The Defence Professor
When Harriet woke up the next morning, the Dursleys were already gone for the day. Vernon had to go to work early, and Petunia and Dudley went to the zoo. Usually, they wouldn’t have left her alone in their house. However, Dudley had somehow managed to talk his parents into leaving her. Mostly by throwing a tantrum until he got his way. That was the only method he knew to get what he wanted.
Harriet was happy that she didn’t have to deal with her relatives. Being alone was definitely better than being with them. It was actually quite pleasant to not have to see them for a whole day. She made herself a quick breakfast – shockingly enough the Dursleys had left a few things in the fridge (Probably not for her, but who cares?) – and then began with her already laid out list of chores.
Her aunt and uncle somehow found new things to do for her every day, which she always found a bit strange, since at some point they had to run out of ideas, right? Unfortunately, every time she did manage to make them run out of ideas, Dudley decided to make a mess of the whole house, and of course poor little Duddydums did not have to lift one finger to clean it.
That was her life. Unfortunately, she had no way to change it yet. At least she had Dusa. The little snake accompanied her everywhere and was most of the time considerate of her moods. Even if she did suggest just eating the people that annoyed her way too often.
At around noon Harriet heard the doorbell ring. Without thinking about it too much, she answered it.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, more commonly known as Lord Voldemort, You-know-who, or He-who-must-not-be-named, was livid.
Ten years ago, when he had heard that wretched prophecy about someone having the power to defeat him and went after the Potter-girl, he had been irritated. Later, when that same baby cursed him to an existence of less-than-a-ghost for many years, he had been furious. After enduring the indignity of possessing small, insignificant animals, his anger grew into rage. Being forced to possess that imbecile Quirrell was infuriating, though at least he could control him fully. But now, when the senile old lemon-sucking goat had the gall to ask him to go shopping for supplies with the Potter-brat, he was beyond livid. This was an insult he could barely tolerate.
Yet he did tolerate it, despite his disdain for the girl. She was an unknown variable, and Voldemort disliked uncertainties. He felt nothing but contempt for her, viewing her as an inconvenience and a reminder of his past failures. However, taking the girl shopping for her school supplies would help him maintain the facade of cooperation he had carefully curated. He did not want to arouse Dumbledore's suspicions, knowing that any rash actions could jeopardize his plans. This temporary indignity was a small price to pay for the greater strategy at play, allowing him to manoeuvre without drawing unwanted attention from his old adversary.
The only upside to this was that he did not have to sit through another one of those meetings from the senile headmaster. Nothing important ever happened there, but they still had to come, socialise with each other, and drink tea. Those meetings were worse than dealing with the incompetence of all his outer-circle death eaters combined. Especially since some of the staff members were morons that barely even managed to string two coherent thoughts together.
He could endure talking to Minerva most of the time. They had attended Hogwarts together briefly. Minerva had been Head Girl when he was a first year. She had been one of the few people who helped him, when everyone thought he was a muggleborn sorted into Slytherin. His fellow classmates had wanted nothing to do with him – either because of his supposed muggleborn status or because he was a Slytherin. Minerva hadn’t cared and had helped him – as much as she could, considering that she was sorted into a different house and also had to take care of her other duties as Head Girl.
However, Minerva was one of very few people currently teaching at Hogwarts that he could have an intelligent conversation with. And even with her he had to take care not to seem out of character. Acting as Quirrell was taking its toll on him. Filius Flitwick, who almost never attended meetings during the summer, was another. Other than them there was no one else that he could tolerate interacting with.
Pomona Sprout and Rolanda Hooch liked to use the meetings to gossip. Silvanus Kettleburn liked to repeatedly tell stories about how he lost his limbs, which tended to get more absurd with every retelling. Aurora Sinistra often joined Sprout and Hooch in gossiping. And the less said about Sybill Trelawney the better.
Charity Burbage, who was set to start teaching Muggle Studies that year, preferred to talk about her subject with an enthusiasm that Voldemort, disguised as Quirrell, found grating. Given that Quirrell had taught Muggle Studies before his one-year sabbatical, Voldemort often found himself reluctantly drawn into conversations with her. These exchanges were excruciating for him, primarily because of their starkly differing viewpoints—viewpoints he had to conceal to maintain his cover.
Burbage was passionate about bridging the gap between the wizarding world and Muggles, believing in the importance of understanding and integration. She advocated for increased interaction, asserting that it would foster mutual respect and cooperation.
While Voldemort could see merit in integrating Muggleborns into wizarding society, as they were, after all, part of the magical community, he vehemently opposed the idea of more interaction with Muggles themselves. He knew all too well, that Muggles often feared what they did not understand. That fear could quickly turn into hostility and violence. History was rife with examples of Muggles attempting to destroy what they couldn't comprehend, from witch hunts to modern-day acts of aggression.
In the 17th century, the Salem witch trials saw innocent people executed based on hysteria and superstition. During World War II, Muggles unleashed devastating weapons, such as the atomic bomb, that could obliterate entire cities in moments.
Voldemort himself, as a young Tom Riddle, had witnessed the horrors of the Blitz. He remembered the relentless bombing raids, the deafening explosions that seemed to shake the very foundations of his world. Buildings reduced to rubble, lives shattered in an instant, and an atmosphere of fear and paranoia that gripped the city. These memories had instilled in him a profound awareness of Muggles' capacity for destruction.
The brutal treatment of people who were perceived as different, such as the persecution of Jews during the Holocaust or the apartheid regime in South Africa, further highlighted Muggles' propensity for violence against those they did not understand or feared.
In Voldemort's view, reducing contact with Muggles was the only way to protect the wizarding world from their unpredictable and destructive tendencies. Their fundamentally different point of views made conversations with Burbage not just uncomfortable but intellectually and emotionally taxing. He had to nod along and feign agreement, all the while knowing that her idealistic beliefs were dangerously naive. Maintaining this facade was necessary to avoid arousing suspicion, but it left him feeling increasingly isolated and frustrated, simmering with barely concealed disdain for the well-meaning but misguided professor.
Truly, going shopping with the Potter-brat was better than sitting together in a cramped office and speaking to someone he abhorred while painstakingly trying to avoid suspicion. At the very least there was only one person he detested when he went to get supplies with the girl.
It had been a surprise to him that the famed Girl-Who-Lived resided in the Muggle world, far from any wizards or witches. One would have expected her to be surrounded by protection, given that many of his followers were still at large, even if they had been relatively inactive lately. Now that he knew where she lived, that information could prove useful later.
Currently he was standing in front of the horribly uniform house in which Potter should be. Voldemort hoped that they would not have to stay in this area for a long time. The only actual difference between these houses that he could see was the number. What an awfully monotonous neighbourhood. At least in wizarding neighbourhoods you could see some personality.
He went up to the house and rang the bell. Only mere seconds later a little girl with a bright emerald-green eye opened the door. The colour of that eye was almost unnatural. Her other eye was covered by bandages. On her forehead the famous lightning bolt could be barely seen, with her hair and the bandages blocking it almost completely from view.
“Good day. Ms. Potter, I presume? I’m Professor Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor from Hogwarts,” he said curtly, wanting to get straight to the point. He had never had much patience for small talk.
“Good day. Yes, I am. Are you here to help me with my school supplies?” At least the girl was polite. Otherwise, this task would be even more annoying.
“I am. Are your guardians here?” He did not want to interact with the muggles raising her, but unfortunately it was part of Hogwarts’ policy for introducing muggleborns or those raised by Muggles to the wizarding world. The lack of a formal policy from the Ministry regarding this matter was, in his opinion, a serious oversight.
"No, they're not here right now," the girl replied, looking slightly anxious. "They left for the day and won't be back until late. As I wrote to Professor McGonagall, I don’t know how to get my supplies and I don’t think my relatives know anything about magic. But I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I went with you, especially since it's for something so important."
Voldemort, disguised as Quirrell, studied her for a moment. He suspected she might be lying, but he didn't care. The situation was irritating, but he didn’t want to come back later when the girl’s relatives might be back. Besides, dealing with Muggles was the last thing he wanted to do anyways.
"Very well," he said curtly. "We shall go now and handle the introductions later. Write them a note to tell them where you are, and we will get going."
"Wait. Before we go, I have a question," Harriet said cautiously. "You say you're a Professor from a magical school called Hogwarts. How do I know that's true? My relatives hate anything they call unnatural. Before I got my letter, I didn't even know there was a magical world. I can't just go off with a stranger. Could you prove it to me, please?"
Now that stunned the dark lord. The person who had defeated him all these years ago did not know about magic until yesterday. Was Dumbledore really that stupid, or did he think an untrained child could defeat him? An untrained child that didn’t know anything about magic at that. He very much doubted that Dumbledore believed he had died back then. Surely, the old goat didn’t leave her completely ignorant. Did he not believe in the prophecy after all? He had seemed to believe it back then and even hired Trelawney as the Divinations teacher at Hogwarts.
And if he wasn’t convinced of the prophecy’s veracity after all, then wouldn’t he still take care of the girl as her magical guardian as well as a friend of her dead parents? Leaving her with magic hating relatives did not seem conducive to giving her a good life.
Perhaps he was trying to make her dependant on him? After all Dumbledore had wanted to send that oaf Hagrid to go shopping with her but – by now Voldemort really had to say fortunately – he had fallen ill and was unable to go. All the other teachers had been occupied; therefore, he had had to go. What an interesting situation he had found himself in.
However, he should consider that later. Right now, he had to show her some magic. That would be easy at least. He needed to show her something undeniably magical, yet subtle enough not to attract the attention of any nearby muggles. The really should go inside the house for that.
“Very well. However, it might be best for us to go inside for this. Magic is kept hidden from muggles for a reason.” If they kept standing on the porch of the house for much longer, people would surely notice.
To his annoyance, the girl hesitated. He could see her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she replied, "Um, I'd rather not go inside with you. It's just... I don't know you, and it wouldn't feel right. But if you prove your magic, I'll let you in."
Voldemort suppressed his irritation, realizing that her caution was prudent for an unattended girl. It was wise of her not to let just anyone inside the house. He needed to gain her trust, and quickly.
Looking around he noticed a stone lying next to the porch. He pointed his wand at it and cast “Avifors”. The stone turned into a small blue bird, which then flew a circle around the girl and disappeared into the air.
She looked surprised, but also delighted. He understood the feeling. Once he had gotten past the shock of Dumbledore seemingly burning down his few belongings, he had been excited to know that magic existed. He had already had suspicions before that, but to have it confirmed was an entirely different feeling.
“Wow! That was so cool. Will I be able to do that someday too?” The girl was looking at him excitedly. He swore he could almost see her eye sparkling.
“Yes, if you study well, I am sure you will be able to do this someday. Now, will you let me inside or will we have to keep talking through the door like this?” Ah, his annoyance was showing. He needed to keep control of that if he wanted this day to go by faster.
Potter looked even more embarrassed than before. She silently opened the door wider and whispered: “Please, come in.”
They entered the house. There were numerous pictures around of something that could only barely be classified as a human child. It looked more like a blob with clothes on. If that was one of her relatives, then he was grateful that she looked as normal as she did.
The girl led him into a kitchen that looked like it came directly from a magazine. Impersonal and without any personality. Spotless but lifeless.
Suddenly, he heard a hissing noise. Was a snake nearby? How surprising.
“So, do you need to say those words to do magic all the time, or can you do it without them as well?”
Potter looked panicked. Was she afraid of snakes? The hissing came from under her shirt. A black snake with white bands was poking its head out of the girl’s sleeve. There was no way that she hadn’t noticed the snake winding around her body.
“Dusa! You know that you shouldn’t talk around people!”
…
Did he just hear the girl talk in Parseltongue?
What?
How?
Was this real or was he having a very strange dream?
As far as he was aware there were no more direct descendants of the Slytherin line left in Britain aside from him. The few distant relatives that still lived somewhere had long since lost the ability to be a Parselmouth. The only other magical beings were those with creature blood, like Nagas or Lamias. And those had long since fled the British Isles because of the stigma against anyone capable of speaking Parseltongue.
Even before he had gained power there had been many people who were afraid of Parselmouths because of Salazar Slytherin’s reputation. While the purebloods respected people with this ability it was also very obvious that they were afraid of it.
Was the girl related to him after all? Or had her mother not been a muggleborn? As far as he was aware Lily Potter’s parents had been muggles without any connection to the wizarding world. Perhaps there was more to her than met the eye. He knew that it couldn’t be her father that passed on the ability to her. The Potters may have intermarried with other pureblood families like the Blacks at times, but he had gone to school with both of the girl’s grandparents and neither of them had shown any inclination of being able to understand the language of snakes.
How interesting.
This situation was becoming more and more intriguing.
“It seems as if you have a rather unusual ability, Ms. Potter.” he said eventually.
It was best if he told her about it immediately. If she found out from someone else, they might try to convince her that being a Parselmouth is something undesirable. When in fact it was a wondrous ability that had helped him in many situations and even allowed him to learn a completely separate type of magic.
By now he was uncertain about how to deal with the girl. She apparently knew nothing of magic and was a Parselmouth. Perhaps she would not have to be an enemy after all. Perhaps he could convince her in the future that staying out of the conflict would be more beneficial to her.
“Unusual ability, Sir?” How quaint. She was trying to play innocent. As if she were unaware of what she had just done. Or rather as if he were supposed to believe that she hadn’t talked at all right now.
“You are a Parselmouth. A person who can speak Parseltongue, the language of snakes.”
“And that isn’t normal in the magical world?” No. No it was not.
“Normal? Who can say what is normal and what is not. However, it is a rare ability that almost no one in Britain possesses anymore.” He would not let her think that this ability of hers was anything less than extraordinary. Given his deep pride in his heritage and abilities, Voldemort believed that such unique talents were a mark of true distinction, setting him apart from others in the wizarding world. And now he had learned of someone else who had the same talent.
“Really? I didn’t know that. I knew that talking to snakes wasn’t something that anyone else did, but when I learned that magic was real, I assumed that other people there could do it too.”
“I told you, you were special, snakeling.” The snake butted into their conversation as well. If he were correct, it had to be an eastern kingsnake. A rather young one at that since it seemed rather small for its species. It was unusual to see one so far away from its native habitat.
“Wait! You said almost no one in Britain, Professor. Who else can speak to snakes, er, Parseltongue?” Potter seemed to stumble over the unfamiliar word, still trying to grasp its significance.
“He is called Lord Voldemort - one of the strongest wizards to ever live. The public prefers to call him either You-know-who, or He-who-must-not-be-named.”
All of a sudden, the little brat looked amused.
"So, people just call him You-know-who or He-who-must-not-be-named? That sounds like something out of a fairy tale! Are they not allowed to say his name or something? And is his name actually Voldemort? Is that his first name or last name? Or is it a title? Is he the lord of Voldemort?"
Lord Voldemort, who was standing disguised before her, chuckled lightly. How daring. If only she knew who she was talking to right now. Apparently, the girl had a rather inquisitive mind. She was coming up with questions at a rather fast rate.
“Yes, the general public has given him these titles because they fear him. His birth name is not commonly known. It is not a title in the sense that it can be inherited, rather he seems to have created it for himself. Now I believe we should go buy your supplies, before it gets too late.” Voldemort felt rather strange talking about himself like this. He tried to keep the explanation short, because he felt a slight sense of unease at the thought of continuing with this line of conversation. If she kept asking him about himself, he might give something away unintentionally.
“Of course! Ah, but, is Dusa – my snake – allowed to come with me?” Ah, she was concerned for her snake. From the slightly mulish look on her face, he was certain that if he said no, he would have an argument on his hands.
“You can take her, but it would be wise of you not to mention that you are a Parselmouth. Some people tend to feel nervous over that, because the dark lord is one, and it is mostly associated with dark wizards. It would also be best for your snake to keep hidden, since this stigma has been attached to them over the years as well.” It was better to warn her than to let her find out on her own. He knew public opinion, and even if he did not like her, he would prefer if she did not flaunt her skill to anyone. Furthermore, he was beginning to feel more and more intrigued by this girl.
“Oh… Okay. I will make sure to do that.” Potter nodded determinedly. She then continued excitedly:
“Dusa, did you hear? We are going to a magical place! Ah, but please stay hidden while we are there. People apparently don’t like snakes there…”
“Fine, but only if you get me something to eat.” Ah, snakes always concerned with food and sleep. And, if they have attached themselves to a person, making sure that that person is safe and keeping away any threats.
“Dusa has agreed to stay hidden. Can we go now?” The girl was looking up at him with that bright green eye. Actually, now that he thought about it, the colour reminded him of the killing curse. It was a rather eerie shade of green.
“Very well. We will be using apparition to go to Diagon Alley, the shopping district where we will gather your supplies. You can think of apparition as being similar to teleportation. You will feel like are being pressed through a small tube. Most people will feel nauseous after apparating for the first time.” Voldemort was starting to feel more generous towards the little girl. Usually, he would not have cared to explain that much.
“Hold my arm tight and do not let go of it under any circumstances. The results would be unpleasant if you did.” He instructed Potter seriously. He could not have the Girl-who-lived getting splinched in her first side-along apparition. That would definitely not help his cover of being Quirinus Quirrell.
After they had apparated into a side room of the Leaky Couldron, he turned to her. Again, the little girl surprised him because she did not look as ill as expected. In fact, her expression had only changed a little. Perhaps she was one of the lucky few who did not feel nausea while apparating for the first time.
Voldemort shook his head once to clear it of miscellaneous thoughts and opened the door of the side room for her. Without any further fuss or unnecessary questions, they went to back of the pub. There he took out his wand and tapped one of the stones in the brick wall.
The stones began to move out of the way until an archway had formed for them to pass through. Diagon Alley was spread out before them in all of its magical glory. He turned to her and with a slight smile said:
“Welcome to Diagon Alley, Ms. Potter.”