Recruiting the Second Generation of Death Eaters

"Let me share some good news with you."

Dumbledore spread his arms theatrically, then beckoned with his right hand. "Quirinus Quirrell, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

Voldemort stood and bowed with a smile amid the applause of the students and staff. He saw Harry Potter clapping enthusiastically and loudly saying something to the people on either side of him.

As he sat down, he noticed Snape's gaze. There was no hiding the resentment in it.

"And Hagrid, whom you all know, will be Quirrell's assistant professor," Dumbledore continued.

Hagrid scrambled to his feet and nearly knocked over the table, prompting a roar of laughter that was soon drowned out by applause.

"Under Professor Quirrell's direction, and with help from the other professors, the Maple Training Ground is ready. I think it'll bring you all plenty of fun."

The students began chattering among themselves. Clearly, they didn't know what the Maple Training Ground was for—but Young Malfoy was an exception. He held his head high, proudly explaining something.

As the son of a School Governor, he'd had no trouble finding out. It was just that his insufferable manner made Voldemort want to hit him with a Cruciatus Curse on the spot.

"Professor Quirrell will tell you what the Maple Training Ground is for and when it can be used. That's part of the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum."

"All right, then... Let's eat."

With a wave of Dumbledore's hand, all sorts of food appeared on the plates: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages...

Voldemort picked out a few items with his fork and ate slowly, chatting now and then with the professors beside him. They'd spent the summer together and had grown familiar with one another.

Only Snape and Trelawney didn't care much for Voldemort. Snape's reasons were professional; Trelawney's were instinctive. She didn't care much for anyone except Dumbledore.

After the meal, Dumbledore stood again and went over a few things, including the Forbidden Forest, Quidditch tryouts, and the restricted corridor on the fourth floor.

Then he announced something that excited the prefects. "Defense Against the Dark Arts needs four teaching assistants. Once you've escorted the first-years, all prefects may report to Professor Quirrell."

The twenty-four prefects grew excited and turned their eager gazes toward Voldemort, wishing they could take part in the selection at once. Becoming a professor's assistant while still at school would look impressive on their records.

But Dumbledore wouldn't let them do that, since he still had to lead everyone in song. Voldemort hummed along in a jaunty tune until the song was over, then settled in to enjoy the Weasley twins' performance.

When all that was over, the first-years were led away by their prefects. But each house only needed two prefects—a boy and a girl—to escort them.

The remaining sixteen prefects swarmed over.

"Don't rush, children. You'll all get a chance." Voldemort led them toward his office. "But I should tell you that the seventh-year and fifth-year prefects don't have much chance of being selected."

"Why, Professor? Seventh-years have the most experience," one seventh-year prefect said.

"Because of your exams."

Voldemort explained as he walked. "Fifth-years have their Ordinary Wizarding Levels exams to prepare for, and those are important. Seventh-years have their N.E.W.T.s, which are just as important."

They had no way to argue with that, but both the seventh-year and fifth-year prefects still held on to hope. There weren't many fifth-year prefects here; most of them had gone to escort the first-years.

"All right. Robert Hilliard, come in with me. The rest of you wait outside."

The name belonged to a sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect, which made Voldemort's position clear:

First, he favored students from his own house. Second, he preferred sixth-year prefects.

Robert Hilliard took a deep, excited yet nervous breath, then followed Voldemort into his office.

"Sit down, Robert. There's no need to be nervous."

Voldemort gestured toward a chair and poured Robert a glass of water. "Tell me what you think of Ravenclaw."

"All right, Professor."

He took the glass and shifted nervously in his seat. "But, Professor, that's a very broad question. Could I ask what aspect you'd like me to discuss?"

Voldemort nodded with a smile, looking approving.

"That was a trap, Robert. Congratulations on not falling into it."

Robert blinked at Voldemort's words, then nodded excitedly.

"I'd like you to give me an objective assessment of our house's educational philosophy."

Voldemort sat down. "What kind of students does Ravenclaw try to cultivate? Or, to put it another way, what kind of people does it hope its students will become?"

Robert nodded and thought for a moment before answering. "I think the house wants to cultivate wise people."

Voldemort nodded. "That's too broad. Be more specific."

"All right, Professor."

Robert fell silent again. After a moment, he said, "I think the house wants us to become people who use wisdom to guide their lives after graduation."

Voldemort nodded, looking pleased, but said nothing. He needed a more solid answer, not something hollow.

"As everyone knows, our Headmaster Flitwick is skilled at dueling," Voldemort continued.

"Yes. He was skilled at it when he taught me, too." Voldemort interjected, making Robert smile happily. Much of his nervousness eased.

"But he was never eager to teach us how to duel."

Now that his nerves had settled, Robert spoke much faster.

"When I was in the lower years, I was keen on dueling, too. I once asked the headmaster to teach me and asked why he didn't teach us how to duel."

"Why was that?" Voldemort asked.

"He didn't give me an answer. He told me to find one for myself."

Robert's speech quickened. He'd found his answer, and his nervousness had finally disappeared. "After a long time studying and thinking, I found it."

Voldemort looked at him expectantly.

"Because dueling isn't all there is to life, and it isn't the true way to fight."

Robert continued, "Use wisdom to guide your life, and make plans and consider the long term. If you think things through thoroughly enough, many people can go their whole lives without dueling or taking part in a battle."

Voldemort nodded in agreement.

"And once you get into the habit of dueling—I'm not saying that's a bad thing—but it will definitely narrow your thinking. And once you achieve something in that area, you might even become arrogant enough to think that fighting can solve every problem."

"An excellent theory. You must have done some serious self-reflection," Voldemort said loudly.

"Yes. I spent a long time thinking about the meaning of dueling," Robert said.

"And what did you conclude?"

"That it was pointless." Robert grimaced. "If the Dark Lord were still around, his followers probably wouldn't bow first and then hit me with an Unforgivable Curse."

"Not necessarily."

Voldemort's reply made Robert blink. "I once heard there was a complete idiot among them who loved dueling people. Even when he had a massive advantage, he'd still insist on doing it."

"And what happened to him?" Robert asked, aghast.

"He died. Hahaha..."

Voldemort threw his head back and laughed, and Robert joined in.

Their laughter reached the prefects outside, who looked at one another in confusion. None of them could guess what had caused it.

"I'm pleased with your answer. Now, answer my next question: how many offensive and defensive spells have you mastered?"

Voldemort posed the second question, and Robert immediately answered earnestly.

About ten minutes later, the questioning was over. After telling Robert not to reveal the test questions, Voldemort had him call in the next prefect.

"I can't give you an answer just yet, but you did very well." Voldemort gave Robert this reply as the boy looked at him expectantly.

He couldn't decide who was best until he'd met everyone, but he was quite pleased with Robert.

He had to admit, the boy made Voldemort feel this was a promising start.

Perhaps one of these students really could become a leading figure among the second generation of Death Eaters... Voldemort thought.