A Letter Home from Hogwarts

Early July, 1991, a sunny day.

Outside the office of Professor George Finn at London University, on a bench in the corridor.

Quirinus Quirrell, dressed in a light, dark-red trench coat with a deep purple scarf wrapped around his head, sat there quietly.

In London during early July, the summer heat still lingered, and Quirrell's attire never failed to draw the attention of passing faculty and students.

Yet his gaze remained calm and composed, his long, slender fingers toying with a brown wooden stick:

An alder wand.

Nine inches, unicorn tail hair core, quite flexible, crafted by the master wandmaker Garrick Ollivander.

His calm gaze, filled with contemplation, rested slowly upon the wand.

Quirrell...

Or perhaps, Voldemort...

Or maybe... Lin Zuo...

This body bore the weight of too many souls.

But at the very least, Voldemort and Lin Zuo had merged into one.

So then.

Let us call him Voldemort for now.

After all, this was his most "authentic" identity at this moment.

Voldemort's gaze turned thoughtful as he stared at the wand, flashes of information racing through his mind:

Alder, unyielding.

By nature, it favors wizards who are helpful, considerate, and likable.

But as a wand, it never chooses a wizard with a similar personality.

Instead, it does the opposite, seeking masters whose traits are different, or even completely opposite, to its own.

Because it is exceptionally well-suited for casting non-verbal spells, it has earned the reputation of being "only suited for the highest level of wizards."

At the same time, it is extremely reliable and loyal.

And the unicorn tail hair core...

While rejecting Dark Magic, it is also the most loyal of all cores, to the point that it will even "die" because of it.

Two attributes of loyalty, plus one attribute of resisting Dark Magic.

The three combined truly made things difficult for Voldemort.

The current remnant soul of Voldemort had completely fused with Lin Zuo.

And the magical knowledge within the remnant soul's memory contained only five clear items:

Imperius Curse...

Cruciatus Curse...

Legilimency...

Avada Kedavra...

The final part of the content concerned resurrection spells and ritual concepts, still in a semi-finished state.

In other words, at this moment, with this wand in hand, the only magic Voldemort could use was...

Legilimency.

"What an excellent Legilimency master I am!" Voldemort murmured in a mocking tone.

Just as he was pondering how to break the wand's constraints upon him, Quirrell, who had ceded control of the body, spoke up in his mind.

"Master, will Dumbledore choose me to be the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts?"

His voice held not only confusion but a trace of fear.

Voldemort was not surprised by his fear—anyone with someone else living on the back of their head, who also had to actively approach the Old Bee, would find fear impossible to suppress.

"Quirrell."

"First, I must confirm with you again: do not call me Master. Call me the Dark Lord; that way, it is less likely to expose us."

"Second, this position is yours and yours alone. Or... do you think they would recruit a professor from Azkaban?"

As Voldemort spoke, he could not help but reveal a smile.

It had to be said, looking for a professor in Azkaban was also a good idea.

After all...

That was Hogwarts' fifth off-campus branch; only the most "outstanding" graduates could go there for advanced studies.

"Yes, Mr. Dark Lord."

In his mind, Quirrell's voice rang out once more, causing Voldemort to roll his eyes.

"Drop the 'Mister,' Quirrell. If you do that, I am one hundred percent certain that the Old Bee will gaze at you affectionately from behind those half-moon spectacles."

A sense of fear radiated once again from the depths of Quirrell's soul, and Voldemort curled his lip in resignation.

His little fanboy was truly a contradiction: cowardly, yet fond of playing with fire.

"Mr. Quirinus Quirrell."

A clear voice sounded as Professor George Finn walked over. "You are early."

Voldemort stood up and nodded with a smile. "Yes, I wanted to avoid taking up too much of your time."

"Compared to the funding you have provided for my research, making me wait a little while is nothing."

As Professor George Finn spoke, he pushed open his office door. "But I must say, your politeness moves me deeply."

Voldemort responded with a smile and followed him into the room.

"So, I wonder if young Quirrell's state of mind has improved at all?"

Professor George Finn set down his course materials and took the initiative to pour water for Voldemort.

"Thank you."

After taking the water and sipping it lightly, Voldemort said, "I don't think so yet. He is still oscillating between arrogance and cowardice."

"I believe that after a few more sessions, he will be much better."

George Finn sat down across from him, loosened the top button of his shirt, and said, "Then, would you mind letting me continue with him?"

Voldemort nodded and smiled. "Of course. The time is yours."

As the words fell, the previously calm and smiling Quirrell suddenly turned cold.

Voldemort's soul voluntarily stepped aside, handing control of the body back to Quirrell once more.

"Then, let us continue the topic we didn't finish last time."

"Young Quirrell, after you became a professor at that ancient academy, what did you experience?"

George Finn, a professor of psychology at London University and an original member of the BPS, asked.

"After I became... the Professor of Basic Science Popularization, I was very happy..."

Quirrell began to recount his experiences. Although he still appeared cold, he was much better than he had been a few days ago.

In truth.

If not for his Master's relentless pressure, he would never have accepted being treated by a Muggle—even if this Muggle was a respected and exceptionally capable professor of psychology.

How could the proud Wizard Quirrell allow someone else to peer into his inner heart?

It was just that...

His Master, when he turned cruel, was truly terrifying, leaving him no choice but to obey his commands.

Moreover, it had to be said that Professor George Finn did possess genuine skill.

After the initial period of adjustment, Professor George Finn had identified the problems in his personality and had begun to guide and sort them out through conversation.

The results were improving; at the very least, when facing the professor, Quirrell had shifted from disgust and disdain to mere indifference.

Voldemort believed that with a few more sessions, Quirrell would be able to stabilize his temperament, so that when he finally met the Old Bee, he wouldn't have to feign a timid and submissive demeanor.

He had to admit that he was not a good actor.

Rather than disguising himself as Quirrell at Hogwarts.

It was better to let Quirrell suffer a little and disguise him as himself.

After all.

Quirrell only needed to be as composed as he was when facing Dumbledore, and that would be enough.

The London night arrived as it always did.

Darkness could conceal many things: thieves, drunkards, ladies of the night, and that also included...

Owls.

"Tap, tap, tap."

When an owl arrived outside the window and tapped against the glass with its beak, Professor George Finn, who looked back, was surprised.

"This is a method of communication from my family."

"Of course, compared to carrier pigeons, we prefer owls. It is indeed a bit strange."

Voldemort promptly took back control of the body from Quirrell. As he spoke, he rose and walked to the window.

"It is truly magical, but... how did it know you were here?"

Professor George Finn asked with curiosity.

"There are children from the family attending school here; it must have been trained by them."

Voldemort lied with composure, taking the envelope from the owl's beak while using his other hand to feed it some treats.

Looking down at the back of the envelope, he was not surprised to find a wax seal bearing a shield crest.

Surrounding a capital letter "H" were an eagle, a lion, a badger, and a snake.

He turned his head to offer Professor George Finn an apologetic smile before tearing open the envelope and unfolding the parchment:

Dear Mr. Quirinus Quirrell:

We are pleased to inform you that your application for the position of Professor of [Defense Against the Dark Arts] has been accepted. The interview will take place on July 21st at 2:00 PM; please be prepared.

P.S. Please enter the school via Floo Powder. As a former Professor of Muggle Studies, I trust you are well aware of the name of my office. Should you choose another method, please inform me in advance.

Deputy Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall.

The letter ended there, and a smile appeared on Voldemort's face.

"Is there some good news?"

George Finn asked.

"Yes, a letter from home."

Voldemort happily tucked the envelope into his pocket and then said, "Professor George Finn, perhaps your treatment should be accelerated. I certainly wouldn't want little Quirrell to be in this state when he returns home."

"As you wish, Mr. Quirrell."

George Finn nodded and resumed his work.

Meanwhile, Voldemort, having relinquished control of the body, whispered from the depths of Quirrell's consciousness:

"We must be fully prepared..."

"The Old Bee is not someone to be trifled with."