Against his better judgment, Voldemort finds Charity Burbage very pleasant. It's an awful predicament, of course—befriending the Muggle Studies professor should be a feat so deeply abhorrent that Voldemort would never do it…
…But then she hands him cookies. Homemade, baked the muggle way, he's assured. Quirrell watches it all happen with a vague sense of awe as Burbage manages to vault over Voldemort's icy walls and tackle him head-first with kindness. Almost on instinct, Voldemort responds in kind—except that's not possible because, last he checked, his instinctual response to kindness had been manipulation. That's certainly how he managed to possess Quirrell.
But now Voldemort is in Quirrell's quarters, clutching a plate of rainbow-colored cookies in his hands, and he has not a single plan, scheme, or evil machination on his mind.
Instead, he says, "These look good."
Uncertainly, Quirrell responds, "They do, My Lord."
"I'm going to eat one."
"Of course."
Voldemort eats one.
And there, again, is that familiar, unidentifiable feeling bursting in his chest, as warm as the freshly-baked cookies. Voldemort stares down at them in wonder.
He asks Quirrell, "Do you know how to bake?"
Quirrell says, "Um."
They end up borrowing a cookbook from the library. It's a disaster all around and he has likely irrevocably angered the Hogwarts house elves, but even the slightly charred cookies have him bursting with pride.
"I should hand them out in class," says Voldemort.
"…Of course, My Lord."
A/N (posted 2022-11-01 on ao3): uhhh I wrote more so I guess I will be updating this fic again lol
(update: see i told you lol)