Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

with my young friend here.’
    He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. The snake continued to circle.
    ‘You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?’ Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry, whose scar began to burn so fiercely that he almost screamed in agony. ‘You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him – and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen … I could not touch the boy.’
    Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers, and put it very close to Harry’s cheek. ‘His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice … this is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it … but no matter. I can touch him now.’
    Harry felt the cold tip of the long white finger touch him, and thought his head would burst with the pain.
    Voldemort laughed softly in his ear, then took the finger away, and continued addressing the Death Eaters. ‘I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon me. Aaah … pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost … but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know … I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal – to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked … for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself … for I had no body, and every spell which might have helped me required the use of a wand …
    ‘I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist … I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited … surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me … one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body … but I waited in vain …’
    The shiver ran once more around the circle of listening Death Eaters. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing. ‘Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals – snakes, of course, being my preference – but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill-adapted to perform magic … and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long …
    ‘Then … four years ago … the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard – young, foolish and gullible – wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of … for he was a teacher at Dumbledore’s school … he was easy to bend to my will … he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted … thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter …’
    Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the yew tree. The Death Eaters were quite motionless, the glittering eyes in their masks fixed upon Voldemort, and upon Harry.
    ‘The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been,’ Voldemort continued. ‘I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn’t then fear that I might never regain my powers … yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour … I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess … and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me …’
    One or two of the masked wizards in the circle moved uncomfortably, but Voldemort took no notice.
    ‘And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last … a servant returned to me: Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted friends, and decided to return to his master. He