Voldemort didn't care what name the Boy Who Lived tried to call himself, he was the one person who had been the cause of his defeat. Not Dumbledore, a pureblood wizard with decades of experience, but a one year old mudblood.
What was worse, from what Quirrell had learned, was that Potter had trained in an entirely different style of magic. A style with powers much greater than the simple tricks that Dumbledore and the rest of his muggle-lover fools used. Power enough to allow a single wizard to defeat a full grown troll with ease, without the use of dark magic.
That power should be mine. That knowledge MINE! With the spells he knows, and my dark magic, my power would be absolute! I would be a GOD!
And so, Voldemort began to plan. He would have Quirrell convince the boy to share his knowledge with him. It would make gaining the Sorcerer's Stone much easier. When Voldemort had regained his strength, he would travel to the other world with an army of his Death Eaters and learn more of these new magics. He would ally himself with these Mazuko, these demons, and together, they would envelop both worlds in darkness!
Deep in his unconcious form, the soul of Quirrell shuddered as Voldemort's insane laughter echoed within his head.
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(Posted Mon, 06 Oct 2003 10:03)
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