"Professor McGonagall, it's been a long time."
Stepping out of the fireplace amid swirling green flames, Voldemort forced a smile. He had already decided never to travel this way again.
"Quirrell, you look a little worse for wear."
Professor McGonagall looked up from her desk, her eyes peering at him over the tops of her glasses. Her stern expression was just like a teacher watching a student who had made a mistake. "But your clothes are nice."
"Thank you."
He patted the dust off his clothes, but found it hard to get them clean. In the end, he simply cast a Silencing Charm and used Scouring Charm.
"Your Silencing Charm is excellent. It seems the Forbidden Forest helped you improve."
After speaking, Professor McGonagall turned her attention back to the papers on her desk. As deputy headmistress, she was very busy in the days before the start of term. "You know where the Headmaster's Office is. The password is: Toffee Finger Biscuits."
"Yes, Professor." Voldemort replied, then left Professor McGonagall's office.
As he walked through Hogwarts's stairwells, memories deep within his soul slowly stirred. He even felt a flicker of joy. Those were the memories of Voldemort's Soul Fragment, and he clearly liked this place.
Before long, Voldemort reached the Seventh Floor corridor and stood before the stone gargoyle.
"I'll leave this to you, then." Voldemort spoke to Quirrell's soul, then yielded control.
Quirrell's soul took over, while Voldemort's soul hid within the dense Blood Curse. But he did not choose to sleep; instead, he secretly watched everything outside.
"Toffee Finger Biscuits." Quirrell puffed out his chest before addressing the gargoyle.
"Rumble."
The gargoyle leaped aside, and the wall behind it split open with a crash, revealing a spiral staircase that slowly rose upward.
"Quirrell?" Headmaster Dumbledore's voice came from within the stairwell.
"Yes, Headmaster, it's me." Quirrell steadied himself before answering.
"Come up. I've prepared some biscuits for you."
"Thank you."
As he spoke, Quirrell climbed the spiral staircase and entered a spacious, beautiful circular room.
At the back, directly opposite the stairs, stood a large table with slender legs. Dumbledore, his hair silver, sat behind it, looking at something without glancing toward Quirrell.
"Have some biscuits. I need to finish reading this section first," he said without looking up.
"All right, Headmaster. Please, go ahead."
Quirrell replied and curiously surveyed the room.
The most eye-catching things were undoubtedly the row of strange silver instruments on the desk. Through Quirrell's eyes, Voldemort saw a silver lighter, a golden watch, and the Sorting Hat behind Dumbledore's shoulder.
But their attention was soon drawn to the material Dumbledore was reading. It was a pamphlet, and it was obvious at a glance that it was meant for Muggles, because the pictures didn't move.
While bending down to sit, Quirrell quickly glanced at it. It was a pamphlet advertising blood donation at a hospital.
"Thump, thump, thump, thump..." Quirrell's heart betrayed him, beating rapidly.
"You seem nervous." Dumbledore looked up in surprise, then smiled kindly. "Have some honey juice. It might help ease your nerves."
With a wave of the Elder Wand, a glass of honey juice appeared in front of Quirrell.
"Thank you... I don't know if I'm ready for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," Quirrell said, taking a small sip of the drink.
"You've taught Muggle Studies, which means you have teaching experience."
Dumbledore set the blood donation pamphlet on the desk and reassured him. "You've also ventured into the Forbidden Forest, which means you have practical experience. So... there's no need to worry."
Quirrell forced a nervous smile, then quickly turned serious, as if preparing for Dumbledore's interview questions.
"Don't rush. I happen to have a question I'd like to ask you."
Dumbledore picked up the pamphlet and held it up. "It's about Muggle hospitals and blood tests. From this pamphlet, I seem to have picked up the wrong information. What I mean is, how much blood do Muggle hospitals usually draw?"
Quirrell's eyes widened in confusion. "Um... Headmaster, I thought... I was interviewing for Defense Against the Dark Arts, not..."
"Oh, you've misunderstood me."
Dumbledore leaned back, then smiled. "This is a personal question, not part of the interview."
"Ah."
Quirrell gave a look of sudden understanding. After thinking for a moment, he said, "It's hard to say. It depends on the illness, but generally, they like to draw a little extra."
"Why?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.
"To determine what's wrong, and to avoid missing anything," Quirrell explained. "They use blood tests to identify the cause. The more tests they run, the more possible causes they can rule out. If they miss something because they don't do enough tests, and it causes problems later, that would be a real mess."
Dumbledore nodded, his brow furrowing slightly, then asked, "The amount of blood they draw wouldn't endanger a person's life, would it?"
"Certainly not. They have clear regulations, and they'd be held responsible if anything went wrong."
"Oh. How often does drawing a lot of blood leave someone weak?"
Quirrell raised his eyebrows in puzzlement. After thinking it over, he said, "I'm not sure. I haven't been to a Muggle hospital since I came to Hogwarts."
Hearing his last sentence, Dumbledore smiled at him. "I only went once out of curiosity, but I didn't do anything."
Quirrell smiled back, then asked, "Are you asking because there's a problem that needs to be dealt with at a Muggle hospital, Headmaster? Or is there something else?"
"It's a child," Dumbledore said. "He went to a Muggle hospital for a checkup, and afterward he showed signs of anemia. Of course, he's very frail to begin with, so that might have something to do with it."
Quirrell shook his head, indicating that he didn't know much about it.
"All right, you've cleared up most of my doubts."
Dumbledore seemed completely reassured, though it was impossible to know what he truly thought. "Actually, I still think you'd be suited to teaching Muggle Studies. I've always encouraged wizards who came from outside the Wizarding World to become professors."
"But I really have no interest in that subject." Quirrell frowned, sounding a little aggrieved.
"Of course. None of you are very interested in it."
Dumbledore said with some resignation, then seemed to remember something. "I heard about what happened at Old Tom's pub. It seems you're braver than before."
Quirrell paused, then realized that Old Tom's pub must mean The Leaky Cauldron, and that incident...
"The Vampire's curse has made me a little neurotic, and I haven't adjusted well to the Wizarding World yet, having only just returned," Quirrell explained hastily, as though he didn't want that incident to affect Dumbledore's assessment of him.
"Don't be nervous, my boy."
Dumbledore reassured him. "Being brave isn't a mistake, and it's not praiseworthy of them to gamble with your life, either."
Quirrell nodded. He thought so too.
Before you continue