The Marauder's Map

"Reparaturspruch~~"

Voldemort was using the Repairing Charm in awkward German, but it didn't seem to be working very well.

The Purple Sandalwood wand only went "pfft, pfft," spitting out a few yellowish-purple sparks, but no complete spell formed.

"It must be a matter of rhythm."

Professor Flitwick said with a furrowed brow, "Try putting the emphasis at the beginning."

Voldemort raised his wand again. "Re~paraturspruch~~"

"Pfft, pfft~~"

The spell still failed. The wand seemed to be mercilessly mocking the two professors.

The students eating their meal watched from a distance and laughed. The Slytherins laughed the loudest, the Ravenclaws the least—personally, Malfoy and the twins stood out equally.

"Don't do that, Weasley," Hermione chided, pouting. "He's our professor. We should respect him."

"Of course, Fred. Would you ever mock a professor?" George asked his brother.

"Of course not. The great Professor Quirrell is working hard to learn the Repairing Charm. I'm sure he'll succeed... Hahaha..." Fred doubled over with laughter, and his brother joined in.

Their words drew Voldemort's attention. He glanced at the two of them, but didn't care—after all, they'd slapped him in the face in the books. A little mockery was nothing.

"The syllables are wrong."

Dumbledore walked over and stopped at Voldemort's table. "Draw out the third part, and make the ending a little softer. Like this: Repara~~turspruch~"

As he spoke the incantation, he gave the Elder Wand a gentle wave. The scraps of paper in front of Voldemort instantly became a blank sheet again.

"I didn't know you were proficient in German spells, Headmaster. I would have asked you for help if I'd known." Voldemort picked up the paper and tore it, preparing to give it a try.

"I know many German spells. If you need help, feel free to ask me."

Dumbledore spoke while watching Voldemort's wand, waiting for him to cast the spell. It seemed he wanted to offer a little guidance to the professor he'd hired.

"Repara~~turspruch~"

The spell rolled off his tongue, and yellowish-purple light shot from the wand at once. Voldemort had succeeded.

"Excellent. You learn very quickly," Dumbledore praised him, glancing at the book in front of Voldemort—[The Awkward Repairing Charm].

"Are you studying this spell? Are you trying to find that?" He didn't say it outright, but Voldemort understood what he meant.

"Yes, Headmaster. Your theory gave me an idea." Voldemort put away his wand. He always felt a little uncomfortable around Dumbledore.

"A good idea, though I didn't expect you to choose domestic magic."

He finished with a smile and headed for his own table, adding, "Study hard. I'm sure you'll make progress."

"I will, Headmaster."

Voldemort sat down and began to eat.

During the meal, Flitwick occasionally discussed the Repairing Charm with him. It was clear that he wanted to share his own understanding of the spell.

Voldemort listened closely and picked up quite a few useful insights.

"I'd love to attend your lessons again, Head of House. I think I graduated too soon," Voldemort said, half flattering him and half sincere.

Flitwick only smiled at that and didn't say much.

After dinner, they went their separate ways to teach their classes.

All of Voldemort's classes that day were for third- and fourth-year students, the hardest year groups to teach.

First- and second-years were still young, and the material wasn't complicated. Sixth- and seventh-years were already mature and knew how to study and improve.

Fifth year was a special case. Exam preparation was right up their alley.

Only the third- and fourth-years were caught at an awkward age: they urgently needed to improve both their theoretical knowledge and practical skills, which made them difficult to teach.

Fortunately, he'd had plenty of time to prepare over the holidays. Voldemort had put together detailed lesson plans, which made it easy for him to handle anything that came up.

But something that happened in class that day earned him yet another nickname: the most vindictive professor.

It happened during the second class that afternoon, a lesson for third- and fourth-year Gryffindors. Voldemort was teaching the fourth-years.

Across from him was the third-year Gryffindor class. His teaching assistant, Truman of Hufflepuff House, was teaching them.

The lesson went smoothly. Once Voldemort had the fourth-years practicing spells, he called Truman over to help them correct their mistakes, then went to the third-years himself.

"Let's see whether Assistant Truman explained everything clearly."

Voldemort began by briefly going over the key points of the lesson. After about ten minutes of interacting with the students, he was satisfied that they'd learned what they were supposed to.

"Very good, everyone. Now try to get your classmates' wands. The Disarming Charm takes a lot of practice, or it's no use at all."

He walked among the students, looking as though he was about to move the desks and chairs aside—he'd done the same earlier with the fourth-years.

But as he passed near the Weasley twins, he suddenly stopped and picked up a piece of parchment from their desk.

"Oh, Professor, what are you doing?"

One of the twins stood up, but Voldemort couldn't tell which one.

"I was teaching over there and saw you studying this. Let me see what you've been up to." Voldemort unfolded the parchment, but there was nothing on it.

The seated Weasley was snickering. When Voldemort looked at him, he put on a serious expression and said, "Professor, it's just a piece of paper. You don't think there's anything wrong with a piece of paper, do you?"

Voldemort's gaze moved between the twins' faces. He looked as if he were trying to catch them in the act, but had no way to do it.

It was only a blank piece of paper. It seemed he really had no reason to punish them.

"Then I'll confiscate it, Weasley twins. Don't sit staring at a piece of parchment during class again."

Voldemort said it angrily, making it look as though he was throwing a tantrum out of embarrassment.

"You can't, Professor. That's our homework parchment."

"That's right, Professor. If you need it, you can have this one."

"Yes, that paper means a lot to us. We're very fond of it."

"We're sorry. We'll be more careful next time..."

The twins looked flustered, as if the paper were very important, but Voldemort had already rolled it up quickly and tucked it into his robes.

"Means a lot to you? Is it a blank love letter?" Voldemort sneered. "Good. That'll give me a chance to practice the Repairing Charm. You know, it's a real waste of paper."

The twins grew even more anxious, but Voldemort didn't care. He simply waved his wand to separate the desks and chairs, then had the students practice dueling.

"He's getting back at you for mocking him this morning," Lee Jordan whispered to his two roommates. The Weasley twins looked as if the world had ended.

"This is awful. That's really important to us."

"Yeah, we've got to figure out a way to get it back."

"Admit we were wrong or apologize?"

"Right. We'll try after class."

The twins came up with a plan and put it into action as soon as class ended.

But Voldemort refused them in no uncertain terms, saying it was punishment for not paying attention in class. Still, anyone could see he was getting back at them for mocking him that morning.

The incident earned Voldemort another unflattering nickname, but he didn't care at all.

Compared to the Marauder's Map, what was one nickname? He'd trade a hundred of them for it. It was something he desperately needed, and he was willing to give up much more to get it.