Chapter 11

Lady Magic led Harry down the dimly lit hallways, and there wasn't a single soul that was out this late at night.

He heard nothing but the faintest whispers from his Lady, leading him to a place that he did not know.

Harry walked through the hallways, finding himself descending deeper down into the dungeons.

It was in the middle of the night, and even the teachers had gone to bed.

Lady Magic's call to him was something that Harry didn't even consider resisting. Everything he had now was due to his Lady, and her magic was intoxicating.

Lady Magic ruled above everything else, and she made the air sing and dance. Without her, Harry would have been trampled under his relatives' feet, a servant at their beck and call.

Harry shuddered to think about being a normal little abused boy. He would have been eating out of Dumbledore's old, wrinkly hands without a single thought.

He could not imagine being anything other than what he was right now. As he was, he was right. He was strong.

Of course, in the eyes of the normal sheep of the Wizarding World, Harry was abnormal. Strange. He went against their normal perception, even for those that were considered Dark.

He knew that.

But this was who Lady Magic had allowed him to be, and it was more natural to him than it was to live and breathe.

Suddenly, he felt his Lady's call over him wane, which let him know that he was at the correct place.

Sure enough, he found a figure slowly walking forward in the relative dimness of the hallways.

He could feel the familiar link between the two of them, and the sweet darkness that emanated from both the professor and the parasite he carried with him.

Harry breathed in, and the magic that filled his lungs tasted so much sweeter. He wondered if it was because his Lady's influence could be felt much more strongly tonight, likewise allowing him more freedom in his affairs.

Professor Quirrell's figure was unsteadily moving forward, and there was a sluggishness to him that was evident at first glance.

Harry looked at him, and he wondered.

Why had his Lady brought him here?

Why was he to meet his professor in the middle of the night?

Curiosity ate at Harry, and he soon felt his interest rise. Even more than before.

Now, it was not just mere curiosity towards him. Unbeknownst to the wizard, there was now a faintly possessive quality to his thoughts that had not been there before.

Before he could say anything, he saw the professor's hand land unsteadily on the wall as he stumbled.

He could feel the pulse of annoyance from the parasite even from far away.

Even before Harry registered what he was doing, a chuckle spilled out from his lips.

Startled, the professor spun around, and on his face, there was a harsh expression before it smoothened out a little.

However, Harry wasn't blind. He had seen it as clear as day.

He already knew that there was more to the professor than met the eye, but having it confirmed in such a manner made him excited.

After all, his curiosity was one of the few things that led to an increase in his own emotions. Just like whenever his conjectures were proved right.

And right now, both of those things were achieved.

"Mr. Potter," the professor said leadingly, "what are you doing out so late at night? I'm afraid I have to give you detention."

A slow, dark smile spread on Harry's face, and the appearance of it stunned Quirrell more than anything else.

"Really, professor?"

Professor Quirrell looked confused. "What do you mean, Mr. Potter? I am a professor, and you are a student. Are you trying to refute me?"

Harry's green eyes glittered under the faint light of the torching, and his dark smile spread even more.

Looking at him like this, he did not appear like a normal eleven-year-old at all. Instead, he appeared a lot more mature. It almost didn't appear as if he was precocious, but instead, that he had a lot more experience that made him like this.

Of course, it was a false perception.

Harry was perfectly aware of how he came across when he wasn't hiding his real self.

"Professor, what happened to your stutter?"

Instantly, Quirrell was stunned, and his face changed a few times when he realized that being caught off guard had made him drop the stutter that was supposed to be a part of his character.

Suddenly, Voldemort spoke in a strange, hissing-like tone. "You fool! You are unable to even fool a child!"

Quirrell flinched before he looked around wildly. "Master –"

There was another hiss in the air, and Harry rapidly connected the dots before he even needed to think much about it.

After all, this could also be considered another type of fate. His Lady had led him here, to meet him, and for the first time in Harry's life, curiosity towards a person, and not their actions, had been born inside him.

"Reveal me," Voldemort told Quirrell.

Quirrell turned around and carefully unwrapped the back of his turban, revealing Voldemort's squished, deformed face.

Harry stared at it with abject curiosity. So, this was the parasite that he'd been staring at for the past two months. It was actually Voldemort this entire time.

The parasite's magic was wonderfully dark, and it called out so to Harry. Every time he neared it, it felt like it was crooning towards him.

Voldemort's mouth opened, and he was about to say something when Harry couldn't control his curiosity anymore.

Now that he knew it was actually Voldemort who had been the parasite all along, he no longer had to worry about alerting Quirrell about his magic.

Instantly, the sheer darkness of Harry's magic washed over Voldemort, and the spirit stopped talking, shocked.

The invasive darkness that penetrated through him was akin to his magic back when he had been in his prime, which nearly drove him mad.

How could this child have such prowess over his magic?

"Who are you? What have you done to Potter?"

How could a Light child have such a look on his face? The Dark Lord couldn't believe it. The child was a Hufflepuff. He was the epitome of a Light wizard!

Harry's fingers twitched, and he didn't stop himself from reaching out and placing an almost reverent palm on the Dark Lord's face.

His eyes lit up, and they were almost fanatically hungry, stunning Voldemort.

"Your magic… it's so pretty," Harry crooned. This was the closest he could get to it, but the magic that he longed to run his fingers through were deep within Quirrell's body, displeasing him.

He even had the thought of digging his fingers deeply into the man's body just so that he could touch Voldemort's magic core.

It was a heady magic that was close to the true darkness that he adored, but it was a lot weaker than he thought.

However, the pure quality of it made up for the apparent shortcomings.

Voldemort's magic was even more delicious than Severus', or Draco's father's magic.

"Who are you?" Voldemort snarled out. He had no way to escape the addictive feeling of Harry's magic, and he didn't like not being in control.

Harry didn't say anything, instead just increasing the touch of his magic over Voldemort's core.

By now, Voldemort had already tried everything to break out from Harry's hold, and everything had failed. The blasted boy was doing something to him that was unacceptable. He was taking advantage of the Dark Lord's weakened state, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Quirrell!" Voldemort barked.

As if breaking out of a trance, Quirrell jolted, and he immediately dashed down the corridor with full strength.

Behind them, Harry's delighted laugh echoed down the hallway.

Despite himself, something inside the Dark Lord shuddered.

The feel of that child's magic…