the flower dancer // quirrellmort

3 • an adverse affiliation

Potions was not Quirrell's favorite class. He preferred reading books and learning about all areas of magical and muggle history. He did not enjoy trying to follow unnecessarily complicated and specific instructions to brew a potentially dangerous concoction. Besides, Professor Slughorn only had eyes for his "star students", and Quirrell was far from being one of those.

It certainly didn't help when he learned that Ravenclaw was to share Potions with Slytherin this particular semester. That information only caused him to dread the class more, for Slytherins picked on him the most. Once he took his seat, he scanned the room of all the Slytherin faces. To Quirrell's great relief, there was no sign of him, at least.

"Welcome fifth years!" Slughorn began in his hearty voice, adjusting his cap. "I'm sure you all can see that for this semester, Ravenclaw and-"

A boy with the hood of his robes pulled completely over his head suddenly strolled in through the door, causing all eyes to move. He had a stack of books under his arm and stopped as he got to Slughorn. For a moment, he simply stood there, probably aware of the deafening silence. "Sorry I'm late," he said, and Quirrell noted that his voice was very gravelly. As the boy turned, however, his heart stopped.

It was the eyes. The same eyes from breakfast. Tom Riddle was in this class.

"That's quite alright, Tom," Slughorn assured him, and Tom plopped down in the front row, slamming his books. His hood was still up, making him look a lot like a dementor.

Everyone was still staring at Tom once Slughorn resumed his introductions. Even Quirrell could barely pay attention with the boiling anxiety that was now bubbling in his stomach, not unlike one of the potions he was probably missing directions for.

It was not like Quirrell had never seen Tom Riddle. They had both been going to Hogwarts for the past four years, but somehow Quirrell was lucky enough to usually avoid him. Now, they had locked eyes, and for some reason, he felt like a fresh new target. Any time, anywhere, Tom Riddle could easily throw a random jinx at him, or even a hex.

"Polyjuice potion is an exceptionally complicated potion to brew," Slughorn droned on, and Quirrell noticed that Tom had opened one of his books and began reading instead of listening. "Not only is it complicated, but it also takes upwards of a month to completely finish brewing. Because this will be a large project, I will assign everybody a partner. Each pairing will be made up of a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw."

Great. Quirrell hated working with partners. Based on the way he was treated by others in passing, it was safe to assume he didn't have a lovely time closely interacting with people, especially Slytherins.

"Lockhart and Snape." Quirrell took a deep breath. He could survive this, he thought to himself. "Flitwick and Yaxley." He could survive this as long as he wasn't paired with-

"Quirrell and Riddle."

Him.

Quirrell's stomach dropped to the floor. He cautiously glanced back at Tom, whose nose was still crammed in his book. He didn't seem to have a single reaction to his name being called.

Quirrell didn't think he'd ever wanted to do something less in his life. Nonetheless, he gathered his things and stood. He figured Tom wouldn't budge from his spot, so it was up to Quirrell to approach him. Reluctantly, the small boy shuffled towards the front row, feeling dozens of eyes searing into the back of his head. There Tom Riddle was, still feverishly reading that book while the black hood covered his entire face. He didn't look up when Quirrell sat next to him, he didn't even move.