Chapter 12

Harry stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower and whistled.

One long whistle rang out from the empty Astronomy Tower. The whistle was filled to the brim with pure magic, and it would attract something suitable to him.

The whistle rang loudly in the night sky, and he would not have done something like this had there been more students around.

A few birds scattered from the sound of the whistle, feeling instinctively scared of the magic.

Since it was the holidays, and both Ron and Draco had gone back, along with the majority of Hogwarts students, Harry was perfectly content to wait here for a response.

It was something that he'd been meaning to try for a while, and this was the perfect opportunity to try it out.

He waited for more than ten minutes before he saw a creature approach. It was a beautiful, snowy owl. Though the owl was white, it perfectly blended into the surroundings, gliding through the air with poise and grace.

This was a hunter that knew how to use its body to its advantage.

Harry raised a brow in amusement.

He, who had such dark magic that it was acknowledged by Lady Magic herself, was actually paired with a snowy white owl like this? Irony at its finest, indeed.

Harry held out his hand, and the owl landed on his arm, smartly making sure not to dig her talons in.

Harry used the back of his hand to smoothen the owl's soft feathers. "Hedwig," he said simply, and the owl hooted.

She nipped his fingers a little, drawing blood. Like that, the bond between the two snapped into place. Familiar and master bond existed where there had been nothing before. She hopped over to his shoulder, preening his hair.

Harry brought her in from the frigid wind outside and handed a few parcels to her. Walking back to the window, he threw his hand out, and she soared out like the graceful predator that she was.

It was the eve before Yule, and Hedwig would deliver his necessary presents to upkeep his relationships.

They were to the people that weren't in Hogwarts for Yule. On the other hand, for their resident Dark Lord in the castle, he had a surprise for him.

Just for fun, of course.

Since the man kept avoiding him whenever he tried to get near, Harry felt a little… annoyed.

And Yule was a time to be charitable, so why not?

With a dark smirk on his face, Harry made his way down the Astronomy Tower. It was already late into the night, and the students who had chosen to stay back in Hogwarts were definitely in bed by now.

Of course, that didn't apply to the professors who were obligated to stay back to look after the children, but most of them didn't patrol at night. Depending on who was on duty that night, there would only be one professor patrolling, with the addition to Filch.

Harry's footsteps were silent as he ghosted through the hallways, finally arriving before the Dark Lord's current residence.

Inside the warm room, Voldemort stirred. For some reason, he had a bad feeling.

At this moment, there was a knock that resounded about the room, confusing Quirrell.

The professor got up from his armchair and placed the book he had aside, walking towards the portrait door.

There was the briefest pause in Voldemort's thoughts as he felt a feeling akin to someone walking upon his grave, chilling him.

"Stop–"

But it was too late. Before Voldemort could control Quirrell's body, the portrait had already swung the door open, showing Harry's sweetly smiling face.

However, Voldemort, who was able to see through Quirrell's eyes, felt a chill go through him. It was stronger this time.

So, this was the bad feeling that his instincts had tried to warn him about.

However, he was already here.

And Dark Lords did not run.

"What do you want, Potter?" Voldemort asked in a dark tone. Using Quirrell's body, the atmosphere that surrounded the man instantly changed, turning to something far more oppressive.

Only, the thing that had sent countless followers to their knees failed to have any effect on one Harry Potter.

Harry strolled in, looking as casual as could be. He was the picture-perfect representation of wide-eyed innocence, and Voldemort didn't buy it one bit.

He knew a mask when he saw one – granted, it was a good mask, but a mask nonetheless. However, had the Dark Lord not seen the sheer potency to the brat's magic on Samhain, he would have fallen for it.

And the thought galled him.

Harry waited very politely for the man to invite him to sit down, before deciding to just sit down anyway.

The Dark Lord, who had just opened his mouth, felt his forehead pulse in annoyance.

"What do you want?" the Dark Lord ground out again. His tone was less than friendly.

Harry tilted his head to the side, not saying anything as he just smiled at the man. "Why, professor, after avoiding me for more than a month, you're not avoiding me anymore?"

The smile that was curled on the child's lips was absolutely infuriating, and Voldemort felt a strong urge to Crucio him, yet he could not.

"Dark Lords do not run," he said, and for some reason, to his ears, it sounded a little petulant.

He shook the thought away.

Furious, he seethed. He sat himself down on the sofa again, narrowing his eyes at the prophecy child who seemed so different from his expectations.

Even now, there was something deep inside him that was screaming at him to leave the vicinity of the child, but he could not afford to show weakness. Especially not to his nemesis, whom he needed to strike fear into.

His skin continued to prickle whenever whatever stray tendril of Potter's magic brushed against him 'accidentally', and it galled him to know that he was unable to fight off the influence of the magic.

Now that he was near it, though his mind was screaming at him to leave, his magic didn't want to do anything of the sort.

Voldemort bared his teeth in Quirrell's body, and Harry's answering smirk was just as infuriating as ever.

"Then, why have you been… tactically retreating in the opposite direction whenever I so much as approach you for a question?" Harry asked instead.

The smile on Harry's face was reminiscent of a mouse cornering a mouse as it played with it, and Voldemort did not like the comparison his mind gave him at all.

His fingers twitched as if itching to use the wand held in Quirrell's hand, but he didn't make a move.

"Just get to the point and get out, brat!"

"But… I'm here to give you your Yule present," Harry said in a faux sad tone.

It caused Voldemort's hair to rise. This could not be anything good.

But he was unable to show any weakness with something so seemingly innocent. Of course, neither the Dark Lord nor Harry thought that way. It only appeared innocent on the surface.

Harry got up from the sofa, causing Voldemort to tense minutely, his eyes wary. While the boy did not feel hostile, there were things worse than that…

Sure enough, Harry brushed the back of his fingers across Voldemort's face, and the Dark Lord's eyes flickered for an unknown reason.

It was a light brush, but the Dark Lord felt it like a heavy blow to his psyche. When had he ever been touched in such an impudent way before?!

Without him realizing it, the man had tensed up. Potter was too unpredictable, and even Voldemort, with his vast experience, had not met such a person before.

Not to mention, the brat was only eleven years old!

For some reason, his magic kept telling him not to resist, but he was not resigned! How could his magic betray him like this?!

He'd already tried to use his magic a few times, but just having Potter lock his eyes on him, his magic slipped through his fingers like water.

Voldemort smacked Harry's hand away, his eyes blazing. He was furious. "What did you do?!"

Harry didn't insist, chuckling darkly. "Nothing," he said simply. Indeed, he had done nothing to the man that had not followed the course of nature.

By right, Harry's magic was more potent and sweeter than anyone else who had not been blessed by Lady Magic. It was irresistible to the normal person. And as much as he wished it was not so, the Dark Lord was indeed a normal person.

With the way he was fractured… well, it was even harder for him to resist.

Just a brush of Harry's magic would have made him compliant had it not been for the man's strong grip on his mind.

The same, however, could not be said for his magic.

Trying to harm Harry was no good since magic followed certain laws.

Harry smiled darkly, pulling out a stone from the inside of his pocket.

For a brief moment, Voldemort thought that it was the stone that he coveted. The stone that would allow him to reclaim his body. But it was not.

Instead, the stone was a pitch-black colour. It was so black, in fact, that it seemed to suck in light instead of reflecting it.

With glittering green eyes, Harry stepped closer yet again, and Voldemort did not move a single inch.

He tucked the stone into the professor's pocket, giving him one last smile. It gave him chills.

"Happy Yule," Harry said in a low, almost purring tone.

Then, Harry left the room so nonchalantly that no one would ever believe what just happened inside.

Voldemort ground his teeth in hatred, anger and indignation. Who did that brat think he was?

The Dark Lord reached into the pocket to pull out the stone, but the moment his fingers brushed it, his eyes slipped shut of its own accord.

This was the pure, haunting feeling of Harry's magic. Voldemort withdrew his hand like he'd been scalded.

Filled with indignation beyond belief, he rescinded control over to the rightful owner of the body, snarling.

"Quirrell, dispose of that stone for me!"

Quirrell nodded like a broken woodpecker, but the moment his hand went near the stone, it seared him. "Ah!" he screamed.

Voldemort snarled. His servant was useless!

Seething, the Dark Lord took control again and stared at the door with a malevolent expression. He would get his revenge for this as soon as he figured out how to circumvent his magic rebelling against him when Potter was around.