Chapter Text
Lord Voldemort had miscalculated.
His favorite spell had failed to provide results, rebounding upon the love shield cast by Lily Potter, and he had been blasted apart. Fortunately, he couldn't die. His Horcruxes bound him to life, so he endured, and after a brief confusing moment, he found a vessel.
Now he was a cat.
A baby was wailing very loudly nearby. He shook himself and looked around. The bedroom was destroyed, the far wall blown out, the windows shattered, the furniture in pieces. He had clearly underestimated the power of love.
The baby sat in a perfect circle of intact bedroom with a radius of about one meter. She was screaming her tiny lungs out, all but begging Voldemort to finish her. He unsheathed his claws and contemplated how to do it. Slit the babe's throat? Could he do it cleanly? Doubtful.
He would rather not have to lick blood out of his fur.
Perhaps he could suffocate her with a pillow.
He looked around the bedroom, searching for an adequate weapon, when the house trembled. A monster was coming up the stairs, every step echoing like thunder. Voldemort didn't hide. He stood right where he was, his fur fluffed up, his tail rigid behind him.
"Lily!" the giant cried. "Oh no, Lily..."
He was sobbing, echoing the baby's cries. Voldemort recognized Rubeus Hagrid and wondered just what the oaf was doing at the Potters' house. Surely he wasn't in the Order of the Phoenix? He couldn't be trusted to keep any secret.
"Harriet!" the man exclaimed, spotting the wailing child. "You're alive!"
He picked up the Potter spawn and rocked her in his arms. Strangely, that seemed to soothe her. She hiccuped a few times then settled down, her whining finally silenced.
Hagrid turned to leave.
Voldemort meowed.
"Ah," said Hagrid, squinting at him. "Poor kitty... you don't want to be alone, do you? Well, hop in."
He would have to kill him. No one could know Lord Voldemort had traveled in Hagrid's beard.
It was warm and bushy there, and it smelled faintly of Firewhiskey.The coarse hair tickled at his whiskers. At least it provided good insulation against the frigid wind.
They cut across the sky on a noisy motorcycle. Voldemort watched the city lights go by under them, faster and faster, followed by long stretches of darkness. The baby had fallen asleep in Hagrid's arms. Voldemort had the perfect vantage point to study her face, and that was when he glimpsed the scar there, shaped like a lightning bolt.
...and the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal...
The prophecy had been fulfilled.
He had fulfilled it, choosing the girl over the Longbottom boy, casting the curse as Lily Potter sacrificed herself, Marking Harriet Potter. His equal—that tiny thing with a frumpy face? Never.
Lord Voldemort had no equal.
It took two hours before they reached their destination. They began descending toward a patch of darkness situated right in the middle of a bright suburban area. It seemed all the street lights in that particular area were out. Voldemort felt a shudder go down his spine. He knew they would find Dumbledore there.
He couldn't let Dumbledore see him like this. It was too suspicious.
The second they touched down, he jumped off and slunk away. Hagrid called after him, probably worried. Perhaps the great oaf had imagined he'd adopt the cat. As if Voldemort was planning on staying in this body!
He would find himself another vessel far more worthy of him as soon as he could. The night vision was nice, though. And the exceptional balance. And the agility, the dense coat of fur, the sharp claws. It could have been worse.
He could have been stuck as a rat.
He watched from the shadows as Dumbledore and McGonagall conversed. He watched as they left the girl onto the porch of a Muggle house. He watched as Hagrid took off on the motorbike and both professors Apparated away.
The street was silent. He approached the sleeping baby. She was inside a wicker basket, all bundled up in pink blanket. A letter waited alongside her.
Voldemort didn't care about babies, nor did he know anything about them, but he thought it was rather bad form to leave one outside like that.
Well, no matter. He was going to kill her anyway. She was in the perfect position for him to stand on her and suffocate her.
He took one last look at her. She was so small. And to think such a tiny thing had nearly defeated him. Lord Voldemort versus a baby—no one would have bet on the baby.
And now it was time to finish her off.
He was about to do it when she opened her eyes. They were so green they nearly glowed, as if they had retained some properties of the Killing Curse. He stared. She babbled something and swatted at his paw.
"Brrrlll," she said.
He swiped back at her. She shook her little fist and laughed.
She looked... cute. She kept laughing, those green eyes right on him, and now his chest was strangely vibrating.
No, not vibrating. He was purring.
Lord Voldemort was purring.
She babbled more, looking so happy so see him. Her little nose was getting red. It was very cold tonight. He joined her in the basket and made room for his cat body, curling up next to her. His body heat would help.
She made a happy sound, then soon closed her eyes.
He did the same and drifted off to sleep.
He would kill her tomorrow.
*
He didn't kill her the next day.
He decided he needed to be sure before taking action. He had rushed to act as soon as he had heard the prophecy, and that had landed him in the body of a cat. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
The girl was taken in by her Muggle relatives. The house across the street had a cat and left food outside for him, which was very useful. Examining himself in the mirror, he discovered he was a tomcat with very dense, gray fur and yellow eyes. Again, it could have been worse. The Potters could have had a hairless cat.
He watched the girl, either through the window or by sneaking into the house.
She cried a lot.
Her aunt neglected her. She prioritized the other child, a wailing little boy. That wouldn't do. The girl had survived his Killing Curse; she deserved a good childhood. A better childhood than the one he had, at any rate.
So he acted. He clawed at the Muggle woman's legs or arms whenever she let the girl cry too much, whenever she forgot to feed her, whenever she withheld affection from the child. It took a long time before the woman understood what he was doing. At first she screamed at him and called for her husband to remove him from the house. He clawed at the man, or he simply slipped back in two minutes later.
Eventually, the girl's aunt caught on. She looked upon him with fear, twitching every time he entered the room, and she hurried to the girl's side to check if she needed anything. He looked on, satisfied.
Oh, they tried to get rid of him.
A Muggle came at him with a long metal stick and managed, after a scuffle, to tighten a noose around him. No matter how much he struggled, he couldn't get free. He ended up in a cage which the man then put into his car. While the man was driving, Voldemort opened the door of the cat carrier from the inside (quite easily, with one single claw) and introduced the man's genitals to his claws.
The car swerved off the road and crashed into a tree. Voldemort hopped out of the vehicle, completely fine. He was back home in time to supervise the girl's dinner.
"That demon cat is back!" screeched the woman.
He wasn't leaving.
*
The years passed.
He didn't worry about that. He was immortal. He could take a few years off while he monitored his mortal enemy.
The girl had grown into a happy, healthy child. He witnessed her do accidental magic a few times and was pleased. His nemesis couldn't be a Squib, of course. She smiled whenever she saw him, and he allowed himself to be petted, though no more than once a day.
He had trained the Muggles well. They hated him, and they hated the girl, but they took care of her. She was given toys, nice clothing, and she had a nice bedroom. The Muggle father mostly ignored him, pretending he didn't exist. The Muggle boy tried to kick him a few times and paid a heavy price, nearly losing one eye to his claws. The woman glared fiercely at him whenever she could, and then hurried to the girl's side to make sure she was happy and comfortable.
For the first few years of her life, the girl was oblivious to the hatred. Then she must have realized that, although the woman gave her forehead kisses and wished her good night just like she did with her cousin, something in her voice was different.
"You don't like me," she said one day, her green eyes set on her aunt like an accusation.
"Of course I like you, my little pumpkin pie," she said quickly, with a fearful glance toward him."You're my niece. I love you."
"But you don't love me like you love Dudley. Did I do something wrong?"
The woman hesitated.
"Well," she started, "you're not like my Dudley. You're not like us."
She waited to see if feline punishment would fall upon her. When Voldemort didn't move, she went on.
"You're a witch."
And thus Potter learned her true nature at age six.
She didn't take it well. She cried, asking why she was a witch, and why didn't Petunia love her, and would she love her if she stopped being a witch. Learning her mother had been a witch as well didn't seem to help. Her aunt hugged her and apologized, but Potter knew the truth now.
"At least you love me," she said later that night.
He didn't. He had never loved anyone in his life and he would never entertain this sort of weakness. But the girl needed to grow strong, and for that she needed good emotional balance, so he purred and settled close to her, enduring her hand on his head. She smiled.
"And I love you, Cat."
*
The girl got her Hogwarts letteron her eleventh birthday.
She jumped up and down excitedly, then read it in a flash, asking questions aloud. (What's an Order of Merlin, do you think, Cat? And a Supreme Mugwump? It says 'dragon hide gloves', so... are dragons real? Oh, it says students can bring a cat, we'll be fine.)
He suffered her babbling, his tail twitching irritably.
He knew they'd send someone to take her to Diagon Alley. He was hoping it would be McGonagall, or perhaps Hagrid again, since Dumbledore seemed to trust him with tasks far too important for a stupid oaf like him. Instead, it turned out to be Severus.
He appeared on the doorstep, dressed all in black, vaguely bringing to mind a Dementor. It had been ten years since Voldemort had last laid eyes on his faithful servant. If he had been certain of Severus' loyalty toward him, he would have revealed himself, and then together they would have worked so he could regain a human body, but he still had his doubts—not to mention Lily Potter was dead by his hand and Severus might have held a grudge.
"Who are you?" the girl asked, her mouth open in either awe or confusion. "Are you—are you a wizard?"
"Indeed I am. The name is Severus Snape, but that will be Professor Snape to you, Miss Potter."
"Oh. What do you teach?"
"Potions. Now, are you ready to depart? We have a rather busy morning ahead of us."
The girl's aunt was looking at Severus with fierce hatred.
"Can't you take her?"
"Take her?"
"Have the girl live with you, or at that magic school of yours."
Severus glanced at Potter.
"Have you been treated well?"
The woman huffed.
"I've taken care of her—"
"I'm asking her. Do shut up, Tuney, before I make you."
"Is that how it is? You freaks just show up at our house after sending your demonic cat to keep us in line, and you think you can—"
Her voice was cut off with a flick of Severus' wand.
"I'm fine," the girl said with a shrug, eyeing her silenced aunt. "How did you do that?"
"You will learn all about spells at Hogwarts," Severus said smoothly. "Let us be off, then."
"Come on, Cat."
She picked him up. He allowed the indignity of being carried around like a pet.
"Must you?" said Severus.
"He's my friend!"
That got him a long look from the Potions Masters.
"Very well. But should you lose him, I won't waste my time looking for your cat."
"I won't lose him."
They went to Diagon Alley.
On their way in, they ran into the next Defense of the Dark Arts teacher, and Voldemort discovered there was another version of him out there. Some other part of him had survived the rebounding Killing Curse and had found a human host. This impostor who believed himself to be Lord Voldemort would have to be crushed.
Voldemort wasn't worried about that other him. He didn't appear to have accomplished much during those ten years, as people still believed him gone, and from the way Severus spoke to Quirrell, the Potions Master had no idea of what exactly that turban was hiding. The impostor wouldn't use Severus either.
Quirrell was a fool, letting himself be used by a master that would discard him as soon as it was convenient. But still, Voldemort had to be careful. The other him had a human vessel, and he was merely a cat.
"It's sss-so nice to-to, ah, meet you, Miss P-P-Potter," Quirrell stammered.
When he tried to shake the girl's hand, Voldemort clawed at him and carved four red lines across the back of his hand. He yelped and jumped back.
"A-a rather fei-feisty f-f-familiar y-you have there, P-Potter!"
"He's always been with me," the girl said.
"Is th-that so?" Quirrell said, narrowing his eyes at him.
And just like that, the impostor knew about him.
His young nemesis lacked subtlety, alas. Certainly not Slytherin.
"Ah yes, Miss Potter..." Ollivander said appraisingly.
He went on about the girl's parents and their respective wands while Potter listened with an eager face.
"Did you know them well?"
"No, no... We met a few times, but they were mere acquaintances. Such tragedy to lose them so young..."
"Will I meet people who knew them? At Hogwarts?"
"Oh, certainly," Ollivander said while Severus stiffened almost imperceptibly.
The girl smiled.
It took a few wands before she found the one. Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather—and a twin to his own wand, how interesting.
She was very excited to be in Diagon Alley. She kept looking through the windows of the shops, exclaiming in delight and asking all sort of questions while Severus grumbled at her and provided succinct answers.
"Look, they're selling a golden cauldron! Is that real gold? An entire cauldron of it?"
"Yes, yes, and no, you may not buy it. Gold is horrendously porous and a very poor material for cauldrons. Any potion you'd brew in this abomination would be ruined."
"But it's gold!"
"You are not a Niffler, Miss Potter. You will see many marvelous things during your years as a Hogwarts student. You must not allow yourself to be blinded by flashy emptiness. You must look for substance."
The girl didn't look convinced. She marveled at the broomsticks on display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, and asked when she would be allowed to ride one. Severus reluctantly mentioned her second year which led her to complain that it was so far away.
"Can I get sweets?" she said as they passed by a sweet shop. "I'll pay for them!"
Severus remarked that sweets were not on her Hogwarts list, but he caved in all the same and they entered the shop. Potter bought half the sweets in the shop, or so it seemed. She then offered Severus her sweets, asking if he had tried every flavor of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and how acid were the Acid Pops exactly, and were the Chocolate Frogs real frogs? He suffered it all with admirable courage. Voldemort had always thought Severus was a brave man. Patient, too.
If Voldemort were in his position, he would have already hit the girl with a Silencing charm.
"You're nice," she told him, which earned a scoff from Severus.
Voldemort was ready to bet nobody had ever told Severus he was nice.
"I am not nice."
"Well, I think you are. And you don't pretend. You say what you mean."
He remained silent.
"Not like my aunt," Potter went on. "She says she loves me, but really she doesn't."
"People will lie to you. That's life, Potter. Do no expect honesty from anyone."
"Not from even you?" she said as she bit into her licorice stick.
"Especially not from me."
Their last stop was Gringotts. A goblin greeted them and led them down a floor and onto a cart. Severus was running an errand for Dumbledore, which was not surprising at all. Voldemort wondered what that small package retrieved from the vault contained. If it hadn't been Severus taking care of this, he would have attempted to steal it, but he knew just how skilled Severus was, and he didn't fancy his odds against a Sectumsempra.
No, it was better to bide his time and wait for the opportune moment to present itself.
Severus dropped them back to the Muggle house. It was another month of waiting, and then they were off to Hogwarts.
*
The girl made friends with a Weasley and a Muggleborn on the train. It wasn't ideal, but it couldn't be helped. She was Sorted into Gryffindor and quickly made even more friends. She didn't seem to be considering their worth before accepting their friendship—that Longbottom boy was barely more than a Squib and still she helped him.
It was a weakness that would be easily exploitable once he regained a proper body. He would merely have to threaten her friends, and she would fold.
For now, the girl needed to be protected—from her enemies, and from herself. He accompanied her everywhere, sitting upon her skinny shoulders or trailing after her. He slept in her dormitory, in a comfortable cat bed settled on a high shelf.
He was happy to be back at Hogwarts. The castle had been his home during his years as a student, a reprieve from that horrid orphanage. It felt different as a cat, and yet intimately familiar. He explored it at night while the girl was sleeping and discovered new passageways and rooms he hadn't known about.
He ran into some problems, of course.
The first one was that as a cat, he couldn't open doors, and thus couldn't access the door barring the way to what he was pretty sure was the Philosopher's Stone.
The other problem was Quirrell.
Voldemort had excellent reflexes as a cat, and yet they weren't enough to dodge the incoming spell. The red light slammed into him and he fell over, paralyzed but still conscious. Quirrell lifted him by his tail, peering at him.
"What now, master?" he murmured.
There was a short silence.
Voldemort could almost hear the impostor give his orders. What would he have said? Bring the cat outside. Kill him and leave his body somewhere in the forest. Simple, clean, uncomplicated.
"Yes, master," Quirrell said.
He turned and headed toward the stairs.
"Quirrell," called a low voice. "What are you doing with that cat?"
Severus stepped out of the shadows. Voldemort had never been more glad to see him.
"I was j-just t-t-taking care of some p-pest," Quirrell replied.
"That's Potter's cat."
"Is it-t? I thought it was a s-stray."
"Definitely not, and the girl would be heartbroken if anything were to happen to him. Release him."
Quirrell set him down and freed him from his spell. Severus stepped right up to Quirrell and pinned him to the wall with one hand.
"I know you're up to something," he whispered,a steely edge to his voice. "You better be very careful, Quirrell."
"I'm not-t doing any—"
"Think twice before you lie to me."
Quirrell shut his mouth. Severus glared at him.Voldemort slipped away, aware he would have to be more careful in the future.
*
The girl sneaked out of bed a couple of times. He accompanied her, perched upon her shoulder under her Cloak of Invisibility—one of the Deathly Hallows, and she had no idea.
One night, they had to run to escape the wrath of Filch, and they ended up in a previously unexplored room. It held a tall mirror, its ornate golden frame looming high over the tiny girl. Ah, the Mirror of Erised. He had encountered it before.
What would the girl see in it?
Would she see herself victorious over her enemies? Triumphant with a defeated Voldemort at her feet... or perhaps she would see herself as an adult, Minister of Magic, leading the wizarding world toward a bright future?
"Mum..." she whispered as she touched the silver glass. "Dad..."
Mm. Family. How mundane.
He looked into the mirror. He saw the same thing he had seen years ago, aged sixteen and two Horcruxes made already. He wielded the Elder Wand, the Stone of Resurrection set in a ring on his finger, the Cloak falling upon his shoulders.
He was Master of Death.
One day, it would all become true.
*
Potter got detention for smuggling a baby dragon out of the school.
It was a fairly serious offense for a first-year, so Voldemort wasn't surprised when McGonagall sent the trio of Potter, Weasley and Malfoy into the Forbidden Forest. It was meant to scare them into behaving.
The Malfoy heir was a whiny little coward who whimpered at every noise in the woods. The girl wasn't easily cowed and walked ahead, brandishing the lantern to light their path. The dog who accompanied them would be useless in any kind of fight. He'd been aggressive the first time he had spotted Voldemort, no doubt seeing him as a prey, but it had taken one hiss and one swat of his claws to put the beast in his place.
"Why are they sending us so deep into the forest?" Malfoy complained. "It's cold, and dark, and dangerous! I've heard there are giant spiders out there! My father will hear about this."
"Is there anything you don't tell your father?" Potter snapped back.
They ventured deeper into the forest, reaching a dense, bushy part.
"There's more blood this way," Potter said.
"Why are we going toward it? Let's head back and find Hagrid!"
Something moved in the shadows ahead of them. The dog began to whimper.
"Is that a werewolf?" Malfoy said as he took a step backwards.
"Don't worry, I'll protect you."
Potter gave him the lantern to get her wand out. She managed to cast a weak Lumos on her third try, and the light revealed what his cat eyes had already seen. A dead unicorn lay on the ground, her legs folded under her limp body, her pearly white mane spread out on the dark earth. A large pool of shimmering, silvery blood glistened in the moonlight.
"Oh no, oh no," Malfoy moaned. "It's dead—"
"She was beautiful..." the girl said softly, a touch of wonder in her voice.
A hooded figure crawled out of a bush, limbs dragging across the floor, and bent his head over the unicorn's long neck to drink directly out of the wound. Malfoy scampered away with a yelp. The dog followed, and then it was just Voldemort, the girl, and the impostor.
The other him drank deeply, stealing the life force of the unicorn in great slurping noises. How crude. So he had to resort to such methods to sustain himself... his vessel must not have been stable, and Quirrell's lifespan must have been shortened by hosting the shade of the impostor. Voldemort didn't have that problem. He was sealed into his cat body, an accidental Horcrux.
Of course he would be much more soon.
He was the real Voldemort. He was not this pathetic ghost who had to possess bodies and drink unicorn blood to survive.
The impostor rose and turned toward them.
The girl pointed her wand to the sky, shooting out red sparks to signal to Hagrid she needed help. But the half-giant would never arrive in time, and already Quirrell was advancing on them, a pale hand outstretched.
Pain burst through him, a torrent of fire igniting his nerves, ravaging him. He yowled and screeched, his vision going white as he pitched forward, losing his balance. A pair of arms caught him before he hit the ground.
Hooves thundered behind them, and a blur streaked above them, followed by a muted thump. The pain crept away, leaving him weakened. He took a strained breath that came back out as a low meow.
"Cat! Cat! Please be alright!"
She was screaming in his delicate cat ears, and this was not helping. He hadn't known cats could get migraines but he had one now.
He meowed at her so she would shut up.
"You're okay!" she exclaimed, and she hugged him to her chest, which was not any better.
Fur ruffled and ears flattened on his head, he climbed back onto her shoulders. The impostor had fled. A centaur had come to their rescue and was now eyeing them with suspicion.
"You should not be in the forest, child."
The girl explained the situation while asking questions in-between.
"Come, climb on my back," the centaur said. "I will bring you to safety."
They rode through the forest. The girl had one hand clutched in the centaur's mane and the other set upon Voldemort's back, as if she thought he was still in danger.
"What was that thing?" she asked. "It looked... inhuman, and so wrong."
"The forest holds many dangers. This is the most dangerous creature you could ever meet, young Harriet. It is slaying unicorns to stay alive, and it casts a long shadow over your school. It is also after you, personally. Do you understand of whom I speak of?"
"Do you mean... that was Voldemort?"
The way she said his name pleased him—a touch of awe, at touch of fear. That was how he wanted people to say it.
The centaur didn't reply. He brought them to the edge of the forest, where they found Hagrid and the others. The half-giant was agitated and very glad to see Potter was safe. Malfoy sulked behind him, gaze lowered, his pointy face flushed.
"I'm okay," Potter said for the third time when Hagrid asked again. "And I wasn't alone, you know. Cat was with me. I think the creature might have hurt him, actually. Could you take a look at him?"
He had to endure being inspected by Hagrid, which of course turned up nothing, and that concluded the night.
*
The enchantments erected by the Hogwarts staff to protect the Philosopher's Stone were a series of paltry, unimpressive tests, so simple a trio of eleven-years-old could breeze through them.
He sat on the girl's shoulders the entire time, watching the children defeat the defenses one after the other. They should have gone and fetch a teacher, except they were Gryffindors and had rushed ahead without thinking. He could have gone to warn Severus on his own, and with enough meowing, the wizard would have understood something was wrong, but he didn't want to leave the girl's side. Who knew what type of trouble she could get herself into. It was safer if he stayed with her.
They had left the Weasley boy behind, knocked out by a chess piece. The Muggleborn girl was thinking out loud while reasoning her way through Severus' riddle.
"This one," she said, pointing out the smallest bottle. "It will get us through the black fire. But it looks like there's only enough in it for one person..."
"I'll go," Potter said. "You head back and get a teacher. Snape. Get Snape, he'll know what to do."
"But you'll be alone. Against Voldemort!"
"We're not sure it's actually him. Maybe it'll just be Quirrell."
"Be careful, Harriet," the Granger girl said, giving Potter a wobbly smile.
The girls hugged. He had to scoot back as a tide of bushy hair invaded his space.Then the Muggleborn went back, Potter went forward, and they were facing the impostor.
"Miss Potter," Quirrell said, sharp and cold, stutter gone, "and her little cat. Your familiar won't save you, girl."
Did the impostor really think he was nothing more than Potter's familiar? Well, that would be to his advantage...
"Why do you want the Stone so badly?"
"My master has need of it. He will use it to return to full power and will soon reign over the entire wizarding world. Unfortunately for you, Potter, you won't be here to see it."
"Dumbledore will stop you," the girl said with steely conviction.
"Dumbledore is far from invincible. He will fall, like all the others who dare to stand against my master. Like your parents did, girl."
"Why have you been trying to kill me all year? I did nothing to you!"
There was childish anger in her tone and it sounded very sincere. However, it was a question she knew the answer to, since the trio of Gryffindors had babbled all about it on their way down there until the Muggleborn could have written an entire essay on the subject, and gotten an O for it as well.
She knew, and she was asking anyway.
She was stalling.
She had some Slytherin in her after all. He wanted to pat her little head and tell her she was doing good.
Quirrell seemed in a talkative mood.
"You've been a thorn in my side, Potter, and it will please the Dark Lord greatly once I get rid of you. You've been held as a hero by our peers, but in truth, you're nothing at all. Just a child who happened to be in the right place at the right time, and survived through a lucky trick."
"I've been lucky once. What makes you so sure I won't be lucky again?"
Quirrell made an irritated noise.
"Enough pleasantries. Come here, Potter. You're going to retrieve the Stone for me."
He flicked his wand, the quick, practiced gesture of someone who had cast that particular spell countless times before. Voldemort identified said spell instantly from the wrist movement and let himself fall from Potter's shoulders so the red jet appeared to have hit him. In truth, it had merely grazed his thick fur. He faked being paralyzed.
"Cat!" the girl wailed. "You killed him, you—"
"He's only Stunned, but that will change quickly if you don't comply."
Potter shuffled her feet, reluctantly approaching the impostor.
"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."
Potter lied, making up something about winning the Quidditch Cup. He sneaked forward, slowly, while she kept Quirrell distracted. Closer and closer he crept, unnoticed.
"But the Stone? Do you see the Stone at all?"
"No... Dumbledore is smiling at me. I'm lifting the Cup..."
"She lies..." said a new voice, weak and raspy. "Let me see her... let me speak to her..."
"Master, you're not strong enough—"
"Do not disobey, ssservant! I will speak to the girl."
Quirrell removed his turban and turned around. The withered, chalk-white face at the back of his skull sneered at the girl, red eyes flashing.
"You will bend like the others, child. What do you think you can do with that wand hidden in your sleeve? Defeat me with a Lumos?"
Potter's face tightened, fear evident on her features.
"You're all alone," the impostor hissed. "Facing Lord Voldemort..."
"You're not Lord Voldemort!"
She couldn't have been more right.
"You're just a noseless ghost!" she added, and she flexed her wrist just like Severus did to make her wand fall into her hand. "Lumos!"
Yes, a Lumos wouldn't do much—unless you happened to point your wand as close as possible to someone's face, in which case the flash of light turned out to be quite substantial. The impostor roared in rage, blinded.
Voldemort lunged right at that serpentine face, all claws out.
He struck true, managing to sink them into flesh and bloody the enemy. A hand snatched him up by the scruff of the neck and sent him flying. He hit a hard surface, a lightning bolt of pain scouring down his spine, and he slid to the floor, half-stunned.
The sounds of a scuffle followed. Then a scream.
It wasn't Potter's.
The girl had sprung forward and grabbed at Quirrell wherever she could, and his flesh was turning black and rotten at her touch. The man scrambled back, brandishing his wand, but before he could aim, his fingers turned to ash.
"Master!" he wailed. "What do I do? Master!"
A dark mist rose above Quirrell and the bloodied face at the back of his skull vanished. Potter staggered away as Quirrell became a neat little pile of ash with a turban on top of it. The shade of the impostor screamed voicelessly and went right through the girl before exiting the room.
Potter made a quiet sound of pain and collapsed.
His gaze fastened on her chest to make sure she was breathing. She was alive. Very good. She couldn't die here when he had to be the one to kill her.
He sniffed at the Stone clutched in her hand. He couldn't use it in this form, and he had no trusted servant to brew the Elixir of Life. He gave a lick to the hard, ruby surface out of frustration.
When Severus rushed into the room ten minutes later, Voldemort was curled up against Potter, playing the concerned familiar. He hissed at Severus and swatted him with a paw. Why was he so late?
Severus ignored him and fussed over the girl, casting a series of diagnostic spells that revealed she was mostly fine.
"...foolish child—is there nothing of worth in your head—no, of course not—only Gryffindor brashness—"
He pocketed the Stone, lifted the girl in his arms and strode out of the room.
Voldemort followed.
*
There was nothing to do in the Hospital Wing except sleep. He did so on Potter's chest, waking up every now and then to take a look at her.
Severus watched over the girl the first night. He tried to stay the second night but was chased out by the matron, who ordered him to get some sleep himself. Potter's friends came by to deliver sweets and Get well soon cards.
The girl woke on the third day. She came to consciousness slowly, her lips moving without sound, her eyelashes fluttering. Her gaze focused on him.
"Cat! Oh, you're okay!"
And he found himself half-crushed against her chest in a surprisingly tight hug. When was the last time he had been hugged by someone other than her? He couldn't remember.
"Are you really fine?" she asked in a small voice as her hands ran all over him.
He had no idea how to answer, so he purred.
"That's a very loyal familiar, Miss Potter," said an intruding Dumbledore. "He hasn't left your side once."
Voldemort did his best to look innocent. He was just a cat. Nothing more to see, no, no.
The girl had a lot of questions. Dumbledore answered them between commentaries on the various flavors of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. They talked about the fate of Quirrell, the reason he had gone after her, and the Philosopher's Stone.
"It's been destroyed? But then... that means..."
"That Nicolas will die soon, yes. Do not be sad for him. He's had a very long, fulfilled life. It will be like going to sleep at the end of a very long day." He smiled, blue eyes twinkling. "Death is sometimes a relief."
The old fool had no idea what he was talking about.
Death could never be a relief. Death was an all-consuming maw that sought to destroy everything, and Voldemort wouldn't let it touch him.
The impostor would have to be eliminated. Then he would rise as Lord Voldemort once again, and he would kill the girl, proving without a doubt that nothing could stop him. After all, he thought to himself as Potter scratched him behind the ears, she wouldn't be difficult to vanquish.
Yes, his path was clear.
Only he could live forever.