Summary: Greetings Magical Britain, I am Lord Voldemort, and today, we will be learning about my freedom march of 1981. Follow Voldemort's struggle to change Magical Britain's views on- basically anything, and his attempts to mold Quirrell into a halfway decent teacher. Parody, crack fic, coherent!Voldemort, confused!Harry

Author's Note: I've just reread the Seventh Horcrux, so you know where this is coming from. If anyone would like to beta, please PM me.

Disclaimer: Not mine

Chapter 1: In which Voldemort has an unusual monologue


"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?"

Dear Merlin. It was only 9:30 and Voldemort needed a drink.


Contrary to what most people think, I am a reasonable man. My beliefs are quite progressive compared to most of Magical Britain. Creature's Rights was one of the founding tenets of my movement, and I have always wished for freedom of the pursuit of knowledge. It still amazes me that Rubeus Hagrid, a half-giant, to this day, has not joined in any of my protests. Of course, there was that one incident in sixth year, but, to be fair, he was raising an XXXXX beast under his bed.

Let's get back to our point, I am a reasonable, if slightly unstable man. My efforts to change Britain legally were violently stamped out by Albus Dumbledore, my old foe and conservative extraordinaire. Face it, for all his talk about Muggleborn Rights and such, he's the head of the Wizengamot, if squat isn't being done, who're we pointing at?

Imagine this, a brilliant recent Hogwarts graduate applies for the DADA position. He has a spotless record, and he's obviously great with kids. The old DADA professor has just retired, and the only other option isn't worth mentioning at all.

The great Albus Dumbledore picked the other option. So, the cursing of that position was based purely on rational thinking. Dumbledore would eventually run out of candidates, so he'd have to pick me. Of course, looking back on this all, I probably should've changed the hex so that it'd curse all applicants except me the minute they walked in the Headmaster's office, but hindsight is 20/20. Then again, that would probably have alerted Dumbledore to the fact that the position was cursed and as far as I know, he hasn't discovered the curse yet. If he did, why would he keep hiring new professors instead of hiring a team of skilled curse breakers to fix his problem.

This doesn't matter, though, at last I have obtained the much coveted position(well, not anymore) of the Defense Against the Dark Arts post! After all these years, I will be the one giving detentions, taking points, and and assigning essays.

My success will be complete once that imbecile follows my instructions. You see, I will not actually be doing the teaching myself. My method of securing immortality is slightly flawed, but after wandering the woods of Albania for years, I was able to regain a partial form of living, thereby enabling me return to my first dream- teaching.

To kill two birds with one stone, Quirinus helpfully volunteered to help me secure true immortality and teach, that is, if he is capable of carrying out orders. I, obviously, will be writing all of the lesson plans and such, but he must successfully convey all that information to groups of children. The second stage of this plan was rendered almost dangerously unusable once Quirinus insisted on adding that bloody stutter. He says it fits the character, or some other rubbish.

His stutter has been giving me headaches all day every day, and I can't even complain to anyone about them because the turban stops all communication. I should know- I have already attempted to commiserate with my fellow unfortunates today. I just heard young Harry Potter speak to Quirinus. So, once Quirinus stopped mumbling, I said, "Merlin's beard, his stutter gives me the most awful headache, wouldn't you agree, young Harry?"

I was sorely tempted to cuss Quirinus out for it, but it wouldn't be professional to swear in front of my future student and colleague.

Harry jerked his head up.

"Somethin' wrong, Harry?" the imbecilic protest-unfriendly gamekeeper asked. Really, if he joined my crusade he'd probably already have better living conditions- it's common knowledge that he lives on the outskirts of Hogwarts in a miniscule hut with only the Forbidden Forest for company. I haven't the slightest idea why he sides with those who'd put him there. It's classic oppression- tell the victim that you're helping them, provide them with minimal resources, and bam, they're on your side! This is one of the many things I intended to change once I became supreme leader of Magical Britain. Unfortunately, my dream was crushed by my bitter rival, Albus Dumbledore, but I'm sure once I begin teaching, I'll help the children understand this point of view.

"I just thought I heard something, never mind."

So, Harry was ignoring me. Two could play at that game.

"Isn't Quirinus' moronic muttering just aggravating, Diggle? If I have to hear any more of it, I think I just might have to kill someone."

My joke wasn't bad for a socially-isolated former dark lord who'd just spent ten years speaking a different language(it's extremely infuriating to converse with dimwitted serpents who don't know a wand from a handbag).

Harry whipped his head around, eyes wide with confusion.

"What is it, Harry?" Hagrid asked again.

"Can we go now? I'm feeling uncomfortable," Harry whispered.

I feel like I should take offense to that.