Voldemort and the Philosopher’s Stone

 

I have wondered how the Harry Potter series would have been if they were narrated from Voldemort’s point of view. In lockdown, I finally wrote this piece.

This is the first face-off between Harry and Quirrell from the end of the first book.

He was here. The mere infant who had escaped the killing curse 11 years ago, had willingly walked into my trap.

When my killing curse rebounded years ago, I lost all my form and strength. The most dreaded dark wizard of all time, whose name people never dare spoke, existed as mere shadow and vapour. Look at what I had become! A parasite, living off another. I sought for cowards who would be my consorts. Cowards, who would do my bidding.

Quirrell was one such coward. But, he was weak. He had sustained me by killing unicorns and drinking their blood, but his soul, that I had latched on like a leech, gave me no power. My Yew wand lay forgotten in Godric’s Hollow. Quirrell’s pathetic 9” Alder wand could not perform even the simplest of spells correctly. It filled me with rage! I used to command Quirrell to do unimaginable stuff, but the stupid coward trembled in silence. I wanted to get rid of his weak shell and embody my darkness again.

 As Potter walked in, he seemed surprised. He had expected to see Snape, but here stood Quirrell. Quirrell’s trembling and stuttering made nobody suspect him. How easy it is, to meddle and fool around with the minds of these mortals! Ha! the foolish boy did not know, that I too lurked in the same room.

 This time, I had an extra quest. I wanted to become immortal. For this, I needed the Philosopher’s stone, and Potter alone could bring it to me. I needed the Elixir of life to create a body of my own.

Quirrel had been trying to get the stone out from the magical mirror of Erised. He had even failed to steal the stone from Gringotts. I had punished him, hard. His soul was my own now.

 His incompetence angered me. I had to take matters into my own hands. “Use the boy…” I whispered. My faint raspy voice trailed off. I tried to speak more, but all I could manage were 2 deep breaths. All strength ebbed from me. My pathetic condition made me wrathful. 

The mirror of Erised shows us our deepest desires. I saw myself holding the stone, but how could I get it out? Quirrell, on my command, asked Harry what he saw in the mirror.

Harry lied.

Nobody dares to lie to me! I am the greatest Legilimens of all time. I can read minds. What a fool he is. “He lies…” I said with great effort. But I knew I had to speak to Potter face to face. I commanded Quirrell to unwrap his turban. He protested. But I had enough strength to face Potter. The rage I felt upon seeing him would give me the strength.

 For the first time in 11 years, I was face to face with Harry. How could he escape my killing curse? How could a mere infant reduce me to dust? I needed answers.

 I sensed a drop. Harry had somehow, gotten the stone out of the mirror. “Give it to me” I snarled. Insubordination! How was he able to achieve, what I, the greatest sorcerer of all time couldn’t?

 He tried to run away. I urged him to join me. How if he didn’t, he would die, in the same way his parents did, begging for mercy. “Liar!” he shouted. “I have always valued bravery” I told him. This was a lie. Bravery is a curse. Harry’s parents were brave, and they still died. Dumbledore was brave too, but he was loitering around somewhere in London. What good does it do, to die by being brave and good? There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.

As Harry sprang away from me, I commanded Quirrell to catch him. I knew, as I touched Harry, his scar would burn. He would shriek in pain. How amazing would that be! But, to my horror, Quirrell shrieked in pain. He could not tolerate being touched by Harry! What sorcery was this? Was it some special enchantment? My thoughts were overrun by Quirrell’s shrieks as his skin blistered up. “KILL HIM!” I screeched. But Quirrell’s pain was greater than my command. As Quirrell’s body fell apart, my constitution was filled with hot searing pain. My soul pulled away from his and I groaned in agony.

 Harry blacked out and Quirrell rolled down on the floor. I cared for neither of them. I needed a new body now. I would come again.

 

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