Lucy dreaded the first Wednesday she had to spend with Professor Quirrell.
She was well aware that this situation was entirely her fault. She should have never voiced her suspicions about the man. Simple logic could have told her that accusing a dangerous man of being dangerous could only end badly. But it had happened, and this was her mess, and it was up to her to work her way out of it.
Despite what Snape had told her, she tried telling the trio about Quirrell, only for Hermione to give her an oddly understanding look and thanked Lucy for telling her. She later overheard the three whispering about how Snape managed to brainwash Lucy, and the sooner they could stop him, the better.
Lucy wanted to bang her head against the wall after hearing that.
But she had to let Gryffindors be the stubborn Gryffindors they were. Maybe it was better that they thought Quirrell was the good guy— she found a dark irony in the fact that Harry started smiling reassuringly at the same man who tried to murder him.
She was worried that the first evening with Quirrell, he would put her through terrible trials to test her loyalty. Snape held her after class and gave her a portkey wrapped tightly in a handkerchief, and he instructed her to immediately make contact with it if she ran into trouble. He said it'd be too dangerous for her to report to him right away, but she had 'detention' with him Friday where she could tell him everything.
Taking a deep breath, Lucy knocked on the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom door and took a step back. It was a few moments before Quirrell opened the door and ushered her in. She grimaced as he locked it behind her.
"Evening, professor," Lucy smiled slightly, fiddling with the handkerchief in her pocket.
Quirrell's eyes looked over her appearance like he could somehow X-Ray her for signs of deception. Obviously he couldn't, for he looked away, satisfied. "Ms. Rochester. I see you've followed through with our agreement. A wise decision on your part," he tacked on the last part ominously, and she felt a chill run up her spine.
This was some sort of poetic justice on Quirrell's part, where he of all people managed to make Lucy nervous. The heckled becomes the heckler... what a joke.
Instead of voicing this, Lucy surveyed the classroom. It still reeked heavily of garlic, much to her dismay, but without the jeering classmates, she found that it actually looked like a proper study room. There were displays of dark creatures everywhere— a bit too many to be considered innocent— and a bookshelf filled with dark curses. The further she examined, she couldn't believe that nobody noticed Quirrell's true character in the first place. What sort of man had a stuffed werewolf head on a wall? Weren't werewolves technically humans?
"We'll start off simple, then," Professor Quirrell said, drawing Lucy from her thoughts. She looked back over to the man as he began pulling books off of the shelves. "If you are to be of any help to us, you need to know how to help. Study the theoretical histories, and I shall quiz you next week, and I'll see if you have some potential after all."
He dropped the books down on the desk directly in front of his podium. Placing her backpack down beside her, she slid into the seat and started rifling through the worn out backpack for quills and parchment. At first she had been teased for the muggle-esque thing, but it proved to be so convenient that she could ignore everyone.
As she started working, she was surprised at how uneventful this nefarious meeting was turning out to be. At his desk, Quirrell was grading assignments rather than plotting world domination. She tried to block him out as much as she could as she read the words in front of her.
The books were actually quite interesting; it was all about the mechanics of performing any spell, and how pronunciation could be easily resolved by nonverbal magic— it launched into a debate regarding the American curriculum of starting with nonverbal magic versus European methods. She made notes on her parchment at the good points of both arguments.
She began to wonder whether it was controversial or not to agree with the nonverbal curriculum. While the Americans did so under fear of witch hunting, it seemed a lot more convenient, even if it wasn't as necessary today.
"Hey, Professor?"
Quirrell looked up from an essay, giving the girl a quizzical look. Perhaps he thought she would be too nervous to speak to him without being spoken to.
Well, she was nervous, but she also really wanted to know about nonverbal magic.
"Is there any difference between using nonverbal magic versus verbal magic?" She asked, thinking about it long and hard.
"Doesn't it say in there?" Quirrell rolled his eyes. Dang— someone was feeling sassy today.
She frowned at him. "No, I've just gotten through the nonverbal section– this book didn't touch on it much."
"Well, what do you think?" Lucy gave him a flat look, thinking he was being sassy. "From what you've read, I mean. Tell me what you can infer."
"Well..." she glanced down at her notes, reading through the slight hints the author made. "Saying an incantation is easy, isn't it? You have more purpose, so it'd probably be more powerful. Nonverbal takes more concentration, so it would be less powerful?"
Quirrell actually set down his quill and straightened up. "You've got the gist of it, but there's plenty more— can't believe you haven't learned this already..." she didn't dare tell him that she might have known this if he didn't pretend to be a stuttering mess all the time.
He rifled through the files in his desk before he pulled out a lesson plan. She watched, disbelieving, as Quirrell got to his feet and started to give her a lesson.
Like, a proper lesson. No stuttering. A good, solid lecture with diagrams and key notes. Lucy watched, half in awe and half disbelieving still as Quirrell told her all about nonverbal magic, the conceptions and misconceptions, and how it could be useful in a duel.
He went on for probably three hours— whenever he seemed to wrap something up, Lucy would ask him another question, and he would find another tangent to go off of. It seemed like he had a lot of pent up teaching he needed to get out.
When Quirrell had finally talked himself out, his throat was scratchy and he summoned a tea bag from the shelf, stirring it into a cup. "I think that'll be all for tonight. Next Wednesday, five o'clock sharp. You had better do your reading. And keep those books out of sight— they aren't technically meant for first years."
Lucy nodded fervently, stowing the books away in the bottom of her bag. She mentally thanked McGonagall for performing an expansion and lightening charm, otherwise her back would have broke in two by now.
"You know, Professor," Lucy lingered in the doorway before she left. Quirrell looked at her impatiently, and she smiled at him. "You're a great teacher. It's a shame you have to pretend to stutter all the time— I learned so much today."
She expected the man to tell her to shut up and leave already, but to her utter shock, Quirrell allowed himself a smile. "It is a shame, Ms. Rochester, it is indeed..." his gaze then darkened, and she heard the same faint hissing noise from before. She took that as a cue to get the hell out of there— she didn't want to hear Quirrell mumble to himself. Nope, no way.
That was only the first lesson Lucy had with the man, and in the coming weeks, she would learn so much more.
As promised, Quirrell tested if she had actually read the many books he assigned her. At first it was a bit nerve wracking to think that if she failed, he would kill her, but she found that the questions were effortless since she had read the books.
He wasted no time in moving on to more practical lessons. They were bizarre, but Quirrell asserted that everything she was learning, she would have to know if she wanted to continue helping him. The second week, he set her to learn about different types of magical plants and how to counteract their effects— she didn't enjoy this nearly as much, but she figured it could not all be as fun as the first week.
The weirdest lesson she had was when Quirrell taught her chess. Yes, that's right, Professor Quirrell had to train Lucy in the art of playing chess— he got frustrated with her simple mistakes, and oddly that was the most grueling lesson she had with the man. He didn't let her leave until midnight, when she finally managed to get a few good moves on him. Needless to say, she was in a very sour mood the next day, and she declined every single offer Ron gave her to play Wizard's Chess.
While they only met on Wednesdays, nearly every day after class Quirrell would hold her back longer to give her a new book or a new subject to learn. Luckily she had Potions class after Defense Against the Dark Arts, otherwise the teacher would be very unamused with her tardiness.
Her friends could hardly believe the difference in how Snape and Quirrell treated her now. Less than a month ago, Snape was determined to give her as difficult a time as possible— he'd tower over her as she tried to make her potion, ask her questions she couldn't possibly know the answer to, and give her detentions over the littlest of things.
Now, Snape wasn't kind to her or anything. She was sure he would go back to needling her after Quirrell gets exposed But knowing what Lucy was involved in, he had the decency to leave her alone, and he ended up ignoring her through the entire class. Megan started a rumor that Snape had been bodysnatched after the sixth time that Snape let her off for being tardy.
"I'm telling you, it's not natural," Megan insisted as they left Potions class, "Lucy, he hated you. And I notice that now you and Quirrell are all buddy-buddy, too."
Lucy snorted. 'Buddy-buddy' was a generous term. She stopped heckling the man, mostly because he could kill her any given Wednesday, and Quirrell would call on Lucy about every ten minutes to answer a question. At first it was hard to decipher through his stuttering, but by now she was a pro at understanding what he was trying to say.
She was just glad Quirrell dropped the act when they were alone. Otherwise she might blow her cover, just so she wouldn't have to strain her ears. (That wasn't to say that Lucy disliked people who stuttered— Quirrell's stutter was just so obviously fake and over the top that it annoyed her beyond belief.)
"Maybe I've just matured, Megan," Lucy sniffed, holding her books tighter to her chest as she struck a scholarly pose. She dropped it at the flat look she and Wayne gave her, laughing. "Yeah, no, definitely not."
"It is weird how Snape just leaves you alone now," Hannah said, wrinkling her nose. "He doesn't even glare at you anymore. It's creepy. It's like we've shifted into an alternate timeline."
"I'm telling you, Snape's always loved me. He was just too in denial of my amazingness to admit it," Lucy sniffed. She couldn't help but snicker at the mental image of Snape praising her for something. Nope, that would never happen, not in a million years.
Sure, Snape left her alone during class, but every Friday when she met with him, he let loose all his pent up annoyance at her— it was a good thing she was used to it, otherwise she'd have gotten genuinely offended by the man. He had no qualms letting her know how much of an idiot she was.
She exchanged a few more jokes with her friends before setting off toward the library for yet another study session with her friends.
While they thought Snape had brainwashed her, she was glad to see that they still hung out with her. Harry tried (and failed) at subtly hinting that Quirrell was innocent— ironically, trying to brainwash her— but she acted oblivious. They would find out soon enough, when Quirrell told her when he would go after the stone, so Snape and Dumbledore could catch him in the act.
It was ten weeks until exams rolled around, and Hermione was frantically putting together study plans and color coordinated notes. It was sort of exhausting because with how precise the schedules were, it also didn't take into consideration the extra work Quirrell was pushing on her. Coffee was her best friend at the moment— she was only getting five or six hours of sleep maximum at the moment, with how much time she spent doing extra things.
With exams coming up, the professors piled on the workload, and she was doing her best to keep up— she wanted a good night's sleep for once.
"How are you doing this with no reference?" Hermione said incredulously as Lucy scribbled away at her essay. "Really, Lucy, I know it's boring, but you stil have to try—"
"Look it over, if you want." Lucy placed her quill down and pushed the essay over to her friend. Quirrell stuffed her brain with a bunch of magical plant knowledge to the point where she felt she could do this essay with her eyes closed.
Hermione read over her work, eyebrows furrowing as she realized that there was not a single mistake. "Huh. Sorry for doubting you, Lucy," she said, somewhat embarrassed. "I know you're smart, I'm just so used to dealing with these two all the time." She gestured at Ron, who instead of doing any work at all, was busy drawing unkindly pictures of Snape getting eaten by a snake.
"To be fair, Harry does his work," Lucy defended her friend. Harry looked up from a herbology book and gave her the thumbs up, to which she replied with a smile.
After a few minutes, she finished her essay and decided she deserved a five minute break to rest her eyes. She lay her face down on the table and tried to stop the constant flow of information bouncing around in her mind; she had been looking at facts for too long. While she wasn't exactly a fan of stories, she'd kill to read a good lengthy novel for a change.
Harry, seeing his friend's new position, immediately took advantage. He propped up his herbology book against her head so that he could have more table space, and he could flip the pages easier. "Thanks, Lucy," he said. She didn't have to look at him to visualize the mischievous look in his eye.
"You're lucky I'm too tired to move my head, Potter," she grumbled.
It was Ron's voice that drew her out of this decision. "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"
Lucy's head snapped up, sending Harry's book toppling over and effectively closing it. Harry shot her an unhappy look, knowing he would have to find his place again. She pulled a face at him before turning her attention over to Hagrid.
"Jus' lookin'," Hagrid said, in a voice that at once made Lucy think that he was up to something. Geez, she really had to talk to the man about subtly. It was no wonder Quirrell was confident he could steal the stone. "An' what are you lot up to? Yer not still lookin' fer Nicholas Flamel, are yeh?"
'No, but I found out who's trying to steal the stone, and now I have to work for him until further notice,' Lucy thought dismally. At least she was learning from it...
"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," Ron said dismissively. "And we know that the dog's guarding the Philosopher's St—"
"Shhhhh! Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?" Hagrid looked around frantically to see if anyone was listening. There was no one else in the library on this day; it was so nice out that Lucy didn't want to be inside either.
"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harry, "about what's guarding the stone apart from Fluffy—"
"SHHHHH!" Lucy winced, feeling that Hagrid was making more noise than he was trying to avoid. "Listen—come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh—"
"See you later, then," Harry said, and he picked up his Herbology book and began leafing through it.
Lucy raised her eyebrows at him. Smooth.
Hagrid left awkwardly, hiding something in his hands. She tried to make out what it was, but she was out of luck— considering this was a library, she had a pretty good guess that it was a book. Nothing strange about that.
"What was he hiding behind his back?" Hermione wondered, staring at the spot where Hagrid was standing.
"Do you think it had anything to do with the stone?" Harry asked.
"Maybe he's just... checking out a book. Since it's a library," Lucy suggested. Harry looked at her, unconvinced. "Oh, right. I'm brainwashed. Silly me."
"I'm going to see what section he was in," Ron said suddenly, and he left before Lucy could become more sarcastic— he was the only one to witness the shredding she gave Malfoy at the Quidditch match, and he did not want a repeat of that.
"Lucy, we know you're not brainwashed," Hermione said, giving the blonde what she supposed was a reassuring smile. "We understand that both of them seem suspicious, but Harry caught Snape threatening Quirrell. Anything Quirrell's admitted to you has got to be under duress."
"And Snape's been meeting with you on Friday. Probably since he knows you're suspicious of him," Harry added darkly. He then looked at Lucy earnestly and put a hand on her shoulder. "If Snape's ever threatens you, don't be afraid to come to us. We'll stop him soon— we just need to find out what else is guarding the stone."
Though the thought of Snape threatening her was laughable considering how bonkers Quirrell was, Lucy could help but feel touched at Harry's concern. She smiled at him and wrapped an arm around him, "Of course I will, Harry. I've got it all under control. Promise."
Harry hugged her back. It was a sweet moment that was all too short-lived; Ron came back with a pile of books in his arms, and he slammed them down on the table. Lucy extracted herself to look over the covers, growing intrigued at what she saw.
"Dragons!" Ron whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, a Dragon Keeper's Guide."
"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him," Harry recalled.
Lucy grimaced. She had a feeling that Hagrid was either considering or had already acquired a dragon; she hoped that he was only perusing, otherwise their lives would get a lot harder. Who else would help Hagrid with the dragon, if not the four of them?
"But it's against our laws," Ron said. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlock's Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden— anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."
"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" Harry said, incredulous. Lucy was also in awe; she knew magical creatures existed, but the thought of real live dragons still sent a thrill through her. How could muggles live, with their point of view so ordinary, she wondered.
"Of course there are," Ron said. He flipped open one of the books and pointed at two photos of moving dragons. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."
"Makes you wonder how many dragons you've seen," said Lucy in an ominous voice.
Harry was unaffected, giving his friend a smile. "You're not even slightly scary."
"You didn't see her nearly choke Crabbe to death, mate," Ron grinned. Lucy whirled around and glared at the boy; Harry didn't need to her about her creepier moments. He was likely the one person in her friend group who thought she was harmless.
For his part, Harry looked unconvinced, giving Ron a skeptical raise of his eyebrows. "Yeah, alright, Ron."
"She did!" Ron insisted.
"I doubt that. Lucy's too nice."
Even though she was not too nice to choke Crabbe, she was still touched at the sentiment.
Ron turned to Hermione, giving her a desperate look. "Cmon, Hermione, tell him!"
But Hermione was deep in thought, looking over the pile of dragon books. She had her chin resting in her hands as she furrowed her eyebrows. "What on Earth could Hagrid be up to?"
"Let's head down there after lunch," Harry said. His eyes wandered distastefully over the scrolls of parchment scattering the table. "I've had enough studying for the day."
"Cheers to that," Ron muttered.
Ordinarily Lucy would have skipped out on going to Hagrids— she liked the man, but she really did have a lot of work to get done— but the thought of Hagrid meddling with dragons was just too much to resist.
Harry knocked on door to the gamekeeper's hut, then pulled on the handle, expecting to be let in already. Only the door was locked, and all the curtains were drawn.
"Who is it?" Hagrid called, sounding nervous.
"It's us four. Why've you got the door locked?"
Hagrid didn't answer, but he opened the door and quickly ushered them inside. He shut and locked it behind them.
The first thing Lucy noticed was that the room was blazing hot— so much so that she immediately took off her Weasley sweater and thanked the heavens she thought to wear her T-Shirt too.
Hagrid set to work making them tea and stout sandwiches, but the four of them quickly refused— steaming hot tea was not very appealing right now in this sauna.
"So— yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"
"Yes," said Harry. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Philosopher's Stone apart from Fluffy."
Lucy arched an eyebrow at her friend. Geez, way to cut to the chase, Harry.
"O' course I can't," Hagrid frowned. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts—I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."
Well, Dumbledore sort of announced to everyone precisely where Fluffy was, Lucy thought dryly. It was a wonder no other students went to investigate the corridor— she was half tempted to, if she hadn't done so accidentally.
She began to wonder how on earth they would convince Hagrid to tell them more. From the meetings with Quirrell, she could infer who was involved— the emphasis on herbology indicated Professor Sprout, and the strange mention of 'practicing flying' made her suspect Madame Hooch was involved, too.
If she knew Harry wanted to know, she would have told them by now— but she couldn't exactly talk about it in front of Hagrid.
"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know. You know everything that goes on round here," Hermione said suddenly, drawing Lucy from her thoughts. The blonde's jaw dropped at the sheer sweetness in Hermione's voice. Was she, the goodiest of all goodies, manipulating Hagrid? "We only wondered who had done the guarding, really," she went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."
I am so proud of you, Lucy thought. She struggled to keep a grin from appearing on her face.
"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that . . . let's see . . . he borrowed Fluffy from me . . . then some o' the teachers did enchantments . . . Professor Sprout—Professor Flitwick—Professor McGonagall—" he listed, "Professor Quirrell—an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."
She winced, already expecting Harry's outburst.
"Snape?!"
"Yeah—yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it," Hagrid frowned. He turned his eyes over to Lucy. "An' since when do you know abou' all this?" He demanded.
"Found out about the stone recently, but now I've generally been in the loop," she shrugged.
"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you, Hagrid?" Harry cut in anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"
"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.
That checked out. Even Snape didn't know how to get past Fluffy, much to the man's frustration— to her knowledge, Quirrell didn't know either. She had pet the Cerberus, sort of, but that was just a fluke, since the dog had just woken up and was probably frazzled.
"Well, that's something," Harry muttered. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, grimacing. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."
"Can't, Harry, sorry," Hagrid said, glancing instinctively at the fire. He really was not good with secrets.
"Hagrid— what's that?"
It was self explanatory, what the object in the fireplace was. Sitting right in the fire was a huge, black egg about the size of a bedside table.
"That's— er..." Hagrid trailed off. He avoided the four pointed gazes directed at him.
"Where did you get it, Hagrid? It must've cost a fortune." Ron leaned down to get a better look at it.
"Won it. Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."
Lucy frowned; that was extremely suspicious. Who just had a dragon egg on hand in a pub, willing to gamble it off? If the stranger was glad to be rid of it, wouldn't he have sold it? There had to be some buyer out there eager for a dragon egg.
She decided not to push the matter. The man looked so happy to have a dragon egg, and she didn't want to be the one to spoil his mood.
Fortunately, Hermione volunteered to be the voice of reason. "But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?"
"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," Hagrid pulled a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library—Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit—it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here—how ter recognize diff'rent eggs—what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."
He was positively beaming. Ron and Harry grinned, too, but Hermione and Lucy were not as enthusiastic.
"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," Hermione stressed.
Hagrid didn't reply. He hummed happily to himself as he tended to the fire.
Lucy heaved a great sigh. She had a feeling they would be dealing with this dragon very, very soon.