Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

As he said before, the boy was clever but still arrogant. Yeah, he was immortal. His Horcruxes guaranteed his survival no matter what happened. There were too many of them for there to be a risk to his survival. You would need to do the impossible to gather his Horcruxes, and even then, the aftermath would be noticeable enough that he would know to change their hiding places. Why would he need an heir if he was going to live forever? The boy was right, but he was foolish to point that out. The thin veil of civility was his own protection.

Voldemort gave him a wide smile and answered, "I was planning on making you my lieutenant, of giving you control over the British Isle after my conquest. But fine, if you want to do it that way, then alright, servitude or death. Which one will you choose?"

Voldemort knew the boy's answer before he could speak it. He had seen it in the mirror, the utter desperate fear of the abyss that was death. The boy would choose servitude, he just knew it.

However, instead of bowing his head and accepting his gracious offer, the Potter boy spoke up, "Do you know why I never tattled on you to Dumbledore or anyone else?"

The possessed professor raised an interested eyebrow, "Do tell…"

"I wanted nothing to do with your war with Dumbledore. I don't trust him not to screw me over, and I definitely don't trust you. I wanted to live in peace and learn my magic, and not be dragged into a conflict that wasn't mine."

"It was your parents' conflict too," Voldemort remarked.

"Yes, and they died for it. It's no longer my problem. And yet, here you are giving me the illusion of a choice between two horrible options while being dishonest about what you represent."

While he was still somewhat angry by the boy's defiance, the Dark Lord was slightly amused. He didn't really need the Potter boy's allegiance, but he was curious. The boy was like him. He had the potential to be an Archmage, while not being chosen as a champion, and he was curious about it.

Honestly, even if most of what he had told the boy was true, he did bend facts slightly. Voldemort had no intention of restraining the champions of light and dark, but absorbing their magic, absorbing their might. Freezing them in time was the original plan because there was no other motive. Alas, in an ancient Sumerian tomb, the Dark Lord found another way. A ritual stolen from Solomon's grimoire himself, to absorb the power of a champion.

The legendary mage had tricked the champions of his era and had trapped them. He studied their power and devised the ritual. He absorbed both their powers and became the single most powerful being in history. His reign was a peaceful one, a true age of prosperity, alas the cycle continued after his death. But Lord Voldemort had conquered Death. If he performed the ritual, it would guarantee that no one would ever try to free them. The result would be peace, eternal peace, with him as the magical messiah.

Voldemort had prepared himself for the ritual, committing atrocity after atrocity, readying his magic, mind, and body, to receive the power of the champions. He would become the strongest being in history, surpassing Solomon too, and ushering in a magical golden age.

He would need to redo some of those preparations after regaining his body, but that wasn't really an insurmountable obstacle.

So, yes, perhaps he wasn't being truthful with the Potter boy, but did that matter when he was the one in control? No, it did not. Sure, the boy was a curiosity, an amusing distraction to have an opponent to Dumbledore's golden boy. Two potential candidates of the prophecy, fighting against one another. It almost seemed like fate in a way.

"You're testing my patience, boy," the Dark Lord answered with a menacing voice.

"Maybe I am. But you're going to leave me be either way," the boy retorted.

"And why is that?" Voldemort responded, out of curiosity than actual anger.

"You really think that I would walk in here without any assurance? You literally singled me out. I wrote a letter to Dumbledore telling him exactly where I was, who you are, and what you're trying to achieve. You kill me, you so much as injure me, and my owl will deliver the letter. And you can kiss your chances at getting the Philosopher's stone goodbye."

The Dark Lord almost burst into laughter. Oh, he wasn't surprised by the boy's knowledge of the stone's presence. It wasn't that hard to deduce, especially with the half-giant simpleton of all people knowing about it. He would have thought that it was a trap by Dumbledore if it wasn't for the powerful magical signature that he had tracked down after his heist in Gringotts ended up being a failure. The Philosopher's stone was in the castle, and he had tracked the stone to the forbidden corridor. It wasn't a subtle thing, and why the Flamels kept it in fortified places over the centuries. Anyone could track the stone, but retrieving it was another matter altogether. He didn't know what Dumbledore's angle was nor did he care; the stone was there for the taking and it was a chance for him to return to his former might.

As for the boy, this was proof that taking him under his wing would be a mistake, "Dumbledore is in a Wizengamot meeting, one that would not end for hours. I timed my heist while making sure that he would not be able to interfere. Your letter is meaningless. I would be long gone by then, with the stone in my possession. But I see now that I was mistaken in offering you, my mercy. Goodbye Harry Potter."

The boy barely had time to widen his eyes when the possessed professor waved his wand in a familiar pattern, "Avada Kedavra!"

A blinding green light hit the boy in the chest, and he stilled. It was a shame. What a waste of potential. Alas, the boy would have been a threat to his world order. The dark lord quickly walked out of the classroom and walked towards the forbidden corridor. He had a stone to steal after all.

The possessed professor did not notice the blood in the boy's palm, nor the small glow his cloak had a fraction of a second before the spell hit him.

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