I was not always the person I am today. I cannot bring myself to call myself a man, for I will not be one this time tomorrow. I have made many mistakes in my life, and most of them have been made in the past twelve months. Who would have known that only one year could hold the most adventure, the most anger, the most tears, the most bitterness, and the most passion than all of the 35 years I have lived before this day?
It began as a journey for greatness. I, Quirinus Quirrell, left Hogwarts to find the remains of Lord Voldemort and henceforth enter my name permanently in history. I have no wife, no children, no legacy at all to speak of – I could not stand the thought of being forgotten. I have written twelve books, but they will never be found. Only one person in the world has read them, and you won't find her, whoever you are.
Many things happened in the months before everything changed for me, but none of that matters anymore. What matters is the small pub in Greece (a far cry from the pure and white images that many have at the mention of the country), a gold tube of pink lipstick, and a girl – no, a woman. A woman would make the briefest eye contact with me, look away, and then look back again.
I saw her as I was finishing my first meal in two days. I didn't have much money and used it very sparingly, just to be prepared in case of an emergency. I slowly relished the taste of the warm, hearty stew; carefully sipped the pint of ale; and nibbled on the fresh bread, contemplating whether or not to slip it into my knapsack. Something flashed in the corner of my eye, and I looked up from the bowl. There stood a somewhat-short woman in a dark green dress. She was applying a coat of a soft, rose-colored hue to her full, sensuous lips. Even after I got a fuller look at her, those lips captivated me.
At first glance of her profile, she was nothing spectacular. She was slightly plus-sized and had a large nose. Her long, black hair was somewhat disheveled as it cascaded down her back in large waves to the middle of her bum. I was just taking a good look at the said appendage when she turned and locked eyes with me for the first time.
I felt something shift as I stared at her. It was only a second, but I felt something for the first time in my life as her forest green eyes pierced into mine, bright and excited even though the rest of her face was bored and tired. The lines around her mouth seemed to glow as she broke our contact and laughed at something I could not hear. I kept staring, captivated by her smile, which seemed to brighten the space and people around her.
After a moment, she looked back again with a curious expression. She raised a quizzical brow and eventually flashed a small, shy smile at me, blushing, before turning back to her friends. I stared around to make sure it was me she was smiling at, even though she clearly locked eyes with me. I glanced at the mirror behind the bar: I was (am) nothing special. I remember my hair was longer than usual and my chin a bit scruffy from not shaving in days. I suppose I looked manlier than I usually carried myself.
I tried to ignore the woman, striking up conversation with the bartender and paying particular attention to my drink as if it were the most interesting thing in the room; of course, that wasn't true. The most interesting thing in the room was probably the gold tube of lipstick that the woman was fidgeting with. Or perhaps it was the glint in her eyes as she smiled or the way that she already had faint crow's feet near her bright eyes, a sure sign that this woman loved to smile.
Smiling. I had not smiled much in the past few years. Perhaps if a student flew through an exam with correct answers or if those wretched Weasley twins conducted a particularly humorous prank, I would crack a smirk. But I had not truly smiled for a very long time, and at that moment, I decided that was a truly unfortunate truth. Looking at this woman made me want to grin.
At further examination, the woman was a bit awkward. Her laugh was loud and a bit obnoxious, and she stood as though she wasn't particularly comfortable in this room. She sipped lightly from the large mug of beer in her hand and glanced around furtively. I found this to be unbelievably charming and wanted desperately to talk to her. I was too shy, however, to go up to her while she was with her friends.
I tried not to pay too much attention to her, concentrating on the drink in my hand and the curse words etched in wood on the counter. As luck would have it, I saw that she was approaching the bar.
She stood right next to me and smiled at the bartender.
"Another butterbeer, please?"
He fetched it for her and I found myself scrambling for words. Finally, I just turned to her and smiled.
"Hello there."
She smiled back shyly and took her mug from the bartender. "Hello."
There was a small moment of silence before she turned to walk away, muttering under her breath.
"Wait!" I called, a little louder than I'd wanted. She turned expectantly.
"I could help but notice you from across the bar," I muttered, embarrassed and flustered at the same time, "and I just have to say that you seem very interesting."
At this she grinned slyly, taking me by surprise. "And what do you mean by interesting?"
"You have a sparkle in your eye, Miss…"
"Trimble. Maureen Trimble. Pleasure to meet you, Mister…"
"Bond. James Bond."
She laughed. If stars had sounds, they would sound like that first laughter I heard from her. Light, yet hearty and full of so much life I was taken aback.
I smiled. "My name is Quirinus Quirrell."
"Pleasure to meet you, Mister Quirrell. May I ask what you do for a living?"
"I'm a professor at Hogwarts. Muggle Studies. I'm taking the year off for…research."
She raised a brow. "What kind of research?"
"Honestly?" She nodded. "I'm just taking a break. It's a stressful job and I jumped into it too quickly. "
"Understandable."
We spent a moment simply smiling at each other, and then continued. We talked for what must have been an hour. Finally, her friends came over and whispered in her ear. She smiled at whatever they said and shook her head. They Disapparated and she turned back to me, reflecting my feeling of awkwardness and looking shyly down at her drink.
I looked at her for a moment. I thought of how I felt when I had first locked eyes with her and I knew that there was something ineffably special about this woman.
"Do you want to get out of here?"
She nodded and we paid for our drinks. I took her hand and we Disapparated.
I already knew that I was in love with Maureen Trimble.
