Chapter Six
Moonlight
The game against Hufflepuff went moderately well. Hagrid the gamekeeper joined the team, after much persuasion (or threats) from Severus. The half-giant was put as a beater, where Severus normally was, to accompany Slatero. Severus took Davina's place. Three times Hagrid and Quirrell almost collided. The fourth time they did collide, just as the snitch was caught by Vector. Slatero went over the back of Hagrid's broom as his own broom went under. He somersaulted into mid-air. There was a gasp from the crowd, and Slatero felt himself choke as Hagrid grabbed the back of his robes. Blue faced and a minute later, he was back on his broom and the team was celebrating a win.
The staff scores put Slytherin and Ravenclaw
neck and neck, in the tournament with Gryffindor behind and Hufflepuff after
them. Tension in the staff room was building already. Slatero thus decided to
remain in his dungeon classroom for the lesson break on the Monday morning. He
was preparing a practical, looking into the huge cauldron beside his desk as he
sniffed at the garlic soup. It wasn't bad. He waved his wand and soup vanished,
the garlic smell hanging in the air. He went to collect the garlic in the store
cupboard that one of the house elves had delivered. As he turned away from the
cupboard, towards his desk, he saw Albus Dumbledore sat on top of the front row
of desks.
"I didn't hear you arrive..."
"Understandable, I have been sitting here most of the lesson." The
younger professor's eyes widened.
"Not on the desk, but further back invisible you understand?" Slatero
gave a nod, drawing closer.
"Can I ask why?"
"You seemed pre-occupied at breakfast. I assumed it was the absence of
Professor Aquarius, and I thought I'd sit in to see how you've improved in the
last year. I'm pleasantly surprised." Albus smiled.
"Thank you Headmaster." Slatero replied nervously.
"Davina has returned, but I've confined her to her chambers. She doesn't
look at all well." Slatero put the string of garlic down on his desk with a
bump.
"I should visit her. I might be able to help."
"All she needs is food and rest. Garlic soup for the second years yes? Go
on, I think I can cope." The young teacher smiled at the comment. He left
the garlic on the desk and hurried up the spiral staircase to the ground floor
as the bell rang for the start of the lesson.
Davina did look terrible. Her eyes looked
sunken into her face, and her close hung off her, indicating a dramatic loss of
weight. She sat at a table in her chambers, picking at the food a house elf was
serving for her.
"Slatero, you have lessons to teach!" She exclaimed in a weak voice,
raising her eyes from their dark sockets. It looked like she'd been beaten up
and starved rather than have taken a trip to St Mungo's for health care.
"Are you any better?" Slatero asked, blinking several times at his
friend.
"Sort of. It always does this to me."
"What is it?" Slatero enquired.
"They don't know, but as far as they can tell, it isn't infectious. Why
don't you sit down, so I don't have to look up quite so much?" Realising
his frosty appearance, Quirrell sat down opposite his best friend at the oak
table.
"You're going to recover though?" He asked quietly. The house elf
bowed and left the room. Slatero noticed the curtains were drawn, the room was
shadowed.
"Of course... Do you smell garlic?" Davina suddenly asked. Slatero
opened his mouth to say it was him, and then realised the smell was far too
strong to just be the lingering of the soup he'd conjured in the break on his
clothes. He bolted to the door, visions of garlic soup flooding his dungeon
pushing almost everything out of his mind.
The second years looked happy enough as they
sat over cauldrons, practising spells to turn one head of garlic into soup ready
to be used in defence against a vampire (and mosquitoes as Davina had mentioned
previously.) The scent of garlic was still strong, but as Slatero found, all of
them were safely looking at garlic soup within their pewter cauldrons.
"Professor Quirrell, I trust everything is in order?" Dumbledore asked
from beside one of the cauldrons, bubbling merrily.
"Fine, fine..." Slatero replied quietly, embarrassed by his panic.
"Alexis just made an extra strong soup by using the whole string, the smell
must have drifted up I take it?"
"Indeed." Slatero replied as he crossed the room with his hands
clasped behind his back beneath his academic cloak, doing his best to hide his
embarrassment.
Slatero returned to Davina's room in the
evening. She was sat at her dressing table, combing her dark hair that he
noticed was lacking in it sumptuous shine. Despite that, it was still beautiful,
and Davina herself was beautiful. He took the brush from her hand and continued
to comb her hair. Stroke after stroke, the hair gently began to regain its shine
and he smiled at the result. Davina sat quietly, her eyes closed and a contented
look on her face. It was most peaceful. Slatero stopped combing and gazed at her
face. Eventually his hand came to rest on her shoulder and her eyes opened
gently.
"Don't leave me alone tonight Slatero..." She whispered, a tear
falling from her eye, cascading down her cheek, bony with her illness. They
young man watched her reflection. She turned her head and he looked down at her
face, wiping away the tear with his hand.
"I promise." He replied softly.
Moonlight of a dying beauty cascaded through breaks in the velvet curtains hanging from the rail above the six-foot high window, a door to the heavens. The lady of the moon danced across the dressing table, over the comb, over bottles and boxes she danced, leaping lightly onto the stool, reflecting in the mirror. A gentle breeze caressed the edges of the curtains, animating the moonlight's dance towards the bed across the Persian rug laid out across the bare floor.
From where he lay, Quirrell watched the dance, admiring the beauty and sensual touch as it continued to dance up the bed, towards his feet, protruding from the soft covers and then across to a silent tune to the sleeping form of Davina. He had promised not to leave her that night, the choice natural, sympathetic. As he studied the way the lady of the moon waltzed over the curves of his best friend's body, he reconsidered his feelings for Professor Aquarius. Was she still just a friend?
