Quirinus Quirrell, 1 September 1991, Pensieve Memory
Name: Quirinus Quirrell
Date: 1 September 1991
Format: Pensieve Memory
Relevance: What happened after the start-of-term feast on Harry Potter's first day at Hogwarts.
Quirinus Quirrell scurried back to his room and shut the door behind him. He sealed it with Colloportus, breathing a sigh of relief at its squelching noise. He considered adding another one, but settled for rolling up a blanket and stuffing it around the bottom edge of the door. It wouldn’t do to have anyone overhear any voices coming from his room, although everyone was probably far too busy getting the students settled to come by. Still, it didn’t pay to take chances, especially under these circumstances.
He drew a shaking hand across his forehead and unwound the turban he’d lately had to start wearing. He piled the purple fabric in a heap on his bed and sat down next to it, blowing out a breath with a whoosh.
I could sense the Potter boy. The voice sounded raspy in his head.
Quirrell nodded. A searing bolt of pain had run through his skull when Harry’s eyes happened to meet his at the welcome feast. Quirrell, who had only been picking at his food up to that point, had worried that he might vomit. He’d managed not to though, and also to distract Snape, who had been sitting next to him. Snape had been quite amused by Quirrell’s new head gear and made several very witty comments. Under any other circumstances, Quirrell would have agreed. He thought the turban made his head look rather like an oddly shaped turnip, but he really didn’t have any choice in the matter. Having another face on the back of your head was bound to attract some attention. It certainly made sleeping difficult!
“It would be so easy to arrange an accident, Master,” Quirrell said tentatively. Occasionally, Voldemort took exception to his ideas, and Quirrell was very leery of arousing his ire. “An accident while he’s having a flying lesson or a mishap in the lake,” he continued. As dramatically satisfying as a swan dive off the Astronomy Tower would be, Quirrell didn’t think that was feasible. Too many questions would be asked.
If you think it’s possible, you may try, the dusty voice replied magnanimously. Until I have the stone though, you must be very careful. Does anyone suspect anything?
Quirrell shook his head. If anyone suspected anything he was sure they wouldn’t waste any time letting him know about it. He hesitated, licking his lips.
“Severus... Professor Snape will be the most difficult. He knows me best of anyone here,” Quirrell told Voldemort.
Then you must make very sure you allay his suspicions. I want NOTHING to interfere with my plans to get the stone!
“I’ll do my best certainly Master.” Quirrell’s voice quivered a bit.
And don’t snivel! If you succeed, you will be honoured above all my other followers for bringing me back.
Quirrell tried not to cringe. “I know My Lord. I’m sorry. Thank you. I live to serve you,” he gasped.
Yes you do, for if you don’t, you die. Have you learned anything more about the wards Dumbledore has placed?
“Not yet Master. There’s just the dog of Hagrid’s and my troll so far. I don’t know how to get past the dog yet.”
The voice snorted derisively. It shouldn’t be too hard to get the information from that over-grown ape. He’s easy enough to fool.
Quirrell, who had his own ideas about how to get to Hagrid, nodded.
About the troll… Voldemort continued.
“Yes, My Lord?
Can you get hold of another one?
“I suppose I could,” Quirrell replied uneasily. “It would take a while though.”
It would make a wonderful distraction, the voice in his head purred. While everyone was busy dealing with the troll, you could get me the stone.
“I’ll look into it immediately Master,” Quirrell replied. “I’ll send an owl as soon as I write a letter.”
He rose, meaning to go over to his desk for quill and parchment. Instead…
Look at me! he was commanded.
Quirrell walked backward to his dresser and the mirror over it. He picked up a small hand-mirror and held it so he could see the mirror behind him. He didn’t shudder at what he saw. He thought he was one of the luckiest people in the world.
Do NOT fail me in this Quirrell. Red eyes glared at him from the chalk white face on the back of his head.
“No Master,” he said firmly. “I will not fail!”
Date: 1 September 1991
Format: Pensieve Memory
Relevance: What happened after the start-of-term feast on Harry Potter's first day at Hogwarts.
Quirinus Quirrell scurried back to his room and shut the door behind him. He sealed it with Colloportus, breathing a sigh of relief at its squelching noise. He considered adding another one, but settled for rolling up a blanket and stuffing it around the bottom edge of the door. It wouldn’t do to have anyone overhear any voices coming from his room, although everyone was probably far too busy getting the students settled to come by. Still, it didn’t pay to take chances, especially under these circumstances.
He drew a shaking hand across his forehead and unwound the turban he’d lately had to start wearing. He piled the purple fabric in a heap on his bed and sat down next to it, blowing out a breath with a whoosh.
I could sense the Potter boy. The voice sounded raspy in his head.
Quirrell nodded. A searing bolt of pain had run through his skull when Harry’s eyes happened to meet his at the welcome feast. Quirrell, who had only been picking at his food up to that point, had worried that he might vomit. He’d managed not to though, and also to distract Snape, who had been sitting next to him. Snape had been quite amused by Quirrell’s new head gear and made several very witty comments. Under any other circumstances, Quirrell would have agreed. He thought the turban made his head look rather like an oddly shaped turnip, but he really didn’t have any choice in the matter. Having another face on the back of your head was bound to attract some attention. It certainly made sleeping difficult!
“It would be so easy to arrange an accident, Master,” Quirrell said tentatively. Occasionally, Voldemort took exception to his ideas, and Quirrell was very leery of arousing his ire. “An accident while he’s having a flying lesson or a mishap in the lake,” he continued. As dramatically satisfying as a swan dive off the Astronomy Tower would be, Quirrell didn’t think that was feasible. Too many questions would be asked.
If you think it’s possible, you may try, the dusty voice replied magnanimously. Until I have the stone though, you must be very careful. Does anyone suspect anything?
Quirrell shook his head. If anyone suspected anything he was sure they wouldn’t waste any time letting him know about it. He hesitated, licking his lips.
“Severus... Professor Snape will be the most difficult. He knows me best of anyone here,” Quirrell told Voldemort.
Then you must make very sure you allay his suspicions. I want NOTHING to interfere with my plans to get the stone!
“I’ll do my best certainly Master.” Quirrell’s voice quivered a bit.
And don’t snivel! If you succeed, you will be honoured above all my other followers for bringing me back.
Quirrell tried not to cringe. “I know My Lord. I’m sorry. Thank you. I live to serve you,” he gasped.
Yes you do, for if you don’t, you die. Have you learned anything more about the wards Dumbledore has placed?
“Not yet Master. There’s just the dog of Hagrid’s and my troll so far. I don’t know how to get past the dog yet.”
The voice snorted derisively. It shouldn’t be too hard to get the information from that over-grown ape. He’s easy enough to fool.
Quirrell, who had his own ideas about how to get to Hagrid, nodded.
About the troll… Voldemort continued.
“Yes, My Lord?
Can you get hold of another one?
“I suppose I could,” Quirrell replied uneasily. “It would take a while though.”
It would make a wonderful distraction, the voice in his head purred. While everyone was busy dealing with the troll, you could get me the stone.
“I’ll look into it immediately Master,” Quirrell replied. “I’ll send an owl as soon as I write a letter.”
He rose, meaning to go over to his desk for quill and parchment. Instead…
Look at me! he was commanded.
Quirrell walked backward to his dresser and the mirror over it. He picked up a small hand-mirror and held it so he could see the mirror behind him. He didn’t shudder at what he saw. He thought he was one of the luckiest people in the world.
Do NOT fail me in this Quirrell. Red eyes glared at him from the chalk white face on the back of his head.
“No Master,” he said firmly. “I will not fail!”