One cannot shake the feeling that Holmes, even with all his exposure to its power, deep down deems magic another tool and nothing more. A skilled user of such a tool may certainly gain advantages, and thus cover inherent weaknesses. However, against someone with overwhelming ability, such tools and advantages are crushed beneath the unassailable difference in skill.
-Excerpt from A Study in Magic, by John Watson, MD
-oOo-
To step beyond the green door was to step into another world. Gone was the dining room and comforting cups of tea. Behind the door was a Gothic monstrosity, filled with vaulted ceilings and tiny twisty hallways. Treacherous floorboards creaked and groaned. The whole place seemed ready to collapse any moment, with sagging walls and thick cobwebs painting a picture of neglect.
However, such details were mostly lost on the students, as the house lacked lighting of any kind.
They were glad for Lumos. The spell's small point of light did little in driving off darkness, but was comforting nonetheless. In a place where comfort seemed to have been surgically removed, the jumpy first-years took comfort however they could.
From the kitchen, the group followed the corridor in nervous silence, and soon came to a three-way intersection.
The children paused and looked to Hermione, faces unnaturally pale in the spellight.
"I guess we split up now," whispered Hermione, "Good luck."
Answering whispers of good luck echoed, and six points of light split into pairs. The girl's two groups went left and right, while Harry and Neville pressed forward. With their scant illumination thinly divided, darkness pressed all the closer.
Inside that house, it was very easy to forget the world outside.
-oOo-
Hermione strained her ears, but only heard her own soft footfalls. She and Luna had made their way down the chosen path, all the way to the end, where they found a door.
Hermione glanced up and down the hallway. "Think we should try it?" she whispered.
Luna replied with volume set entirely too high above whisper setting. "Doors are meant to be opened."
Hermione cringed, bringing a finger to her lips. "Shhhh!"
Luna mimicked the gestured, and nodded solemnly.
To one girl's dismay, the door opened with heart-stopping creaks. Hermione thrust her brightly glowing wand into the room, half-expecting Professor Quirrell to jump out at any moment.
A tense second passed, no turbaned teacher sprang from the darkness, and Luna Lovegood skipped into the room.
"Luna!" hissed Hermione, stepping quickly to her partner's side, "Stay together."
The flighty first-year pointed to a trunk at the room's center. A pale purple light poured from the keyhole.
"That," said Luna, "Is a treasure chest." She pounced, and opened the lid in a flash.
Hermione had to concur with her companion's assessment. Inside the trunk, gently glowing, was a crystal sphere. She was just starting to think Quirrell's game wasn't all that bad when the door slammed shut.
-oOo-
Hannah Abbott was not a brave girl. She didn't like spiders, camping trips, or being the center of attention. And now she knew that she definitely didn't like wandering around in the dark.
If she were walking any closer to her partner, Susan Bones, she would be riding piggyback.
In contrast, Susan walked with purpose, eyes determined and head held high. She didn't care for the decayed decor, but a challenge was a challenge. If Quirrell thought he could scare her with his creepy old house, he had another thing coming.
The pair made their slow, silent way, until at last they came to a wooden door at the corridor's end.
"Okay," said Susan, "You open, and I'll go first."
Hannah nodded, eyes like saucers, and grabbed the doorknob.
Susan nodded. "Do it fast."
Hannah yanked the door open with a burst of panicked energy, and nearly jumped out of her skin when Susan charged past with a yell. Then the cry of defiance changed. It was a scream now, and lasted until it was cut off like a snuffed candle.
Hannah licked her lips, and tried to force words around the sudden lump in her throat. "Susan?" Heart pounding, she peeked around the door frame.
Susan lay face down on the floor. Hannah took an involuntary step towards the girl, only to freeze at the rustle of robes. She turned her head to the sound, and could just make out...something in the far corner.
She pointed a shaking wand at the corner. "L-lumos."
Hannah Abbott turned and ran. She was halfway out the door before she realized the sudden screams were coming from her, and one step down the hallway before something hit her in the back.
-oOo-
"Did you hear that?" asked Neville.
Harry paused, and tilted his head. "Hear what?"
"You didn't hear a scream? I thought I heard a scream."
Harry sighed. His plan for this exercise had not gone of well. It hadn't even got on the runway, let alone out of the hangar.
He had fully expected Hermione's two-by-two plan to disintegrate upon entering the house proper, then he could strike off on his own in a socially acceptable way. Alas, the design of this house (if you could call it that) seemed to support her plan. In fact, it necessitated group, with its ridiculous three-way intersection. And so far, not a door to be found!
Like it or not, for the time being it appeared he was stuck with Neville. The other boy was no detective, but Harry tried to minimize his damage to their goal. Namely, he called the shots. Not a hard thing to do, given Neville's personality- the boy seemed relived to have a clear leader.
First and foremost was stealth. Harry showed Neville how to shield his wand tip to only let the barest chinks of light shine through, and whenever they came to a corner, he'd order lights off. Neville would wait for Harry to sneak around the corner, and listen for a quiet double-tap- the signal to recast lumos and continue.
The system worked well enough, and the going was uneventful. Harry periodically used his Midas Sight, but no clues revealed themselves. All the could do was continue walking single-file, onwards to whatever awaited them.
Which turned out to be, much to Harry's disappointment, an ordinary wooden door.
"Lights." whispered Harry, dousing his lumos spell. Neville followed suit and the pair were plunged into darkness.
Harry turned the doorknob with agonizing slowness, annoyed when a faint click betrayed the action. He gently opened the door, and looked inside. From the relative safety of the passage, he saw a shelf against the room's far wall. On it was a faintly glowing sphere.
Harry rolled his eyes. If that wasn't a trap, he didn't know what was. He thought for a moment. Too far away for tractus...
Neville shifted beside him, and Harry paused to consider the boy. An idea began to form. He blindly reached out, felt for Neville's cranium, and whispered a plan into the boy's ear.
Harry supposed a partner could be useful, after all.
-oOo-
Neville didn't like the plan, but he disliked arguing against it even more. And it's not like he had a better one, was it? He made his way through the ramshackle room, step by slow, cautious step, towards the sphere. Every sense strained to detect the slightest hint of danger. It took him nearly a full minute to cross the room thus, stopping with baited breath every time the house creaked, before he could reach up and take the sphere from it's shelf.
"You're late." The voice was low, distorted. It came from behind him, from a corner on the other side of the room.
Neville jerked around. He dropped the sphere and raised his wand.
The person- Quirrell, presumably- silently shielded, bathing the room in softest light. "When you're ready, Long-"
"Tractus."
Neville and Quirrell watched as the sphere shot forward. It rolled across the room, out the door and into the darkness beyond. Footsteps were heard pounding away from the room. Quirrell had time for one step in pursuit before Neville shut his eyes and shouted a spell.
"Lumos!" He poured every ounce of magic he had into the spell, and in the dark room, his wand seemed a small sun.
Turning away with a hiss, a hand thrown over his eyes too late, Quirrell blindly thrust out his wand. Neville fell to the floor, like a puppet with cut strings, and the room fell back into darkness.
By now, Harry Potter's fleeing footsteps were beginning to fade. Quirrell violently shook his head before giving chase.
-oOo-
One half of Harry's brain chastised him for using Neville as cannon fodder. The other half told him to stop thinking and run faster.
Harry skidded around a corner and nearly lost his balance. He tore through the hallway at breakneck speed. Breath came in ragged gasps as lungs and legs demanded oxygen, but Harry grit his teeth and picked up the pace.
Behind him, footsteps thundered.
Harry turned another corner, and could see the kitchen door's outline. He dared a glance behind.
Quirrell, or what Harry hoped was Quirrell, was gaining. The professor wore tattered robes and a mask. In his outstretched hand was a leveled wand.
The wand flicked and Harry threw himself to the side, feeling a spell sizzle past his ear. His evasion caused his to hit the wall hard. With a fatalistic detachment, he noted Quirrell's wand hadn't stopped flicking.
The first spell blinded, the second deafened, the third bound him in chains. The forth came, and the world went black.
-oOo-
Harry's eyes cracked open. He saw a wooden ceiling bathed in warm, comforting light. All in all, he felt remarkably fine, considering the spells he took. He sat up and looked around, unsurprised to be back in the kitchen, where class had begun.
Lined in a row behind him were the other students, all sleeping off various spell effects. Quirrell sat at the table, reading a copy of the Dailey Prophet. Gone were the tattered robes and black mask. He saw Harry rise, and set the paper aside.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Potter."
Harry walked over and sat. "Did anyone get out?"
Quirrell smirked. "No. And now, debriefing." He waved his wand at the unconscious students. "Enervate."
As one, the first-years' eyes snapped open. The group sat up and looked around in mild bewilderment.
"Gather round, gather round," said Quirrell, "It's time to see what we learned."
The students stumbled over seated themselves, some moving more groggily than others.
Another wave of Quirrell's wand and a tea set appeared. "This time I give my word, it's just tea."
After a few wary glances, the students began pouring drinks. The hot beverage quickly worked its magic, and they were soon back to full alertness.
"Fortunately," said Quirrell, "You won't have formal grades. Just a little discussion on how you did."
Quirrell gestured at a student. Harry recognized the obstinate boy who left on his own. Where had he been, anyway?
"Zacharias Smith," said Quirrell, "Admirable ambition, but repeat the mistake of thinking you can beat me on your own. It's insulting."
Zacharias looked down with ill-concealed ire. The boy had trouble remembering where in the house he'd been hit; he never saw it coming.
Quirrell turned to Susan. "I know bravery is your house trait, Miss Bones, but a modicum of caution is recommended, especially when facing the unknown. And you, Miss Abbott, may want to entertain more...considered retreats."
Susan and Hannah blushed, and each resolved to scream less next time.
Quirrell turned to regard the second pair of girls. "Granger and Lovegood...Miss Lovegood, you seem well-served by intuition and courage, but need to remember: distraction can mean death on the battlfield."
For a brief moment, Luna lost her unfocus, and nodded.
Hermoine glared at the the professor. "You don't have to try and scare her!"
"On the contrary," said Quirrell, "I think I do. And as for you, Miss Granger, raw intelligence only benefits from spontaneity and improvisation. You and Lovegood would each do well to learn from the other."
"You locked the door on us!" exclaimed Hermione. "What did you want from me?"
"Escape," said Quirrell, as if it were the most obvious thing in the word.
"I tried alohomora, it didn't work."
"Probably because I warded the lock."
Hermione eyes narrowed, and the professor smugly continued. "Relax, Miss Granger. There's always next time. Besides," he waved a hand dismissively, "A muggle could have escaped that room."
Hermione crossed her arms. "I'm eleven. You expected me to pick the lock?"
"Nothing so dramatic. The door hinges were on the inside. All you had to do was knock them out, and the door would fall open."
Hermione furiously tried to recall the room she'd been trapped in.
"Finally," said Quirrell, "We have one point- the only point- to Longbottom, for calmly executing a plan."
The students turned disbelieving eyes towards a blushing Neville.
When he next spoke, Quirrell did not even look at Harry. "And you, Mr. Potter, perhaps next time you'll have something better than a slip-shod plan with no chance of success."
Harry kept his face neutral.
"Take a tip," said Quirrell, "United they conquer, divided they fall. You've one week before our next class, don't waste it." The professor stood, crossed to the classroom entrance and opened the door. "Dismissed."