#quirinus queue

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Let this serve as my petition to call the Lockhart/Quirrell ship “Stagefright,” for obvious reasons

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It interests me that the party line Dumbledore and Snape give us for Quirrell is "greedy" and "ambitious".

However, Dumbledore's very own trap shows the reverse is true.

Dumbledore's Mirror trap is stated to be that anyone looking into the Mirror of Erised and wanting the Stone for themselves will either:

-see themselves drinking the life elixir

or

-see themselves transmuting lead to gold.

Quirrell only sees himself presenting the Stone to Voldemort. That's it.

Something to please someone else, something to gain approval. No power, no wealth, no worship, no dominance.

So, what is Quirrell’s deepest desire?

Not riches, immortality, personal glory, not even to regain safety.

He just wants to please someone else so completely that he earns a place in their world.

It’s devastating, it's intimate, it's small, it's enormous.

Dumbledore’s trap was designed to catch selfish men, but it caught a lonely one.

The mirror reveals:

Harry sees family.

Ron sees recognition.

Dumbledore sees forgiveness.

Quirrell sees approval.

This is not the fantasy of a power-hungry man.

This is the fantasy of someone who has never felt enough on his own terms, someone who has spent his whole life as the clever, strange boy useful to others but never cherished by them.

He doesn’t dream of possessing the Stone, he dreams only of being worthy of handing it over.

That’s why Voldemort fits his wound, he offers a phantom version of what Quirrell wants: attention, purpose, intensity, acknowledgment.

He is not a villain because of hunger for power, he is a villain because of hunger for meaning.

He wants to matter to someone, and Voldemort is the first person who ever made that feel possible in any real capacity.

[sidelit]

I headcanon that Lockhart's two older sisters dressed and made him up like a doll when he was young

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Spreading our dark gospel throughout the land...

7 of these 11 are by me or @greenvillainredemption

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Prompt: slicked | @taylorswiftmicrofic | WC: 468 | Quirrellhart

Summary: Quirrell can handle dark magic, memory tampering, and Gilderoy Lockhart. Public couplehood is another matter entirely.

The elevator rang for the hotel rooftop.

Gilderoy exited with Quirinus a few steps behind, checking his watch. Gilderoy caught his wrist.

“You look like the White Rabbit. Stop fussing.”

“It's eight minutes past nine,” Quirinus said woefully. “I've made us late.”

A pristine mirror stood across from the elevator bay and Gilderoy checked his hair.

“It's fine. It's for casual drinks, not a public appearance.”

Quirinus looked up at him for the first time since the elevator. He looked even paler than usual, lips pressed into a thin line.

“And am I your research assistant? Or…” he trailed off, eyes flicking away. “Or whatever it is I actually am?”

“You're my partner,” Gilderoy replied, and consulted the mirror to adjust his cravat.

“Business partner…?”

“No, of course not, don't be ridiculous.” Gilderoy turned back. “Bed partner.”

Somehow, Quirinus grew paler.

“But, they're English,” he said quietly. “They can't…know that.”

“Honestly, Quirinus, they're Muggles. They don't know you from me. And they didn't make excuses to avoid us, either.”

Gilderoy started towards the bar out on the rooftop. Three steps passed and he realised Quirinus wasn't following.

“It's wine, not a gallows walk. Come with me.”

For whatever inexplicable reason, this finally prompted Quirinus into action.

Past a bank of immaculately sculpted topiaries, about fifteen small tables came into view, with equally small lanterns glowing atop each.

The night sky perched flawless above, stars and galaxy whorls visible.

“Gilderoy!”

A dark-haired fellow stood, waving, and Gilderoy waved back.

“Dominic, hello!”

He glanced back to find Quirinus continuing his death march towards the tables. Gilderoy couldn't recall him looking so defeated since they were First Years and he slid off his broom in Flying.

Gilderoy shook the Muggle man's hand, then leant in to greet his wife.

“Caroline, you look lovely this evening. That dark blue suits you.”

Smiling, she held out her hand to be kissed. In it was a tumbler slicked with red syrup inside. Gilderoy obliged, pressing his lips to her knuckles once.

Quirinus joined them at last.

He'd managed a smile, which was something. That smile excused a great deal.

“This is Quirinus, of course. Quirinus, please meet Caroline and Dominic. They're here for the month, as well.”

“Lovely to meet you both,” Quirinus said, voice quiet.

It was impossible to miss Caroline's eyes widen, and the brief falter in Dominic’s smile. As someone who dealt with the public constantly, Gilderoy couldn't miss it.

The burn scars on Quirinus's face, of course.

Gilderoy shifted his eyes left and saw Quirinus had averted his gaze to sit down instead. Across from him, Caroline recovered her expression, smile returning.

Dominic motioned the young waiter to bring over a bottle of wine he seemed to be holding aside.

“So,” Dominic said, “how is the book scouting going?”

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Prompt: sink | @taylorswiftmicrofic | WC: 325 | Quirrellhart

Summary: Quirrell writes what he feels, then decides it can't exist.

Dear Gilderoy,

If I do not write this, it will take me by the throat.

My feelings for you are easiest to bear when I reduce you to ink, but you are not so easily reduced.

It's 01:11 and I can see the moon through our window.

I've never written to anyone before whilst watching them sleep, but here I find myself.

Today, you drew your wand behind my back, ready to use a Memory Charm on me.

You used one on the old woman, right before my eyes, and you didn't trust me enough to tell me ahead of time. Which I understand. I wouldn’t trust me either. Nevertheless, I will think about it for a long time. How much can I trust you?

You look so very peaceful in your sleep. No lines on your face, body relaxed completely; unmarred and untroubled. Tomorrow will be another day on the beach, another drink on the hotel rooftop.

Sometimes, I think if you were to bleed, pure sunlight would pour from the wound. Over time, I have learnt the shape of that light, but now I'm not sure it's safe to stand in it.

It's ironic that I wrote this to lessen my misgivings, but they did not lessen. Yet in a few short minutes, I will crawl into bed beside you and hope to sink into a dreamless sleep.

With you, I stopped having so many nightmares. But tonight I fear my dreams will show what my eyes have refused to see.

Yet I find I love you anyway, curse though that may turn out to be.

I remain,

Quirinus

Quirrell straightened and the wooden chair creaked. He brandished his wand at the paper and in a pop of light, transfigured the note into a cheerful yellow tulip.

He rose with a sigh and climbed into bed. Pressing into the warmth of Lockhart's side, Quirrell waited for sleep to take him.

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If I could ask Peter Pettigrew anything, I would ask him what it felt like to be a goblet

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Who the hell are you and why are you following me? lol

Hello, my love!

Everyone, meet my beautiful wife ^

She is a horror author, amongst many other things.

This is the brain that posited the existence of The Credible Hulk, as suggested by the existence of The Incredible Hulk