Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

4 June 1992, Hogwarts

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.

When Harry regained consciousness, all he felt was pain, unrelenting pain. It was like there was fire coursing through his veins, and that his muscles had turned to stone. The mere thought of moving his body had sent a wave of agony throughout his being. His limbs simply refused to obey him, choosing to stay limp in his little bed. Wait a minute, that wasn't in bed.

Harry turned his head and saw the familiar white walls and ceiling surrounding him. The Potter scion groaned, which was a bad idea since he started coughing the moment a noise left his throat, it being on fire as well. Of course, the coughing made him unconsciously move, putting him in even more pain.

All this happened because he realized that for the second time in his enrollment at Hogwarts, he was transported to the hospital wing unconscious, the first time being after fighting the wraith in the Forbidden Forest. Madam Pomfrey was going to kill him.

Fortunately, Harry's bed was surrounded by curtains, giving him some privacy to freak out properly. He murmured to himself, "What happened?" His voice was sore, gravely. How long has he been there? What happened?

It took a minute for Harry to realize what had occurred. He remembered being anxious about meeting Professor Quirrell for his practical defence against the dark arts exam. They duelled, and he lost, again, badly. It wasn't unexpected for the man to end up victorious. Harry would still lose against any competent adult wizard. For all his intelligence and natural grasp regarding magical subjects, he was still far less experienced than them, that's not even including the vast difference in raw power.

It took a few moments to process Quirrell's revelations, or more appropriately Voldemort's revelations. The dark lord was far more civil than he expected. He could see why the man would inspire loyalty. It was easy to see Tom Riddle in his core. The charming manipulative magical prodigy that could talk circles around anyone. If it was anyone else, a person that didn't know about the man's past, someone who couldn't see the nature of his magic, Harry was sure that they would be convinced to follow him.

Oh, the man talked a good game, but every single word he said was crafted. He was a master of words, and it showed. The idea of using genocide to rally the magical world against Dumbledore, to stop an endless war, made sense, in a warped sort of way. It was obvious that the man believed his cause to be just. Harry had no idea if he was telling the truth about the endless conflict between the champions of light and dark, but he will research it thoroughly. No one could hide that much history from the world, especially if Voldemort was to be believed, their fights shaped the magical world.

It was a shame that their history of magic lessons was about nothing more than the Goblin Rebellions. Yeah, that was what they got when their professor was a ghost that died in the midst of the last Goblin Rebellion, which wasn't technically a rebellion since only a single faction of the Goblin Nation had decided to start attacking wizarding settlements. If the history of magic covered all of the endless conflicts between the light and the dark, then lessons would have been far more interesting.

Back to Voldemort, his speech was sort of inspiring. He had a way with words that made you want to listen to him speak, but for all his seemingly altruistic goals, Harry could hear his magic, and it wasn't pretty. His song was of darkness and rage. It was what drove him the most, his rage, his fear, and his greed. He was angry at the world, at the people who failed him, he was afraid of Death, the ultimate end, and he wanted the conquer the magical world. There was this madness to his method. He had kept it locked up, ready to burst out at any moment. There was chaos in him. It was what probably drove him to start killing unicorns or try to curse the broom of the boy who lived in the middle of a match, in broad daylight. And it wasn't even this madness that terrified him, it was that his song was obviously incomplete.

Yeah, he wasn't a complete person, and it showed. Everyone has a song, with each instrument showing a personality trait. It was something he had noticed growing slowly ever since his crest was unlocked. It was the extra dimension he saw in spells. The nature of the castor, and his mindset while using the spell. It took some concentration, but Harry had heard Voldemort's heart, his soul, and it was missing. Some basic instruments that symbolized apathy, guilt, love, lust, and so much more, were simply non-existent. They weren't quiet, they were just absent, and that was utterly terrifying.

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