A Day with Harry

At this time of year, Diagon Alley was always at its busiest.

Almost every wizard in Britain came to Diagon Alley during these few days. They didn't necessarily need to buy anything; they just wanted to experience the bustling crowds.

Voldemort and Harry stood face-to-face amid the throng. One was wondering whether to kill; the other was clenching his toes against the floor of his bedroom.

"Let's get your school uniform first." Voldemort was still wary of Dumbledore. "We can get you a hot drink on the way. You need to calm down."

"Thank you... Professor Quirrell."

After everything that had just happened, young Harry was clearly in low spirits. He followed Voldemort in silence for a while before speaking again.

"Professor Quirrell, is the Wizarding World always this dangerous?"

That was an unexpected question. Did the little fellow want to give up?

"I... I was just curious."

Under Voldemort's puzzled gaze, young Harry spoke timidly.

"It's not usually dangerous." Voldemort shrugged. "This was just an accident."

Harry nodded and hurried to keep up with Quirrell's brisk, almost race-walking pace.

"Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Tell her you're a new student; she'll know what to do." Stopping outside the shop, Voldemort said, "I'm going to get a hot drink. You need one."

Harry looked at Voldemort nervously, clearly not wanting him to leave, but Voldemort's expression was resolute.

"All right, but could you come back soon?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Of course. Be brave, child. It's safe here."

As he watched Harry enter the shop, Voldemort turned away, his brows furrowing slightly. Deep within his soul, murderous intent surged. The part of him that was Voldemort's Soul Fragment was acting up.

Kill a child? He could hardly bear to think about it.

Perhaps in his Darkest Hour, he would have done it without hesitation. But in his right mind, the newly reborn Voldemort simply couldn't bring himself to do it. He was no longer the man he once had been. Lin Zuo's soul, from a peaceful era, had played a decisive role.

Perhaps...

When I'm in my right mind, I can't even use the Unforgivable Curses.

"You're the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Professor Quirrell, aren't you?"

On his way back to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Quirrell ran into Lucius Malfoy.

He was dressed in elegant, immaculate clothes and seemed to have nothing to do with the robbery earlier. House-elf Dobby trailed far behind him, carrying a stack of books.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy." Voldemort replied, holding his hot drink.

"I heard you were inside Gringotts when the robbery happened. Is that right?" Malfoy asked casually.

"Yes. A few men in black attacked us."

"Can you identify them?"

"No."

Voldemort had no interest in continuing the conversation, but Malfoy wasn't ready to let it end. Fortunately, Draco Malfoy came out just then.

"Ah, son, come and meet your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell."

Malfoy called the boy over and introduced Voldemort.

"Hello, Professor." Young Malfoy bowed politely, putting on the airs of a little adult.

"Hello, Young Malfoy." Voldemort smiled in reply, but noticed the boy frown.

"He prefers to be called Draco. Draco Malfoy," the elder Malfoy explained.

"Then he needs the ability to match the name." Voldemort sounded displeased. "A temper that outstrips his abilities will only get him into trouble."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Suspicion stirred in the depths of his gaze.

"My father is a School Governor. If—"

Before young Malfoy could finish, his father stopped him.

"Be quiet, Draco," the elder Malfoy said earnestly. "Apologize to your professor."

"What? Father, you can't—" Young Malfoy started to protest.

"Apologize."

Malfoy's tone brooked no refusal, but young Malfoy still hesitated. Just as the elder Malfoy was about to take action, Voldemort spoke.

"There's no need."

A subtle change in Voldemort's tone made Malfoy feel as if he'd been struck by lightning.

"I'll teach him at Hogwarts."

Voldemort looked at Malfoy, his gaze calm and unreadable.

"My Lord... I... Yes, Professor. You may do so." Malfoy's formerly straight back bent ever so slightly.

"Father, what's wrong? Why—"

Before Draco could finish, his father's cane landed on his backside.

"Be quiet, Draco. Don't say anything," the elder Malfoy said tensely.

"All right, don't discipline your child in public. You need to consider his self-respect," Voldemort reminded him.

"Yes, Professor."

Malfoy answered with the utmost deference, then lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear. "Should I come and see you? Or do something for you?"

"Do nothing. Showing nothing is best," Voldemort said softly, glancing at Draco.

The boy had his head down, nursing his hurt feelings alone.

"All right, then..."

Malfoy started to bow, but remembered what Voldemort had just said and straightened up again. He seemed unsure how to take his leave.

"Goodbye, then. Harry's coming out, and I still have to take him to buy books." Voldemort smiled and waved goodbye to Malfoy, who stared at him in disbelief.

"Goodbye... Mr. Quirrell." Malfoy said dazedly. He took his son by the hand and left, while Dobby bounced along behind them, hurrying to keep up.

"Creak."

The door opened. Voldemort turned and saw Harry.

"That was a rude boy." Harry had seen Young Malfoy's back, too. "He always says strange things."

"That's prejudice in the Wizarding World, just like in the Muggle world. It's unavoidable." Voldemort took out a small cloth pouch and handed it to Harry.

"What's this?" Harry asked curiously.

"A pouch with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. It's your birthday present," Voldemort said.

"Thank you, Professor Quirrell. This is the first birthday present I've ever received—the first in eleven years."

He took the pouch excitedly and turned it over in his hands, but it looked like an ordinary bag no matter how he examined it.

"It has a lot more room inside than it looks. You can put your uniform in there." Voldemort began to teach him how to use it.

"That's amazing."

Harry had tried several times, putting the clothes in and taking them back out.

"Magic is always like that."

As Voldemort spoke, he handed Harry the hot drink and cautioned him, "Using an Undetectable Extension Charm without permission is illegal, so don't use it in front of people too often."

"Cough, cough, cough..." Harry nearly choked on his drink at Voldemort's words.

"Don't worry. If anyone finds out, just say I gave it to you," Voldemort said with a smile.

He wasn't afraid of the Ministry of Magic. He was only afraid of Dumbledore—especially after witnessing Dumbledore's enhanced "Finite Incantatem."

"Where are we going next?" Harry carefully tucked the pouch into his pocket, glanced warily at the people around them, and asked.

"Flourish and Blotts," Voldemort said as he led the way.

"What's Quidditch?" Harry asked, following after him.

"A game played on broomsticks. You'll probably be good at it," Voldemort said with a slight curl of his lip.

He didn't like flying brooms, and neither did either of the souls that had fused within him.

Voldemort himself had invented a flying spell partly because he thought riding a broom was ridiculous.

The other soul thought that stopping and accelerating on the things wasn't good for men. Witches didn't have to worry about that.

Of course, since he could fly on his own, he didn't need to consider any of that.

For the rest of the way, Harry asked all sorts of questions. It was clear that after his hot drink, his curiosity about the Wizarding World had returned.

But unlike Hagrid's lessons, Voldemort's explanations went straight to the heart of things:

"Professor Quirrell, what's Gryffindor?"

"It's a house. Hogwarts's four founders each established a house named after themselves, making four in all."

"Professor Quirrell, which house were you in?"

"Ravenclaw. It stands for wisdom."

"What do Gryffindor and Slytherin stand for? And Hufflepuff?"

"Courage, glory, and loyalty. But I prefer to describe Hufflepuff as resilience. Every one of them is a cornerstone of the magical world."

"Which house will I be in?"

"Probably Gryffindor. You're not lacking in courage, and both your parents were in it."

"..."

They walked and talked, and Voldemort answered all Harry's questions. They didn't leave Diagon Alley until Harry had picked up the wand that had once been so close to Voldemort.

"Go on in, Harry. I'll see you when term starts."

Voldemort spoke to Harry outside Number 4, Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, County Surrey.

"All right, Professor." Harry headed into the garden, then suddenly stopped. "But how will I get there?"

Voldemort froze, too, and asked in surprise, "Didn't Hagrid give you a ticket?"

"What ticket?" Harry's eyes told Voldemort he had no idea.

"Um... a ticket for the Hogwarts Express from King's Cross Station on September first."

Voldemort thought for a moment. "Hagrid must have forgotten. I'll have him send it to you by owl later."

"All right. Thank you, Professor. I'm glad you spent my birthday with me. I had a really good time today." Harry said goodbye politely. The boy was still quite cheerful.

Voldemort smiled and nodded, watching him walk into the garden.

If only the Voldemort from before hadn't killed so many people... Voldemort thought, rubbing his head.

The instant the thought crossed his mind, a new skill lit up beneath the dim [Darkest Hour] at the lower left of his vision:

[Lin Zuo Moment].