He walked, head buried in an ancient, tattered book, pages fraying at the corners, his hands trembling slightly in excitement as he turned the pages. The power conveyed in these pages was immense, and he could feel it pulsing through his veins, the knowledge empowering him. He paid scant attention the dark, thick forest and steep rock faces that brought the narrow dirt path he walked closing in around him, the world outside the mysterious scratches of ink on the crumbling yellow parchment in front of him virtually non-existent.

The hurried footsteps in the forest didn't break the book's spell over him; neither did the snapping of branches, the conspiratorial whispers echoing amongst the trees or the splash of a foot in the ditch beside the road. The only thing that did wake him from the hypnosis was a rough hand on his arm, being dragged through leaves and consequently being slammed into a tree trunk. Somewhere along the line, he had dropped the book, but he looked up at his captor, brandished his wand and got to his feet. He wasn't letting some heathen bandit take his book, Muggle or not. Now he could get a proper look at the man, he still couldn't see much of him, thanks to long, ominous black robes and a hood, which cast shadow over most of his face.

Quirrel took a deep breath and pointed his wand square at the man's chest, losing his nerve a little, now it came to actually putting everything he knew, everything he read to the test. His hand shook slightly, but he gritted his teeth and gripped his wand firmly.

The robed man simply laughed derisively and hit the wand to the side, "Oh please, Quirinus, put it down."

"Don't tell me what to do." He moved his wand closer and pressed it against the man's chest.

Another derisive laugh, but this time the voice twisted, mangled and finally settled on something a lot more sinister and a lot more powerful "I said, Quirinus, put. It. Down."

The voice itself carried such an air of superiority; he could practically taste the power riding on it. He couldn't turn that voice down. He couldn't answer that voice back, and he certainly didn't want to let that voice go. It was a voice he'd allow to command and he would obey. He dropped his wand and stammered, "H-h-how do y-y-y-you know my name?"

The cool, calm voice of before returned and Quirinus felt a wrenching in his stomach, almost like a withdrawal from the rush of power he got from that voice pounding into his ears, "I know much more than you could imagine."

He rediscovered his nerve, if for only bringing the voice back, and replied defiantly, "Prove it."

As soon as he spoke these words, his throat was crushed in an iron grip, the voice returning and hissing in his ear, "I have to prove nothing to you. You work at Hogwarts, correct?" Quirinus nodded nervously as the fingers were tightening around his throat, "And upon your return, you're teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, correct?" Another nod. "Except every bit of research you've done while out here was into deeper and darker parts of magic, correct?" This time he nodded more cautiously, not understanding how anyone could know what he had read, what he knew. "You simply love the power knowing that gives you, don't you?" Another nervous nod in response as the grip loosened a little, "But you'd never have the nerve to use them, would you?" The man paused for a second and looked directly into Quirinus' eyes, changing his previous sentence, "Unless…unless you felt you had a noble cause. A cause that would bring you power and greatness. Make you your own personal Napoleon, if you will." His face blanched in amazement. How did he know that? But the man continued regardless, not blinking as he bore his flaming red irises into Quirrel's eyes, into his mind, almost, "Killing a loathsome, harmful louse. You call that a crime?" At this, the grip released a little more, allowing him to breathe easily, but he still had the sense that his mind had been ransacked. A direct quote from Crime and Punishment. The likelihood this man who dragged him here had actually read this book had to be low. The likelihood of him picking that particular quote, the one that transfixed him so, was impossible. This man had to have read his mind. Had to have.

He gazed at the man in silent shock as his hand fell from his neck, no doubt leaving blossoming bruises in its wake. Quirinus gasped for air as the man spoke once more, reverting back to the less harsh voice of before, "That's what you really want, isn't it? Power." He received a wordless, breathless nod in reply, and then continued, "If you help me, if you give me what you want, I can give you all the power you want. You and I will be responsible for the new world order. An order uncluttered by filth, a pure, unrestricted world, where wizards hold their rightful position. A share in that power will be all yours if you help me. I only need one thing off you. Just one little thing."

Quirinus listened, enraptured by what he was being offered. He hardly cared for the ideology, to be quite honest, but the offer of power was too tempting to turn down. This man had proved to him that this was no empty promise. If he helped him, the world would be theirs. Or he'd at least get some reflected influence from him. He could sense in the very air between them a strong, iron will, an immense power which he wanted to grasp in his own two hands and wield against the fools and idiots of the world. The filth. This man was his Napoleon.

"What do you want from me?"

He expected a clear, concise, maybe one word answer. He expected a rare magical item or book. It wasn't what he got. The voice returned and whispered in reply, "You see…I need a body. Your body." Before he could question what he meant, he got his answer, "I am merely borrowing this body right now. They stole and destroyed my body. I have nothing but power now. But I have so much power. If you give me your body, you can share in this power. You can read thoughts like I, you could have stopped me back then. You could have so much at your disposal. And I could have your knowledge. Because they say knowledge is power, don't they? But it's not. It's the I application /I of it. The nerve to use what you know for what you want. You never had that, did you? I can give you that too, Quirinus. I just need your body. A physical manifestation, a mere item. Surely, for the sake of the better good, to claim your place in history, you can let me have it."

Quirinus' hand was shaking against the tree trunk and he nodded in assent, replying without a thought, "Absolutely." The temptation was too great, he'd been waiting his entire life to find his ultimate purpose, and how he would exercise his greatness. And here it was. Being offered to him at such a minimal price. He truly believed this man would and could deliver what he promised, and until he did, he would follow this man's orders to the letter. And if this man wanted his body, he could have it.

"One question. Who are you?" He had a fair idea, but he wanted this man to at least tell him his name before he agreed to anything.

The man smirked in the shadow of his hood and replied coldly, "Many fear to speak my name. A foolish thing, no?" He continued, obviously not expecting an answer. "To you, I am simply the Lord. I think you can tell me who I am."

He knew without even thinking about it. It was like the man, no, the Lord was inside his head already. Voldemort. Just the name was laced in that sense of power. He had so, so much back when he was at school. He had quietly admired the tenacity, the determination and sheer force exhibited by him and his followers in the war, but he had erred on the side of caution before. But now the power was very, very real and standing in front of him, he couldn't resist temptation. He had to have a part of it.

"So..er…what do we do?"

This rather uncharacteristic stupid question only earned him a jab to the ribs with a wand and a slap across the face. There was a sharp pain in his stomach and the forest around him began to seep into a deep blackness.

-fin-