Quiet
To begin: I LOVE WRITING AS QUIRRELL. He's fabulous, truly. He's such an underrated character, basically looked upon as Voldy's puppet, but as I wrote this, I realized how much depth there could be within that small, quivering, pathetic little excuse for a man wearing a turban. This story was just plain fun. Writing as Voldy is always an amusing experience, and then jumping into a character like Quirrell who is relatively well-known without being fully understood…pure gold. This right here is another in the top five favorites of these stories. And I may have pictured Brian and Joe W. as Quirrell and Voldemort while writing this. Maybe. Possibly. OKAY, I TOTALLY DID. THE PERFECT BROMANCE. *ahem* Right, yes, moving on…getting on with the story…
Quirinus walked a dangerous precipice between unimaginable eternal glory and soul deafening defeat. He made his way silently and painstakingly through the dense undergrowth, absentmindedly readjusting his striking purple turban. The item was ridiculous, perhaps, but it was well deserved recognition and he was loathe turning it away. He did not often feel the swell of pride that came with physical evidence of his brilliance, seeing as such artifacts seldom came easily, and would wear the confounded, heavy cloth until he died if necessary. It was proof that something of worth came from this farce, even if it wasn't his true goal.
The damp April air hung thickly amongst the tightly spaced trees of whichever forest he found himself in now. Eleven months traversing the continent, following dead end after bloody dead end in search of his goal. France to Spain, Spain to Italy, Italy to Croatia, Croatia to Hungary, Hungary to Greece…just as he suspected he was getting closer, he was once again proven wrong. He ought to have expected it – You-Know-Who was, after all, the greatest wizard of his time. Evil, vicious, heartless…but superbly talented and skilled beyond any alive except perhaps Albus Dumbledore. Very few believed him to still be alive; even less genuinely knew. Quirinus was one of the believers, one of the small number who refused to accept that the greatest dark sorcerer of all time was vanquished by a mere baby. That was when Quirinus made it his goal to find him.
Admittedly, he was tired – tired of the treatment he continuously received from peers and students alike, the lack of respect and general state of sneering derision that became standard practice when dealing with the meek yet brilliant Muggle Studies professor. From childhood through adolescence, even straight on into adulthood, it was the same condescending indifference, a complete disregard for his potential greatness. The only image anyone ever saw when vaguely glancing at him was the terrified, quiet little boy of his youth, thirsting for knowledge yet unable to prove himself properly amidst the physically impressed and focused wizarding world. Success equaled brawn; respect stemmed only from those loud and boisterous enough to force themselves on everyone else. Unimpressive as he appeared, Quirinus didn't stand a chance.
And then, an opportunity. A brilliant idea, bred from his tiredness and the constant mocking ignorance, to go out and obtain the impossible goal – uncovering Lord Voldemort's whereabouts, possibly bringing him down himself. If a one year old could accomplish it at the height of the Dark Lord's power, Quirinus was surely more than gifted enough with the necessities to succeed. He went to Dumbledore almost immediately after the thought came to him, enthusiastically requesting a year off to gain field experience. He sensed the headmaster knew there was more to it than the young professor let on, but regardless he allowed it, and once the school year ended, he was off. The time to return to Hogwarts was fast approaching, however, and though he succeeded in many other aspects (the blasted turban proof enough of that), his main goal still remained just out of reach, and desperation pestered him constantly.
He muttered to himself angrily as he trudged through the semidarkness, frustrated both at his inability to get anywhere in his mission and the overwhelming feeling of defeat that had settled in his heart. This final lead, slim though it seemed, was his remaining opportunity to find what was left of Voldemort. He had it on decent authority that bizarre, unexplainable occurrences came from the forest he currently trampled through, similar to what he'd encountered elsewhere when he thought he had the greatest chance. He was quickly growing weary of the monotonous bleakness of this little known patch of wilderness, of any forest at this point in his journey, and felt the pangs of longing for his warm, pleasant quarters back in the castle. He hated admitting that he was bested, but if he didn't find anything of worth quickly, he'd be back in Scotland without a backwards glance.
His boot struck a particularly animated twig, eliciting a low, dark hiss from somewhere to his right. Quirinus froze, feeling his pulse quicken as he fought to remain calm. He allowed the silence to encompass him, waiting for any sign of proof that the noise was not a result of his overactive imagination playing tricks on him. He was on the verge of continuing on his way when the hiss rang out once more, followed by the distinct sound of something sneaking through the underbrush. The man jerked backward as the unknown creature approached, attempting to put as much distance between them as possible, but the woods worked against him. With a dull wince, he landed on the damp ground, his turban falling forward over his eyes. He swiftly pushed the fabric back, eyes widening as they met the slitted gaze of an enormous snake.
Gasping, he shoved himself backwards, hoping to push himself as far away from the beast as he could. The hissing continued, but it wasn't emitting from his attacker as he originally suspected. Despite his terror, a glow of hope pushed its way into his mind, prodding him into speech.
"My…my Lord?" he whispered, watching in relief as the snake paused. The original noise seemed to pause to consider, before a distinctly English voice emerged from the blackness.
"You know who I am," it muttered, more curious than questioning. Quirinus gulped in a few breaths before nodding feverishly.
"I do," he forced out, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "You're Lord Voldemort."
The voice chuckled, causing the snake to tilt its great head in confusion. With a single sharp hiss, it retreated to its original position, wrapping itself protectively around a shape Quirinus could barely discern in the meek light coming through the branches. He hesitantly leaned forward, attempting to gain a better grasp of what he was facing, but a warning growl from the creature stopped him. They regarded each other in silence for a moment before Quirinus let out an incredulous laugh.
"I did it," he breathed, breaking out in a broad smile. "They doubted me, but I did it. Hogwarts will never believe – "
"Hogwarts?" the voice purred, and instantly Quirinus recognized his mistake. Backing up once more, he shook his head vigorously.
"Ah, no! I didn't…I mean…"
"You are, I suspect," the voice murmured, slowly growing closer to the panicking professor, "precisely what I have been looking for…"