9
He shut the door behind her.
Harry crept in like a mouse, glancing about.
Quirrel's office was on the far side of the castle, as of yet untouched by the sun. He had no torches or candles lit, and the interior was dim, shaded midnight blue by the light that did make it through the circular windows.
The odor of garlic was less than she remembered, but that might have to do with him not wearing his turban.
He wasn't wearing robes either, just a slacks and a button-up shirt, both wrinkled like he'd slept in them. It made him look… diminished. Beneath the baggy shroud of his robes, he was skeletal, his limbs insectile, his skull nearly that.
Actually, now that she looked at him, and at the door hanging ajar at the back of the office, it seemed more likely that she'd woken him.
It was that door that he walked towards, turning midway to look at her.
"Are you coming?"
Harry scurried after.
She lingered in the door for the briefest instant – his personal quarters, and him nearly a stranger – before reality caught up with her. She'd come here to ask him for help. If she was too afraid to follow him here, what sense was there in even coming to him?
Once again, a door closed behind her.
It was warmer in his rooms; not much, but enough to remind her of how drafty the castle was, and that she hadn't bothered to dress for the weather before rushing out. She was still shivering beneath her robes, and the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail to hang in her face were unpleasantly damp.
But cold didn't stretch her nerves like piano wire. Cold didn't make her feel like her eyes were barely glued in their sockets. They throbbed slightly, bloodshot veins protesting as she took in Quirrel's chambers.
His sitting room was circular, the walls bookshelved from floor to ceiling, broken by two other doors and a fireplace. It was dim, the only light coming from a solitary candle beside the right door, and a hazy glow from the banked embers in the hearth.
Quirrel stood beside the fireplace, hand resting on the back of a loveseat. "Come. Sit."
She went to him. The loveseat was plush, cushioned enough to nearly swallow her up, and she had to perch on the edge, feet dangling. There was a smushed pillow to one side, and a quilt.
A snap of his fingers had the fire burst back into life, the heat soaking into her bones. Harry groaned softly, squeezing fingers and toes as they thawed.
Quirrel sank onto the loveseat beside her, rubbing at his eyes. It was only when he looked up that she realized how worn he looked. It was more than her simply waking him prematurely. There were lines in his face that hadn't been there last she saw him, and his posture wasn't its usual razor-sharpness. He'd probably been up all night dealing with the poisoning.
But he looked at her and said nothing.
Harry looked back, body warming, hands clenched in armpits defrosting. The heat was distracting. No- it was more than that. The softness of the loveseat, the fire, his patient gaze on her. Everything. Too much.
A dam broke. Her eyes burned, the room suddenly swimming. She swallowed, fighting back a lump. Stupid, senseless tears.
There were things that she'd wanted to say. Questions that she'd been meaning to ask for weeks. But now that she was actually here, all she could do was try not to blub like a baby. It was dumb. She felt dumb for doing it, but they were out of her control. She was too tired. Too weary. The headache Snape had caused was still hanging about in the space behind her eyes, in the muscle of her jaw.
Quirrel was so close to her, still watching and waiting. The couch wasn't big. Less than an arm's length between them.
If she reached out, would his magic soothe her as it had last night? Would it warm her as the fire did? It had dulled the pain. He'd protected her. Kept her safe.
Her hand rose, fingers trembling.
Just for a moment.
And then she caught it, pressed it back into her lap. Bowed her head so he couldn't see her face. Focused on Blackscale, fingers tracing his scales. The embarrassment was just enough to push back the tears.
"I would assume," Quirrel said, tone carefully neutral, "that you're here to speak to me about last night."
The rush of stupid, simple gratitude at him ignoring her was nearly enough to send her over the edge again. Instead, she swallowed. Petted Blackscale. Couldn't quite cough up the words in response, so she jerked a nod.
"Before I answer your questions, answer a few for me." He waited until she nodded once more before continuing. "Did Pomfrey finish treating you?"
She didn't know. The hospital wing was a blur of memory. What had Madame Pomfrey said? And the other healer- he'd had a name, but everything was indistinct now, lost in a moment that felt somehow days and seconds ago. But Harry had done a runner all the same.
She shook her head.
"Did you sleep at all last night? And we aren't counting when I enchanted you. Ad Morphea is not restful in the same way normal sleep is."
"An hour," she whispered. "Maybe."
"Insomnia, nightmares, or both?"
"Dreams."
Quirrel sighed, rubbing his temples. "Of course. What you're experiencing are the symptoms of mental damage." Harry gasped, but Quirrel cut her off. "Not mental illness, girl. Injury. A mental attack causes mental injury. You're as sane as I am.
"What Severus did to you was called Legilimency. The magic of invading another's mind to read their thoughts and memories." His eyes were on her. Black. Iris and pupil one shade. Harry forced herself to meet them. He was not Snape. "Severus thought you were under the Imperius Curse to try and get past the dog."
"How do I stop it?" Twice now, and she'd been powerless. If Quirrel hadn't come… The stomach-turning brush of Snape's magic, probing, like clutching hands on her skin. Tearing into her like talons.
But Quirrel could do it too.
"You seemed to do well enough last night," he said. "There are few wizards who could keep out Severus, and none your age. You used parseltongue to mask your thoughts, did you not?"
She nodded frantically, words beginning to tumble out of her."Yes, but it barely worked. He still got- there has to be a better way!"
"You're correct. Parseltongue was an unorthodox move. You caught him off-guard, but if he'd pushed, if he'd had time-" If Quirrel hadn't come "-he'd have broken through. The techniques normally used to counter Legilimency are called Occlumency."
Harry leaned forward, facing him fully for the first time since they'd sat down. "You know it. Occlumency."
It was not a question, and his widening smirk told her she was correct.
"Any wizard with secrets to keep should know how to shield their mind. And you want me to show you how."
"Yes." She stopped. Licked sun-split lips. "I mean- can you please teach me Occlumency?"
His smile was thin enough to slide between ribs."I would be happy to. However-" He held up a hand, cutting off her shout of thanks. "Occlumency is not a one-off lesson. It's the work of months of instruction and effort, much of it in your free time, but still a significant investment of time on my part."
"Oh."
"I wasn't refusing."
She jerked upright. "Sir!"
His eyebrows rose. "Don't interrupt, Harry, I wasn't finished. Learning to shield your mind means having to practice defending it. Which means I would be performing Legilimency on you repeatedly, seeing your thoughts and memories until you progress enough to drive me out." He was speaking softly, his voice a hiss barely audible over the fire. "It would not be as painful as when Snape did it, but there would be no secrets between us. No privacy."
That hadn't stopped him before. He wasn't doing it now, but she was only certain of that because she was stretched taut for anything remotely touching her mind.
He'd saved her last night.
But could she endure another session, another intrusion?
"I thought so," he said, seeming to read her hesitation. "If you do not feel up to it, there are books in the library on Occlumency."
The mind was so complex… how arcane would magic involving it be? She had trouble reading texts meant for her age group. Occlumency books would probably be like the time she'd cracked open a seventh-year's book on advanced arithmancy. A dense, inscrutable network of symbols and signs that she couldn't even begin to interpret.
"Would that be a viable way to learn it?" she asked.
Quirrel's thin shoulders rose the barest amount possible for a shrug. "Doubtful. I attempted to learn both Legilimency and Occlumency when I was a little older than you. It wasn't until I began practicing on others that I made progress."
So she could maybe muddle through Occlumency on her own, but it would never stand up to Snape, who'd probably had years to master Legilimency. Who else out there knew how to do it? How long until someone else peeled her mind apart for a laugh?
Her gaze swept around the parlour as she thought. Quirrel's bookshelves were neat and orderly, but packed to the brim. It was too dim to read the titles clearly, but the spines she could see were old and worn, marked with strange runes and calligraphy. She could feel them on the air, magic as ancient and musty as the pages, but still as palpable as incense. His rooms were steeped in it.
A lifetime of magical experience.
What other magics was she ignorant of, just waiting for another Snape to come along? Next time might be worse.
She found herself looking at Quirrel. Really, truly looking at him. Firelight cast dancing patterns of orange and red and black across his skin, making him look older, stranger, turning his dark eyes crimson. But his gaze was steady and intense. Waiting for her response.
There were strings here. She understood that. No one made an offer like this without getting something from it. He'd said himself that this was a huge timesink on his end, but he was still interested. He wanted something from her.
And she couldn't find it in herself to care.
She was so tired of these endless mysteries. Tired of being afraid, of having to doubt her every action.
So he'd be reading her mind. It wasn't like he didn't know all her secrets that mattered already. Quirrel even seemed to prefer Harry Riddle to Harriet Potter, and that- that was… a relief. He was someone she didn't have to lie to, and God, she was so exhausted of deception.
She was wary of this man and his motives. But every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the third floor hallway, having Snape's filthy magic dig its claws into her. It hurt to think of, but she couldn't stop doing it. And redirecting her thoughts was a constant burden, the memories raw and inflamed, not allowed to scab.
It had only been a few hours. How long until she had to sleep? Or worse- what if she couldn't? Night after night, tearing herself awake from emerald nightmares and Snape's predations.
Whatever cost he asked couldn't be any worse than Snape.
What had happened couldn't happen again.
Harry looked at Quirrel. And perhaps he saw what she was feeling, because he wasn't smiling now.
His gaze locked with hers. "Regardless of your decision, Harry, I'll be treating the wounds Snape left on your mind. My first exposure to Legilimency was not dissimilar to yours. The pain fades, but you never forget how it felt." He tapped one finger against his temple. "But your mind is an open book. And until you can close it, the world will continue to plunder freely.
What finally clinched it was a simple understanding, one that had her rise from the couch and step before him.
If he wanted to hurt her, he wouldn't need to trick her to do it. There was an unassailable gap between the power of a child and an adult. That was something she'd known long before Snape. Learning magic had just let her forget it for a time.
And perhaps… just maybe, she wanted to know that someone was looking out for her.
"Teach me Occlumency. Please." Her voice cracked on the last word, turning it into a gasp.
"I will teach you anything," he murmured, seeming to savor the thought. "Everything and more. Power to satisfy any desire. Magic far beyond the comprehension of small men like Severus Snape. The strength to never be at another's mercy again." His eyes, his focus on her, the dark, steady gravity of his magic. "Would you like that, Harry?"
Very slowly, Harry nodded her assent.
The fire caught the side of his face as he turned, cheekbone and chin and eye socket suddenly harsh and shadowed; the far side lost in gloom. The grinning, avaricious shape of the skull beneath the skin felt a much truer face for whoever this man was, and she found herself suddenly certain that he wanted this just as much as she did.
"I accept," he said.
A final nod, and then she was bowing her head lower. "Thank you, sir." She was trying to sound grateful, but the words came out heavy and exhausted. Willing or not, Snape had forced her down this road.
"Rise." The skull was impassive, even as Quirrel's face smiled contentedly. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Tell me, have you had breakfast yet?"
XXX
Apparently Hogwart's staff could summon house elves at will. Quirrel had carefully ushered Harry out of sight ("Let this meeting be our little secret.") before calling one. The batty little creature that appeared, bowed, heard his command, and then vanished, reappearing less than thirty seconds later with a full tray of breakfast food.
The scent of it, thick and greasy, was slowly filling the parlour. Harry picked at her plate, shunting eggs to bacon and back again, nerves and nausea holding any appetite firmly at bay.
Quirrel, who had ordered a coffee, had proceeded to ignore it, instead picking up vial after vial from his potions rack and setting them beside Harry's plate.
"Where to begin," he murmured, more to himself than her. "It's been too long since I've taken an apprentice."
Harry dropped her fork with a clatter. "Apprentice?"
Quirrel was currently out of her line of sight, but she could feel the flat stare he directed at her. "When an older, more experienced practitioner takes a novice to teach and instruct, that is typically considered an apprenticeship. You didn't honestly think I'd spend all this time on you just for Occlumency? I'd be a glorified tutor. When I said I would teach you anything, I meant it."
She'd been largely numb since the night before. Fear and anxiety, mixed with sadness and exhaustion had driven everything else out. Even their agreement had been an exercise in desperation and resignation.
His words shattered the malaise. The rush of hungry greed that swept through her was enough to overcome even the crippling exhaustion dragging her ever-down.
Harry stood up, nearly knocking over potions, tea, pumpkin juice.
"Anything," she repeated. "And if I wanted you to teach me other things?" Harry stopped to swallow, to put her words in order. "Like- survival spells. I want to be able to live on my own- alone, in the wild if I need to."
Quirrel raised his head from where he'd been examining a glass of blue-gray liquid. "Planning on running away?"
Harry hesitated. She didn't want to say too much. But he would probably see it in her mind eventually anyway.
"I don't like the place I live. I thought if I learned enough magic. Learned the right spells, I could just… leave it behind."
It sounded stupider out loud. Enough that she was sure he'd laugh and call her a child.
"I tried something very similar when I was your age," Quirrel mused. "But the Ministry put a stop to it quick enough. There's a Trace on underage wizards. If you want to get anywhere, we'll need to remove it." He smiled, potions passing through his thin fingers with casual grace. "And yes, I can do that, Harry. That actually helps provide some direction on what you'll be learning. The Trace first, and then we'll bond your familiar. Or would you prefer the latter first?"
"Familiar?"
She'd heard the word before, usually referring to Blackscale, but it didn't have any context that she understood.
"A magical servant. In your case, the snake that you hatched for me."
"Oh. Oh- I completely forgot!" Harry fished into her pocket and pulled out the hatchling, holding her out to him.
He raised an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to do with that?"
"She's yours?" Harry said, faltering. She was sort of nebulous on the whole ownership thing. Yes, by human standards, she owned Blackscale, but she didn't own him.
Quirrel gave a dismissive wave. "She's going to be your familiar. Consider her a belated birthday gift."
The words took a moment to parse.
Her eyes went wide, and, half-disbelieving, she slowly drew the baby back to her chest.
An irrational part of her was whispering that this would be the point where he would snatch it away. Laugh at her for thinking she got birthday presents. Even if it was months late, she'd never- July 31st had always been an ordinary day. The Dursleys made sure she knew it was nothing special.
Her fingertips closed around the thin tendon of the hatchling's body.
God, it was so small.
"Th-thank you, sir. It's- I mean…Thank you," she breathed.
"Her name is Nagini. She's a magical breed of my own creation, so I would recommend you not let her bite anyone you value."
Harry nodded rapidly to that, and returned the hatchling- Nagini to her pocket. The little snake curled up almost at once and went still.
The tension in her chest at this strange man thawed away, replaced with a dawning warmth that just happened to correspond with the tiny body pressed to her heart. Even the name felt right. Nagini. In parseltongue it was short and sleek, curling off the lips like smoke.
For the first time since she entered his office, Harry was certain she'd made the right choice.
Her eyes were itching again.
Harry padded toward him. There'd been something she'd meant to tell him at the start.
"Sir. You saved me last night." Parseltongue felt right. Words in their tongue, meant only for his ears. "And you took me as an apprentice. And now this, and- I just can't thank you enough."
Before she could talk herself out of it, she was lunging forward. Quirrel stiffened, eyebrows rising, and then Harry wrapped her arms around his waist. Her face pressed into his chest, much as it had the night before.
If she counted Hagrid, was Quirrel the second person she'd ever hugged? The feeling was strange. But nice. Like an ache she hadn't known she'd had was easing. He smelled like old books and ink, undercut with a hint of sweat, and his magic was thrumming just beneath his skin, a black shroud that had reached out to brush at her when she touched him.
Quirrel was motionless against her, but just as Harry drew back, his hands came up to catch the center of her back.
"My last apprentice did something very similar when I first took her under my wing," Quirrel said, chest gently humming with his voice. "Bella tried to stab me though. I would ask that you not imitate her in that."
For the first time that day, Harry found a laugh brewing. The terror wasn't gone yet, but it had retreated, lurking in a third-floor hallway at the back of her mind. Beneath the sound of his heart, it was barely noticeable at all.
XXX
When they separated, the moment passing, Quirrel was all-business again. He began passing her the potions he'd selected, and instructing her on their use.
Her favorite was definitely the Dreamless Sleep potion. There was apparently only enough to last for a week or so, and after that she was going to be relying on meditation and Occlumantic techniques, but a week of sleep was a week of sleep.
Quirrel moved on to picking books off his shelves for her, in a display of generosity that nearly had her dropping the potions. Her first primer was going to be 'Obscuring the Oculus,' used to gain a basic understanding of what Occlumency was and how it was meant to work. The theory and context behind what she'd be learning.
She'd just cracked the spine when there was another loud pop. Both of them started, Harry nearly dropping the book, Quirrel spinning, hand twisting like he was about to rip the air.
"Professor Quirrel, sir." A house elf had appeared in the office. Not the same as before- this one was male to the other's female, and this one wore a small sauce-pan like a hat. "Headymaster Dumbledore is callings a staff meeting."
Quirrel adjusted, face sliding into the vaguely confused expression he seemed to wear around others. "W-when?"
"Eight o'clocks, sir."
All three of the occupants in the parlour turned to look at the clock above the mantle. The meeting was barely a quarter hour away.
"I w-will b-be there shortly," Quirrel said. "W-were there any documents the h-headmaster n-needed?"
The elf shook his head, ears flopping. "Just a meetings, sir."
"V-very good. J-just one more thing, elf." Quirrel's wand was in his hand, but Harry hadn't seen him draw it. "Obliviate."
The elf stuttered to a halt, large eyes drooping. Quirrel waved a hand at Harry, who after a moment of confusion, scurried into the elf's blindspot. The professor stared into its face for a moment, lips moving soundlessly, and then he snapped his fingers.
"Elf, I said you were d-dismissed. S-stop dallying."
The creature startled, blinking rapidly. "Sorry, sir." He bowed, and then without rising, vanished into the ether.
"What was that about? Should I not be here?" Harry said, still off-guard by the whole thing.
Hapless Professor Quirrel sloughed away like old skin. His wand was still in hand, polished wood rolling between ivory fingers."It would be for the best if your lessons with me, and your apprenticeship are kept as secret as possible. If anyone asks in the future about our meetings, you had questions about dark creatures and I've been helping you with some independent research."
"I wasn't planning on telling anyone." Harry paused, frowning as she thought about it. "Is Occlumency illegal?"
He smirked. "Not as illegal as what Severus did to you. He's lucky that Dumbledore will probably cover it up. But Occlumency says that you have secrets to hide. It invites observation. As for the realm of illegality… removing the Trace is for sure. Bonding Nagini is in a gray area unless they've banned it since last I checked. And we're not going to be drawing lines in your teachings between legal and illegal, light or dark. Magic is magic, Harry."
She shrugged, not really sure what to say. She didn't know enough magic to even really say what illegal magic or dark magic would look like.
But Quirrel was turning away, muttering to himself as he gathered paperwork. "I need to attend that meeting. You are free to go on your way, though I'd suggest resting. When I return, we can begin your first lesson."
"We could meet again at noon?" she suggested.
"I was going to say before dinner." He pointed to the breakfast tray. "Take some of that with you; use the Dreamless Sleep if you need it. Bonding a familiar is demanding, and I don't want you fatigued."
She nodded, trying to hide her frown as she began picking over the food.
Quirrel disappeared into his rooms for a few minutes before reemerging, now in robes and turban, his face holding a bit more color. Harry, who hadn't managed to do more than nibble, hurriedly began piling things onto a plate.
"Sorry, sir, I can go. I didn't mean to hold you up."
That earned her another flat look. There was something in the edges of this one that she didn't quite understand. "Finish your meal. I'll not have you going hungry." He turned, robes billowing, and strode to the door.
"If you decide to leave the office, close the door behind you and lock it. The password is 'Nahash.'" Quirrel paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. "And don't enter my chambers. I haven't keyed you into the wards yet."
"Yes, sir." Harry set down her glass of pumpkin juice. Gulped. "Goodbye, sir."
"Goodbye, Harry."
XXX
She was just beginning to choke down a rasher when something caught her attention.
A faint tapping, just at the edge of hearing.
Harry stood, head cocked.
Tap tap tap
Not in the parlour.
She tiptoed to the door of Quirrel's office. Waited.
The sound came again, a bit louder.
Harry opened the door. The sun had risen enough that the office had a bit more light, though the windows were still rimed with frost. Something shifted on the sill outside the nearest one, and Harry drew back in surprise.
A pale owl sat on the sill, a letter in its beak. As she stared, the bird pecked the glass once more.
Harry hustled over and opened the window, wincing at the rush of winter air after the warmth of the parlour. The owl hopped in, fluttering awkwardly, and to her surprise, dropped the letter at Harry's feet. It hooted, and then turned and departed with a rustle of feathers.
Harry, frowning, bent to pick up the envelope. Was the owl that lazy that it just shunted the letter off on the first person it saw? It was Quirrel's office, so it was probably his letter, after all. Perhaps some staff correspondence not urgent enough for a house elf.
Her frown deepened.
The name written on the outside of the parchment was her own.
Her birth name.
XXX
XXX
Holy JESUS, this one was an ordeal. Imagine all my anxiety over the previous chapter, amplified. This one needed to be absolutely perfect because it's so vital, and it's still not quite there. However, I'm incredibly tired of beating this thing to death and letting the story stall, so here we go.
Expect possible edits if someone points out something I've missed, because this is one of those things where it's been rewritten so many times I can't see the forest for the trees anymore.
So… yes and no, it did take me this long to write the chapter, but part of that was just not writing much of anything at all- I was gaming heavily, and sometimes hobbies shift priority, you know? The vast majority of this was complete some time ago, and was gradually refined over hundreds of pages of rewrites into what it is now.
Sorry for the length- it was meant to be equivalent to what came before it, but this section demanded all my time thus far, and what came after hasn't had very much attention at all in comparison, so it's not ready. The next chapter will NOT be as long in coming- this chapter, a sort of spiritual turning point in the story, was very, very important to get absolutely right for me, and now that we're over the hump, things are going to be smoother. I already have the majority of what was the rest of the chapter written, so I'm very optimistic there.
...if you're wondering what ate up so much of my time on gaming, blame Monster Hunter, Dragon Age, Binding of Isaac, Etrian Odyssey, and Dark Souls, in that order. For whatever reason, I have an insatiable appetite of games that are obscenely long and difficult.