Chương 291: Voldemort: This Kid Is Actually A Lunatic!
Blake stood in the dimly lit classroom, gripping his wand tightly as Voldemort—possessing Professor Quirrell—watched him closely. The flickering light from the nearby torches cast eerie shadows across the room, highlighting the sinister atmosphere. The air was thick with tension as the young student prepared to cast one of the darkest spells known to wizards. Voldemort's voice, although quiet, carried a weight of authority and power that sent a shiver down Blake's spine.
"Crucio!" Blake shouted, pointing his wand at the small, helpless rat trembling before him. Instantly, the creature convulsed violently, letting out high-pitched squeals of agony. It thrashed about wildly, unable to escape the excruciating pain coursing through its body.
Blake's face twisted into a disturbing smile as he watched the rat writhe under the influence of the Cruciatus Curse. His breathing quickened, heart racing with excitement. It was as if something dark and primal had awakened within him. The sight of the creature suffering, completely at his mercy, filled him with a sense of power he had never felt before. It was intoxicating.
"Very good, Blake! Very good!" Voldemort's voice rang out, filled with twisted satisfaction. The Dark Lord, hidden behind Quirrell's form, could hardly contain his excitement. He watched Blake closely, his serpentine eyes gleaming with approval. The boy's descent into the dark arts was exactly what Voldemort had hoped for.
Blake glanced briefly at Voldemort, but his focus quickly returned to the rat. The small creature's body had begun to tremble uncontrollably, foam forming at its mouth as it continued to suffer under the curse. Its life was fading quickly, and yet, Blake's expression remained cold, unmoved by the creature's agony.
He continued to apply the curse with a steady hand, his lips curling into a sickening grin. Even as the rat's life hung by a thread, Blake showed no signs of stopping. He was consumed by the curse's power, relishing in the control he held over the small, helpless creature.
"Enough," Voldemort finally called, his voice firm.
For a moment, Blake didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the rat, his mind still caught up in the rush of the dark magic coursing through him. It wasn't until Voldemort repeated himself that Blake reluctantly lowered his wand. The rat collapsed, twitching weakly as it struggled to breathe, but Blake only looked disappointed, as if the experience hadn't quite lived up to his expectations.
"That was... exhilarating," Blake said softly, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "But it's not enough. I can't wait to use this on a real person!"
Voldemort stiffened slightly, though his expression remained composed. He hadn't expected Blake's thirst for power to develop so quickly—or so intensely. "No, Blake," he said, his tone sharp. "You cannot use it on people. Not yet."
Blake's eyes flickered with frustration, his brow furrowing as he turned toward Voldemort. "Why not? This—" he gestured dismissively toward the rat, "—isn't enough. I want to feel that power, to see it work on someone who can fight back. Someone who deserves it."
Voldemort studied Blake closely. Even through Quirrell's weakened body, he could feel the darkness growing inside the boy. It was dangerous—too dangerous, even for someone like Blake, who had shown such promise in learning the dark arts. If he acted too soon, the consequences could be dire.
"You'll get your chance," Voldemort assured him, his voice measured. "But not now. You're not ready, and if you act recklessly, you'll be expelled from Hogwarts. Then you'll have nothing."
Blake's gaze darkened, but he nodded slowly, his mind still racing with the possibilities. "Fine," he said, though the edge in his voice suggested that he wasn't entirely convinced. "But I'll be ready soon. I can feel it."
Voldemort smiled faintly. "Patience, Blake. The longer you wait, the sweeter the reward. When the time comes, you'll understand."
Blake said nothing, but his jaw clenched tightly as he turned away from the rat. He knelt down, poking the barely conscious creature with his wand. Despite the intense torture it had just endured, it was still alive—barely. Blake stared at it for a moment, his thoughts shifting. The Cruciatus Curse had been a success, but it wasn't just the pain he was after. He wanted more. He wanted power over others—over everyone.
He muttered to himself as he stood back up, "I performed a little harder today… but it worked."
Satisfied, he tucked his wand back into his robes. As he did so, Voldemort handed him a piece of parchment, folded neatly. Blake took it without a word, unfolding it slowly. His eyes widened slightly as he read the words written there.
"Avada Kedavra."
Blake's breath hitched for just a moment. The Killing Curse. The spell that could end a life with a single incantation. This was what he had been waiting for.
---
The days that followed were a blur of lessons, both in the classroom and in the shadows. Blake's talent for the dark arts only grew, as did his thirst for more power. Every night, he would sneak away to practice the forbidden magic he had learned, each spell becoming more precise, more dangerous.
Voldemort, still hiding behind Quirrell's form, watched Blake closely. The boy's potential was undeniable—his mastery of black magic far exceeded what Voldemort had expected. But with that power came a recklessness that concerned even the Dark Lord. Blake's eagerness to use the Unforgivable Curses on people was a sign of how deeply he had been affected by the dark arts.
Still, Voldemort couldn't deny the usefulness of a student like Blake. If nurtured properly, Blake could become a powerful weapon—a key to Voldemort's ultimate plan to defeat Dumbledore and take control of Hogwarts. But he would need to be handled carefully.
---
By mid-May, things had taken a more decisive turn. One evening, Blake arrived at the usual secret classroom, expecting another night of black magic practice. But this time, something was different.
Quirrell was already seated, a cup of tea in his hand. The usually tense and frantic professor seemed oddly calm, almost relaxed. He wasn't urging Blake to begin practicing immediately, as he had done every other night. Instead, he gestured for Blake to sit down.
"What's going on?" Blake asked, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Why aren't we practicing?"
Quirrell smiled faintly. "Because, Blake, there's nothing left for me to teach you."
Blake frowned, clearly displeased with the answer. "Nothing left to teach? I can always keep practicing. I'm not done yet."
Quirrell shook his head. "You've learned all the black magic I can offer. There are no more lessons. At least... not from me."
Blake's frown deepened. "What does that mean? Where am I supposed to go from here?"
Quirrell took a slow sip of his tea before answering. "There is one person who can teach you more—someone who knows more about black magic than anyone else in the world. But you must be willing to pay a price."
Blake's eyes narrowed. "What kind of price?"
Quirrell smiled, his expression darkening slightly. "Loyalty, Blake. All you need to do is pledge your loyalty to this person, and you will have access to power beyond your imagination."
Blake hesitated, suspicion creeping into his mind. "Loyalty to who?"
Before Quirrell could respond, a voice—a low, hoarse whisper—echoed from the back of his head. "Let me speak to him, Quirrell."
Blake's eyes widened in shock. Quirrell, without hesitation, stood up and began to unravel the turban wrapped around his head. Slowly, layer by layer, he revealed the grotesque face of Lord Voldemort, embedded in the back of Quirrell's skull.
Blake stared in horror as Voldemort's face twisted into a cruel smile. The Dark Lord's red eyes locked onto Blake, his voice dripping with malice.
"Good evening, Blake," Voldemort said, his voice sending a chill through the room.
Blake took an involuntary step back, his mind racing. "You... you've been here this whole time?"
Voldemort chuckled darkly. "Of course. It was I who guided you through your journey into the dark arts. I have watched your progress closely, Blake, and now... now I offer you a choice."
Blake's heart pounded in his chest as Voldemort's words sank in. He had been under the Dark Lord's control all along. Everything—the lessons, the black magic—had been part of Voldemort's plan.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed as he spoke again, "Pledge your loyalty to me, Blake. Swear yourself to my cause, and I will give you the power you seek."
Blake hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "I... I will pledge my loyalty."
Voldemort's smile widened. "Good. Together, we will achieve great things. But remember, Blake—loyalty to me comes before all else. Dumbledore, Hogwarts, your fellow students—they mean nothing. Only my cause matters."
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