"Quirrell, be careful of your reputation."
At lunch, Flitwick blinked at Voldemort. "Word has already spread about what happened in your upper-year Ravenclaw class."
Voldemort came to the table, sat down, and picked up his lunch. "What reputation?"
"Snape II," Professor Kettleburn said excitedly. "Believe me, no students from any house other than Slytherin like him."
Voldemort blinked and looked up over Professor Kettleburn's shoulder. The big black bat was standing there, his face dark with displeasure.
"Oh, Snape, I know my words aren't pleasant, but they're true." Professor Kettleburn had noticed Snape, but didn't feel the least bit awkward.
Snape ignored him. After all, a full-time staff member had no need to bother with a temporary worker.
"I heard you were very displeased with the upper-year Ravenclaws' performance in class," Snape asked Voldemort in his uniquely deep voice. "Was the only reason you didn't deduct points from them that you're a Ravenclaw too?"
Voldemort rolled his eyes, wondering if Snape's heart was no bigger than a pinhole.
"If that's what you insist on believing, I won't argue," Voldemort replied, his words honeyed but barbed. "But I won't award them points when they perform poorly."
"Hmph."
Snape gave an angry snort and swept away in a gust of wind. His black cloak billowed behind him, then rustled against the back of a chair.
"Well done, Quirrell. You have the makings of a Snape I," Professor Kettleburn said, raising his mostly intact arm and giving a thumbs-up—though the thumb was missing half its length.
"Professor, I think they've misunderstood me. Things will turn around this afternoon."
Voldemort shrugged and said no more. Beside him, Professor Flitwick gave a satisfied nod when he heard this.
If Voldemort hadn't said that, Flitwick would have felt compelled to offer him some advice.
After all, the Quirrell possessed by Voldemort was one of his Ravenclaws—and a student he was very fond of.
Voldemort hadn't lied. At least, in the three remaining classes that day, he was quite calm and restrained.
For the upper-year Hufflepuffs, he spent the first half of class teaching the sixth-years about ghosts and the second half teaching the seventh-years about Inferi. They didn't practice any spells at all.
He taught the Gryffindors in the same way, but was exceedingly gentle with them. He even awarded them two points—the only points he gave all day.
As for the Slytherins in the evening class, he returned to his original lesson plan. He was less vicious and cruel in his words, but more exacting about how they cast spells.
By the end of the day, the four houses had formed four different opinions of him.
The upper-year Ravenclaws thought he was Snape II.
The upper-year Hufflepuffs thought he was Sprout II.
The upper-year Gryffindors thought he was Kettleburn II.
The upper-year Slytherins thought he was McGonagall II.
"Brutal, meticulous, warmhearted, strict... Professor Quirrell really is a man of many sides."
The students kept discussing their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. They were all curious about him and wanted to know how he would treat the younger students.
Voldemort himself didn't care about any of that. After his evening class, he hurried back to his office to wait for his teaching assistants...
They weren't needed for the upper-year classes, but they would start work tomorrow.
While he waited, Voldemort leafed through the Book of Spells, searching again and again for the spell he wanted. It didn't look easy.
Apart from the three Unforgivable Curses, he hadn't shown any particular talent for any spell.
Perhaps I only need to choose one that's magical enough...
As he pondered, four students entered the office, interrupting his thoughts.
"Welcome. Let me briefly explain your duties."
Once the four had sat down, Voldemort continued, "First, you'll only teach the first- and third-year classes. I'll teach the second, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh years."
The four nodded. They had already suspected as much. The classes were scheduled in combined groups—first and second years, third and fourth years, and sixth and seventh years—while the fifth-years had their own class.
Given that arrangement, it was easy to guess which classes they would be responsible for.
"Next, Professor Hagrid will decide when the Maple Training Ground is open, apart from when I'm using it for class. So you'll need to coordinate with him."
"Do we have to go and speak to Professor Hagrid ourselves?" asked the sixth-year Slytherin Prefect.
"Yes," Voldemort said with a nod. "You'll also need to help the younger students form teams. Each team must have at least four members and no more than six, and must include at least one student from every house."
The four nodded to show they understood.
"I don't intend for you to assist with the younger students from your own houses."
Voldemort's words made the four of them pause.
"Percy Weasley, you'll be my teaching assistant when I teach Snake House."
As soon as Voldemort said this, Percy and Gemma Farley, the sixth-year Slytherin Prefect, both cried out in surprise.
"Professor, he's a Gryffindor," Gemma said, staring at him with wide eyes.
"Yes, I know. But this is Hogwarts." Voldemort gave Gemma a stern look, and she swallowed the rest of her words. "Percy, do you have a problem with that?"
"No, Professor. I'll do as you say." Percy nodded, though he looked a little nervous.
"Gemma Farley, you'll be in charge of the teaching assistance for Eagle House," Voldemort said, turning to her again.
Ravenclaw was a house he wanted to win over. Its students were skilled at producing "refined egoists." They were hard to recruit, but at least there was still hope.
As for Hufflepuff...
As long as Dumbledore remained at Hogwarts, they would be the hardest to win over.
"Understood, Professor," Gemma replied obediently, though she couldn't help glancing at Percy. She couldn't fathom why the Professor would have a Gryffindor teach Slytherins.
"Robert Hilliard, you'll be my teaching assistant for Hufflepuff," Voldemort said to his younger housemate.
"Understood, Professor." Robert nodded firmly.
Of the four, he trusted Voldemort the most. After all, Voldemort wore the mantle of an older member of his own house.
"Gabriel Truman, you'll be in charge of Gryffindor."
Even without being told, Truman already knew which house he'd be assigned. Gryffindor was the only one left.
"Understood, Professor. I guarantee I'll get the job done." He puffed out his chest.
"I believe in you—and, of course, in all three of you as well."
Voldemort glanced over the four of them. Percy and Gemma looked a little uneasy, but he made no comment.
"I have one more requirement for the four of you. At the Maple Training Ground, you'll have to form a team together."
The four weren't surprised by this requirement, but Voldemort's next words gave them very different expressions.
"Percy, you'll be the captain of the team."
A devilish laugh rippled through Voldemort's mind. Little lion, learn to crawl.
Before you continue