Professor Quirinus Quirrell was a timid but brilliant man. He had always been that way, ever since his school days. It hadn't done him much favor during those days. He was regularly picked on by his peers because he was too timid to stand up and say something to get them to stop. These days as a professor at Hogwarts were not much different from his days as a student. Muggle Studies did not afford much respect with the studnets. Very few took his class, and the rest ignored him, at best, or thought him a useless bookworm, at worst.
He had always had an interest in the Dark Arts, both the skills themselves and the defense of them. So it really shouldn't have been much of a surprise that Headmaster Dumbledore had offered him the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was a surprise though, the offer of the Defense position had been everything he ever wanted.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had always been given an amount of respect that a Muggle Studies professor would never have been able to achieve. But, with only a theoretically knowledge of defense he hadn't felt ready to take up the position. He told Dumbledore as much and had asked for a year sabbatical to gain experience.
Dumbledore had agreed and that was what had found Quirinus Quirrell where he was. He had been traveling the world, using his theoretically knowledge and gaining the experience and even sometimes the respect he so desperately craved.
Respect was the main reason for this journey. If Dumbledore had known his true intentions he doubt he would have let him go. He wouldn't be willing to hold the position for him next year this Quirrell knew because his true reason for this journey was to find what was left of the Dark Wizard Voldemort. He planned to capture him, and if possible have the Dark Lord teach him before handing him over to the Ministry.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who found and destroyed Voldemort once and for all? He would be legend. Even more legend than Harry Potter, the boy who lived.
He had searched far and wide: most of Africa, he had been in Egypt for a while; South America, his trip there had been short and he never made it farther than Brazil; Germany, he ran into a bit of trouble with some vampires in the Black Forest; and now finally, Albania.
He had heard whispers of a forest here that was so evil the majority of the population avoided it, even the Muggles knew not to venture into its depths. It had taken a week before he had found someone who would tell him where it was. They had pulled him aside to a tiny table in the pub and spoke so quietly he had had to strain to hear.
This was the type of fear Voldemort had always installed. This was the type of fear Quirrell craved to install. No one would ever laugh at him again if they feared him to these depths.
He ventured into the forest to the place the villager had told him of. For a long while, as he walked through it, he thought that the villager had told him a lie. Another jab at the useless Quirrell. There was nothing strange or evil about this forest.
The change was sudden. One minute, he was cursing the rumors that brought him out here. Thinking, the villagers were probably having a good laugh at his expense, and then … he took one step and the air changed. Everything about the forest pressed on him, told of an unspeakable evil in it's depths. There was no movement, no sounds of creatures at all. Even the wind seem to stand still in this part of the forest.
And then there was noise. Hissing and spitting. He had no idea where it was coming from. He drew his wand and turned in a circle. Listening carefully trying to pinpoint where the creature was but it sounded as if it was coming from everywhere.
The attack was just as sudden as the change of atmosphere. A huge snake unexpectedly eye level with him struck out at his face. He barely had time to cast a shield charm. The snakes fangs came too close to comfort with this throat.
The snake body wrapped around his leg and tripped him. He threw a curse at it, but too late. The curse missed as the snake disappeared into the underbrush.
Quirrell raised himself to his knees, searching for where the snake disappeared to. He never had a chance to defend himself. Something hit him from behind. He collapsed onto the forest floor.
He was burning. Everything was burning. He screamed, and bile rose to his throat. He gagged on it and then realized he couldn't breathe. He was burning and he had not breath and something was in his mind. Something was in his mind going through his memories, and he had no power to stop it.
The hissing started again, but this time he understood it as words.
"Relase, Nagini. Release," the voice said.
"I SAID, RELEASE!" It roared in his head, in the forest, everywhere.
It was only a hesitation later and then he could draw breath again. His body was still burning but he was alive and he could breathe.
"A teacher at Hogwarts. You can be of some use to me. Open your eyes, Quirrell."
The Quirrell that opened his eyes on that forest floor was not the same man as the Quirrell who had entered that forest. He knew who had been through his mind: Lord Voldemort. Now, the man who had been timid understood that he was timid because he was weak. Too weak to seek out power, unlike his master.
"What do you wish of me, master?"
The answer was a high, cold, clear laugh.