It's Best to Corrupt Them Early

"Thank you, Professor Quirrell. If it weren't for you, I really wouldn't have known what to do."

At the library entrance, Miss Know-it-all bowed as she spoke.

"It was my duty. Hogwarts has never failed to pay my wages."

Voldemort's joke made Miss Know-it-all burst into laughter again.

"May I help you carry the books back? As a way of thanking you," Miss Know-it-all asked eagerly after she finished laughing.

"I don't think so. I still need to stop by the kitchen and get myself a late-night snack." Voldemort winked. "If you're staying up late, you need to make sure you have food ready."

"Oh, all right. But thank you all the same, Professor Quirrell." No sooner had Miss Know-it-all finished speaking than her stomach betrayed her with a growl.

"You haven't had dinner?" Voldemort asked curiously.

"I wanted to finish my essay quickly, so... I didn't eat much," Miss Know-it-all said awkwardly.

She felt as if she'd embarrassed herself all day—first the snot, and now her stomach growling.

"Then come to the kitchen with me. Hogwarts's House-elves are always happy to serve us," Voldemort invited her.

"Can I really do that?" Miss Know-it-all's eyes widened in disbelief. "I've only ever read about House-elves in books."

Clearly, her focus wasn't on her hunger. As a Muggle who had only just started school, that was a perfectly normal reaction.

"Of course. The whole school is here to serve the students, including us professors, isn't it?" Voldemort said, already setting off toward the stairs.

"Let me carry some of your books, Professor. I'd like to thank you that way," Miss Know-it-all said, hurrying to keep pace with him.

"I'd like you to carry them," Voldemort said with a smile, "but I'm afraid they'd block your view. We'll be going down the stairs in a moment."

Miss Know-it-all paused in surprise, then glanced at the books in Voldemort's arms and reluctantly admitted he was right.

"Then could I carry just a few? As a way of thanking you." Though she conceded the point, Miss Know-it-all still wouldn't give up.

"Of course. Here, take a few."

As he spoke, Voldemort turned his head slightly. He didn't even wave his wand, yet several books flew into Miss Know-it-all's hands.

"Good heavens, Professor! You didn't use your wand. How did you do that?" Miss Know-it-all asked.

"Wandless spellcasting, Spell-less spellcasting. You won't learn those until you're in the upper years. You're not ready yet." As he spoke, he sighed inwardly.

He could only use those two skills for simple magic. His lack of talent held him back, and even the steady, powerful magic in Quirrell's body couldn't change that.

"What year do you have to be in, Professor?" Miss Know-it-all asked curiously.

As Voldemort answered, he led her down the stairs and into a wide stone corridor beneath the castle. They passed many Hufflepuff students there.

After walking a little farther, they stopped in front of a painting depicting a silver bowl filled with fruit.

"Tickle the pear, Hermione. That's how you open the door," Voldemort said.

"Professor, how did you know my name?" Hermione asked as she did as he said.

"I attended your Sorting Ceremony, Hermione. There are only a few dozen new students across all four houses, so I learned everyone's names," Voldemort explained.

Hermione understood. She took hold of the green handle that the pear had turned into and pulled it open.

A kitchen as large as the Great Hall appeared before them. At the far end stood a huge fireplace, and between it and the two of them, hundreds of busy House-elves hurried about.

"This place is enormous," Hermione exclaimed. "Are these House-elves?"

Her voice startled the busy elves. They froze and turned as one toward the doorway. At first they looked at Hermione, but soon their attention was drawn to Voldemort.

"Professor Quirrell, have you come to see me?" a tiny elf popped out, asking excitedly.

"Yes, Dobby. I need you."

Voldemort nodded. "We need a new way to summon you. Will this do?"

Setting the books on the floor, Voldemort snapped his fingers.

"Of course! Dobby is always happy to serve you." The little elf bent so low that his head nearly touched the ground.

"Good, Dobby. I need you to prepare two late-night snacks for me, and deliver them to..."

Voldemort looked at Hermione, but she had no idea what he was about to do.

"Deliver them to my office," he said at last.

"Of course, Professor Quirrell. Your two snacks will be ready soon. I'll make you the sausages and cake you like."

After speaking, Dobby Apparated straight to a nearby stove and got to work preparing Voldemort's food.

"Come along, Hermione. If you go in there, their enthusiasm will overwhelm you," Voldemort whispered in her ear. Then he bent down to pick up his books.

Hermione obediently closed the door, but she kept looking curiously at the world inside until the kitchen was fully shut away. Only then did she hurry after Voldemort, leaving the stone corridor behind.

"They don't get paid, do they?" Hermione asked, hurrying after Voldemort on her short legs. "Wizards are enslaving House-elves, aren't they?"

"You could put it that way. But if you want to learn more, you can read Hogwarts, A History. It tells in detail how Helga Hufflepuff rescued them."

"That doesn't count as rescuing them, Professor. In the Muggle world, people have already achieved freedom and equality," Hermione said proudly.

Voldemort kept walking, only turning his head to give her a strange look.

"I'm telling the truth," Hermione hurried to say, afraid Voldemort wouldn't believe her.

"I came from the Muggle world too, Hermione. You can't fool me," Voldemort said with a smile.

Hermione stared at him in surprise. She hadn't expected a professor at Hogwarts to be Muggle-born, just like her.

"Discrimination is everywhere. You can read Martin Luther King's 'I Have a Dream.' His dream still hasn't been fully realized," Voldemort said with a pout.

Hermione silently committed his words to memory, but she still felt unconvinced. At eleven, she truly hadn't encountered discrimination. Understanding came with age.

"My father says discrimination has been wiped out, and Black people have the right to be free. England is a democracy..."

"Democracy is just a political slogan, child. Class divisions will always exist. That's an unchangeable fact."

Voldemort stopped and looked at Hermione. "Controlling yourself so you don't look down on others is already a remarkable virtue. Not everyone can manage it."

The little girl wanted to argue, but she couldn't come up with a solid reason. She was still too young to understand much about the deeper issues, even in the Muggle world.

Besides, she was naturally at a disadvantage when arguing with a professor. Still, she remained unconvinced.

"We'll talk in my office, child. This isn't the place for a discussion." With that, Voldemort headed up the stairs.

Hermione followed close behind, a fire already burning in her eyes. The little girl who loved arguing about right and wrong looked ready for a fight.