being in history, surpassing Solomon too, and ushering in a magical golden age.
He would need to redo some of those preparations after regaining his body, but that wasn't really an insurmountable obstacle.
So, yes, perhaps he wasn't being truthful with the Potter boy, but did that matter when he was the one in control? No, it did not. Sure, the boy was a curiosity, an amusing distraction to have an opponent to Dumbledore's golden boy. Two potential candidates of the prophecy, fighting against one another. It almost seemed like fate in a way.
"You're testing my patience, boy," the Dark Lord answered with a menacing voice.
"Maybe I am. But you're going to leave me be either way," the boy retorted.
"And why is that?" Voldemort responded, out of curiosity than actual anger.
"You really think that I would walk in here without any assurance? You literally singled me out. I wrote a letter to Dumbledore telling him exactly where I was, who you are, and what you're trying to achieve. You kill me, you so much as injure me, and my owl will deliver the letter. And you can kiss your chances at getting the Philosopher's stone goodbye."
The Dark Lord almost burst into laughter. Oh, he wasn't surprised by the boy's knowledge of the stone's presence. It wasn't that hard to deduce, especially with the half-giant simpleton of all people knowing about it. He would have thought that it was a trap by Dumbledore if it wasn't for the powerful magical signature that he had tracked down after his heist in Gringotts ended up being a failure. The Philosopher's stone was in the castle, and he had tracked the stone to the forbidden corridor. It wasn't a subtle thing, and why the Flamels kept it in fortified places over the centuries. Anyone could track the stone, but retrieving it was another matter altogether. He didn't know what Dumbledore's angle was nor did he care; the stone was there for the taking and it was a chance for him to return to his former might.
As for the boy, this was proof that taking him under his wing would be a mistake, "Dumbledore is in a Wizengamot meeting, one that would not end for hours. I timed my heist while making sure that he would not be able to interfere. Your letter is meaningless. I would be long gone by then, with the stone in my possession. But I see now that I was mistaken in offering you, my mercy. Goodbye Harry Potter."
The boy barely had time to widen his eyes when the possessed professor waved his wand in a familiar pattern, "Avada Kedavra!"
A blinding green light hit the boy in the chest, and he stilled. It was a shame. What a waste of potential. Alas, the boy would have been a threat to his world order. The dark lord quickly walked out of the classroom and walked towards the forbidden corridor. He had a stone to steal after all.
The possessed professor did not notice the blood in the boy's palm, nor the small glow his cloak had a fraction of a second before the spell hit him.
AN: I'll be honest, I didn't really like how I wrote the prelude of the chapter, but apart from that, I'm happy with the rest. Let me know what you think of it. I decided to upload three this time because this feels more like one big chapter, and it didn't feel right to cut it up into pieces.
24 May 1992, Hogwarts
The professor applauded and called for the other students to duel. Harry half-heartedly listened to him as he analyzed their match. What happened in the duel was dangerous. Harry was almost tempted to send actually dangerous spell at McLaggen. He really needed to get a grip on this and fast.
It was a beautiful day. The birds were singing, there was no cloud in sight. It was a rare hot in Scotland, where every single student would have loved to spend outside, swimming in the lake, or just relaxing on the ground. And yet there was no one in sight. It was expected after all, it was time for the end of the year exams and every single Hogwarts student has been desperately trying to cram as much knowledge in their head in the hopes of passing. Harry's friends were no different.
Yes, for the first time in the year, Harry was actually joined by his friends in the library to study. They weren't really bad students. Daphne, especially, was very diligent in her studies, but Blaise and Tracy tended to procrastinate when it came to their studies. It wasn't anything drastic, but they needed to work a lot to catch up on what they missed. Still, they were going to pass anyway; from the looks of it, Hogwarts isn't that strict when it comes to passing. In the past decade, barely one student was held back and that was because he had to leave school for personal reasons in the middle of the semester, and literally didn't know a single thing about his curriculum when he tried to pass the exams at the end of the year.
It was all fearmongering from the professors, to get the students to take things seriously. Still, if it got students to actually start studying, then Harry was all for it. It seemed to work very effectively. Any confrontation between Gryffindors and the Slytherins had ceased entirely. There were no more pranks, no more hexing, nothing really. This was what a school was supposed to be like. Hell, even, Ron Weasley of all people was going to the library to try to grasp a passing grade, at Hermione's behest. Speaking of the Muggleborn, she looked like she was having a mental breakdown from most of the studies. Her hair was constantly frazzled and looked suspiciously close to an afro. She was constantly walking around with a book in her hand, mumbling about one subject or another.
Honestly, Harry decided that he didn't want anything to do with the Golden Trio at all. If some kind of hand of fate was making the boy who lived and his friends go on weird adventures, then he wanted to stay away as much as possible. Or it might be Dumbledore trying to 'train' Longbottom or something. Yeah, it was probably Dumbledore. Still, the detention in the forbidden forest went from zero to a hundred in minutes, just because Longbottom was there. He learned his lesson from that fiasco. One near-death experience was enough for him.
Back to the tests, they were mostly divided into written and practical exams, except for History of Magic that is, each taking half the grade. It wasn't that difficult, since they're geared towards children, really. The written portions were insultingly simple. Harry had breezed through them without any trouble. Well, there were the flying exams too, but they didn't really count. Everyone had gotten their flying license without much trouble, even Hermione who was scared of heights.
They were already finished with their potion exams, which was a relief, really. Harry was thankful that he didn't have a partner while brewing. Yeah, Hermione was a competent brewer, at least for her age, but she always kept questioning Harry during lessons whenever he chose to alter or fix a potion using his Arcane Hearing, which could get irritating after a while. Thankfully, Snape didn't really harass Harry in the exams, choosing to stay by his desk and grade papers. He was probably overworked at that time of year. Weasley creating some sort of black slimy atrocity that seemed to come to life, where he should have made a simple bruise balm didn't help his patience.
For the practical Charms exam, they had to make a pineapple tap dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them in Transfiguration turn a mouse into a snuff box – points were given for how pretty the snuff box was, but taken away if it had whiskers. These were textbook spells that they had taken in class. There weren't any curveballs in any of the exams, you were just required to redo what you had done in class. Harry honestly, didn't understand what the fuss was about.
Harry watched his friends celebrate as they finally finished their History of Magic exams. Tracy had a wide smile on her face and was singing, "It's finally over. It's finally over," repeatedly. Blaise was half asleep but looked more relaxed than he had seen him for days, even Daphne had a small smile on her face.
The Potter scion shrugged, "I don't know what you were so stressed about. It wasn't that bad."
"It was hell, Harry," Tracy answered with a glare on her face, "and I'm not going to let you bring our mood down. We're finally free. No more books for months."
Daphne seemed to come to Harry's rescue, "Come on, you have to admit that it was a lot easier than we thought it would be. There were just too many facts to memorize."
"I don't care," Tracy responded without losing her grin, "we're finally done with this hellhole."
"Speak of yourself, you lucky pricks," Harry grumbled.
Yeah, Harry was one of the last students to do his Defense practical exam and it kind of freaked him out. Apparently, Quirrell's test involved sparring with him in a duel, so it had to be done separately for each student. The Professor had given out schedules for each spar, and Harry went last. He wasn't worried about the exam, of course, but the fact that he would be alone with a potentially possessed professor, without any witnesses.
It was probably going to be fine. The man hadn't done anything to him for months and was probably focused on Longbottom and getting the stone.
Before they could answer, Harry grabbed his friends and pulled them down. Immediately, a spell splashed at the wall behind them. Two Ravenclaws were duelling, and a stray spell had almost hit them. The young Slytherins slowly walked to the Great Hall while docking.
Blaise loudly complained, "They're still doing this? Exams are done."
"Not for the upper years, they aren't," Tracy responded.
Harry did notice that Ravenclaws tended to be very vicious when it came to the end of the year exams. Apparently, there was some kind of prize for the top Ravenclaw student every year. At least, according to Tracy, that is. It had to be something big. It would explain why they kept constantly trying to sabotage each other, and curse their housemates in the back, and so forth. It was pretty toxic, but the Ravenclaws seemed to like it for some reason.
Daphne mumbled, "Ravenclaws are weird." Yeah, he wasn't going to refute that.
With a quick 'tempus', Harry was able to see the time. His practical Defense Against the Dark Arts was in a few minutes, and he didn't want to be late. He excused himself and started walking towards the classroom.
On his way, he thought about his trauma from the forest incident. After his duel with Flitwick, Harry decided to focus on his Occlumency which had a calming effect on him. Over time, he stopped hyperventilating anytime he saw a green spell, and he didn't get lost in his duelling sessions anymore, but every time saw Quirrell, he couldn't help but panic.
The Potter scion found that just spending time with his friends and practising magic in peace was a good way for him to relax. He had developed a routine of a sort. Every day, he would wake up and practice his Occlumency, and then join his friend at breakfast. They would go to class together, and then study in the library for a few hours, before going to an empty classroom to practice their spells. At night, Harry would sneak up to either the restricted section of the library or the Room of Requirements for his self-study. There was something comforting to the monotony of it. There was nothing unexpected, like unicorn attacks, or baby dragons, and he loved it. Yeah, it might be a bit cowardly to just stay away from the whole mess, but Harry wasn't a Gryffindor. It wasn't his job to protect the castle, it was Dumbledore's.
Still, despite trying to convince himself of the contrary Harry's feeling of dread grew, with every step he took towards the Defense classroom. He wanted to just avoid the exam altogether, but he couldn't really justify it to anyone; everyone else had done it, even Longbottom, who was a far more attractive target than Harry. Surely, the man wouldn't risk getting caught before attempting to get the stone, right?
And yet, Harry couldn't help but arrange a little insurance to bargain with Quirrell if something went wrong. He had something up his sleeve to at least buy himself more time or give him an advantageous position. The truth was that Harry could do very little to avoid Quirrell. He couldn't complain, since even if he was at the end of the queue, there was nothing different compared to how he treated the rest of the students, and even then, the faculty was very busy with the exams going on. Harry had exactly one move he could play and he hoped it would work.
Harry waited until the very last second before knocking on the door. For a few seconds, he hoped the man wouldn't be there, but he heard the quivering voice of his defence professor, "Come in, Mr. Potter."
Harry gulped and opened the door. The Room didn't look any different, but he still wanted to run away as far as possible from this place. The man let out a slight smile and asked, "Good, you're ready. Put your bag to the side and take out your wand. We'll get started when you're ready."
Harry did what he was instructed, and slowly but surely put his bag to the side and instinctively took a duelling stance. The professor must have noticed, "I see you're taking your duelling sessions seriously. I have to say that the other professors and I were very shocked when Flitwick allowed you entry into the club. Although, with Longbottom joining the Quidditch team, a precedent was made in breaking the age restriction to extracurricular activities."
"Yes," Harry nodded, "I am very grateful for him giving me an opportunity like this."
The man gave him a slight smile and clapped his hand, "Well, this is not the time for these types of talks. This is supposed to be an exam. Now, it's a fairly simple exam. I will give you a list of five spells that we have covered in class. You will cast these spells on the dummy at the end of the room. You will be graded on how effective your spells will be. Then, we will have a small duel, using only those spells. I shall give a grade on your performance and tactical awareness. Do you understand the assignment?"
Harry nodded. It was the exact same thing his friends told him they experienced. He relaxed slightly when the professor gave him a list of spells. It wasn't really anything impressive, just the basic cast, a knockback jinx, a tripping jinx, a petrifying curse, and a jelly-legs jinx.
In a single minute, Harry had cast these spells in succession. They were fairly simple spells that he had mastered a month after being in Hogwarts in the first place. Perhaps, with this done, he could leave the classroom without any fuss. Quirrell hadn't done anything shifty, so that was a good sign.
Of course, that hope was dashed when he turned around to see the glowing red eyes the man had. Before he could react, Harry could feel a spell coming his way with his Arcane Hearing. He dodged it immediately and sent a stunning charm by reflex. The man deflected it easily enough. The Potter scion decided to take away his opponent's sight. He could make do with his Arcane Hearing, to cast, but Quirrell who was far more experienced and skilful didn't have that luxury. With that done, Harry tried to send a lightning piercing hex at his head. It was one of the deadliest spells he had known and had a relatively small magical cost. It was like a small drill made of lightning that could actually easily kill someone. It was designed to pierce, nothing more.
He had aimed it at where he sensed Quirrell was. For a second, he felt like it worked, that he had taken the man by surprise. Unfortunately, in a fraction of a second, chains came out of the wall behind him and bound Harry. A disarming charm hit his hand, sending his wand away, and the smoke faded very quickly.
A smirking red-eyed Quirrell slowly made his way to him, twirling his wand, "That was far more entertaining than I thought it would be. I believe that we have many things to discuss, Mr. Potter."
Chapter 56: The Dark Lord
24 May 1992, Hogwarts
The Potter scion thrashed, trying to get out of his restraints, The red-eyed professor smirked as he watched his useless efforts at escaping, "Don't try to run, Potter, I have enchanted these chains myself. Bound I may be by this body's pitiful magical circuits, I assure you that my skills are not diminished."
Harry stopped, understanding how hopeless it was for him to try to escape. Voldemort had just revealed himself to him. That was bad. No, it was the worst possible scenario because it meant that there was a good chance that Harry wouldn't make it out of this classroom alive.
The possessed professor grinned, "You're not surprised, are you? That I'm not who I said I was."
For the first time, Harry chose to speak up, "Is it just you in there, or is Quirrell still hanging around?"
The dark lord snorted, "You're very perceptive, I'll admit to that. No, Quirrell is still there, but mostly dormant. He hasn't been awake for months. It was a shame I had to wrestle control over his body. He felt remorseful after Halloween, almost killing students. He wanted to confess to Dumbledore. I couldn't take that risk and so, he remains asleep. But I'm not here to speak of the snivelling cowardly waste of magic that Quirrell was, but about you. From the moment you saw me, you knew exactly how dangerous I was. Dumbledore himself was fooled, but not you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry protested.
"You're a terrible liar, Harry. You see, there's something you must know about me. I'm a master of Legilimency. After all, you did not meet my eyes for almost a year. It's almost admirable, all things considered; if I hadn't been paying attention specifically on you, I wouldn't have noticed it. You were good at it, very good, but you were arrogant. You didn't know everything. Yes, you prevented my Legilimency from taking hold, but you didn't know that I was also an empath."
Harry froze, and the dark lord burst into laughter. It was one of the worst sounds the Potter scion had ever heard, "Oh, the look on your face. Yes, I noticed you from the very first day. The other students were nervous, yes, but you were absolutely terrified to the bone, yet you didn't show it. I spied on you when you were with other professors, and you weren't even bothered. Even Severus did not frighten you. What you felt was an emotion that I was familiar with. It was the fear I felt whenever anyone saw me before my downfall. The crushing fear and mind-numbing terror, that would make your heart beat wildly. You felt it and I immediately realized why you felt that way. You knew who I was from the very first day, and it terrified you."
Harry felt a mind probe try to enter his mind, and immediately employed his occlumency, reining in his stray thoughts. The Dark Lord could not be allowed to enter Harry's mind. The secrets inside could very well destroy the wizarding world.
He expected Riddle to be angry, to start torturing. He did not expect the man to burst into laughter again, "An Occlumens at your age. Do you have any idea how rare that is? I wasn't even half that good when I was your age. You're something special indeed. But I'm not a master of Legilimency for nothing."
Harry could feel the mind probe shift and attacking specifically his mind. This wasn't a Legilimency probe anymore. It was something more, something deeper. For the first time, Harry was afraid. However, his magical crest started to warm up and Harry could feel the frustration coming from Voldemort as his attempts fail at breaking the mind protection of his crest.
Yeah, mental protections were commonly put on magical crests to prevent people from stealing the family spells inside them. Oh, it didn't protect against Legilimency as it senses the projected thoughts of the user, it simply stops deep dives into the mind. Mind magic was a very dangerous field of magic, which could potentially reshape the very personality of a person. No one wanted their legacy to become nothing by puppets, giving away their secrets to unworthy families. Harry's crest was no different in that regard. It protected his mind and for the first time, the professor's crimson eyes were not amused.
"A magical crest," he murmured, "that's how you're blocking me. I had forgotten about that particular side effect. It does explain how you were able to banish me from the forest. I wasn't able to return afterwards, and this body is starting to fail me without a steady supply of unicorn blood."
Harry realized something, "You're dying because you took over Quirrell's body. His magical channels are slowly getting acclimated to your soul and it's tearing the body apart."
The man grinned once more, "See, that's why I offered to make you into my apprentice. And yet you refused me. You could have had everything you wanted. Power, reputation, wealth, everything you could have ever desired, but you turned down my offer, knowing exactly who I was."
"It was nothing personal," Harry retorted, "you just have a bad reputation when it comes to treating your servants."
"Not everything they say about me is the truth. I do have a code of honour of sorts, and my goal is a noble one," the man answered.
"You seriously think that genocide is a noble cause?" Harry answered incredulously.
"Of course not. I do not condemn Mudbloods out of anger or hate. They are simply sacrifices. They are the price for me getting control of the magical world and achieving my dream."
"And what dream would that be?" the Potter scion asked.
"Peace…" the man murmured.
"Peace? You want to achieve peace with genocide? That's literally the opposite of peace," Harry retorted with an incredulous tone.
"Young Harry, how little you know. How little you understand. The magical world has been at war for thousands of years. The Light and the Dark have been fighting ever since history could remember. At every given moment, there is a champion of light and a champion of darkness. They are granted immense magical potential and a near instinctive intuition when it comes to magic, so much so, that history gives them the same label, even if most do not understand the implications of that name. They were called Archmages, and their very purpose was to lead their faction to victory, fighting against one another, in an endless cycle of pain and suffering. The moment a champion dies, another takes his place, and the war continues. I wish to end this war, to have peace at last."
Harry was oddly entranced by the story, "So, I'm guessing you're the dark champion…"
The man snorted, "No, I am not. There can only be a singly dark champion alive. There is a reason why Dumbledore did not kill Grindelwald. The Champion of the Light imprisoned the dark and stopped a new champion from emerging for decades. There is a reason why the light reigns supreme in this era. I am neither a champion of the dark nor of the light. I stand alone, wishing to end this senseless war."
"Then why do they call you the Dark Lord, then?"
"They do not understand, not really, what a true Dark Lord is. I have driven myself to master the magical arts. I did not have the champions' advantages, but I had my mind, and I honed it and my magic for decades until I was strong enough to challenge a champion. I performed countless rituals to hone my body and enhance my magic, I have travelled the world, learning every scrap of knowledge I could find, and I succeeded in my dream. I have even transcended Death, as you can see. I have become the first Archmage in history who was not a champion. The first Dark Lord that was not a Dark Champion. I have to say that I took Dumbledore by surprise when I first attacked. He looked so confused at having a challenger to his position."
Harry stayed frozen for a second, processing what the man just said, before answering, "But what does that have to do with Muggleborns?"
"I needed to oppose the champion directly. Dumbledore needed to be involved for it to work. The moment Dumbledore dies is the moment my plan will commence. I have built an artefact capable of detecting champions. I have snuck as a Nurmengard guard to study Grindelwald's magic, and I spent years doing my best to do the same with Dumbledore's. The moment Dumbledore and Grindelwald perish, I will track down their newborn replacements, trap them in suspended animation, frozen in time and death, where I would look after them for an eternity. Rookwood was very helpful in that regard. He was one of my most valuable followers, having worked in the temporal department as an Unspeakable. The plan was perfect and ready to be followed the moment Dumbledore died. I would have waited for the old man to die of natural causes, but the man's connection to Nicholas Flamel was very concerning. The possibility of him drinking the Elixir of Life was too high, I needed to kill him. Hence, the war. I needed to oppose Dumbledore, and I used the ideals of the opposing factors. They were nothing but tools after all."
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing, "And you were prepared to slaughter every single Muggleborn in the world. How is this peace?"
"What are the lives of a small faction compared to endless peace? Imagine a united magical world, without any wars, without countless battles. Imagine a Camelot without Merlin and Morgana fighting. Imagine ancient Greece without Zeus and Hades fighting. All over history, you can see it, the countless deaths that occurred because of this accursed war. What I have done is barely more than a drop compared to the vast oceans that are the champions' body count. It's not like it's permanent. After the purge, and I'm in control, I would have made concessions to integrate new muggleborns into the magical world."
"And where does Longbottom have to do with any of it."
The man growled at the name, and Harry had to shiver at the sound, "It was a trap. I see it now. Dumbledore set out my downfall, he tricked me into going after the Longbottom heir, and I fell for it. But that does not matter now, the plan is still in motion. It can be salvaged. After getting the stone, I will have stolen Dumbledore's main weapon and I will return to my former glory and fulfil my destiny."
Yeah, that man was insane. There was no way around it. Harry could hear the chaos of his being underneath all that veneer of civility, and he wanted to run away as far away as possible. He was in this situation because of his arrogance. He had thought that distancing himself from the story as much as possible, that staying passive would keep him safe. He chose not to change anything drastically because when the story was over, the good guys won, and the bad guys lost, and if things progressed the same, then everything would have been alright. Voldemort would die, one piece of soul after another, at the hands of the chosen one, and everything would be alright. It was why he gave up so easily on his friendship with Hermione, why he didn't just warn a professor about Hermione being in the bathroom. That surety that everything would be alright was why he was in this situation. His inaction had made him suffer. The possessed professor might be civil with his, but that was it, it was a mask. Harry was in danger, and he knew it.
Harry couldn't help himself and asked, "What makes you so sure that it's your destiny to break the cycle?"
"BECAUSE I SUFFERED FOR IT! BECAUSE I GAVE AWAY EVERYTHING THAT MADE ME HUMAN FOR MY PURPOSE," the man took a deep breath and calmed down, "I have sacrificed everything I had to fulfil that goal. I saw firsthand how dangerous these champions could be and the suffering that they caused everyone. They are a blight to the world, and I made it my mission to purge them."
There he was the dark lord. His red eyes were filled with anger and madness. Yeah, that was the truth underneath all the layers of charm. Harry did his best not to flinch at the malevolence of the released magic, "Why are you forthcoming with all of this?"
"Oh, that's very simple, Mr. Potter. You see, I will be leaving this classroom with either a new apprentice who will need to know my true goals or a dead body to hide. After all, dead men tell no tales. You see, I can tell that you will grow to be an exceptionally powerful wizard and I can't take the risk of you being convinced with Dumbledore's honeyed words. So, you're either a potential ally and perhaps even my heir one day, or you're a potential enemy. I don't particularly enjoy threats to my goal, and you will be one. This is your choice, Potter, serve or die. So, what will it be?"
Chapter 57: Riddle Me This
24 May 1992, Hogwarts
Lord Voldemort watched as the chained young wizard paled in fear. There was just something about the expression on his face that just delighted him. The terror at the thought of dying, the anger at being in the situation, the wounded pride that he would be nothing more than a glorified servant, and finally the regret for the actions that brought him to this situation.
The Dark Lord remembered this exact feeling all those years ago as if it was today. Back when he was Tom Riddle, back when he was nothing more than an exceptional student. He had just gotten his OWL results. He thought that they might be his ticket out of the hellish orphanage that he was forced to stay in. He was so foolish back then, believing in a utopian magical world.
That was until the wizarding great war came to his doorstep. Oh, the muggle one was still happening, and London was being bombed frequently, but the Ministry of Magic had tracked down every muggleborn in the country and set up a basic anti-bomb ward on their homes. It wouldn't hold up against any magical attacks, but it was more than enough to ensure his safety from the war.
No, the big shock came when two magical titans duelled in the middle of London. Grindelwald had decided to attack the city and Dumbledore was dueling with him. It was then that reality set in, that he realized how small he was in front of the two Archmages. His vision of the magical world was broken at the sight of the two duelers carelessly killing countless innocents, wizards and muggles alike, who were just bystanders to their fight.
An attack that Dumbledore redirected ripped the flimsy ministry wars as if they weren't even there and destroyed the orphanage with Tom still there. He had crawled his way out of the mess, his magic keeping him alive, and saw the destruction around him. Everyone was dead, not that he really cared about it, but magic was the only thing that saved Tom, the only thing that stopped Death from claiming him. The worst thing was that the fight ended with a stalemate with the Dark Lord retreating, leaving a devastated city in front of him.
The following day, most of the destroyed buildings were restored, and the survivors healed. The muggles chucked it up to a mass Nazi bombing after a few obliviation charms, and everyone went on their way, unaware of the constant threat of death that hung on their heads.
But Tom was aware. He remembered the emptiness. He remembered Death's icy grip almost touching him but his magic fought it off. He had almost died a meaningless death, without any meaning. On this day, he vowed never to feel such a feeling again. And thus, Lord Voldemort was born from the ashes of Tom Riddle.
At first, he directed his hatred towards Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Until that is, he researched such fights. In every generation, there were always two Archmages, one of light, and one of darkness, who fought, bringing nothing but ruin and destruction. If either side wins, another challenger would appear a few decades later, and the cycle kept going on and on until it was done. It didn't always happen in Britain, or even in Europe for that matter. But even if they were continents apart, they sought each other out and fought in their seemingly destined battles. It took years of travel and exploration to understand the nature of the light and the dark and their role in shaping the history of the magical world. He realized that to stop them, he needed to stop the entire cycle, not just Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
Thankfully, Grindelwald was imprisoned and not killed, meaning that he had time to prepare, and prepare he did. He honed his magic to a maddening degree, committed atrocity after atrocity, to hone his body and magic to compete with the absurd power of a champion. He succeeded, and with excitement in his veins, he was ready to start his revolution, to save the magical world.
And yet here he stood, barely more than a wraith, a cursed existence that could barely even be considered alive, nor have a presence in the world. He needed to rely on weaklings like Quirrell to survive. He had tricked the pathetic muggles studies professor into accepting his possession, only for the man to cowardly go back on his word when he had almost gotten a student killed. He ended up taking over the man's body before he could foolishly confess to Dumbledore, but the mismatch between Quirrell's magic and his soul was tearing the body apart, which was why he had needed unicorn blood in the first place. He had lost a chance of killing Longbottom during one of his hunts. He had lost it because of the chained boy in front of him.
Back to the boy in front of him, who was glaring defiantly at him, he amused the Dark Lord immensely. He was a brilliant boy, one that he would have assumed was the dark champion, if it wasn't for the fact that Grindelwald was still alive. He would have become a threat, but he was also a potentially powerful asset.
The boy responded, "We both know that you don't need an heir, so don't try to hone your words. It's servitude or death. There is no middle ground."
As he said before, the boy was clever but still arrogant. Yeah, he was immortal. His Horcruxes guaranteed his survival no matter what happened. There were too many of them for there to be a risk to his survival. You would need to do the impossible to gather his Horcruxes, and even then, the aftermath would be noticeable enough that he would know to change their hiding places. Why would he need an heir if he was going to live forever? The boy was right, but he was foolish to point that out. The thin veil of civility was his own protection.
Voldemort gave him a wide smile and answered, "I was planning on making you my lieutenant, of giving you control over the British Isle after my conquest. But fine, if you want to do it that way, then alright, servitude or death. Which one will you choose?"
Voldemort knew the boy's answer before he could speak it. He had seen it in the mirror, the utter desperate fear of the abyss that was death. The boy would choose servitude, he just knew it.
However, instead of bowing his head and accepting his gracious offer, the Potter boy spoke up, "Do you know why I never tattled on you to Dumbledore or anyone else?"
The possessed professor raised an interested eyebrow, "Do tell…"
"I wanted nothing to do with your war with Dumbledore. I don't trust him not to screw me over, and I definitely don't trust you. I wanted to live in peace and learn my magic, and not be dragged into a conflict that wasn't mine."
"It was your parents' conflict too," Voldemort remarked.
"Yes, and they died for it. It's no longer my problem. And yet, here you are giving me the illusion of a choice between two horrible options while being dishonest about what you represent."
While he was still somewhat angry by the boy's defiance, the Dark Lord was slightly amused. He didn't really need the Potter boy's allegiance, but he was curious. The boy was like him. He had the potential to be an Archmage, while not being chosen as a champion, and he was curious about it.
Honestly, even if most of what he had told the boy was true, he did bend facts slightly. Voldemort had no intention of restraining the champions of light and dark, but absorbing their magic, absorbing their might. Freezing them in time was the original plan because there was no other motive. Alas, in an ancient Sumerian tomb, the Dark Lord found another way. A ritual stolen from Solomon's grimoire himself, to absorb the power of a champion.
The legendary mage had tricked the champions of his era and had trapped them. He studied their power and devised the ritual. He absorbed both their powers and became the single most powerful being in history. His reign was a peaceful one, a true age of prosperity, alas the cycle continued after his death. But Lord Voldemort had conquered Death. If he performed the ritual, it would guarantee that no one would ever try to free them. The result would be peace, eternal peace, with him as the magical messiah.
Voldemort had prepared himself for the ritual, committing atrocity after atrocity, readying his magic, mind, and body, to receive the power of the champions. He would become the strongest being in history, surpassing Solomon too, and ushering in a magical golden age.
He would need to redo some of those preparations after regaining his body, but that wasn't really an insurmountable obstacle.
So, yes, perhaps he wasn't being truthful with the Potter boy, but did that matter when he was the one in control? No, it did not. Sure, the boy was a curiosity, an amusing distraction to have an opponent to Dumbledore's golden boy. Two potential candidates of the prophecy, fighting against one another. It almost seemed like fate in a way.
"You're testing my patience, boy," the Dark Lord answered with a menacing voice.
"Maybe I am. But you're going to leave me be either way," the boy retorted.
"And why is that?" Voldemort responded, out of curiosity than actual anger.
"You really think that I would walk in here without any assurance? You literally singled me out. I wrote a letter to Dumbledore telling him exactly where I was, who you are, and what you're trying to achieve. You kill me, you so much as injure me, and my owl will deliver the letter. And you can kiss your chances at getting the Philosopher's stone goodbye."
The Dark Lord almost burst into laughter. Oh, he wasn't surprised by the boy's knowledge of the stone's presence. It wasn't that hard to deduce, especially with the half-giant simpleton of all people knowing about it. He would have thought that it was a trap by Dumbledore if it wasn't for the powerful magical signature that he had tracked down after his heist in Gringotts ended up being a failure. The Philosopher's stone was in the castle, and he had tracked the stone to the forbidden corridor. It wasn't a subtle thing, and why the Flamels kept it in fortified places over the centuries. Anyone could track the stone, but retrieving it was another matter altogether. He didn't know what Dumbledore's angle was nor did he care; the stone was there for the taking and it was a chance for him to return to his former might.
As for the boy, this was proof that taking him under his wing would be a mistake, "Dumbledore is in a Wizengamot meeting, one that would not end for hours. I timed my heist while making sure that he would not be able to interfere. Your letter is meaningless. I would be long gone by then, with the stone in my possession. But I see now that I was mistaken in offering you, my mercy. Goodbye Harry Potter."
The boy barely had time to widen his eyes when the possessed professor waved his wand in a familiar pattern, "Avada Kedavra!"
A blinding green light hit the boy in the chest, and he stilled. It was a shame. What a waste of potential. Alas, the boy would have been a threat to his world order. The dark lord quickly walked out of the classroom and walked towards the forbidden corridor. He had a stone to steal after all.
The possessed professor did not notice the blood in the boy's palm, nor the small glow his cloak had a fraction of a second before the spell hit him.
AN: I'll be honest, I didn't really like how I wrote the prelude of the chapter, but apart from that, I'm happy with the rest. Let me know what you think of it. I decided to upload three this time because this feels more like one big chapter, and it didn't feel right to cut it up into pieces.