Hogwarts Library

"Quirrell, you eat like a Troll."

Flitwick said sharply. "How did you get so hungry?"

"I got hungry in the middle of the night and had nothing to eat. I held out until now. I think I could eat a whole cow." Voldemort spoke around a mouthful of meat pie, dark circles under his eyes.

"What about your house-elf? Why didn't you have him bring you something to eat?" Flitwick asked in confusion.

Voldemort was slightly taken aback, but he didn't dare show it. He quickly pretended to choke, while summoning Quirrell in his mind.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

During the brief pause to cough, he learned the relevant details from Quirrell: every professor had a house-elf assigned exclusively to serve him, and Quirrell had had one before.

"That's right, Wada."

Voldemort took a sip of water before continuing. "I haven't had a chance to tell him I'm back yet. I'll go find him later."

Flitwick didn't suspect a thing. He simply said, "You should have done that sooner."

"Quite right."

Voldemort agreed, looking ahead—and happened to see two red-haired students pass by. They looked exactly alike, which was unusual at Hogwarts.

"The Weasley twins," Flitwick said, following Voldemort's gaze. "They're quite the pair of troublemakers. Filch has complained to me about them more times than I can count."

Voldemort smiled and nodded, but made a point of glancing at the parchment in their hands. Each of them was holding one side, closely studying something written on it.

"Children in their teens are all mischievous, except for Ravenclaw," Voldemort said with a smile, turning his gaze away.

"Yes, hahaha. I saw the assignments you gave the upper-year Ravenclaws. They're excellent. They'll teach them how to think."

As the head of Eagle House, Flitwick never held back when praising his students.

"Of course. I put some thought into those."

Voldemort finished speaking and focused on his food. He really was starving.

All his classes that day were with fifth-year students.

Since they would be sitting their Ordinary Wizarding Levels exam at the end of the year, Voldemort taught them separately. He had also prepared particularly detailed lesson plans.

Unlike the other years, he gave the fifth-years a lot of practice papers to help them pass their exams, while trying to keep essays and practical work to a minimum.

This made Defense Against the Dark Arts for the entire fifth year incredibly dull. By the end of the day, students from all four houses were full of complaints:

"Learning spells? No chance, upper-year. The professor just lectures the whole time..."

"I filled thirteen whole pages in my notebook. Every single page was covered in writing..."

"You'll never believe it. Professor Quirrell spent an entire class reviewing everything we learned in first year. Heaven help me, my head was still spinning when the lesson ended..."

Boring Professor Quirrell—that was Voldemort's new nickname. Even the Eagle House students, famed for their intelligence, were overwhelmed by the sheer number of facts he crammed into his lessons.

Despite his exhausting day, Voldemort didn't drag himself off to rest. Instead, after evening classes, he went to the library on the second floor of Hogwarts.

He was a regular here. He had come every day since the start of term.

"Quirrell, what are you looking for today?"

They had met only twice before, but Madam Pince had made a strong impression on him—not because of Quirrell, but because Voldemort had bothered her on his first day back.

"Everything about the Repairing Charm, Madam Pince. I need your help." To save time, Voldemort decided to ask the librarian.

"Are you researching that spell?" Madam Pince asked, pointing toward a section. "It's all over there. I remember there are a few books devoted to it."

Voldemort memorized the location, then asked quietly, "Is there anything related in the Restricted Section? I imagine the books there are more advanced."

Madam Pince wasn't particularly surprised. The books in the Restricted Section were dangerous for students, but posed less of a threat to professors—especially books on everyday subjects.

"I'll have to check the list. There aren't many restricted books on everyday topics."

As she spoke, she pulled a black notebook from beneath her desk and quickly leafed through it.

While he waited, Voldemort turned to survey the library's magnificent interior:

The hall's red-carpeted floor was lined with polished wooden tables, where students sat scattered about. Behind them, row upon row of bookshelves stood in orderly ranks.

Bright stars shimmered overhead, making the ceiling look like the night sky outside. It was an enchanted dome, able to change at will.

Voldemort took a deep breath, almost imagining the distinctive fragrance of books. Being a professor is nothing compared to being a librarian.

Lost in his daydream, he was drawn to a small figure...

It was a younger girl with a head of messy brown hair and prominent front teeth. She was clutching a book and hurrying toward a desk.

The trio hadn't come together yet... Voldemort thought, slowly looking away.

"Found it, Professor Quirrell."

Madam Pince's voice came at just the right moment. "It's in the Restricted Section, on the third shelf of the fifth row. Secrets of Time—that's the title. I've heard its contents are rather unpleasant."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Secrets of Time. He liked the sound of that.

"Thank you, Madam Pince."

After thanking her with a smile, Voldemort headed for the bookshelves. He didn't go straight to the Restricted Section; first, he went to look at the ordinary books.

When he reached the designated area, he discovered there were a great many books related to the Repairing Charm. An entire half-shelf was devoted to the subject.

He pulled out the first book: Repairing Charm That Makes Muggles Drop Their Jaws.

After flipping through a few pages, Voldemort immediately put it back...

It was a story about a wizard using the Repairing Charm to play tricks on Muggles. The blurb even mentioned that the author had briefly ended up in Azkaban because of it.

Heaven help me. Was this person an idiot?

He picked up the second book, only to find it was another story.

This one hadn't involved tricking Muggles, but its author didn't seem much brighter. He'd treated the spell like a stage trick and made a thriving career for himself in a Muggle circus.

"What kind of people are these..."

Voldemort couldn't help pursing his lips. He was beaten by these wizards' irrepressible urge to show off.

The next few books were no more serious, but he kept his complaints to himself and leafed through them one by one.

At last, after quite some time, he found a few that looked respectable:

The Messy Business of the Repairing Charm documented numerous cases of the Repairing Charm going wrong.

Repairing Rhythm was a book that explained the Repairing Charm in detail, focusing on wand movements.

The Awkward Repairing Charm recorded the incantations for the Repairing Charm in different countries and analyzed their effects.

Voldemort didn't read any of the books closely. He simply picked out the ones that seemed worthwhile, stacked them together, and carried them farther into the library.

At the far end of his line of sight was a dimly lit area: the Restricted Section. Students deliberately kept their distance from it—most had no desire to go near.

Voldemort felt no such hesitation. The Remnant Soul's memories were full of jumbled recollections of the Restricted Section. He'd been a regular there since childhood.

I wonder if that walking Horcrux's habit of sneaking into the Restricted Section came from me... Voldemort thought as he walked.