CHAPTER 33: THE PERFECT DISGUISE


Back at the castle, the three of them were extensively interrogated by the Headmaster. Hagrid and Malfoy didn't have much to say, so the brunt of it fell on Sparhawk. And for some reason, he just didn't out Quirrel to Dumbledore outright. Partly, it was because he needed more solid proof before he could go around accusing teachers. And partly, because he did not want to endanger the Headmaster. Well, he was the most powerful wizard of his age, but that was it. His AGE. He just didn't feel right sending a doddering centenarian after what was probably a fragment of a fallen Elder God. As of now, he just described someone of a build close enough to Quirrel that maybe the old man would start having suspicions in some time and maybe keep a closer watch on him. But that was about it.

Dumbledore had been rather pensive when they'd been dismissed, but Sparhawk didn't think too much about that and hurried to catch up on his beauty sleep.


A shadowy form flowed in through the window of Quirrell's room, dropping to the floor and crawling towards the bed.

"Ohhhh..." groaned Quirrell grabbing his head as the now un-turbaned Voldemort spat vile imprecations at the centaurs, Dumbledore, and pretty much everyone. God, if Quirrell's mummy were there, she would have cleaned out that mouth with soap.

As it was, Quirrell groaned some more. He'd gotten a huge gash on his forehead and his nose was most definitely broken. Dragging himself over to the mirror, he grunted out "Episkey" and winced when his nose set itself straight. He'd dare not do the same with the gash. Who knew what stuff the centaur had been stepping in. He needed to find that bottle of Essence of Savlon. And fast.

Predictably, it was at that moment that Dumbledore chose to knock on Quirrel's door.

"Professor Quirrel! Are you up? There's been an incident!"

Oh, blast.

Quirrel looked around frantically while Voldemort brought his rather obscene hissing under control, albeit with great difficulty. The turban had been lost in the little scuffle in yonder forest and he was feeling rather shy about the back of his head right now. Not to mention the gaping wound on his forehead.

"Professor Quirrel?" came Dumbledore's voice as he knocked somewhat insistently.

"I'll be right there!" singsonged Quirrel as he desperately searched for something to cover up the fuming shade. There had to be something, something... and his eyes fell on his desk.


Dumbledore was about to knock once more, his other hand silently palming his wand, when the door to Quirrel's chambers flew open.

The professor was rather disheveled like he'd just gotten out of bed. That or wrestling with a centaur. And on his face, there was one of those muggle beauty masks.

"Ah...I seem to have gotten you in the middle of your beauty sleep. I must apologize Quirinus."

"Ah, P..P...Professor Dumbledore. And Minerva. T..T...To what do I owe this p..pleasure?" he squeaked out.

"There's been a bit of an incident in the forest. One of our students was attacked, though thankfully he escaped unhurt."

"Students?" he squeaked. Witnesses, more like.

"Yes. Sparhawk and Malfoy had detention with Hagrid in the forbidden forest..."

"Sp..Sp...Sparhawk?"

There was a muffled hiss from somewhere.

Quirrel sagged. "You must excuse me, P..P...Professor. Stomach's been acting up since I had those b...b..beans at d..d...dinner."

"Entirely understandable, my boy," said Dumbledore patting him on the shoulder, while Mc Gonagall stoically kept herself from wrinkling her nose.

The hissing intensified. Quirrel winced.

"Ah, well, I think you're feeling quite under the weather there, Quirinus. I'll leave you to your rest. Maybe Flitwick.."

"Thank you, sir" Quirrel muttered and went to close the door.

"Quirinus" Mc Gonagall interrupted.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you have a beauty mask on the back of your head?"


Quirrel gently closed the door and waited until he could hear their steps no longer. That had been some quick thinking on his part, slapping that skin hydrating mask, with added Vitamin C and charcoal, top of the line that, on his head. The Dark Lord had been none too happy (okay, he was going to be downright furious), but they'd managed to fool the old coot and his crony.

Sparhawk was there, eh? Quirrel's thoughts turned to the conversation he'd had with his master not too long ago.

"M..M...Murder it is" he muttered.


A/N: Aye, short chapter this, but not to worry. Next one coming soon. As always, read and review.