"Thought it might help with that essay Professor McGonagall wants on animal transfiguration and why it's dangerous," Tom lied smoothly, and though Hermione's brows scrunched together, she didn't protest.

The problem was, Tom realised in frustration as he flipped through the pages, he had no idea why Professor Quirrell was interested in the damn book to begin with. It was all well and good to read it cover to cover, but without another clue, they were stuck.

At least it was a fairly entertaining read.

Professor Quirrell hissed in frustration and slammed the book down, only the knowledge of what Madam Pince would do to him for defiling one of her precious books stilling his wand from setting the blasted thing on fire. Yet another dead end. There had to be a book somewhere out there on what to do with three-headed dogs that did not involve having his face shredded and his arms left toothpicks for the wretched creature. Only his Lord's quick, though meagre, assistance had saved him the last three times he attempted to slip down the trapdoor, and his Master grew impatient.

"Unicorn blood is not enough, Quirinus," his Master's voice hissed aloud, filling the small, cramped quarters that the DADA professor lived in. When he was alone, the turban went by the wayside (with rather strong locking/warding charms on both door and fireplace, of course), which gave his Lord free reign to speak.

"I know, Master, I know," Quirrell whispered fretfully, rubbing at his temples. "But I do not know where else to search!"

"Are you giving up?" Voldemort hissed, the note of warning so strong, Quirrell blanched, his skin turning cold.

"O-Of course not, Lord!" he stammered. "I would never-ever-not for you, my Lord."

"Good," Voldemort whispered. The sensation of the spectre's lips moving on the back of Quirrell's head never failed to make him shudder. "Use the girl."

"Which girl?" Quirrell murmured in confusion. His headache intensified.

"The Mudblood, of course!" his Master's laughter made him feel queasy. "Hermione Granger. Use her."

"She is smart," Quirrell acknowledged, rather reluctantly. "But the boy-what if he notices?"

"Do it now," his Master urged him. "He will not notice. He is distracted with school and his other friends. You know what to use."

"Yes," Quirrell breathed, nodding. His movements were automatic as he swathed the noxious purple turban around his head, closing away the sight of his Master's face from the ill-educated general world. They would learn, of course. Oh yes, they would, but not yet.

As he left his rooms, he allowed himself one more moment for a smile that looked almost feral.

Hermione loved the library.

It was her favourite place to be in all of Hogwarts. The smell of books, that distinct paper and ink and the dust of centuries, wreathed her nostrils and always made her feel at home. After the rather odd meeting with Harry over the magical beasts book (and that dreadful excuse he gave her), she couldn't help but come to the library in search of more clues, related books, that sort of thing. It was a rather fascinating subject, after all.

101 Magical Animals, How To Deal With Doxies, Pixies, and Other Pests, even several books on dragon-tending, which was a bit unsettling! Dragon-keeping was illegal in Britain, though, so Hermione thought she could relax on that note, at least.

Ah, yes, a smile curled her mouth as she lifted a rather weighty book from the shelf. In faded gilt letters, it spelled out A Compendium of Magical Creatures.

"Imperio!" hissed a voice behind her, and Hermione's mind went absolutely blank.

She turned and saw Professor Quirrell, but it was a professor she scarcely recognised. His eyes were no longer cloudy or darting, but cold and full of such malevolence, she would have screamed if she was able to. As it was, her mind merely floated and she regarded him with perfectly enforced calm.

"Check out that book," the man indicated with the tip of his wand. "And come to my office. Now."

And then he was on his way out of the library, looking again, for all the world, like a stuttering, jumpy wreck. Hermione knew better, but she couldn't seem to stop herself as she brought the book up to the desk, checked it out with Madam Pince, smiling a bit daffily at the woman, but causing no real concern, and leaving the library-

Where she bumped straight into Harry.

"Sorry," she murmured automatically, every atom in her body urging her to go onward, go to Quirrell's office, go, go now!

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Harry asked, his eyes scanning her face with more clarity than she knew how to deal with.

"Of course," she said, wooden. The corners of her mouth tipped up in a smile as she willed him to see and understand and get someone's help. "I just have to see Professor Quirrell right now, that's all. I'll just be going, thanks, Harry," and before she slipped past him, before he turned away, she managed to mouth, "get Snape!" and continued placidly down the corridor, her fingers icy cold around the book.

Before she made it to the next corridor, Harry was pelting his way down to the dungeons.