Chapter 42

The library was a right sanctuary after trying classes. Madame Pince was probably a ninja in a past life if her vigilance in the library was anything to go by. She was quite particular about a lot of things, especially noise. Not that Harry minded. Too much noise made him twitchy. especially in a quiet place where he would meditate.

Magical books were of various and often dubious quality. There was very little that he found interest in though Arithmancy was advanced mathematics and Ancient Runes were somewhat similar to sealing. Both were slow but were effective in the beyond direct combat manner most magic tended to be. It was another matter that It would be quite a while before he used either. But it was interesting all the same. Considering that he intended to survive till he was at least a right geezer, it was useful priming material.

XXX

It was night, and class was a far memory. Draco Malfoy plotted in his empty dorm. Seizing power in Slytherin had been accomplished easily. His Father's name carried too much weight for anything else to have happened. It rankled a bit that he was unable to do anything of his own, that his power was merely a product of the fact that he was the son of Lucius Abraxan Malfoy. But his father's lessons had been thoroughly learnt. Power was precious. Too precious to let pride get in the way. Too precious for anything at all to get in the way. Love, Joy, Hate, Sorrow, Compassion, they were all obstacles to power. He was Slytherin, ambitious and cunning. He would prevail.

And at the moment, all his thoughts were directed upon his most hated individual in Hogwarts...that detestable mercenary. It was a blight upon the Malfoy name, to defer to this alien. It was one thing to grovel before the all powerful epitome of wizardry, The Dark Lord. It was another entirely to have to grovel before this whelp of a wizard, a foreign cur, undeserving of the magic he used and the wand he possessed. He ruled first year Slytherin. It was time to use his dominion to greater effect. "Tetsuya Watanabe ...You will die."

XXX

In the midst of all this madness, one forgotten creature plodded on with vicious purpose. Lord Voldemort directed his willing slave about its various tasks, quietly plotting the conquest of the wizarding world. Through passive legilimency, he had captured a snapshot of almost every single wizard and witch that existed in the castle. Fools, every last one of them. Pureblood fools, Mudblood fools, Halfblood fools...what separated them all save the degree of their foolishness? Dumbledore was the biggest fool of them all. Surely, the old coot had realised that resistance was futile? That he, the greatest sorcerer the world had ever seen, was destined to claw back into life and power? These ignorant masses would soon be under his command, overt or otherwise. Nothing would stand in his way!... just as soon as he got his hands on that blasted stone.

The going was slow. Quirrel was a pathetic wizard. He was stupid, was weak magically, and spent way too much time on useless activities. What part of he was going to die anyway did the poor fellow not understand anyway? This was exactly why he needed to speed up his inevitable return. At least his "loyal" Death Eaters did not not have any ambiguity about what their positions and life expectancy. You messed up one too many times and you die. There was none of that "But master! shouldn't we take care of Potter now?" crap. Besides, Potter could wait. Even casting a worthwhile cruciatus would strain this pathetic vessel too far. There was plenty of time for world domination and the killing of annoying enemies after he was back at full strength. He was immortal, and time was a mere annoyance, but damn if wasn't an effective annoyance it was.

In the mean time he would have to continue this useless game. Dumbledore, fool that he was, thought that Quirrel was merely a servant of the Dark Lord. It may have been true, but without the whole truth, it was useless information. The Headmaster did not suspect that his greatest foe since Grindelwald was a parasitic organism on Quirrel's head. The poor pitying glances that clearly invited the fallen man to 'repent' and return to the fold churned his phantasmal stomach. Quirrel was not a dark wizard by the conventional definition. And he himself had no aura or signature as a spirit, though if by some chance his vessel failed, the wards would push him out. Which reminded him, it would soon be time to begin the dosage of unicorn blood if he wanted to remain in an intact vessel.

It was ironic, the wards of Hogwarts were THE most powerful on any building in the British Isles. However, since their casting a thousand years ago, very little had changed. They were in essence, simple wards that had a hell of a lot of power behind them. Magical assault would be annoying but not impossible, but this unseen infiltration he had accomplished was easily overlooked. Unlike what many believed, Hogwarts was not some great fortress that was capable of resisting the assault of dark armies It was designed to counter the muggles of 1000AD with their at the time primitive seige weaponry and barbarian hordes. It was not sentient(well, after a point. It was still a thousand year old magical castle. It did have instincts, even if they were more along the lines of climate control and inexplicable chaos). It was a school, one that had a very haphazard interior because of how the first few generations that lived there created and expanded the rooms and then had to make ways to get to them. It had a lot of secrets, but the school itself was more a symbol than possible base of operations. A haven perhaps, but a fortress? Never. Though, it seemed that at times, the headmaster had deluded himself otherwise. Perhaps there was something the old argument of DUMBledore. Not that you could tell with the whole awesome duelling that is half for showing off...

Speaking of dumb, how was he supposed to get by these theatrical protections in a way that was both clumsy and (sad to admit) in the capabilities of his thrice damned vessel to execute, without using anything too powerful that his only means to grab the stone keeled over.

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