Quirrel's thoughts soon after his possession by Voldemort. One-shot. Review responses at the bottome of the page.
AN: Quirrel's thoughts recently after Voldemort's possession of him.
Quirinus Quirrell warily unwrapped the turban, trying to prevent a hiss from escaping. Concentrated knots of pain screamed at him as the silk rubbed across Those Features. Closing his eyes, he counted to five.
Then he opened his eyes and examined himself in the mirror. An alien sense of familiarity swarmed over him: with his mind possessed, how could he know himself? Yet, his appearance - or at least his face - wasn't changed. He knew that his Master held province, so to speak, from the back of his head. Although, he wouldn't need to be aware of it to know something wasn't right.
He was in constant agony. So much pain.
He didn't dare voice his feelings; his Master could hear his thoughts. Restricted even in his mind: this felt so wr- No. I cannot think that.
He sighed. His Master seemed asleep; he had some small bit of freedom. A time to recognise the awkwardness, to think this wasn't something he was comfortable with - nothing stronger, oh no - before storing the thought in a little corner of his mind his Lord didn't know about. When his Master was awake, Quirinus avoided thinking of this hidden corner. He needed to keep it secret. If his Lord were to find out about his resentment, He would be furious. It would be terrible.
He sighed - not that he was rebelling, oh no. He belonged to his Lord. He would've liked not to be possessed, but then... it was his fault. His weakness. His failure.
After all, there is no good or bad. Only power, and those too weak to wield it. And he was losing power for his Master... the more mistakes he made, the weaker his Lord became. He lost opportunities, lost secrecy, and lost time. And his Master was far from patient. He would not put up with mistakes for very long before punishing those guilty - which was not something Quirinus wanted to endure.
He looked at himself for a few more minutes, and he brought his hand up, before wavering. It would not be a good idea to poke Him in the eye, or even to just wake Him up. Besides, he wasn't even sure he wanted to know what it felt like... he involuntarily shivered.
Then, he reached out for the dusty-purple cloth, and carefully began rewrapping it, wincing every time it chafed.
AN: I hope you liked it: please review.
Thanks for reading!