Ron visibly sagged with relief at Malfoy's words. Two against two—that was what he wanted. He couldn't possibly win a fight alone against two. Now the question was: who to partner with? He needed a Gryffindor, someone with the courage to stand beside him against the dark arts.
Just as Ron was scanning the classroom, a loud explosion rocked the back row.
"Seamus!" Professor Flitwick's voice cut through the smoky air. Thick black smoke billowed from Seamus Finnegan's desk, and a small, soot-covered figure sat dazed amidst the debris. "Are you alright? Should I take you to Madam Pomfrey?" Professor Flitwick asked, concern etched on his face, but Seamus just stared blankly ahead.
"It's you!" Ron suddenly shouted, startling everyone. He slammed his hand on the table and stood up, pointing eagerly.
"Mr. Weasley, would you be so kind as to escort Seamus to the infirmary?" Professor Flitwick asked, seizing the opportunity. Ron, of course, wouldn't refuse. He practically vibrated with eagerness.
As Ron helped the still-dazed Seamus towards the door, hushed whispers could be heard. Seamus, barely coherent, could only nod, "Uh... ah... um..."
...
Time slipped away, unnoticed. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of twilight. Young wizards ambled through the castle, some in bustling groups, others heading to the Quidditch pitch. A few exceptions existed, of course: those engrossed in extracurricular study in the Library, or those already tucked away in their dormitories.
On the third floor, a figure stood before the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
Knock, knock, knock...
Tom, clutching a bag of unknown contents, rapped on Quirinus Quirrell's door.
"Who is it? Staying up so late... Be careful, or I'll hex you!" Tom overheard the impatient muttering through his Perception Spell; the voice blessedly free of its usual stammer.
Click.
"Oh, Riddle... Professor... Could you... do you need... something?"
Quirinus Quirrell's face appeared in the doorway, his trademark stutter miraculously restored. Surprise and something akin to hatred flashed across his eyes as he registered Tom—a fleeting moment, but Tom caught it nonetheless.
Not that it matters, Tom thought. I'll be killing the master and the puppet soon enough.
"Let's talk inside," Tom said, brushing past Quirinus Quirrell into the office.
Quirinus Quirrell frowned, watching Tom's retreating back. He didn't know what Tom wanted, but he didn't have the power to refuse him either. Vigilance was his only option.
He slowly closed the door.
Tom headed straight for Quirinus Quirrell's seat and deposited the bag on the desk. He turned to find Quirinus Quirrell still rooted by the door.
"Come now," Tom said with a smile. "What are you afraid of? That I might kill you?"
"..."
As if you didn't already know! Quirinus Quirrell wanted to retort, but he didn't dare.
Tom's patience seemed to wear thin. The cowardly Voldemort remnant soul on the back of Quirinus Quirrell's head was already lashing out with painful jolts. Quirinus Quirrell reluctantly shuffled forward.
"Sit," Tom commanded, his casual tone making it sound like it was his own office. Quirinus Quirrell bristled. "I... my office... only... only one chair."
"Oh, I forgot... Then you can stand."
Quirinus Quirrell's face darkened. Anger momentarily overrode his fear, and he forgot to stutter again as he finally asked, "What exactly do you want?"
Tom remained unfazed. "I just came to talk."
"What do you want to talk about?" Relief washed over Quirinus Quirrell; perhaps he wasn't about to die after all.
But Tom's next sentence sent a chill down his spine.
"Not with you." Tom pointed a finger at Quirinus Quirrell's head. "But with the guy behind your head."
Quirinus Quirrell's pupils dilated, and the remnant soul sharing his body nearly jumped out of its skin. The Voldemort remnant soul regained its composure quickly.
"Quirrell, he knows me, and he sent me to talk to him." A raspy voice croaked from the back of Quirinus Quirrell's head. A grotesque face materialized on the side of Quirinus Quirrell's head, forcing his face aside.
"Who are you?" Voldemort remnant soul demanded, its scarlet eyes fixed on Tom. "You can't be a Horcrux, but..."
"I am Voldemort," Tom's emerald eyes flashed. "Tom Riddle."
The Voldemort remnant soul recoiled, its arrogance vanishing. "Then who am I?"
"I don't care who you are!"
Tom's blatant disregard clearly baffled the Voldemort remnant soul. Its expression faltered, unsure of what to say.
"As for my purpose here," Tom's lips curled into a faint smile. "I simply want to cooperate with you."
"Cooperate?" The Voldemort remnant soul eyed Tom with skepticism. "Why should I cooperate with you?"
"Not cooperate? Then die." Tom didn't waste time on pleasantries; he simply drew the Elder Wand.
"No, no, no! Cooperate! I'll cooperate, okay?!"
The Voldemort remnant soul was on the verge of tears, instinctively raising his hands to shield itself.
"That's more like it." Tom returned the Elder Wand to its place. "Was nodding that hard?"
"Mmm-hmm..." The Voldemort remnant soul nodded frantically, but as he lowered his head, a glint of cold fury flashed in his eyes. He had never been demeaned like this before, not even by... himself! Once he had regained his strength... Wait, even if he regained his strength, he still might not be able to beat him...
The Voldemort remnant soul's expression turned pained, as if he was enduring a thesis defense. "So, how exactly are we going to cooperate?" The spirit forced an unnatural smile.
"I'll help you regain your strength and get the Philosopher's Stone. All you have to do is help me take down Dumbledore."
Tom conjured a small blackboard, using the Elder Wand to point out the finer details of his plan.
Huh? Isn't this all good then? the Voldemort remnant soul thought. And as for whether Tom would lie to him... what choice did he have?
"I agree." The Voldemort remnant soul crossed its arms. "What do you need me to do?"
"Eat this. It will repair your soul."
Tom rummaged through the bag on the table, revealing its contents.
"This is... a hamburger?" The Voldemort remnant soul leaned closer to inspect it. Wasn't this something Muggles often sold? Doubtful, but still, it reached for the burger, sniffing it.... the smell was odd.
"Quirinus Quirrell, you eat it."
Before the words were even fully uttered, the Voldemort remnant soul's face vanished behind his head, and Quirinus Quirrell's face was back to normal.
"..."
Oh, so you remember me now, Quirinus Quirrell thought darkly, only to get shocked again.
Now thoroughly compliant, Quirinus Quirrell began to choke down Tom's specially prepared burger. "Hmm... why does it taste so weird? What did you add?"
"Nothing much. Just dragon dung, curved-horned snoring beast dung, hippogriff dung..."
"Oh, hmm???"