Welcome back! I know, it's been HOURS!

Evil Author Day, as I understand it, originated with authors sharing stuff they had started and not finished. These unfinished fics come with no promises for completion, which is why the authors are "evil" for posting them.

Thus it is with this one! Mwahaha.

Chapter Four

Settling

September - October

"This is not what I had planned," Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore declared to the sundry magical monitors about his office at Hogwarts. They were mostly silent and still at the moment, as Harry Potter was within the wards of Hogwarts, but he was irked nonetheless.

From his portrait, Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black smirked. "You thought he'd trot obediently into the Lions' Den?"

"His father and grandfather both did, as did his mother." Dumbledore scowled at the portrait. "I had made arrangements for him to be met by a properly light, pure-blood family at the station, as well."

Phineas made a flicking-off motion with one painted hand. "His grandmother was Dorea Black, if you'll recall. Remember her?"

Dumbledore harrumphed with irritation. "I do. She was made Prefect and then Head Girl and I still don't know how that happened." He directed his ire toward Armando Dippet's portrait, but that gentleman was feigning sleep and wouldn't be brought to the conversation for any reason. Dumbledore turned toward the Sorting Hat, which sat once more in its customary shelf. "And you? Why is Potter in Slytherin?"

The hat flipped its brim once before saying, "I never discuss Sortings. Not with you, not with any of your predecessors." Though Albus tried, the hat would say no more.

"Well, I must adjust my plans," Dumbledore said before collapsing inelegantly in the chair behind his broad, busy desk. Cluttered was the polite term for the profusion of books, parchments, quills, notes, and other sundry items that covered so much space there. "Though I suppose there's not much that can be done this year." He swept a glare over the entire audience of portraits, waking and sleeping. "You are all bound to secrecy, do not forget."

After a soft chorus of assent, Phineas Nigellus Black rose from the chair in his own portrait. "I'd wish you luck, Albus, but you don't deserve it. I cannot escape the geas laid on us all, but that doesn't mean I approve." He stepped out of the portrait and went…wherever portraits went in the castle when they weren't in his office.

They could be terribly flighty, Albus considered.

He huffed and set out a fresh sheet of parchment and new quill. He had to make new plans.

. . .

"Well, Miss Granger, how goes your revising schedule? I quite appreciated the 'flash cards' you demonstrated at our last visit."

Hermione appreciated that her Head of House, Filius Flitwick, met with all of his first years every couple of weeks. He had a system, he'd told her at their first meeting, so each brief meeting was slotted in advance once he knew who his first year students were. He was a short fellow and actually stood on a pile of books during their first lesson, but rumor had it that he was an accomplished duelist and had won international titles, for all his short stature. Hermione completely respected him.

That afternoon in early October, she was pleased enough to share a cup of hot apple cider with the Charms professor. "Thank you, Professor. My parents found them to be useful so I could help to teach myself when they were busy in surgery. Even Chang, in the year above me, thought they were a good idea." It was a relief to find people who appreciated her approach to her lessons.

"Miss Chang is a diligent Eagle, to be sure," Flitwick said. "She appreciates any aid she can find. Much like you, I'm sure." The small man grinned impishly. "And I know that Ravenclaw appreciates your ability to earn points and stay out of trouble!"

Hermione blushed and took a sip of cider. "I've always loved to learn."

"That's why you're here! Are you making friends? Our dormitories provide private spaces, but our Eagles congregate in the Common Room. Do you enjoy it there?"

"I, er, don't spend so much time there," she admitted. "But I do enjoy the library!"

Flitwick laughed. "Indeed. So do I," he confessed with a twinkle in his sharp gray eyes. "The tables are easier to claim than they are in our common room."

They shared a smile and Hermione settled back more deeply into her seat. It was such a comfort to be understood. "Penelope Clearwater has been so helpful for us in first year. Can she get points for that? She reads over our essays and is willing to share how to know what a professor prefers." Hermione also appreciated that the older girl with the long, curly hair had been willing to help her, Hermione, with her own hair. She wouldn't share that with her Head of House, however. Her mother's advice had been to braid it, but that was occasionally irksome.

"Miss Clearwater is a shining example of our House, Miss Granger. So, what about outside of our House? Are you making friends with students in other Houses? A wider perspective adds to our wisdom."

Hermione practically had that statement as a credo. "It's difficult, Professor, to be honest, due to the traditions established here already. I have friends in Slytherin and Gryffindor. I met them on the train, though, so it was easier to become acquainted. In lessons, we tend to sit with our Houses. Especially in Potions, where we often work together."

Professor Flitwick nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could work with that starting in your year, Miss Granger. It has long been a concern of mine that we are isolated in our Houses. And our youngest come in and don't even have playfellows save from those in their own House. Not," he added ruefully, "that there is time for much along the lines of 'play' in a day."

"How could we fix that?" Hermione wondered. "Finding a free period where my friends from, say, Slytherin aren't in a lesson is difficult."

"Let me see what can be done. Perhaps something during the weekends can be arranged in a regular way, to bring you together." He frowned and smoothed his broad mustache with two fingers. "It's too hard to socialize in the library. Irma Pince doesn't appreciate that."

Astonished that the professor would even jest about such a thing, Hermione nodded vigorously. "Well, neither would I!"

Flitwick smiled and finished his cider. "Well, any questions from you this week, Miss Granger?"

Hermione loved this part and she immediately picked up her book bag and slipped out a parchment with her questions. She always had a list, but Professor Flitwick seemed to welcome them. "First, I wondered about house-elves. Penelope said they served us in the Great Hall at meals, as well as doing the laundry and so on." The professor nodded at her to keep going, so she did. "I've never met one and I wanted to. Would that be all right?"

The professor beamed at her. "Absolutely. Let me call the elf that is tasked to me, all right?"

"That would be splendid, thank you!"

"Wyrhta!"

A sharp popping sound preceded the appearance of quite an unusual creature, to Hermione's eyes. Short with large, triangular ears that twitched constantly, the house-elf gave a brief bow and smoothed its tunic—which looked to be made of a heavy pillowcase, if Hermione were to guess. "Wyrhta be being here for Professor Flittick. Howse may I be serving?"

"Well, Wyrhta, I'd like to introduce you to a new student. This is Hermione Granger," the professor said slowly. Hermione saw that her Head of House spoke to the small being with courtesy. "She wanted to meet one of your people as she is new to the Wizarding World."

The house-elf's bright blue eyes seemed to actually glow. "Oh! I's be being happy to meet Missy Granger! We's all be liking the young ones!"

Hermione blushed but put her hand out to shake the house-elf's hand. They seemed surprised, but took it. "Thank you, Wyrhta. First, are you male or female? I am afraid I don't know and I would never want to offend anyone by using improper terms."

"Oh, Missy Granger is so careful!" The elf bounced on its largish feet. "I's be being male!"

"Thank you, Wyrhta! That is so helpful. So, might I ask you some questions?"

"If Professor Flittick be sayin' so, Miss."

The professor smiled a little and pushed himself off the chair and to his feet. "Well, for no more than fifteen minutes, Wyrhta. I have fifth years in half an hour."

"Right, sir! I'll be careful," Hermione assured him. She turned to he elf again. "So, how old are you?"

The fifteen minutes sped by and Hermione felt infinitely better about not doing her own laundry by the time the initial meeting was over. She received permission to call on any house-elf during her free periods or on weekends if she had further questions.

Of course, she planned to do just that.

. . .

"So this is a what, now?" Harry asked her under his breath.

It was the fourth Saturday in October and the first social hour for the first and second years, while the older students had the opportunity to go to Hogsmeade, the local village. Hermione was quite put out that she had to wait two more years to experience the only magical village she knew of, but she was pleased that Professor Flitwick had found a day they could try to meet people in other Houses. They were in the Great Hall, which had been filled with small round tables for the time being. Each table sat perhaps four people.

"It's a Do," she told her friend. "So we can see people in other Houses. How often do we have lessons together, Harry?"

He shrugged. "Honest, I haven't checked, but you're right, Hermione." They'd glided into first-name usage weeks before, during their first flying lesson.

Madam Hooch had done what Hermione presumed was basic instruction. It wasn't at all easy, but Harry had been amazing, taking off when Neville Longbottom's broom went all wonky. Draco Malfoy had muttered, "That Longbottom's a clumsy bloke," but otherwise ignored the fuss. He flew once around the Quidditch pitch with Crabbe and Goyle and complained about the broom quality. "No wonder you can't fly, Granger. That broom's for shite."

It wasn't that the broom was a problem, though. Hermione was just terrified of falling off that tiny—to her—stick. After lessons, she'd researched the Sticking Charm and when reporting for her follow-up lesson, she'd done much better.

Still, that first lesson had had her falling and each of her friends had wound up pulling her up from the ground at some point, much to the exasperation of Madam Hooch.

"C'mon, Granger," Harry had said first, extending his hand. She'd been too embarrassed, so had ignored him until he'd bent down a bit and said, "Hey, Hermione. C'mon. First time on a broom? Did you think you'd be perfect?"

"You were."

He snorted. "I was too scared for Neville to think, really, and so I pushed to catch him. C'mon, Hermione. Up you get."

Draco had heard them and when she'd fallen for the second time, he offered his hand. "It's really not as hard as you're making it, Hermione. Come on. I'll show you." He tried, to be sure, but she hit the ground again.

Neville had been kind enough not to mention the tears she'd scrubbed from her cheeks. "Her-Hermione? Maybe you can ride on my broom and not be so afraid?"

"That will be enough of that, Mister Longbottom!" Madam Hooch had declared.

It was only after the lesson that Hermione had any inkling of what had given the flying instructor that particularly put-out expression, however. She still blushed to think about it! Riding his broom, indeed!

Neville approached her and Harry at that point and she smiled at him and pointed to a seat. "There's pumpkin juice and tea, if you want something to drink, Neville."

"Oi, yeah. Did you see over there? Ron Weasley's got a chess tournament going with the Hufflepuff champion and that's thirsty work."

The three of them poured from either a pitcher or a teapot and caught up. "How's it like, living in the dungeons, Harry?" Hermione asked.

The green-eyed boy nodded slowly. "It's good, I think. Did you know my Head of House knew my mum? They were friends when they were kids, even before Hogwarts."

"Go on!" Neville whispered, clearly incredulous. "Snape terrifies me." He looked sheepishly at Hermione. "Harry, here, sometimes has to save my ar—er, bum in Potions. Snape can be…"

"Impossible," Harry supplied, rolling his eyes. "But he knows his brewing. If only he'd give us a chance once in a while. What do you think, Hermione?"

"Oh, I quite enjoy Potions." She bit her lip when her friends chuckled at her. "Sorry?"

Draco approached at that point, bringing a girl along with him. "Potter, Davis, here, thought Granger looked a bit outnumbered."

Hermione rose to her feet, feeling as if it behooved her to act as hostess. This was, after all, a bit her fault, having everyone together. "Miss Davis, hello. I'm Hermione Granger."

They shook hands, only for Hermione to find Tracey Davis was known to the rest of them already. Even Neville knew her, and he didn't know many others at all, outside his house.

The new girl fluffed her dark blond hair and nodded. "Hallo. Longbottom, I wanted to ask if you had any tips for Herbology? I think everything in that class hates me. It always dies."

Neville grinned, his eyes alight as he nodded. "Sure, pull up a chair?"

They crowded five around the table and each handled their own beverages. A plate of biscuits appeared shortly thereafter.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured, not knowing if the house-elf serving them would hear her. Better to be polite, she thought.

"Elves don't know what to do with gratitude, Granger," Malfoy opined. "My house-elf at Malfoy Manor just wants to keep busy."

"Each one I've met has seemed that way," Hermione agreed. "Professor Flitwick's elf is very kind to help me learn about their culture."

Harry took a long drink of pumpkin juice. "I haven't seen one in person, but I've heard of 'em."

Malfoy added two sugars to his tea and stirred. "How's Defense going for you, Hermione? I've heard it's been harder for the mu- Muggle-born, this term."

Hermione frowned a bit, not wanting to criticize a professor, but really. "It's all theory. He's talking about dark creatures I've never even seen." She leaned forward, confidingly. "And the smell! I like garlic; my mum cooks with it all the time, but it's ridiculous in that classroom."

She saw Harry wince and rub at his forehead. Hesitant to even mention his scar, she still couldn't overlook the fact that he might be in pain at that moment. "You all right, Harry?"

He dropped his hand. "Yeah. Fine. It's just that…sometimes?" He caught her eye and then Malfoy's. "Sometimes Quirrell makes my scar hurt. Which…makes no sense. Happened at the Welcoming Feast so it can't be the garlic."

"Have you seen the matron, Madam Pomfrey?"

"For a pain in my scar? Cor, no."

She rolled her eyes, she couldn't help it. "No. For the scar in general. It's been, what, years? And never healed properly. That's not normal."

Draco caught his breath and Harry's eyes narrowed at her. "I know, Hermione. But there's nothing that can be done, or I'm sure someone would have."

She was not letting it go, though. Not even if he were getting angry. The situation bothered her, making her tense in her stomach, and she didn't know whom to talk to about it. "Well, have you asked your Head of House? They're supposed to help if we have problems with another professor. Maybe you could put it that way and he might be able to…well, at least look into it? Maybe Professor Quirrell has some kind of, I don't know, aura? That's irritating your magic? Professor Flitwick always lets me ask questions. I can't see why Professor Snape wouldn't as your Head."

Malfoy's pale brows shot into his forehead and he looked at her with what might have been approval; she couldn't tell, with him. "That's…pretty sneaky for a Ravenclaw." He smiled a little.

Harry did as well, and her muscles relaxed somewhat. "Sure you weren't supposed to be in Slytherin?"

Hermione felt her skin heat. "Well, I never told you what happened…"

Tracy Davis joined the conversation at that point. "You were the only Hat Stall this year. The girls in my dorm talked about it. What happened?"

Hermione took a biscuit and started breaking it into pieces. It was kind of embarrassing. "The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, at first."

"Cor!"

"Blimey, Hermione!"

"Well."

"Oi!"

She looked about the group at large. "And then it suggested Gryffindor, but that seemed…not where I would do best, you know? And so it suggested Hufflepuff as I'm a hard worker, and somehow it got in my head and told me about myself and it was…weird." They all nodded at that and she was relieved it wasn't just her. "Finally, the Hat said Ravenclaw would probably be the most comfortable for me and I'd succeed quite well, there, though Slytherin was still an option if I thought I could handle Salazar's House."

She didn't tell them what she had told the hat at the end, though. "It isn't very cunning to be in the House of the Cunning, is it?"

"You're a true Slytherin," the Hat had agreed before Sorting her to Ravenclaw.

The others at the table said that sounded confusing and they were all glad they didn't have such a time of it when it was their turn.

. . .

There was a troll in castle. On Hallowe'en. At first, Hermione didn't think it was anything but a holiday jest, but when the entire staff announced plans for keeping the student body safe—

"To the dungeons," the Headmaster said at first.

—Professors Sprout and Snape had shared a clear look. "Headmaster," Sprout said, "Our students' common rooms are in the lower levels."

Snape continued with, "They should remain in another location, all together, whilst we handle the intruder."

Professor Quirrell, the one who announced the presence of the troll in the first place—before fainting—had disappeared entirely.

Hermione looked for Penelope Clearwater; although the older girl wasn't a Prefect yet, she was the older student Hermione trusted the most. With relief, she saw that Penelope was standing near the end of the Ravenclaw table, checking in with a curly-headed boy from Gryffindor. The red hair made her think of Weasley, so maybe they were brothers. The two of them pointed here and there and then each stood at the foot of their House table.

"All right!" Professor Flitwick stood right on the table, his wand sparking red into the air above him. Hermione clutched her book to her chest and paid attention. "We've decided to stay here. All of us. Do not leave the Great Hall until I have personally dismissed you, is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said along with the rest. "But, sir?"

He frowned but nodded brusquely at her. "What is it, Miss Granger?"

"Sir, where's Professor Quirrell?"

The tiny man narrowed his gaze but proceeded to step lightly across the long table, somehow managing to simultaneously catch Professor Sinistra's attention. After a few words, he was off, hurrying behind the Headmaster and Professors Snape and McGonagall.

"Where's Quirrell?" Hermione asked her table-mates.

Padma Patil's dark eyes went on the alert and she slipped away to see if he had rolled under a table.

"Some Defense professor," one of the sixth-years said. He wasn't someone Hermione had ever spoken to, and she had never learnt his name. "Faints at the idea of a troll!"

"He's worse than Binns," another boy said.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. Binns was a truly dreadful teacher. Quirrell wasn't terribly inspirational, either. "He said the troll was in the dungeon. But he didn't come from there, did he?"

Cho Chang eyed her with a nod. "I think you're right."

"Then where'd he go?" the first boy said. They signaled for the seventh-year Prefect who was nearest—the other was keeping watch from one of the doors that led out of the hall.

"Barton, what is it? I'm a bit busy."

"Where'd Quirrell go?"

"That tosser?" The Prefect saw all the first year students and blushed. "Sorry, sprogs. No idea. But the professors are keeping watch, yeah? Maybe he went…"

"To the dungeons?" Hermione couldn't help but wonder.

"Hardly," Chang muttered before drinking her pumpkin juice.

Their Prefect turned on his heel and half-jogged to Professor Hooch, who was still in the Great Hall. Within a minute, all the remaining professors had scattered.

"Oi, you, stay with your House," the older Weasley sibling called. "Longbottom! Get back here!"

"Not leaving the Hall," Neville shot back, trotting over to Hermione.

As if his coming had been a signal, Hermione rose to her feet to turn to meet her friends, who gathered in a cluster, so that they had to move toward the Head Table. "What?" she asked, keeping her voice low and her eyes on the nearest exit.

Neville made a beckoning gesture as Padma decided to join them. "What did you say? It was like they talked to you and then left!"

Harry nodded. "You have some Find Me spell or something for trolls, Hermione?"

Malfoy laughed sharply. "That'd be perfect, yeah?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but wondered if such a spell was available. "No, I just asked where Professor Quirrell was. And then…that's what happened!"

"He wasn't under any of the tables, either," Padma told them. "Perhaps he's…doing something about the troll, as it's classified as four-x?"

"Maybe he came in here as a distraction," Hermione mused. "But why?"

This was overheard by Head Girl Gemma Farley, who told the Head Boy, Ravenclaw Tobias Runcorn. Concerned, they alerted all the Prefects on duty to keep everyone safe. Though a couple Gryffindors wanted to try to find the troll, they were prevented from doing so. The house-elves brought plates of cakes and baskets of bread and pitchers of pumpkin juice and even bottles of butter-beer, and Hermione appreciated that this seemed to keep everyone settled and calm.

But as the daughter of oral health professionals, she inwardly shied away from the sheer quantity of sugar.

After perhaps half an hour, Professor Snape re-entered the Great Hall and flicked his wand so that a series of bright purple sparks shot from it, effectively garnering everyone's attention. "The troll has been found and contained and we're having him removed from Hogwarts as I speak here." The students gave a rousing cheer, even if the origin of the good news was the dour Potions Master. "Whilst the Headmaster reviews the wards, we all ask you to remain in here, though you may continue to mingle so long as you stay in the Great Hall."

He then actually beckoned to Harry, who seemed shocked and concerned as he rose from where he'd been sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table with the rest of their friends. Hermione reached for his hand to get his attention. "Harry. Be careful!"

Chapter Five

Confrontation

October - December

Harry nodded at his Head of House before turning to Hermione. "Be careful? Why? Do you think we'll have a problem?"

Even Draco laughed a little at that. "Potter, there's been a troll in the castle and our Defense professor turned coward and abandoned us. What isn't there to be careful about?"

Hermione pressed her lips together as she did when she was deep in thought in the library. Then, in a stilted voice that he didn't entirely recognize, she explained. "Well, I can't see an actual need for a Head of House to require a first year student with comparatively little experience wielding magic on such a night as this…unless that first year student has other gifts, abilities, or attributes that might prove helpful. Do you?"

The irritation that had seemed to climb with every few words she spoke disappeared entirely when she got to the word "attributes". He squeezed her hand briefly and nodded. "I'll be careful."

Snape's dark eyes seemed focused solely upon him as he wove through the milling students to reach his side. Was it his imagination, or did his Head of House's gaze narrow on his, Harry's forehead as he drew nearer? "Potter. The Headmaster would like a word." Professor Snape flicked his wrist to indicate which way they should go, with Harry preceding the professor out of the Great Hall.

"A word about what?" Harry ventured to inquire as they reached the comparative quiet of the entrance hall. "Did he say?"

Snape's lank hair—in the dungeons, rumor went that all the potions accidents over the years of teaching had made it so that his hair was no longer responsive to cleansing spells or even shampoo—covered half his face as he took the main stairs up to the second floor. "He is somehow convinced you will be able to help him with identifying someone," the man said after a long pause. His voice was nearly snide, as if either he didn't agree with the Headmaster or he thought that the idea of Harry being of any use in the identification process was ludicrous.

Harry held his tongue; it seemed the more careful thing to do and he would do his best to heed Hermione's warning. She might know next to nothing about Professor Snape but she did have a way of putting things together, he'd learnt in their two months at Hogwarts.

Up the stairs they went, therefore, eventually accompanied by the silver-stained Bloody Baron—Slytherin's House Ghost—and then the Grey Lady. Even Snape seemed startled when the Ravenclaw ghost joined them; her ethereal aspect was marred by a horrid red wound on her chest. Their story, in life, had been a terrible one—so said the sages of the Slytherin common room—so to see them together anywhere in the castle was a marked occasion.

Such as the beginning of a new year of school.

Or when a troll had invaded, maybe?

"Where is the Headmaster?" Harry asked after they'd seemed to walk quite a way, missing the tricky step, turning a corner and heading to another staircase.

Professor Snape glanced at him, once again seeming to pay attention to his forehead. "He's in a tower office. Once we get to the gargoyle that guards it, it's easier," he allowed.

Harry nodded and took a deep breath to keep going without puffing. Snape's legs were long and he rarely made allowances for limitations of others. They'd learnt that much in Potions lessons. His mind raced ahead of his feet, though. Who would the Headmaster want him to help in identifying? How could he? Having only been in the magical world for a matter of months, he knew only the people in the castle—people the Headmaster surely knew far better himself.

Confusion swirled in his mind as they came to an alcove housing a gargoyle. It seemed much like the gargoyles he'd seen in books, but he'd never yet seen this one. It had a beaky face, sat on its haunches, and had enormous wings that took up the entire rest of the stone alcove. Snape glanced at Harry again, sighed a little, shrugged, and then said, "Toffee Crumble."

With a sharp, grinding sound, the gargoyle shifted out of the way, somehow creating an opening where Harry could see a spiral staircase start to…move. Like a Muggle escalator. "Cor! Well, that'd make the climb up easier, yeah?"

Snape snorted. "Indeed. With age and rank come privileges, I daresay."

Harry made so bold as to offer him a grin. "Maybe you'll be Headmaster one day, Professor."

His Head of House visibly shuddered as he reached the first step of the spiral. "Perish the thought, Mr. Potter."

Harry got his balance quickly as the stairs wound upward. "This is so weird," he whispered.

"It takes some getting used to," Snape admitted. "Now, when we get to the Headmaster's office, Mr. Potter, wait to be addressed before speaking. Touch nothing, for Headmaster Dumbledore has a wide variety of…trinkets in his office that have unknown functions." With a an abrupt shake of his head, he continued. "You should also know that the Headmaster's office is occupied by the portraits of prior Heads of School. Like other portraits throughout the castle, those in Professor Dumbledore's office are awake and capable of hearing and speaking. They are obligated to assist the Headmaster as he deems necessary."

Snape's voice was layered with caution, it seemed to Harry, and as the stairs slowed to a stop, Harry whispered, "Do they talk to the other portraits?" His Head of House nodded, meeting his gaze. Harry continued, guessing that Snape didn't want to actually say such things aloud. "Do they…report to him?" Another nod. "I'll remember," he murmured just as the door to the office swung fully open.

"Harry, my boy!" the Headmaster called with a buoyancy that seemed out of place. The thought crossed his head just like that, which made him do a quick survey of the room he'd entered. A combination of stone and wood, the top of what had to be one of the castle towers was round and filled with shelves and small table, as well as a few chairs. Claiming the most space for a single piece of furniture was a large desk, well polished and gleaming in the light of many torches as well as a chandelier. Maybe all of that light was magic more than flame? Harry couldn't have said. As his Head of House had indicated, there were many small gadgets that had to be at least partly mechanical, ticking and flickering, on several different shelves. Three doors led from the office that Harry could see. One of them was open and Harry felt an odd sort of revulsion even looking its way. The elder wizard, with a swish of his wand, shut the door with a solid, smacking sound.

Even Professor Snape seemed caught on the back foot as he froze mid-step while entering the office. "Headmaster, you wished to see Mr. Potter?"

Headmaster Dumbledore beckoned them to come in. "Yes, thank you, Severus." Stroking his beard, the Headmaster continued in a more serious tone. "Has the troll been evicted?"

"Yes, Headmaster. We're still trying to determine how he was able to enter. A…creature of his size could not have come in through the smaller paths that some creatures manage to access. However, the Troll Enclave representative has been summoned and they were able to take the troll away."

"Good, good. Well, thank you, Severus. I'm sure you need to return to your charges."

Harry stiffened, a chill piercing his stomach as he considered being left alone with the Headmaster. He glanced instinctively toward Professor Snape, who dropped his head and lifted it again. The motion looked like a nod, and Harry relaxed. "Headmaster, one of my charges is right here and, as I am sure that the others are safe and occupied, I will remain with one of the youngest members of my House, as is my duty and responsibility."

Harry didn't know the Headmaster at all, but he could see that the elderly wizard was not best pleased. His fingers tightened on the quill he was holding, in such a way as made Harry think of someone gripping a knife. The air in the cluttered office seemed to thicken with tension and Harry almost felt the need to run away, and damn the consequences.

Professor Snape laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "What is it you wished for Mr. Potter to identify, Headmaster?"

"Oh, of course." Headmaster Dumbledore paced thoughtfully from behind his desk. "Would you come with me, the pair of you, through to my inner office?"

Professor Snape stepped off immediately, but Harry hung back for a moment. They were going to that door with the incredibly big sense of No! behind it. Still, he didn't seem to have much choice. Conscious of the eyes of at least a dozen portraits following his every move, Harry allowed himself to be herded into the small, shadowed room adjacent to the main office.

Garlic? Pain!

Before he even thought about it, he hissed and pressed his scar, which seemed to pulsate and burn just as it did during Defense Against the Dark Arts. He shied away instinctively, coming into contact with his Head of House, pushing against him in his entirely unwitting need to get away from the pain.

Snape made a short sound and said, "Mister Pott—oh!" before losing his footing and falling away, right through the open doorway.

And then it wasn't open anymore. Harry was alone in the Headmaster's private chamber with—

A dark, eerie, contained voice that ground out, "Misterrrr Potterrrrrrr."

Harry pressed back against the door, trying to feel for a latch or doorknob or something. The pain was worse than it had ever been in the DADA class. A figure lurched out of the darkest, most shadow-shrouded corner of this room. The robes looked like Professor Quirrell's but the head? "What the actual f—?"

"Master?" Quirrell's voice called from the other side of his head.

"Stay where you are, Quirinius. This is fine. Potterrrr… It's so pleasant to see you."

Another sharp stab of pain cut into Harry's head. "Can't say the same. Who are you?" He couldn't focus on anything but the horrible feeling in his head, though he heard shouting through the door behind him. He hit the door with his fist, but didn't dare turn from the staggering menace before him.

"We've met before, you and I." The professor's arm moved…but it was moving in the opposite direction. Harry tried again to get out of the office, but his hands felt clumsy and he still couldn't find a latch or anything. "Stop right there. Quirinius!"

The professor spun and came at him, arms out stretched. His eyes were glazed and Harry thought he could see saliva dripping from one corner of his mouth. "Mister Potter. This cannot go on. My master needs you gone. Stupefy!"

With every muscle already tensed for action, Harry ducked out of the way of the poorly cast spell.

"Fool!" shouted the face on the other side of the professor's head. "Hold him down so I can do it!"

Heart pounding fit to escape his chest, Harry moved and rolled out of the way, hitting a shelf with an assortment of small, breakable items. They crashed to the floor and he scooted out of the mess, keeping his eye on the professor and his hideous addition. He cried out, "Professor Snape! Help!"

But no one came through the door and Harry couldn't call again. Quirrell dropped to the floor to fall atop him, weighing him down bodily before shifting to grip his throat in one hand, his wand appearing in the other.

And the professor screamed!

Harry shouted, too, not knowing what was going on. He wasn't in any pain where the professor held him, but he could see Quirrell was.

And so was the thing on the back of his head.

Harry tried to shove him—them?—off, but Quirrell was still holding his wand. Harry grabbed for it. Even the touch of his hand set Quirrell's hand to sizzling as if it were being held on the cooker at the Dursleys'. "Get! Off!" Harry demanded, struggling to get out from under the man. "Get off!"

"Kill him!" the face on the back shouted. "Avada—"

Finally, the door burst open, splintered in a thousand pieces.

"Potter!"

From out in the larger office, Harry heard, "Severus!"

Desperate, Harry shouted, "Professor! Help me!"

"Ahhh!" the face on the back screamed, but it sounded like he was furious rather than hurt. A Quirrell, though, was smoking and his hands went limp. Harry scrambled away in time to see a great cloud float into the room above the DADA professor's body.

"Harryyyy Potterrrrr…."

With the flare of powerful spell casting, the office was silent save for the sounds of panting and the settling of broken bits of…breakables.

The cloud vanished through the ceiling.

"Lumos!" Professor Snape's wand glowed at the tip and Harry could focus on his face. His strained, grimacing face. "Potter. What happened?"

"Quirrell. Has a face on the back of his head!"

"I thought I heard him…" Professor Snape murmured. "Albus claimed his own door wouldn't give way for us, but…" The man had crossed to where the two-faced professor lay bound on the floor. Snape rolled the body over. "Merlin. It is him." He rubbed at his left arm and the bright tip of his wand zigzagged in the air.

Frustrated, Harry struggled to his feet, relieved that his scar was no longer paining him. "Who? Who is that? On, the other side?"

The Potions Master rose to his feet, frowned, and cast a spell with his wand that lit all the candles in the room before he put the wand away. His voice was entirely serious when he said, "That, Mr. Potter, has every appearance of being Lord Voldemort. He's the man who, who killed your parents."

Harry felt as if his eyes were bugging out of his head as he stared at his professor. "Voldemort."

Chapter Six

Aftermath

Harry turned to stare at the prone and bound man on the floor. "How did Voldemort get here and did the Headmaster know…?"

"Ah, the Headmaster. I will investigate." He muttered something and Quirrell's body floated up from the floor. "Are you injured, Potter? Do you need to see the matron?"

Harry took a long breath and internally did a check. "Maybe? He was trying to choke me."

Professor Snape peered at his throat. "Yes, let's do that, then. Come along, we'll go to the infirmary and see what to do from there."

Still feeling overwhelmed—his parents' killer had been teaching him Defense Against the Dark Arts? What?—Harry wordlessly followed his Head of House back into the Headmaster's main office. The other man was nowhere to be seen.

Professor Snape swore under his breath. Then, "Sorry, Mister Potter. I had stunned and petrified the Headmaster so that I might ask him a few pointed questions. But he's broken free and now I don't know where he is."

"What was he thinking?" Harry wondered, not really expecting an answer.

They proceeded through the office to the spiral staircase. "I couldn't say. Now, this will be difficult, so do try to keep your words to a minimum."

Harry did his best, though the thought crossed his mind that neither Draco nor Hermione would likely have managed to do so.

º º º

Has Dumbledore Given up the Ghost?

by Rita Skeeter

Shocking happenings at the illustrious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on Hallowe'en! A beast breeches the wards! A professor faints! The Headmaster departs!

Traditionally, the finest magical school in Britain hosts an elaborate feast to celebrate Hallowe'en, Samhain, or All Hallows' Eve. This event is generally characterized by flying jack o'lanterns overhead, the revered ghosts making appearances or visiting with loved ones, and of course, an incredible menu of delicious food and drink for the students and staff.

But this year, events were disrupted by a combination of distressing occurrences. Professor Quirinius Quirrell—formerly Professor of Muggle Studies, but this year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts—interrupted the Halloween Feast with the proclamation that a mountain troll was in the dungeon of the school!

Mountain trolls, as our readers surely know, are classified as XXXX, and are thus extremely dangerous. How did one bypass the protective wards of Hogwarts, where the children of Wizarding Britain spend the greater part of every year for their education? And why was Professor Quirrell reporting on it instead of confining it, as one might expect the Defense Professor to do? And why did he pretend to faint?

Following this, the students were, sensibly, confined to the Great Hall whilst their professors went to subdue the troll. However, it was noticed by one bright Ravenclaw first year student, Harmony Granger, that the professor disappeared shortly thereafter.

What was he doing? Where did he go?

Investigative reporting revealed a shocking truth: Quirrell had broken the wards to bring the troll into the castle!

Headmaster Dumbledore reputedly overpowered him but, for reasons known only to himself, he did not call in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When another member of the faculty, who has asked for anonymity, tried to question the Headmaster's decision, the Headmaster reportedly tried to petrify my informant, but was unable to do so. Instead, Headmaster Dumbledore was stunned and bound himself, pending a visit from the DMLE.

Being a powerful wizard, however, Dumbledore escaped and no one knows where he is.

Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stated clearly that she has no crime of which to accuse Albus Dumbledore, but she is interested in questioning him as to his motivations for not better seeing to the protection of the students under his charge.

And she'd also like to know why he hired a professor who had been possessed by the spirit of another man!

More on this tomorrow, Readers. The story will surely amaze all of Wizarding Britain!

Annnnd, that's where it ends, Readers! No more on this tomorrow...I ran out of mojo on this one and there were only stray ideas to follow on my notes.

However, I do hope to have provided you with a few minutes of entertainment today.

Out here in the real world, I've been waffling with two books-in-progress. Hoping to finish at least one of them this year. I keep saying that, I know, but there we are.

I'm still here though, reading notes from all y'all and reading fics as well. lol Sometimes, these familiar worlds are easier to occupy than others.

Until next time, thanks for reading!

LJ Summers