Not my characters.

I do own the item of power mentioned in this chapter, though.

"Put away your wands, children. You will not need them in this class."

Professor Quirrell's statement was met with puzzled glances all around. Immediately, a hand shot up in the front of the class room. Harry recognized the bushy haired witch that hand belonged to as a much younger version of his friend/arch enemy, depending on which personality was more dominant at the time.

"Yes, Ms...?"

"Granger, sir."

"Yes, Ms. Granger?"

"I don't understand, Professor. I thought this class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. How are we supposed to defend ourselves if we can't use magic?"

Professor Quirrell nodded. "Very good question." He turned to the class. "How do you defend yourself against dark magics, dark creatures, and others intent on doing you harm if you don't have magic?" He paced before the class, his cloak billowing dramatically as he stalked, the students enraptured by his speech. "Imagine. You are trapped, facing a vampire, and your wand has been knocked out of your hand? What do you do?"

A hand shot up. "Yes, Mr...?"

"Weasley, sir!"

"Well, go on then, Mr. Weasley. What do you do?"

"Garlic, sir!"

"Good. But, you haven't seen a Chinese restaurant or supermarket in ages. You reach into your pockets to fend off this evil beasty, and not a clove of garlic can be found. Maybe you find some parsley or some cilantro, but garlic, the essential ingredient for all Mediterranean cooking, is missing. Then what?"

Some one else in the back of the room raised their hand. "Sir?"

"Yes, Mr...?"

"Nottingworth."

"Go ahead, Mr. Notworthsnot."

Some people in the crowd snickered.

"No, Nottingworth, Sir."

Quirrell bowed his head. "My apologies. Do continue."

The student stood up, hesitantly. "Sir, I thought olive oil was the essential ingredient in Mediterranean cooking."

"Your house, good sir?"

"Ravenclaw, sir."

"5 points to your house for having the courage and knowledge to question authority. Good work." Harry made Professor Quirrell pace, as it allowed him to take in the room from his rather limited vantage point of the the professor's right butt cheek. He never imagined that one day he'd be teaching defense against the dark arts, and he was determined to prevent the mistakes that so limited his response the first time he fought Voldemort. Of course, now that he cohabited with his arch foe, there wasn't all that much he could do about it until he could get a body of his own. "But you still haven't answered my question about how you would fight a vampire without your wand."

There were some puzzled murmers, but nobody would raise their hand.

Harry sent the thought Call on Draco, you twit, to his host body.

Professor Quirrel nodded in agreement. "You, in the back. Yes, you, the blond kid. Your name?"

"Malfoy." The sneer was particularly evident in his voice, his disdain for this exercises apparent to all.

"How would you fight a vampire with no wand and garlic?"

Draco shrugged. "I wouldn't lose my wand."

"Would you come up here for a moment, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Why?"

Quirrell shrugged. "I will require assistance to demonstrate an effective way to fight a vampire without garlic or magic. You, of course, will be my assistant."

Reluctantly, Malfoy slinked out of his seat and towards the front of the class. While he might be willing to be rude, he also knew there was only so much pushing he could do without either getting detention or having points deducted from his class. He stood where he was instructed by the professor.

"First, what are some characteristics of vampires?"

A hand shot up. "Ms. Granger?"

"Sir!" She shot up from her desk. "Vampires tend to be pale, have a terrible fashion sense, avoid sunlight, and don't cast reflections in mirrors."

Quirrell smiled. "Very good." He turned to Malfoy and examined him up and down. "Yes, very good indeed. Pale? Check. Terrible fashion sense?" He picked at Malfoy's cloak. "Oh heavens yes." The class tittered, tickled that the teacher was picking on Malfoy for a change. "Avoids sunlight? Most likely." He turned back to the class. "So, we've found our vampire. Now, how do we defeat him before he can attack us? Any ideas?"

There was silence in the classroom.

"Well, then, I'll tell you. Children, always, always carry one of these. It doesn't matter how big or small, but this single implement will save your life one day." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small shovel. It was an old thing, battered and weathered, with a gnarled wooden handle about the length of his forearm. He didn't know where it had come from, but ever since he'd been possesed he'd had it in his possession.

The class looked at him blankly. A child raised his hand. "Sir... how can a shovel defeat a vampire?"

"Good question. Allow me, if you will, to explain." Quirrell paced back and forth, giving Harry D. Thomas a view of the room and the disgruntled Malfoy. "What weapons does a vampire have? Superior strength?" The class nodded. "Superior vision?" Again, the class nodded. "Sharp teeth?" There was vigorous nodding from the children. "Of the three, which one can you combat without magic?"

"Anyone?" Quirrell asked. "No?"

Nobody said anything. "Then I shall tell you. You can combat only the fact that a vampire has sharp teeth. Mr. Malfoy, if you would, please smile for us."

Malfoy glared at the teacher but complied, giving a rather nasty smirk at the class. "Please show some teeth, Mr. Malfoy." Grumbling, the privileged first year student did as instructed, baring his teeth.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, please fire some spells at me. Standard curses, jinxes, and hexes, if you please."

Malfoy complied, trying to hit quirrell with a leg locking curse and several other minor spells. Quirrel didn't move; rather, he simply deflected the spells away from his body with the iron part of the shovel.

Several students muttered, clearly impressed.

"Now that I have demonstrated the suitable defensive nature of this implement, allow me to demonstrate its offensive capabilities." Quirrell hefted his shovel lightly, and without warning swung it as hard as he could across his body, smashing the flat side of it into the unsuspecting Malfoy's teeth. Malfoy dropped to the ground, completely unconscious. The children shrieked and jumped out of their chairs. Silence reigned as Quirrell calmly bent over and picked up the unconscious Malfoy, who's mouth was bleeding profusely.

"Observe, children." Quirrell pulled lightly on Malfoy's chin, taking care not to get any of the blood streaming from his mouth on his fingers. "You cannot combat superior strength or vision." Malfoy's mouth was a wreck; only his molars had escaped being crushed or knocked out. "But, if the vampire has no teeth, he can't bite you. Always carry a shovel."

"Would some one be kind enough to take Mr. Malfoy to the infirmary?"

Nobody moved. Quirrell rested his still bloody shovel on his shoulder. "If no one volunteers, I'll just have to pick someone, then."

Hands immediately shot up.

=-=-=-

The general babble and din of the dining hall died as Quirrell walked into through the front doors. Students regarded him with fear, but some of the older students nodded approvingly as he passed. Up at the teacher's table, Minerva McGonagall looked like she was trying to be upset but failed. Snape was as unpleasant as ever, at least to Harry's memories. Professor Dumbledor simply watched the new professor walk in, his expression betraying nothing.

Quirrell took his now customary kneeling stool at the teachers' table. It prevented him from having to sit on either cheek. The teachers assumed it was hemorrhoids, and Madame Pomfrey had been pestering him for a week to come seek treatment. Food appeared shortly afterwards, and conversation resumed amongst the children after a short while, but many kept casting nervous glances up at the head table.

Dumbledor cleared his throat. "Madam Pompfrey has told me you used a rather unorthodox teaching tool this afternoon."

The rest of the table fell silent, trying to act like there weren't evesdropping but failing miserably.

Quirrell tucked into his meal. "And that would be?"

"You asked for volunteers." Stated Dumbledor.

Quirrell nodded. "Quite right. Children should be active, enthusiastic participants in the process of learning, rather than passive participants."

"I quite agree." Dumbledor took a bite of his kidney pie. "A shame about Mr. Malfoy, though. Injured on the first day of class."

Quirell looked perplexed. "What do you mean, Head Master?"

"Seems he had to go to the nurse because he swallowed too much iron and calcium today, along with some enamel."

Quirrell nodded sagely. "Rather unfortunate."

"May I see the shovel?"

"Why certainly!" Quirrell pulled out his shovel and handed it to the Head Master. The children in the hall grew quiet as they watched the aged Head Master examining the shovel with great care, turning it over in his hands repeatedly, then knocking on the flat side of the iron blade with a knuckle. It rang briefly.

Dumbledore stood up, the object clutched firmly in both hands. "Students, please note. Mr. Quirrell has done us a tremendous service today. He has returned the Shovel of Truth to its rightful place in Hogwarts. The Shovel of Truth was used by the founders to break ground for their new school. Each held one hand on the handle as it was thrust into the earth for the first time, underlyling the strong ties between Knowledge, Bravery, Cunning, and Loyalty necessary for the school to function. For it is written in our ancient histories that one needs not fear the shovel if your heart is pure and your teeth are sound."

With that, Dumbledore handed the shovel back to Quirrell and sat, resuming his lunch.

Around the hall, the words "Shovel of Truth" were whispered back and forth. Nervous glances were cast about, especially at the Slytherin table.

=-=-=-=

*CLANG*

Quirrell looked down, perplexed to find the shovel in his hands once again. He looked around, only to see that the shovel had hit the child named Goyle in the face. Said child was currently rolling on the ground, clutching his nose and sobbing piteously.

"Shovel of Truth, indeed."

Things like this had stated happening regularly after Dumbledor's announcement. Pranks and wayward behavior had been curtailed dramatically, as the shovel always seemed to know. Quirrel didn't even have control over it. His body acted on its own, swinging the implement with such precision and grace that watching student couldn't help but be amazed. Malfoy sat in the back of the class, flinching every time Quirrell walked by. He'd been judged by the shovel on several occasions, and found lacking. He'd taken to keeping a very low profile and his nose clean, or at least changing the bandages on his nose frequently to keep them from becoming soiled.

Argus Filch, the caretaker, had begged repeatedly to use the shovel for his detentions. Quirrell had happily relinquished the item, only to have it return of its own accord and much to the consternation of Mr. Filch.

This was all well and good, but it didn't solve the problems Harry D. Thomas of being the ass cheek of the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher and a multiple schizophrenic. His Voldemort pressured them to pursue the philosopher's stone with all due haste, while his Harry side pursued relieving the pressure of his own philosopher's stones as quickly as possible. The battle and hormones raged inside Quirrell's body.

Finally, around Halloween, Voldemort attempted to lure a troll into the grounds so they could attempt to steal the stone. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to take into account the influence Harry would have on the siren call, and instead of a fully grown mountain troll, they only managed to lure a back alley crack troll onto the grounds. She offered to service them for just one more hit, but before either could accept or reject her offer, the Shovel of Truth struck true, sending Harry D. Thomas to the ground, clutching his nose.

Not even the wielder of this ancient implement was immune to its wrath.