Chapter 85: Chapter 85
That is not to say he had not talked to others first. No, he definitely wasn't going to emulate his tragically hyper acquaintance by latching on to the first person that intrigued him. He had taken the time to talk with a surprised Hogwarts first year. Herbology had been spent helping his "peers" and in hallways, he took the time to speak to those he hadn't. Spy networks were nice, but they really didn't substitute for real conversation, where you had some control over what people talked about.
It was galling to realize that even if he could kill or subdue any of these people in a myriad of ways, he was still lagging in conversing with people his own age. Hermione hadn't helped. He could act as cultured and refined as a royal or as straightforward as a bar brawler, but speaking to kids his own age simply eluded him. It was perhaps fortunate, that Ravenclaws were stereotyped as having low social interaction skills.
Still, he had learnt a lot more about his classmates. Like the fact that the most common complaint among the muggleborn were not a lack of television, but telephones. Or that certain Slytherins were very knowledgeable about his Gringotts account. Or that Ron Weasleys father had managed to permanently enchant a Ford Angelina into a flying car. Or that Justin Finch-Fletchley, was simply put loaded. And all the while, Hermione continued to be absent.
Neville Longbottom was not much to look at but he was rather friendly. Some may have called him pathetic, but Harry was of a different mind. He knew that once puberty hit, all that baby fat would disappear, and Neville would prove to be quite a different person. And Harry was quite fascinated by the young mans ridiculous affinity with plants. While everyone else had found such a talent useless, Harry was far more open minded. He only needed to think about the First Hokage and he was curious about this seemingly magical ability to grow and nurture life. There was also an aura of loneliness that seemed to emanate off the boy, a loneliness that Harry had far too much experience in himself. Of course, this loneliness was overshadowed by the repressed irritation the boy gave off. Simply watching the play of muscles on his arms when somebody made fun of Neville was interesting enough. That boy had a hell of a lot of repressed issues, and all subconscious by the look of it. But Harry knew that Neville would be fine. Because once you work through your problems, the only way left is up.
Corrupting the tragic hero. Yes, Neville Longbottom was going to find that life can be full of surprises. And while Harry didn't know if and how their parents had known each other, he was not going to let such untapped potential go to waste. The Longbottom name was still worth something, and Harry was very willing to ally himself publicly with its latest heir. And if they became friends along the way, it was so much the better.
XXX
Harry was sitting on top of the tower. The moon shone down in the darkness, lighting up the castle and the forbidden forest in a spine tingling manner. He felt anticipation and longing. A desire to explore and discover the secrets of that forest. What mysteries would he uncover? What tales lay, waiting to be told in the crypt like silence and unnatural stillness of the woods? What manner of men had journeyed before him, and been lost to the world ever since?
The forbidden forest was no small patch of woodland. It was a maze and a trap, designed to both sustain and imprison its denizens. An illusion even more massive than the one that kept Hogwarts from muggle eyes kept the forest from magical eyes. There was energy that hung over the place. This was a lake of nature chakra, and it called to him whenever he looked at the forest. No illusion hid the grandeur of millennia of growth. There was no doubt that this forest was a relic of ages past, more magnificent than ever.
"One day", he promised himself. "One day, I shall venture forth and discover the roots of that place... And perhaps others shall join me"
XXX
Professor Quirrel, DADA professor and willing host to Lord Voldemort, lay wracked in pain in his quarters. The moans of pain went unheard from outside the warded room. He lay on his side, because the Dark Lord was not one to let his face be smothered into a pillow, no matter whether he could breathe or not. Not that he had slept at all after the two met.
"Ma-Master! The- rej-AAAAH!- rejection is getting worse!"
An agony no potion could cure, Quirrel was being torn apart from the inside out, and feeling every tiny bit of it. It was a good thing that he only experienced it at night, a time that he was not exposed. The tiny sips of unicorn blood forcefully taken, was too little to compensate for the negative effects of the rejection of the union between parasite and host. Not to mention that the blood, from a Knockturn dealer that ventured into the forbidden forest, cost a great deal of galleons that had nearly depleted his cache from Albania. Relying on that man was foolhardy at the best of times.
The Dark Lord on the other hand was patently unsympathetic. He was experiencing an equal amount of pain and he was hardly inconvenienced. His dark rituals, that had painstakingly shaved away slivers of his damnable humanity, inch by miserable inch, had been far more painful. Nevertheless, it was time to use his backup plan. Dumbledore's defenses were far too annoying when he was at a fraction of his power. Trapped in a body not his own, he had to wring out every bit of utility he could if he wanted to succeed. It was truthfully more aggravating than when he had been turned into a formless wisp of spirit.
"Quirrel... the Unicorn Blood...you know what must be done"
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