Teaching Bad Habits Early

"Thank you, Professor Quirrell. I really don't know what I would have done without you."

Miss Know-It-All bowed at the library entrance.

"It was my duty. Hogwarts has never withheld my salary."

Voldemort's joke made Miss Know-It-All burst into laughter again.

"May I help you carry the books back? As my thanks." After her laughter subsided, Miss Know-It-All asked expectantly.

"I don't think so. I still need to go to the kitchens to get some supper for myself," Voldemort winked and said, "Those who stay up late must prepare their own food."

"Oh, alright then, but thank you again, Professor Quirrell." As soon as Miss Know-It-All finished speaking, her stomach rumbled uncontrollably.

"You didn't eat dinner?" Voldemort asked curiously.

"I wanted to finish my essay quickly, so... I ate very little," Miss Know-It-All said shyly.

She felt utterly embarrassed today, with her runny nose and her stomach growling.

"Then come with me to the kitchens. The house-elves at Hogwarts are very willing to serve us," Voldemort invited.

"Is that really okay?" Miss Know-It-All's eyes widened in disbelief. "I've only read about house-elves in books."

Her focus was clearly not on hunger—as a Muggle who had just enrolled, this was a normal reaction.

"It's no problem. The entire school serves the students, including us professors, doesn't it?" Voldemort said, already striding towards the stairs.

"Let me help you carry the books, Professor, as my thanks," Miss Know-It-All said, hurrying to keep up with his pace.

"I'd like you to carry them," Voldemort chuckled, "but I'm afraid the books are too heavy and might block your vision. We'll be going down the stairs soon."

Miss Know-It-All was taken aback for a moment, then glanced at the books Voldemort was holding and reluctantly agreed with him.

"Then may I carry a few of them? As thanks." Although she agreed, Miss Know-It-All still wouldn't give up.

"Of course, I'll give you a few then."

Voldemort said, twisting his head—he didn't even wave his wand, and 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 can only learn them in the upper years; it's not possible yet," he said, sighing inwardly with helplessness.

He could only use these two skills for simple magic. His talent limited him, even though Quirrell's body possessed stable and powerful magic.

"What year do I need to be in, Professor?" Miss Know-It-All asked curiously.

Voldemort answered as he led her down the stairs and into a wide stone corridor underground, where they saw many Hufflepuff students.

After walking a bit further, they stopped in front of a portrait of a silver bowl filled with fruit.

"Scratch the pear, Hermione. That's how you open the door," Voldemort instructed.

"How do you know my name, Professor?" Hermione asked as she complied.

"I attended your Sorting Ceremony, Hermione. There were only a few dozen new students across all four houses, and I remembered everyone's name," Voldemort explained.

Hermione suddenly understood, then grabbed the green handle that the pear had become and pulled it open:

The kitchen, as large as the Great Hall, appeared before them. At the far end was a large fireplace, and between them and the fireplace were hundreds of busy house-elves.

"This place is huge," Hermione exclaimed. "Are these house-elves?"

Her voice startled the busy elves. They froze and all looked towards the entrance—at first, they looked at Hermione, but soon their attention was drawn to Voldemort.

"Professor Quirrell, are you looking for me?" a small figure jumped out and asked excitedly.

"Yes, Dobby. I need you."

Voldemort nodded. "We need a new summoning ritual. Is that okay?"

He placed the books on the ground and snapped his fingers with a "pop."

"Of course, Dobby is always willing to serve you," the small elf bowed deeply, his head nearly touching the ground.

"Very well, Dobby. I need you to bring me two suppers, to be delivered to..."

Voldemort looked at Hermione, but she didn't understand what he was doing.

"To my office," he finally said.

"Certainly, Professor Quirrell. Your two suppers will arrive shortly. I'll prepare your favorite sausages and cake for you."

After speaking, Dobby apparated to a nearby stove and began busying himself with Voldemort's supper.

"Let's go, Hermione. If you go inside, their enthusiasm will overwhelm you," Voldemort whispered in Hermione's ear before bending down to pick up his books.

Hermione obediently closed the door, but her gaze remained fixed curiously on the world inside. Only when the kitchen door was completely shut did she follow Voldemort out of the stone corridor.

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

"You could say that, but if you want to know more, you can read '[Hogwarts: A History]'. It details how Lady Hufflepuff rescued them."

"That wasn't a rescue, Professor. In the Muggle world, people have achieved freedom and equality," Hermione said proudly.

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

"What I'm saying is true," Hermione quickly added, afraid Voldemort wouldn't believe her.

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

This made Hermione freeze. She hadn't expected a Professor at Hogwarts to be from a Muggle background like her.

"Discrimination is everywhere. You can look at Martin Luther King Jr.'s 'I Have a Dream.' His dream hasn't been fully realized yet," Voldemort said, pursing his lips.

Hermione silently took Voldemort's words to heart, but she still felt a little unconvinced. At eleven years old, she truly hadn't seen discrimination. Her understanding would grow with age.

"My father said that discrimination has been eliminated, that Black people have the right to freedom, that England is a democracy..."

"Democracy is just political rhetoric, child. Class division will always exist; that's an unchangeable fact."

Voldemort stopped and looked at Hermione. "Controlling yourself, not looking down on others, is already remarkable cultivation. Not everyone can do that."

The little girl wanted to retort, but she couldn't find sufficient reason. She was too young; even in the Muggle world, she hadn't understood many profound things.

Moreover, facing a Professor, she was naturally at a disadvantage, yet she still felt unconvinced.

"We'll talk about it in my office, child. This isn't the place to discuss issues," Voldemort said, leading the way up the stairs.

Hermione followed closely, her eyes already burning with fire. The little one who loved to argue right from wrong seemed ready for battle.