Disclaimer: I do not own anything, yada yada yada, you know the rest.
Author's Note: Sorry for long absence from fanfic, ya. Busy with the unreasonable demands of school.
Every couple has their own special memory: how they met. Many are common, like having a mutual friend, similar interests, a chance meeting at a party.
Others are not so. Some fondly recall the day they realized there was such a thing as love at first sight. Some credit a disaster. Some even were betrothed as infants through arranged wizarding marriages.
But not many couples have a fully-grown, bull mountain troll to thank.
And not as many have been through so much trials together and come out stronger, forged into fine steel by fire.
October 9th, 1991
The halls of Hogwarts were quiet, save for the occasional clanking of the suits of armour as they shifted on their stands. The lone figure of Professor Quirrell shuffled through the corridor, the silhouette he cast on the stone walls flickering as he twitched nervously at the slightest sound.
The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was heading back to his office after a particularly taxing lesson with the Gryffindor and Slytherin third years. The tip of his massive purple turban still smoked a little, a souvenir of the Salamander a student had levitated over it. The unfortunate creature, not used to hovering so high up, had sparked, igniting the fabric. Damn that boy, thought Quirrell furiously. He and his twin brother, those idiotic Weasleys. One day, he ought to use the Cruciatus curse on the pair of them and watch them writhe. His lip twisted into a smile which contrasted quite starkly with his murderous thoughts before he remembered. The smile became a nervous tic and his lower lip quivered, giving his face quite a pathetic cast.
At last, he reached the relative safety of his office. Unlocking the door, Quirrell swept around the room, casting security wards and charms, as many as he could think of. All hesitation and tremors were gone now, and he worked with strong, self-assured movements. It was quite a while before he stopped, satisfied at last. Being a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, of course, the room practically shimmered with magic.
Now I can finally relax.
Quirrell's hands moved upwards, fingers finding the loose end of the purple fabric tucked into the folds and carefully unwinding it to expose a shaven crown. The cloth was singed in the middle, a minor problem he easily remedied with an impatient snap of his fingers. He had been aching to do that back in the classroom, plus send a few hexes in the Weasleys' direction but he couldn't risk blowing his cover. Professor Nero Augustus Quirrell had to appear utterly weak and spineless to all.
"Quirrell…"
"Master!" The word escaped his lips in a soft hiss.
The back of his clean-shaven head opened into a reptilian face, with slits for eyes and nostrils. The eyes blinked.
"Have you secured the Stone?"
Quirrell cringed, wringing his hands before him, looking very much the coward he had pretended to be.
"N – no, Master, not yet, Severus Snape has been watching me – Aaaah!"
He shrieked a pure screech of agony, falling to the cold stone floor and clutching his forehead.
"Silence, worm! Lord Voldemort does not care for pathetic excuses! I do not wish to remain here, barely alive and subsisting on unicorn blood!"
"I am sorry, Master!" wailed Quirrell. "I will do better, I will succeed…"
The red slits narrowed. "Severus…He has been stopping you from getting the Stone?"
Quirrell staggered to his feet, quite fearful of another attack. "Yes, my lord, he constantly thwarts my plans. It was he who saved Potter when I almost had him off his broom."
"Aaaaah, yes... My faithful servant. Dumbledore suspects nothing of him," said the voice softly. "He alone is loyal to me."
Quirrell bristled a little at that. "I am your faithful servant as well, my lord. It was I who rescued you from the forest in Albania – "
He doubled up, brain on fire from another blast of Legilimency. This blast was particularly stinging, digging up painful memories from the very back of his subconscious where he'd buried them: a small boy being beaten with a belt, gales of mocking laughter directed at the same terrified boy, a young man bullied by his classmates…
"I am tired," hissed Voldemort. "I require more unicorn blood tonight."
Gradually, Quirrell felt the dark presence clouding his mind fade away, leaving him fully in control.
He staggered unsteadily to the table, drawing out a bottle of Firewhisky and a tumbler from a hidden drawer. With a wave of his hand, the bottle uncorked itself and was about to pour its contents into the tumbler when it paused in mid-air.
"Ah, what the hell," growled Quirrell. "Why bother?"
The bottle flew into his open hand and he tossed back his head, gulping the liquid fire, feeling it sear his throat and numb his senses.
He would need a plan.
Quirrell already knew what traps to overcome. Heck, he had contributed one of his own and a few secret ones. What he needed was a clear shot at the Philosopher's Stone without that meddling Snape or the Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore interfering.
He needed a distraction.
Something that would keep the teachers' attention securely off him. But what was potent enough to do that?
Think, Nero. Use that famous brain of yours. You are first and foremost a scholar.
The bottle was tipped again and more of its contents vanished down his throat. The only thing that would distract all the teachers was a threat to their students. What could he do?
He sat there, lost in thought until a feral roar from the castle grounds startled him, making him drop the Firewhisky.
Face contorted in rage, Quirrell glared out the window. Hagrid was there, busy with some fanged, ugly beast, one of his man-killing creatures, no doubt. That great, clumsy, oafish troll…
He paused.
Troll.
That was it! He'd capture a large troll, a mountain troll, and turn it loose in the school. Yes! It was ridiculously simple. The troll was easy enough to control, yet big enough to pose some threat to the students. He would misdirect the teachers searching for the creature and use the valuable time to get the Stone.
"Wonderful!" laughed Quirrell. He was in such a good mood, he forgot he was angry with Hagrid and his Firewhisky lay smashed in the floor. Springing to his feet, he paced the room, mind buzzing as he laid down his plan.
The strike would be on Halloween night. He would not fail.
Author's Note: Hoped you guys liked that.