The day after returning from Hogwarts, Quirrell moved out of 36 Hall Street and into Room 11 at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley.
Old Tom warmly welcomed him. Having a Hogwarts professor as a regular guest was great publicity for the pub.
"Drinks are on me tonight," he told Voldemort.
"Hey, Old Tom, you can't play favorites," a nearby patron chimed in after hearing him.
"Not you. You'd drink my pub dry, but Quirrell's different." Old Tom glanced at Voldemort. "He can't hold his liquor, I know that. Hahaha..."
His blunt remark made everyone burst out laughing, and Voldemort laughed along, shaking his head.
"Not tonight."
When the laughter died down, Voldemort said, "I've invited Hagrid tonight. He could drink your pub dry, too."
Old Tom hurriedly nodded. "If someone else is paying, that doesn't count. Hagrid's the biggest drinker I've ever met. I couldn't afford to treat him."
Everyone laughed again, and Voldemort went upstairs amid the laughter.
Room 11 at the Leaky Cauldron had a bed, a set of table and chairs, a fireplace, and a talking mirror.
Voldemort had no intention of keeping the big-mouthed mirror. He had Old Tom remove it, which made the room a little more spacious.
As soon as Voldemort returned to his room, he took a small silver vial from the trunk that had been enchanted with the Extension Charm.
He opened the vial and took a small sip. Before long, his body began to twist, and he quickly transformed into someone else.
"Quirrell, Apparate to Eeylops Owl Emporium in Diagon Alley," Voldemort instructed in his mind.
"As you wish, Voldemort."
Quirrell turned, and vanished from the spot in an instant.
Eeylops Owl Emporium, Diagon Alley.
"I'm not buying a pet. I just have a letter to send."
Voldemort's words dampened the shop assistant's enthusiasm, but he still led Voldemort into the back room, where there were plenty of owls that weren't much to look at.
"I think I know how to send it," Voldemort said, prompting the assistant to leave.
"Ah... all right." The assistant looked startled, then politely left.
Voldemort took a very thin letter from inside his robes and tied it to an owl's leg.
"Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England. For Lucius Malfoy."
After whispering the address into the owl's ear, Voldemort had Quirrell Apparate away.
The Leaky Cauldron, that evening.
"Dedalus, I owe you an apology."
Voldemort slurred his words. "I was a little impulsive that day. You know, people coming back from the Forbidden Forest aren't usually in the best of moods."
Dedalus Diggle, the man who had bet Quirrell wouldn't make it out of the Forbidden Forest alive, was now red-faced from drinking.
In response to Voldemort's apology, he waved a hand and said through his boozy breath, "I don't mind. Once I walk out of the Leaky Cauldron, I'll forget the whole thing. You don't need to dwell on it, either."
Voldemort nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but a large hand slapped down on his shoulder. It was Hagrid. He was drunk, too, but clearly not as muddled as the others.
"Quirrell, you can trust Dedalus completely. He's one of us," Hagrid said, then gave Dedalus a conspicuous wink.
"One of us?" asked another wizard at the table, a red-faced man named Cordelia.
Voldemort also put on a puzzled look and glanced at Hagrid. He knew Hagrid meant the Order of the Phoenix, of course, but he wasn't about to let on.
"One of us."
Hagrid slapped his chest, making it go "thump, thump," then bent down and whispered in what he thought was a very quiet voice, "We all follow Dumbledore. It's an honor."
Everyone else, Voldemort included, looked at Dedalus in surprise. He didn't have a very good reputation; everyone thought he was a foolish idiot. But who would've thought...
"I've always kept a low profile," Dedalus said proudly. "But whenever Headmaster Dumbledore needs something done, I'm always the first person he thinks of."
That was a boast, but exactly what I needed... Voldemort put on a surprised expression, then turned his puzzled gaze toward Hagrid.
Hagrid had said earlier, while they were drinking, that he was the person Dumbledore trusted most.
"No, Dedalus, you can't say that."
Hagrid fell right into the trap. He said indignantly, "Dumbledore gave me the most important jobs."
"Impossible. It must be me, Hagrid. You can't lie." Dedalus was obviously drunk. He'd completely forgotten that he was a minor figure in the Order of the Phoenix.
"Fine, then tell me: who took Harry to his aunt's house?"
Faced with Hagrid's question, Dedalus clearly had no answer.
"Let's not talk about that. Drink up, drink up." Voldemort raised his glass, seemingly to smooth things over, but shot Dedalus a contemptuous glance.
Everyone else raised their glasses along with Voldemort, Hagrid included. Hagrid's glass was as big as a fish tank, but Dedalus didn't lift his. He'd seen Voldemort's contemptuous look, and resentment began to take root in him.
"Yes, Hagrid, I admit that was you," Dedalus said angrily. "But that was more than ten years ago. Now you're just a Keeper of Keys and Grounds."
He was clearly drunk. When he said "Keeper of Keys and Grounds," he made no effort to hide the disdain on his face.
"Bang."
Hagrid slammed his fish-tank-sized glass down on the table, drawing the attention of everyone in the pub.
"Nothing happened," Voldemort said drunkenly. "Everyone carry on, carry on."
The pub soon grew lively again, but their table remained quiet until Hagrid spoke.
"I've got secret orders from Dumbledore," he said proudly. "He told me to bring Harry back to the Wizarding World, and he also told me to go to Gringotts and collect the..."
At last, he remembered something and clamped his mouth shut at the crucial moment, then picked up his beer and drank.
But he'd already piqued everyone's curiosity. He couldn't just refuse to say more.
"What were you going to get from Gringotts? Hagrid, come on, tell us," Cordelia asked loudly, his eyes bleary with drink.
"I can't say. Dumbledore entrusted me with..." Hagrid began, but someone cut him off.
"The Philosopher's Stone from Vault 713? Good heavens, Mr. Dumbledore actually asked you to..." Voldemort blurted out, his words fast and hurried, and a little slurred. At the end, he clapped a hand over his mouth.
"What stone?" Cordelia continued to ask, though his head was already about to plunge into his glass.
"How do you know?" Hagrid asked in a low, urgent voice. "You shouldn't have said that."
"It just slipped out. Oh, no!" Voldemort grabbed the glass in front of him and took a hefty gulp, then turned to the others. "You didn't hear anything, right?"
"I didn't hear a thing. Say it again, Quirrell. What stone?" Cordelia asked again.
The others also asked him about it curiously. Voldemort had spoken too quickly and too indistinctly. Apart from Hagrid, who knew what he meant, the rest of them were completely lost.
"There's nothing to tell. Let's drink until we drop tonight." Voldemort raised his glass again, then took advantage of the moment when everyone was drinking to tell Hagrid, "Drink up. Make everyone forget everything."
Hagrid nodded emphatically, picked up his enormous glass, and repeatedly raised it with the others.
That night, Hagrid stumbled away, Voldemort was helped back to his room by Old Tom, and everyone else slept right there at the table.
For these drunkards, it was just part of life. If Old Tom helped them to their rooms, they wouldn't pay for them the next day.
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