A/N: Written for the Harry Potter Day Competition 2015 for the Dark Lord and Co. Category and the "Not a Bad Word Count" Category.
Thank you to my wonderful brother for beta reading this.
Word count: 1396
Quirinus Quirrell felt confident as he left the Ministry of Magic, his application lodged and ready for official perusal. It had taken him the best part of the day before to ensure that his reasons were foolproof and perfectly argued. The institution tended to be stingy with academic grants and were unlikely to see the value in funding a Muggle Studies professor's research unless they saw a political benefit to doing so. Given the good-enough-to-live-but-not-good-enough-to-be-respected mentality that still pervaded their society, he doubted that that would make a convincing case.
That was why he had made sure to emphasise that his career goals extended far beyond the role of Muggle Studies professor. While it was the position in which he found himself, it was nowhere near the position in which he planned to end up.
-i-
The truth was that he wanted to gain more insight into the true workings of both the Muggle and wizarding worlds and, more than anything, he longed to distinguish himself from his peers.
While he knew enough to manage his Muggle Studies classes, he felt that his standard of teaching wasn't as high as he would like it to be. Despite growing up in a half-blood home, he knew very little about Muggles. As a child, his parents had prioritised preparing him for Hogwarts over educating him about the Muggle world. The disparity of focus had only compounded over the years as he focused on doing well in and fitting in at school. He had been at the top of his class in Muggle Studies, but it was taught by a pureblood who had never spent more than a day at a time in the Muggle world. He had done enough personal study to wrap his head around the main concerns and schools of thought of Muggle society, but he still wasn't satisfied with his performance.
The problem was that Muggles developed new technologies and ideas so quickly. It was like they were wildfire sweeping through a forest; if you weren't constantly attending to the progress of the blaze, you'd find yourself unexpectedly surrounded by an intense inferno that you could never control. The world outside the castle walls turned on, changing each and every second in a way that meant it was never the same place two days in a row, while he was stuck teaching within its warded parameters. He could ignore the rising heat as he ran from the flames, but they would eventually catch him and subsume him.
Some days, he felt that he had started work too early. His students liked him well enough, but the knowledge that he was neither noticeably older nor considerably more experienced than them made him feel like a fraud who would inevitably be deemed lacking and ousted. Had he taken a few years to learn about the field and develop his style, he might have managed to piece together some sort of authority, but, as it was, he was left with façades and feelings of inadequacy. For someone as proud and ambitious as him, that was the worst fate imaginable.
Besides, remaining at Hogwarts forever wasn't how he envisioned his future. Going straight from school to work had been a rewarding decision, but it hadn't left him room to grow as a person or to fully understand the intricacies of life out there. He was merely a schoolboy playing professor for students who had once been his peers. They humoured him, but that hardly quenched his drive.
To date, his whole life had been immersed in school and teacher politics, and he had started yearning for something more. It was as if his heart and mind were merely pieces of firewood and kindling longing for a spark to set them alight. That spark had to be out there somewhere, and he was determined to find it.
The flames of knowledge and change were licking at the world, licking at him. He saw only three options; to hold fast to his ignorance and be scorched for his efforts, to attempt to contain and quench the source, or to let himself be sucked into the firestorm. There was no doubt as to which option he wanted to take.
He had explained all of that to the Headmaster when seeking his assistance in swaying the Ministry. Albus Dumbledore had a way of seeing through lies and deceits, so he knew better than to bother concealing something so minor from him. The older wizard had expressed a sense of uneasiness at his plans but had ultimately agreed to speak on his behalf.
Of course, he knew that the man would never have conceded had he known everything. For all of his relative inexperience, Quirinius was good at hiding his feelings.
His final motive – and, indeed, his real motive – were much darker in nature. He had heard rumours of a spirit haunting the forests of Albania. It was baffling the entire academic world; researchers had gone to try to discover its identity, but the few survivors had returned as confused as they had been when they'd left. The mystery intrigued him, drawing him in like a hapless moth. However dangerous it was, however unlikely his return might be, he would not rest until he had joined the chain of researchers trying their hand at resolving this enigma.
Quirinus had long felt that his true calling was Defence Against the Dark Arts; in fact, he had originally applied for that role when his DADA professor resigned for personal reasons. Alas, Albus hadn't thought that he was ready for the post, instead offering him the Muggle Studies professorship. Determined to prove himself and one day change positions, Quirinus had thrown himself into his job. Experience had only served to prove the Headmaster's apprehensions right; he was nowhere near ready for that post yet. If, however, he managed to gain a new perspective on the world and, in the process, find and destroy the source of these rumours… Well, such a momentous discovery would solidify his standing in the Defence Against the Dark Arts community for the rest of his life. There would be no real rationale for Dumbledore to refuse him after that, and he would be able to take reassurance in the fact that he, whatever his shortcomings might be as a professor, had earned his place there.
He was ready to combust. Destiny sang its recruitment song, and he was tired of ignoring its call. He would find his answers and he would burn until only ashes remained and then, from the cinders, he would grow anew.
And it would be magnificent.
-i-
Quirinus slipped his wand back into his pocket. Staring at the spectre as it whispered promises and possibilities and opened up corners of the world that he'd never even knew existed, he realised that his dreams of controlling or overcoming this power had been groundless. Little kid that he was, he had been drawn to the games the older boys had been playing, only to find that their play was rougher and more unforgiving than any he'd ever experienced.
Yet he had the ability to fix it. Their league might be just out of his reach, but a hand had been extended to help him clamber up onto their playing field. All he had to do was accept the spectre's terms and he would be exposed to all that its tutelage had to offer.
Power beckoned to him like a fiery temptress, caressing his mind with its inferno until it scalded him. It promised him knowledge and riches, honour and control, respectability and renown. It assured him that it could give him everything he'd ever wanted. He knew it was perilous; if he burned while the world burned around him, then he wouldn't recognise the blistering heat of an approaching fire until it was too late. He would be able to live and thrive and rule in anarchy aflame, but he would have no way of knowing whether he would subsume or be subsumed. He wouldn't be safe.
But he'd long since outgrown his childhood need for safety. Now he wanted, desired, needed something more. His inner kindling was waiting to be ignited, and it had found its spark.
Instead of retreating to tend to the burn wound, he succumbed to it.
He stepped into the blaze and embraced the power.