After ten years of silence, the former Dark Lord returned to England from distant Albania, near Greece. His primary goal was simple: to restore his power.
Once, he had commanded the Death Eaters, shaking the foundations of the British wizarding world. He knew the lay of the land well. There were those still loyal to him, but many were mere opportunists—pure-blood families eager to advance their own agendas through him, or unscrupulous dark wizards looking to profit from the chaos.
If these latter groups discovered his current weakened state, they would not lift a finger to aid him.
After his downfall, his followers had scattered. Some had been captured, others killed. Some went into hiding, some defected and tried to cleanse their names. Some had even been spies from the very beginning.
Wizards, he mused, were truly skilled actors. Even he, Lord Voldemort, had occasionally struggled to distinguish true loyalty from deception.
But it didn't matter. He knew one thing with absolute certainty: as long as he regained his power, everything would fall back into place. The opportunists, the power-hungry families, the looters—they would all return. As long as he was strong, as long as he kept winning, they would flock to his banner like hyenas, eager for the next...
Hunt.
Loyalty? It was an illusion. Whether his followers truly revered him or merely feigned obedience out of self-interest was irrelevant. Strength was the only thing that mattered.
That was why, when he learned of the Philosopher's Stone, he wasted no time setting his plan into motion. Success would have expedited his return immeasurably.
But he was too late.
Gringotts had already been emptied. The Philosopher's Stone was no longer there. Fortunately, he was able to trace its location—it had been moved to Hogwarts.
Complicating matters further, Voldemort knew that the wizard he was currently possessing, Quirinus Quirrell, was already under suspicion. Severus Snape, his former subordinate, had displayed behavior that all but confirmed it.
Still, it was of little concern. The faculty might suspect Quirrell of wanting the Stone, but they would only see him as the timid, ineffectual professor who had switched from Muggle Studies to Defense Against the Dark Arts. So long as Voldemort remained hidden, the precautions taken would be tailored to counter Quirrell, not him. In some ways, this worked in his favor.
Everything should have gone according to plan.
But life, as ever, had a way of throwing obstacles in his path.
A Seer.
A true Seer had appeared, capable of making multiple accurate predictions. And this Seer was a first-year student at Hogwarts.
Merlin have mercy.
Yes, he still had his Horcruxes. He had pathways to resurrection. But even so, who wanted to die if they could avoid it? For weeks after the term began, he was constantly on edge, preparing for the worst.
And yet… nothing happened. No cryptic prophecies, no sudden revelations of his presence. It seemed he had been worrying for nothing.
Still, the danger remained. A Seer's mind was unpredictable—who knew when a vision might come, or what they might reveal? He had to be cautious.
Once he determined there was no immediate threat, Voldemort turned his attention to observing the boy. If this Seer was to be a problem, he wanted to understand exactly what he was dealing with.
What he discovered shocked him.
Through careful observation of Roger's classwork and spellcasting, Voldemort came to a chilling realization.
This first-year student's mental strength was already greater than that of many seasoned Death Eaters.
The only thing holding him back was his lack of experience and spells. But his aptitude for learning was staggering. He was building his own understanding of magic, mastering spells quickly, and demonstrating a degree of mental control that was rare even among skilled adult wizards.
And he was relentless in his pursuit of knowledge. He would linger after class to question professors, visit their offices for deeper discussions, and explore advanced topics far beyond his curriculum. According to Roger himself, he refrained from asking these questions during lessons so as not to take up time meant for the other students.
The professors welcomed his inquiries. Some simply appreciated a bright and curious student. Others, Voldemort suspected, saw the potential advantages of earning the favor of a Seer who might one day influence their fates.
Roger was like a sponge, absorbing everything Hogwarts had to offer. And he was growing—fast. Alarmingly fast.
He was only eleven.
Voldemort found himself asking: what had his own power been at eleven?
Roger had years ahead of him to develop. If he continued on this trajectory, what would he become by the time he reached Voldemort's age?
Unimaginable.
Yet, for all of Roger's prodigious talent, one revelation unsettled Voldemort more than anything else.
Roger spent much of his time lost in thought. During classes that did not challenge him, such as History of Magic or lessons where he had already mastered the material, he would retreat into his own mind, contemplating something deeply.
What was he thinking about?
Curious, Voldemort had Quirrell ask. It was a perfectly natural question for a professor to pose to a distracted student.
Roger's answer was simple.
"Immortality."
He gave no details, only that he was researching the subject.
The word sent a chill through Voldemort. Immortality? Was that truly what this boy was researching?
What kind of first-year even thought about such things?
And if Roger was lying…
"Is he hinting at me?" Voldemort wondered.
In the modern wizarding world, who was the most infamous seeker of immortality?
Aside from Nicolas Flamel, the centuries-old alchemist who had created the Philosopher's Stone, there was only one other name that came to mind.
Himself.
Was Roger trying to send a message? If so, what was it?
Uncertain, Voldemort resolved to investigate further. But before he could act, he found himself momentarily distracted.
Harry Potter.
The boy had been having a minor quarrel with a friend—hardly unusual. But what intrigued Voldemort was that, in Harry's mind, the real cause of his discomfort at Hogwarts was Snape.
The first time Harry had looked at Snape during the opening feast, he had felt an inexplicable sense of dread. In Potions class, Snape's relentless hostility only reinforced his suspicions.
And in his dreams, sometimes… Harry heard a voice.
"Heh heh heh… Potter… Nothing but a reputation…"
Voldemort smirked. Snape had done an excellent job of drawing the boy's attention, making himself the focus of Harry's unease. It was a convenient distraction.
Because of this, Quirrell remained unnoticed. In Harry's eyes, the stuttering professor was still a harmless, well-meaning teacher.
And so, when Quirrell inquired about Roger, Harry, having no real issue with the Seer, filtered out the gossip and simply spoke well of him.
Voldemort listened intently. The pieces were falling into place.
And soon, he would know exactly what to do with Roger, the boy who studied immortality.
And this was far from his limit.
He was only eleven.
What had Voldemort been capable of at that age? Certainly nothing like this. Roger still had years of growth ahead of him. If he lived long enough to reach Voldemort's prime, then the power he would wield...
Unfathomable.
Yet what unsettled Voldemort even more than this 'monster' lurking within Hogwarts, feeding on knowledge and growing stronger by the day, was something else entirely.
Everyone knew Roger was a thinker.
In subjects like History of Magic, where the professor droned through the material without engagement, or in classes where he had already mastered the content beforehand, Roger often drifted into his own world, lost in thought.
But what was he thinking about?
Curious, Voldemort instructed Quirrell to ask him directly. A professor questioning a distracted student was ordinary enough—it wouldn't raise suspicion.
Roger's answer was simple: "Immortality."
He didn't elaborate, only stating that he was researching related topics.
But those words sent shockwaves through Voldemort's mind.
Immortality?
What kind of first-year Hogwarts student pondered such things?
Was Roger truly researching it, or was this some kind of message?
"Is this little Seer hinting at me?" Voldemort, clinging to the back of Quirrell's head, frowned.
In this era, who was the most infamous pursuer of immortality?
Beyond Nicolas Flamel, the ancient alchemist who had lived for centuries, there was only one other name.
His own.
For the first time in years, Voldemort felt uncertain. Was this an innocent curiosity? A premonition? Or a warning?
Determined to learn more, he resolved to dig deeper.
Just then, he noticed Harry Potter caught in a minor dispute with a friend—a trivial event, yet strangely well-timed.
And in Harry's eyes, the true source of his unease was not Quirrell, but Severus Snape.
From the moment Harry had met Snape, something about the man filled him with dread. It didn't help that Snape had openly antagonized him in Potions class.
"Heh heh heh, Potter... nothing but a reputation..." The words slithered into his dreams, unwelcome and insidious.
Snape's hostility consumed Harry's attention, making him overlook Quirrell entirely. To him, Quirrell was nothing more than a nervous, stammering professor—harmless.
So when Quirrell asked about Roger, Harry didn't hesitate to answer.
"Roger..." Harry mused, considering his words carefully. He liked Roger well enough. Despite what others said about him, Harry saw no reason to doubt him.
In the end, he chose to share only the good things, filtering out the whispers and suspicions of the other students.
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