Redo - Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter Twenty-six

Oh.My.Gawd. Remind me to never write three chapter in one ever again! I was like Imma finish this shiz on a even number! (Read note at end, it's important!)

Broken glass shimmered in a thousand pieces on the floor, a man in a turban crouched above the shattered mirror terrified. He searched the glass frantically, cutting his fingers into ribbons. Dark red now covered the pieces as well.

"It's not here. It's not here. Master, I'm sorry." Cried Quirrell, collapsing to the ground in sobs. He had failed. Quirrell hated being punished, and he knew his master would not hesitate to punish at his failure.

"You're pathetic. Let me see this instant!" Hissed a voice from his turban. Quirrell obliged immediately, unwrapping the cloth from around his head. And right on the back of his skull was Voldemort.

A disgraceful amalgamation that had no right to exist. Two thin slits for a nose. Eyes that were snake-like but had none of the beauty of the creatures. Voldemort should have died a long while ago, yet he kept pushing to live, going against nature with his disgusting existence.

Little sniffs came from Quirrell as he turned around so the being on the back of his head could see the remainder of the mirror. They had tried, and nothing had worked. The stone hadn't appeared, and this was a last-ditch effort.

Voldemort scowled horribly, wishing he could torture Quirrell for his failure. Clarity came to Voldemort then.

"You won't last much longer Quirrell, unicorn blood has its toll..." It was true. Voldemort might have grown more powerful, but Quirrell lost more of himself each day. To kill a unicorn and drink its blood was one of the most inhumane things a person could do.

Such pure creatures, yet Quirrell hunted them down and drank them dry for Voldemort. Quirrell could feel his soul degrading, but it would be worth it. That's what he told himself, at least. He would retrieve the stone for his master, revive Voldemort, then be healed.

And after they could rid the world of filthy mudbloods. He'd be Voldemort's, right-hand man. Rich, powerful, famous. He salivated at the thought; he wouldn't be weak anymore. It was his greatest desire.

"That's true, master..." Quirrell finally replied, nervously fidgeting with himself. Voldemort thought long and hard; someone must have stolen the stone. That meant this plan was doomed. Voldemort wasn't one to go down with a ship.

"That means you're worthless," Voldemort said simply, and Quirrell froze in utter terror. Worthless? That meant he was disposable. But surely not, right? Voldemort had promised him after all.

"Master, this isn't the end! I can find the stone, I promise! Just give me some time." Quirrell begged, but Voldemort just chuckled.

"You were a good servant, I admit, very loyal to me. But all good things must come to a stop, I'm afraid." Quirrell was shaking, tears leaking from his eyes once more. An indignant fire raged up in him, along with betrayal.

"I sacrificed everything for you! You promised me riches and power." Quirrell blubbered, wringing the cloth in his hands.

"Promises are worth nothing, my friend. There is no room for loyalty or truth if you want a pure world." Voldemort started to leave Quirrell, and the man began to crumble into dust. The phantom that was Voldemort left Hogwarts and left his servant too.
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Harry's tutoring had gotten more intense as exams came up, but she found herself less anxious about it. Xira managed to learn with Harry's teaching; he was rather good at it. And when the test finally came, she felt she actually might have passed.