AN: Shot out to haphne24 for beta reading. Thanks for reading, following, adding to your favourites. Drop a review to tell me what you think.


Chapter Nine: The First Lesson

"Quirrell asked you to become her apprentice, just like that?" Hermione asked.

"Pretty much," said Harry, munching on an apple and turning a page from his first-year Transfiguration book. Next to him, Hermione looked back with her mouth agape.

"Is that the reason you had your face buried in that book all morning?" asked Ron, with a teasing grin on his face. "Don't wanna let her down, huh?"

"That's great, Harry, congratulations," said Neville.

"Congratulations, Harry – when's the honeymoon?" said Seamus, and the rest of the boys burst out laughing. Harry felt his ears heat up but kept his head down on the book. Perhaps choosing breakfast to tell Ron and Hermione how his Christmas went was a mistake.

"Don't listen to them, Harry," Hermione said, composing herself. She sent the boys a reproachful look. "An apprenticeship is a great honour, especially if offered by one of Hogwarts staff members, everyone knows that – they're all exceptional witches and wizards. Myself, I'll work hard so that, one day, Professor McGonaga-"

"Yeah, yeah, we know," interrupted Ron. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, while stirred the conversation and asked about everybody else's Christmas.

Hermione took the opportunity to come closer to Harry and talk in a low voice.

"Did you think about what I told you?" she asked.

Harry looked about; Ron was entertaining the others with a story about knocking out his sister with the snowman-gloves.

"Well, I asked the portraits if they've seen Snape acting strange recently," he replied, also whispering.

"And?"

"They said he has always acted strange."

Hermione grunted while Harry chuckled.

"You really wanna solve this, huh?" he teased her.

"I'm just curious," she said, twirling a lock of her hair.

"D'you read many mysteries novels?" he asked, and her cheeks tinged pink.

"My father has a collection back home," she admitted.

"I knew it." He laughed. "Hey, what if I ask Professor Quirrell if she can tell me anything? Maybe we can even steal the Grail before Snape."

Hermione looked shocked. "Harry!" she breathed, but her eyes shone with mischief. "It certainly wouldn't be that easy."

"No, but we could try," he said with a smirk.

She shook her head and snarled. "I'll ask around in the journal, see if they have any clues."

Harry's eyes widened, remembering. "Oh, you got accepted into the Archimedes, right?"

"Someone has to put some sense into those people and write something worthwhile," Hermione said, throwing a look of disgust at the newest edition laying around on the table, between their plates.

The paper had been distributed that morning, and Harry was pleased to see the Shadow Mage had finally sent another article to the school journal. It wasn't as interesting as the first one – this one talked about an exam-cheating circle on the seventh year - but he still marvelled at the Mage's capacity of uncovering things people didn't want others to know. Even Hermione had read with attention, though if she didn't want to look like it. It served to remind him of something else he had mulled over the break.

"Hermione, d'you think there's a way to contact the Shadow Mage?" he asked. "Someone in the journal must know how, right?"

"Is there a reason why you want to do that?" asked Hermione, backing away from him.

"It's just – I thought maybe he could help me find out more about my parents," he said, "I still don't know what happened to them."

Her eyes softened at that. "Oh, Harry – why don't you come sometime with me to our club room, and we can ask around together?"

Harry nodded.


He left Flitwick's class that afternoon struggling to contain his excitement for his first lesson with Quirrell. His plan was to make a brief stop by the tower to leave his things in the dorm and hurry to the defence classroom, but as soon as he crossed the door, he saw a tall, dirty blonde haired Hufflepuff reclining against the wall. Arms crossed under her chest and supporting her weight on one leg, she looked like she was waiting for someone.

"Bianca?" Harry said. Ron and Hermione halted as well, the freckled boy's eyes widening.

"Harry," she said, straightening herself. She turned to Ron. "Hello, Ronald, may I borrow your friend for a minute?"

"You two know each other?" Ron looked between the two.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed.

"I'll tell you later," said Harry.

"It'll be fast, you should wait here," Bianca told them and moved with Harry several feet down the corridor.

Out of earshot, Harry spoke: "Hey, what's going on?"

"You're still having those dreams?" she asked.

"Yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

She took something out of her pocket and extended her hand to Harry. "Here, this will help you with them."

Harry took the object. It was some kind of round design made of threads, feathers, and beads. "What's it?"

"It's a dreamcatcher. It's transmuted to stop you from dreaming if you hang it by yourself bedside."

"Transmuted?"

"Made with alchemy."

"Oh," he said, twisting the design on his hand to examine. A dark purple stone hung in the middle, from which within a light seemed to faintly pulse. "Thanks, Bianca."

"You're welcome. It's not a cure though, you still ought to see Madam Pomfrey."

Harry stashed the dreamcatcher away inside his robes. "I'll go to her later."

"As long as you do it. Let's go, your friends are looking weird at me," she walked back with him. "Bye, Harry. Ronald, good to see you."

"Sure, nice to see you too," Ron replied weakly. Bianca nodded at Hermione and left.

His friends snapped their heads at him.

"Where did you meet Bianca Hufflepuff?"

It took the whole way back to explain how he got to know the older girl. While Ron surprisingly didn't have much to say, Hermione was impressed a third-year had been trustworthy enough to be left to take care of all the magical creatures, even if they were her master's charges. That, of course, led to a one-sided conversation about the second year elective, which Harry tuned out for the greater part.

Twenty minutes later, he was in front of the Professor's Quirrell chambers. He tried to straighten out his hair and knocked hard on the door. From inside, came her muffled voice: "Come in, Harry!"

Her office was as steamy as last time, and all the gasses and smoke coming out of the many glass tubes gave the room a hot and humid feeling. Dodging the arranged tables, he sighted Quirrell by the end of the room, hunched over a bunch of papers and scattered pieces of a device of some sort. Her was hair down, but she had relinquished her outer robes. The top buttons of her blouse were undone, and her sleeves were folded up to her elbow, and she looked comfortable in the environment of her office.

She rose with a start and walked around the desk, going for tables with the tubes. "Just a moment - you can take off your mantle if you want." Harry did so, whilst the professor waved her wand over the boiling and cooling substances. It was fascinating to see how the whole system seemed to calm down and stabilize.

Quirrell turned to him.

"I'll add the sulfur later, that way we can enjoy our time better." She smiled. "Give me this."

She took his mantle from him and put it on top of a chair. Walking to the desk, she twisted to face him and sat on top of it, legs swinging. Harry noticed she was barefoot.

"So?" she asked.

"...So what?"

"Did you do what I told you?"

"Oh, yes," he replied. "I finished the one Hermione sent me over Christmas and started on the Transfiguration textbook."

"That's good, Harry – remember: outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend; or something like that," she laughed. Harry sould swear she was more enthusiastic about this than him. "So keep it up - no more lazing around, do you hear me?"

Harry nodded, a little embarrassed and pleased with her attention.

"Good. Before we begin, let's set some ground-rules. First: I know best; if I tell you to do something, I expect to hear no whining or second-guessing – I can teach you a lot, and not only magic, but not if I have to fight you for it. Second: don't wait for me for everything; if you want to learn something else, I can teach you if I know it, but if don't, go look for it on your own. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Last: you will refer to me as Master – not Mistress." She smirked. "That wouldn't be appropriate."

Harry was confused but nodded on. "Yes, Master."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Hmm, not related to that, but..." Harry twisted and pointed to tubes. He has been curious since the first time he was in the office. "What are those things?"

She looked over at them. "That is the project I'm working on," she explained. "I may teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, but my expertise field is actually alchemy. In time, it'll be yours too."

"I've heard of it. They don't teach it in Hogwarts, do they?" he asked.

"No, they do not. Alchemy is a more advanced branch of Potionery; it consists of amplifying and, or extending the effects of potions to more than one subject. The Board of Governors probably decided it wasn't needed for a basic course of NEWTS."

Harry thought for a second. "So that means you're better at potions than Snape?"

Quirrell threw her head back and laughed. Harry watched a drop of sweat run down inside her blouse. "Not necessarily, but between you and me…" she brought her face closer to his "... I am."

She was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Harry grinned with her. How could he not? She was infectious like that.

She reclined back, resting her weight on her arms. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing. "If you get better enough at Potions before the end of the year I'll introduce you to the fundamentals, so study hard."

It was almost too good to be true. Himself being better than Snape at his own subject was something he hadn't even dared dream about before. That stupid sneer of him would be gone for good from his ugly face.

"Alright, we've wasted enough time. Let's get started." She got up and strolled to a door obscured by the tree Harry hadn't noticed before. "Come." Harry followed her into the room, wondering what kind of place she had chosen to instruct him.

Turned out it was a place he had half expected, half not. It was a thin but very long room, and held no furniture of any kind. A twirl of Quirrell's wand, and a yellow line appeared on the floor a couple feet away from the door. She gestured for him to come closer.

"We'll start with my subject: Defence," she said as Harry stood next to her. "Can you guess what we'll learn?"

Harry could not contain his excitement. "Oh, A powerful spell?! How to dodge and never get hit!" Yes, that looked like it, he could already picture himself running the length of that corridor, dodging like mad until he reached some kind of magical sentry.

The professor chortled. "No. You can learn news spells during regular classes, that's what they're for. And dodging… we'll talk about that later. No, Harry, we'll start from the beginning: I will teach you how to cast."

Harry blinked.

"Something all professional duelists know, that many wizards and witches ignore, is that there are proper ways to cast when defending yourself. Some people develop their own, while others learn it together with a duelling style. The one I use, which you will be learning, is this."

The woman straightened her back as if to stand as tall as she could, twisted her body in a way to face ahead in half profile on slightly parted her legs, and raised her wand arm diagonally across her upper front. She slashed downward, and a red spell shot out of her wand. Without a break, she slashed upward and another came out. She did so several times, and Harry was impressed at the speed – it took perhaps two seconds to cast half a dozen spells. It was neither fanciful, nor did it have any resemblance of grace or fluency, but he guessed if matched against other wizards, Quirrell would exceed at sheer efficiency.

She turned to face him. "Now, you try to stand like I did."

Harry tried to imitate her. He twisted his body like she did and raised his arm like she did. She circled him slowly, appraising the effort. She shook her head "No, no," and positioned herself behind him, moulding his body to hers. Harry's heart picked up at the proximity, heat creeping into his neck and face. Form glued to his, she applied pressure to correct his position. "More like this. It's okay to be stiff at the beginning, it'll teach your body to remember," she breathed, someplace above his head. She stepped away, and despite the heat, Harry felt cold at the absence, but that didn't last long, because the next moment her hands were all over his body, adjusting small details of his position.

"This is important, Harry; you must get it right."

She stood aside and inspected him head to toe. "Perfect. Now, for the next part, you will try to hold that stance whilst you practice your aim. Knowing how to cast in a way that's most beneficial to you and being able to hit your target wherever it is, are the basics, but also the most important aspects. We'll keep at it until you have mastered that. The challenge here, Harry, is to divide your attention between the tasks, and still achieve the best results. Are you ready to begin?"

Stiff as a board, he nodded. She swished her wand, and a target mannequin appeared several feet away down the long corridor. Stepping back, she gestured for him to start. He sent a dark pink spell they had learned before the break, and in the first slash, he could tell he had messed up his posture, not to mention not hitting nowhere near the mark. Quirrell said nothing and just fixed his body. Harry tried again. They spent the next three hours or so like that. She would correct him most of the times in the beginning, but later told him to get back in position on his own. It was kind of a boring work, but he soldiered on, not wanting to voice complaints. Around eight o'clock, they returned to her office.

"That was good work," she said while stretching herself, even though it was Harry who had to stay in the same position for the several previous hours. "We made good progress today. Not bad for a first lesson, right?"

Harry mumbled.

"What was that?" when Harry didn't answer she burst into laughter. "Merlin, you're just like me at your age."

She picked two apples from the tree behind her desk, threw one to Harry and took a bite off the other. She sat down on her chair facing Harry and crossed her legs.

"I didn't become an Auror overnight; you will have to be patient too."

That reminded Harry of his promise to Hermione, and deeming it was a good time, he said:

"Master, can I ask you something?"

She raised her eyes back at him. "Go ahead."

"Is someone really trying to steal the Holy Grail, and – did Professor Dumbledore hire you to catch him?"

She smirked and put the apple down.

"My, where did you get that notion?" she said, resting her head on her fist and watching Harry with intense interest.

Harry scratched his neck. "It's just something I've discussed with Ron and Hermione over the break. She thinks this is all a plot to capture a thief."

She curled up the edge of her mouth. "Oh? Who is this thief, if I may ask?"

"Well, she said Snape used to work with this guy called Voldemort during the war and how he used to be a dark wizard and all," he said. "We think it might be him."

His master nodded along as he spoke. Suddenly, she clasped her hands together like she just had the greatest idea. "I know, how about we extend this lesson for some more time?" she said, smiling wickedly. "Stay still."

She came closer and tapped him with her wand. He felt a weird feeling of an egg being cracked on top of his head.

"I have a meeting with the headmaster in about half an hour," she explained with a grin, walking around him. "It's not perfect, but if you stick close to me, you might be able to attend; you'll have your answers there."

Harry looked about himself and was astonished he was now invisible. Much like with his own invisibility cloak, he could see the furniture, floor, and walls behind him. But like she said, it wasn't perfect; a very faint outline of his body could be seen if someone paid attention. He did not hesitate when he spoke next.

"If I have to be invisible, I think I have a better way."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You do? And what is it?"

Harry explained the gift of absolute invisibility he had received over Christmas, which granted him the ability to go unseen to any place he desired.

"The note said it was my father's."

"An invisibility cloak, huh? You're full of surprises. That will certainly work. Alright," she said, looking like she had made her mind. "Meet me here in…twenty minutes."

Harry hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to get ready and grab his cloak. On the way down, he made quick excuses to Ron and Hermione about he had somewhere to go and would return later. When he arrived in front of the Defence classroom, his master was already outside. A grin split her face when she saw Harry.

"Did you bring it?" Harry handed the cloak to her. Her eyes shone as she marvelled at her hands disappearing under the silvery cloth. She slid the mantle over him. "Incredible, I can't see anything."

Harry felt pride at her words. When he had shown the cloak earlier to Ron, he had stated he had never seen such a perfect invisibility cloak; the ones being sold at the Infinity Tower had a slightly blurred look to them, but Harry's was completely see-through. He was happy such an item had belonged to his father.

Professor Quirrell checked her pocket watch. "We should go. Remember, stay close."

They made their way to the headmaster's office and stopped in front of a gargoyle guarding what looked like a spiralling stairway. She gave it a password ("Acid Pops"), and the gargoyle stepped aside for them. The stairway took them up, and from beyond the double-doors of the office came a voice asking them to come in.

With all its buzzing silver instruments, thin-legged tables, and portraits of old headmasters, Dumbledore's office was almost as interesting as his master's, but while Quirrell's had this air of a mad-scientist lab bursting with activity, the old wizard's felt just like it sounded, a peaceful lair of an old and wise magician. And sitting on the other side of the circular chamber was Dumbledore himself.

The man smiled when they came in.

"Welcome, Cecilia," the headmaster said. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting on such a short notice."

Professor Quirrell walked further into the room, Harry trailing after her, taking care to not make a sound with his steps. "It was no problem, Headmaster," she replied, voice levelled, in the tone she reserved for her classes.

"Please, have a seat. Our guests should arrive at any moment; would you accept a lemon drop in the meantime?"

Quirrell kept on standing, arms crossed behind her back, and expression businesslike. "No, thank you, Albus."

"Are you sure? This batch is particularly sweet," said Dumbledore, and as if to make his case, took one of the drops from the glass jar on his table. A huge red bird, perched close to his desk, cooed in agreement.

If Quirrell would have replied anything, Harry didn't find out, because then the fireplace by the side of the room came alive in bright pink flames, and a figure stepped out of it.

It was a man. Wearing a dark muggle suit, he was tall and broad-shouldered, and his light chocolate hair was sprinkled with occasional strands of grey. He looked around the office, and Harry suppressed a gasp. The fireplace burst pink again, and now a woman walked out of it. With high cheekbones and clear blue eyes, she looked enough like the man to be recognized as his sister anywhere she went. Harry knew both of them. The fireplace roared a third time, now with vivid green flames, and another woman came out. She was much different from the previous two, as in she wore a complete set of witch robes and appeared much older, perhaps a decade or two, and most of her hair had gone grey.

Dumbledore raised from his chair, and he and Quirrell bowed to the new arrivals. "Your Highness," they said together.

The man, who had been staring at everything around him with shining eyes, turned to the old wizard and smiled broadly.

"Ah, Sir Percival!" he exclaimed, walking up to Dumbledore and shaking his hand with vigour. Harry almost giggled when the headmaster's whole body seemed to tremble. "What a pleasure seeing you again after so long! And at Hogwarts no less, I've always wanted to come here."

"I assure you the pleasure is mine, Prince Edward," said Dumbledore.

"This place is great – moving portraits and – is that your famous Phoenix?" said the prince, moving to the bird, which cooed again and nuzzled its plumed head on his hand. The man was delighted; much like Dumbledore, despite his years, he had an overbearing sense of youth about him.

"His name is Fawkes and has been kind enough to keep me company for all these years," said the wizard, eyes twinkling.

"Fabulous. Is the rest of Hogwarts as interesting as your office? My young friend is due to come here next year, and if there are other places such as this, I'm sure she won't be able to complain about boredom again."

Dumbledore giggled. "I suspect she won't find any reason to. My office is one of dullest things about this castle, after all. Perhaps, your highness would like a tour after our meeting is concluded?"

The prince opened his mouth, maybe to agree to the offer, but the muggle woman had walked up to join them and chose that moment to interrupt.

"Brother, you know we're not here to chit-chat. Our time is limited enough without you trying to be nice," she spoke. Harry remembered Princess Monique Pendragon, if only because the woman was an idol of sorts to Aunt Petunia. Both women were slender, tall and seemed to regard everything with a barely concealed look of haughtiness. It was with that exact gaze she addressed Dumbledore next. "Dumbledore," she greeted, extending the back of her hand.

She did not raise her arm high for him, and the old man had to curve deeply to kiss her knuckles.

His smile didn't falter. "Welcome to Hogwarts, princess. The castle is lovelier with your presence tonight."

If Dumbledore expected the woman to feel flattered or show any appreciation for the compliment, he was surely disappointed when her face remained as it was before: carved out of stone. She looked around.

"It's an agreeable place I suppose," she said coldly.

The older woman, the witch, came forward then. "Good evening, Dumbledore. It seems everyone is here; I gather we can start this meeting now."

"Good evening, Amelia. I agree, but if you would permit let me first introduce you to the new addition to our staff: Professor Cecilia Quirrell," Dumbledore said, and all heads turned to them. Harry would have hidden behind his master if he didn't think moving might have given him away. "Cecilia has joined us as the professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year and agreed to help me with our little problem."

"Is this the Auror you hired to catch your dark wizard, Dumbledore?" said the princess. "A bit young, don't you think?"

"I have absolute confidence Cecilia can succeed in the task she was given," said Dumbledore without falter. "Now, would you like to have a seat? Lemon drop, perhaps?"

They didn't accept the sweets, but they did sit down on the chairs the headmaster made appear with a swish of his wand. Quirrell once again stayed up – probably to help him stay undiscovered, Harry reckoned.

The muggle princess gave her brother a pointed look. He cleared his throat and said:

"I am sorry for requesting this meeting from you on such inopportune time, Albus, the start of the term must be the time you're busiest, but…" he cleared his throat, "The Crown has been harbouring concerns regarding your… operation here at Hogwarts."

"Last September," continued the princess, "You announced to the whole school, and therefore the magical world, that you had recovered the artefact known as the 'Holy Grail' - something High Chancellor Bones has reported caused quite the uproar among your fellow wizards in the Ministry."

"The calls for you to confirm or deny your claims have not stopped, Albus," said Amelia. "It's been difficult to keep even the Prophet in line."

"Something done on your request if I remember correctly," continued princess Monique in an acid tone. "When the Crown ordered you to hand over the artefact, you pleaded for time, stating it was part of an overly complicated plot to bring a certain dark wizard to justice. It has been four months; do you have anything to show for it?"

Dumbledore listened to everything with a serene expression. Unfazed, he turned to Quirrell.

"I have narrowed it to a number of suspects," she spoke up, addressing the prince and princess. "It's my belief, he shall reveal himself soon."

"So, you have nothing," sneered the muggle woman. She twisted to Dumbledore, contempt on her face. "I expected you to at least have the identity of your criminal by now."

"It is indeed vexing he has managed to avoid our efforts for so long," said the headmaster. "However, not extraordinarily unusual, as this wizard is known to act through others whenever he can."

The princess scoffed. "This has gone on long enough, Dumbledore. It's clear you have nothing but a quickly scrambled stratagem to apprehend this man if even that. It's time you let the law do its own work; I demand you hand over the artefact and let the Ministry deal with the criminal."

The woman and Dumbledore held their gazes in silence for several seconds until Prince Edward put a hand on his sister's arm and said placatingly: "Sister, please, losing your temper won't help anyone here."

He turned to face the wizard.

"Nevertheless, Sir Percival, she is right. I urge you to rethink your decision to keep the Grail in the castle. Think of all the good we could do with it! There are many problems in the kingdom - no, in the world – that could be solved. I promise you the Crown will do everything in its power to aid you in capturing this dark wizard."

"Please consider this, Albus. The king has the best wizards and witches in the country under his service. Your chances could only improve if we employ them in this hunt," Amelia added in.

Dumbledore slowly ran his fingers through the length of his silver beard and for a moment seemed to really weigh his options.

"Alas, I'm afraid I must decline," he said at last. "The wizard in question is far too dangerous to let this chance of capturing him slip through our fingers. He will chase the Holy Grail as long as he feels it is within his power to obtain it. Should we move it to, let's say, tighter hands than mine, or if it is to disappear from this world, it's quite possible we may never have another chance."

The princess gave a sharp sigh and clutched the small leather handbag she carried. "Who is this wizard then?"

"Lord Voldemort."

There was a pause where everyone one stared at Dumbledore in silence.

Amelia sighed.

"You can not really mean this," she spoke softly. "You know better than anyone that man is dead. What he did was unthinkable, but we still recovered his charred remains from Godric's Hollow. What happened to the Po-"

"High Chancellor, if I may," Quirrell interrupted the woman. All heads turned to them again. "The Headmaster and I have discussed this matter, and given the… circumstances which led to Voldemort's death, we are of the opinion that it's possible that he may not be dead at all. The nature of his research is still largely unknown; what he accomplished, unprecedented in our world. However, we also agree he's probably not acting by himself right now – it's likely he lacks the means to do so."

Amelia narrowed her eyes at Dumbledore. "This is not the time to be digging old graves, Albus. Voldemort and Greengrass are dead and that's how they should stay. Besides, aren't you sheltering one of that man's most loyal followers yourself?" She turned to Quirrell. "Well, Professor, what do you have to say about Severus Snape?"

"It is true Professor Snape is being considered as one of the suspects," said the professor. "The evidence doesn't allow me to say much beyond that."

"Excuse me, who is this Snape person?" interjected the prince.

"A former member of Voldemort's circle," explained the Chancellor. "The headmaster testified on his behalf during the trials of the so-called Death Eaters, and he now serves as Potions Master in this academy. It seems the consequences of Albus's actions have arrived to haunt him."

"Well, there you have it, Dumbledore," Princess Monique said as if that settled the matter. "Arrest this man at once and be done with it."

"Unfortunately, it is not so simple. While I don't discard the possibility that Professor Snape has returned to work with Lord Voldemort, we still can not assert with certainty that is the case. Moving with haste would serve little purpose besides advertising our intentions. I'm afraid I have no option left but to once again ask for your patience," said Dumbledore.

The prince spoke up before his sister could do so. "I see we won't be able to persuade you, but won't you, at least, let us assist? Let us lend you one of our men – perhaps Sir Gawain, Chancellor? Someone of his experience would be vital for this investigation."

Amelia shook her head. "Impossible, as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he would never accept to work under Dumbledore."

"Someone else then - where's that one missing a leg?"

Dumbledore interjected. "That is indeed very generous, your highness, but it will not be necessary – I repeat, I have absolute confidence in Professor Quirrell's abilities."

The princess started to her feet. "Then, we have nothing more to discuss. Beware though, headmaster, that your deadline will be upheld at all costs, if this scheme of yours fail to give fruit by the end of your school year, you will turn over the artefact one way or another."

"That is entirely my intention," said Dumbledore, fingers intertwined on his lap and a serene look in his eyes.

"Now, High Chancellor, if you'd be so kind."

High Chancellor Amelia and Prince Edward Pendragon rose from their chair and made for the fireplace. Amelia threw some powder into it, and the pink flames came alive again.

Dumbledore went to his feet and bowed to the leaving princess. "Have a good night. Until we meet again, your highness."

Monique walked into the fire and was gone the next second. Her brother threw a last apologetic glance at the old wizard.

"My apologies, Sir Percival, she's been on edge since our father's situation has aggravated, perhaps she thought that..." He shook her head. "Nevermind. One of these days I'll surely take you on that tour. Have a good night, Sir, Professor Quirrell."

They wished him good night and he was gone like his sister. The witch Amelia threw powder again in the fire, changing its colour to emerald green. She looked at Dumbledore.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Albus; you're putting a lot of people on edge here," she said and walked into the fireplace.

Again, it was only the three of them in the room. The old wizard walked slowly back to his phoenix and proceeded to stroke its head. The bird closed its eyes and seemed to lean in on his touch.

"Is there anything you wish to further discuss with me, Headmaster?" asked Professor Quirrell.

"No, you may continue your work," he said, without looking at her.

Quirrell turned to leave, Harry close on her heels.

"Cecilia."

She turned to face him. Harry got the feeling she was tenser than a moment before.

"I heard you have taken young Harry under your wing," he said. Harry's breath caught in his throat at the mention of his name.

"It shall not interfere with my other duties."

"I trust it won't, but –" he turned to look at her then, "–, and if I may be so intruding, why?"

Quirrell quirked the corner of her lips. "Would it be too cliche to say he reminds me of myself?"

Dumbledore just smiled gently at her. "Of course, but, maybe, we all need some kind of chicle in our lives, from time to time. Have a good night."

"Good night, sir."

Harry and Quirrell walked down the moving stairs and made their way back to her office.