Quivering Quirrell

Entry for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments) Alchemy Assignment 4.

Task: Write about Quirrell.

"Here he comes! It's Quivering Quirrell himself!"

Laughter echoed around the room, and his heart stopped as he saw Ivan Thompson. Ivan always called him names, yet his words still had the power to cut down his already low confidence.

"Don't be mean, Ivan. He can't help being nervous," a girl called Polly said, causing Quirinus to stop and stare at her.

"What's he got to be nervous about? It's like he's afraid of his own shadow."

"No wonder when you lot are always on his case."

"Do you fancy him or something?" Ivan asked, sniggering. Quirinus blushed and looked down at the floor.

"No, of course not!" Polly answered, sounding horrified at the very idea. She glanced at him with an expression he couldn't read, and then she stamped all over his remaining self-esteem. "As if any girl would have feelings for Quirrell the Squirrel."

If the laughter was loud before, now it was deafening. He could hear it ringing in his ears. Closing his eyes failed to block the noise out, so he opened them again, and instantly wished that he hadn't. Ivan was standing right in front of him with a smug smirk plastered on his face. "Anything to say in your defence, Squirrel?"

"I … I … I …"

"Yes? Do spit it out, my dear fellow. I'm sure we'd love to hear it."

Quirinus longed to unleash his feelings of bitterness towards his classmates, but the words were stuck in his throat, refusing to make themselves heard. The snorts and sniggers coming from Ivan's friends didn't help matters.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Unable to take any more ridicule, he turned his back on them and headed towards the stairs, casting one final glance at a guilty looking Polly. She was the one person who had shown him kindness, but apparently even she didn't like him.

"Pathetic," he heard Ivan yell as he walked up the stairs.

Pathetic? Yes. In many ways, he was; he hated himself for it. Timid. Insignificant. Worthless. That was him in a nutshell.

Quirrell the Squirrel.

For a moment, he pictured himself as a squirrel and guffawed—loud and unrestrained. Tears of mirth rolled down his cheeks. Oh, if only they could see him now.

Quivering Quirrell.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Cat got your tongue?

Why couldn't he say something back?

Pathetic.

The tears that came were no longer full of mirth, and the laughter had stopped as abruptly as it had started. A hand rested on his shoulder, startling him. When he looked around, he saw his roommate, John Parker.

"Erm — are you okay, Quirinus?"

Shame filled him at the thought of someone seeing him at his weakest. No doubt it would be all over the school by tomorrow.

Quivering Quirrell cries in his dorm.

Quirrell the Squirrel has a breakdown.

Rage filled him from head to toe, and he shoved John away unapologetically. Storming over to his bed, he shut out the rest of the world and collapsed on familiar softness. The door opened and closed, and Quirinus sighed with relief, certain that John had left him alone.

Finally.

The book called to him, and without hesitation, he reached under the bed for the heavy object. He turned to the page about vampires and read the first page with a grin. One day, Quivering Quirrell would make the world sit up and notice him, and when that day came, no one would laugh at him again.