In retrospect, Quirrell should have asked Granger if she'd bumped into anyone on the way. But his master was urging him on, and he could feel the thrill of using one of the Unforgivables in Hogwarts itself thrumming along his veins, and besides, it was such a short walk, wasn't it? He still thought the Dark Lord meant to question the Mudblood's encyclopaedic knowledge (what else would she be good for?) so it was a bit of a nasty shock when Voldemort hissed for him to retrieve the ceremonial dagger from under his bed instead.

"What is this for, my Lord?" Quirinus questioned as he tugged the blade free, watching it glisten in the dim light. The tip was still silvery from the last unicorn his Master had drunk from.

The Dark Lord's hissing laughter filled his quarters.

"The Mudblood, of course," Voldemort responded. "Innocent magical blood is powerful, Quirinus...especially with a spell I once knew..." Quirrell paled, feeling queasy. He didn't know why he was so sickened at the thought of stabbing the Mudblood girl through the heart, or slitting her throat for his Master to drink. But he was. She wasn't like Potter. She was...innocent.

Then again, that was the point.

A knock sounded on his door, and he slipped the dagger into the pocket of his robes, ensuring his turban was affixed into place. Hermione Granger stood on the other side, her face placid, though her eyes screamed.

"Come in," he ordered. She did so, woodenly stepping past him. The book in her arms was clutched so tightly to her chest, her fingers had turned white. "Relax," Quirrell said with exasperation. She blinked once, then sagged into the nearest chair, book landing on the thin carpet.

"You were never good at proper instructions, were you?" the Dark Lord's voice filled the crowded space, laced with sardonic amusement. Quirrell's face flushed as Hermione looked around in confusion, obviously trying to locate the source of the new voice. Goosebumps had pimpled up both of her arms.

Quirrell grinned rather nastily and slowly began to unwrap his turban, back facing Hermione. When his second face, so to speak, came into view, he heard her gasp, a quick intake of breath that left him saying as quickly as he could, "Don't scream!"

He could hear her lips slam shut. Voldemort laughed, a dark, oily sound that made Hermione's stomach churn.

"What a delightful little Mudblood you are," Voldemort said, examining the girl critically. "So young and already the top of your class! Pity the world won't see your tainted blood rise any farther."

"My blood's not tainted, thanks," Hermione spoke up, her voice wobbling and thready, but still there. "Who are you? What are you?"

"Ah yes, you wouldn't know, would you?" the Dark Lord mused. "Voldemort, Mudblood. You may know me as Voldemort."

"But...you're dead," Hermione gasped, her eyes round as saucers. "Harry-killed you-"

"A no doubt charming notion to the rest of your foolish world, but alas, dear Mudblood, you are incorrect," Voldemort hissed. "Mere shadow and vapour I was for so long-but as you can see, I am not deceased.

"Now, Quirinus...if you would?"

Quirrell nodded, slipping the dagger out of his pocket and turning. The Mudblood shrank back into the chair, her fingers scrabbling around her robes for her wand.

"Desist," he said calmly, and she left off at once, although the terror still made her eyes bulge. The tip of the dagger glittered.

"Where, my Lord?" Quirrell asked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

"The heart, aim for the heart. I'll tell you when," the Dark Lord hissed, murmuring words that didn't sound like Latin or anything Quirrell had ever heard. They sounded dark.

"Now!" Voldemort shouted, and Quirrell raised the dagger for its final plunge into the quivering first year beneath him...

When his door burst open with a tremendous clatter and Harry Potter, Severus Snape, and Albus Dumbledore himself dashed in.