Broadcast #3: Curiosity, Part 3

The next day, Defense Against the Dark Arts was a rather tense affair. Harry, Justin, Hannah, and Ernie sat on one of the long row tables, all facing forward, eyes firmly boring into Quirrell. The professor stood at the front of the class, hands wringing together, eyes shifting from left to right as always, trying and failing to lecture about the dangers of rogue unicorns.

The topic had obviously been a sore one for the group of four, and for a scant few seconds they all believed that they'd been found out. Walking out of the forest had seemed too easy after all, too simple. They'd breached school policy and there seemed to be no repercussions, no way for the faculty to discover them. It was too good to be true, and they knew it.

So when Quirrell began talking about unicorns, the night before flashed violently in Harry's eyes. The stealthy trailing of their professor, the two minutes in darkness, and finally, the oozing silver blood. He'd looked at his friends, and found them just as pale and frozen-faced as he knew himself to be.

But it came to nothing. As it turned out, unicorns were the day's topic by pure circumstance. It was an ironic reminder, but a reminder nonetheless, and so the group sat stiff and nervous throughout the hour.

When class ended, they all sighed in unison, even Justin who out of all of them had managed to keep a modicum of normalcy in his face. The other three had fidgeted in their seats, cheeks twitching, eyes shifty much like the man that caused it. But at the end, none of them could hide their relief, and all of them promptly stood and joined the crowd of students out the door.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry froze. A moment later, so did his friends. The other students passed them by, some looking at him, most not, busy with their own troubles. Harry opened his mouth, found that his voice was gone, and gulped. It was enough to get something out.

"Yes, professor?" he said, not turning around.

"W-Would you very much mind staying b-behind for a moment? I have something to t-t-talk to you about."

Justin, Ernie, and Hannah were all staring at him, eyes wide, lips parted halfway. Justin in particular looked ready to say something, but Harry raised his head and shook it. With a deep breath, he turned around to face the professor.

"Sure."

Draco Malfoy, who had been walking out along with his fellow Slytherins, threw Harry a malicious little smirk. "Someone's in trouble," he sang, to the laughter of the two large cronies behind him.

Malfoy had proven himself to be quite the little shit over the first week of school. Nothing too serious, and nothing that most kids in their year hadn't had to deal with, but Harry had enough experience with bullies to know that Malfoy had quickly established himself as one. And, of course, Harry himself hadn't done a good job at getting into the Slytherin's good graces.

Right now wasn't the time to worry about such trivial things, however. Harry saw his friends hesitantly walk out along with the rest. Susan was among the crowd; she spared him a glance but not much else. Probably thought he'd gotten himself into trouble again, he thought, grimacing. Maybe she was just glad to not be a part of it this time.

Once everyone else had left, Harry and Quirrell were left alone in the classroom, standing across from each other. Harry put a hand in his robe pocket, and touched the wand hidden within. He gripped it tight.

"Please, feel free to take a seat," Quirrell said, gesturing to the now empty desks around them.

A moment of hesitation, and Harry did. He slowly walked over to the nearest chair and sat down, several rows away from the professor, who calmly stood at the front of the class. Harry made sure to maintain eye contact all throughout. He saw that look in Quirrell's eyes again, the vague dislike, and pretended not to.

"You're not in trouble, if that's what you're wondering," Quirrell said. He walked towards Harry, and just when the boy was ready to stand and draw his wand, he stopped. The professor grabbed a chair, twirled it around, sat on it, and leaned forward on his knees. "I just wanted to… discuss yesterday evening."

Harry's poker face broke, not by much, but enough for Quirrell to notice. The professor put up a hand. "No reason to look so shocked, Mr. Potter. I am a Defense professor, after all. Wouldn't be much of one if I couldn't tell when I was being followed."

It was only then that Harry noticed how Quirrell had stopped stuttering, how his posture had straightened. It was as if a different man had crawled into his skin, and this strangely calmed the boy. This was not an act anymore, and since Quirrell already knew about the forest and wasn't getting Harry into trouble for it, there wasn't any need for him to feel cornered.

"I'm sorry, professor," Harry said, bowing his head. The excuse he and his friends had agreed on the night before came easily. "I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about, I suppose."

"In the Forbidden Forest?" Quirrell asked, and Harry nodded. "It's forbidden for a reason, you know."

"I do now," Harry said, trying his best to keep his voice steady. "I figured it wouldn't be so dangerous with you close by."

Quirrell hummed, and though Harry looked down at his lap he could feel the professor's gaze, roving over him like a spotlight. He eventually heard the professor sigh.

"Well, nothing happened, so I suppose I can let you off this once," Quirrell said. He stood up from his seat and neared Harry, who tried not to tense up. "Just don't do it again and we're square, alright? It's not safe for students to be going out there all alone, even with a professor nearby."

Harry nodded, thinking over Quirrell's words and finding something in them, not letting the discovery show in his face. "Thank you, professor," he said, and stood.

Before he could walk away, that feeling he'd felt before rose up, that which had led him into the forest, the surge of incessant, fluttering emotion whose orders he'd decided to follow like a loyal soldier. So Harry turned his head.

"Professor Quirrell, why do you act like that?" he said.

Quirrell raised a brow. "Like what?"

"All nervous, jittery. It's not really you, is it?"

The professor stared at Harry, blankly, then smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile, though it was meant to be. Harry recognized it as the same that his aunt gave her guests whenever they asked about him, the same smile she gave right before ordering him back to his cupboard under the stairs. The smile of a statue, as if etched on white marble.

"I'm not very good with crowds," Quirrell said, and Harry did not believe him. "Have a good day, Mr. Potter."

"You too, professor."

Harry left.

For all his disgruntlement at Malfoy's antics, in another life, Harry might've been judged by the Sorting Hat as a Slytherin in nature. This was, simply put, because he was no fool. He knew, as the Dursleys had taught him—and how ironic it was, that the things he'd learned in his imprisonment by them had turned out so useful here, in his place of freedom—that people didn't necessarily act the way they felt. So as Harry walked out into the hall, he considered everything he'd learned in his brief conversation, not through Quirrell's acting, but through the meaning behind it.

First, Quirrell thought Harry had gone into the forest alone. Or, at least, he didn't know whether anyone else had gone. It was the reason he had asked Harry to stay behind, but not anyone else. Harry didn't know how this was, but he thought it worth remembering. If anything, it made him relieved to know that his friends weren't found out.

Second, Quirrell was a liar. The man Harry had just talked to wasn't the same as the man whom he'd been taking classes from, the man whom he'd first seen at the entrance ceremony, cowering behind all the other professors. This was a sure man. And he was also perhaps a dangerous man, because Harry couldn't think of any reason why Quirrell would go to such lengths to hide himself in the first place.

Third, and perhaps most important, Quirrell didn't want people following him into the forest. It had likely been the whole point of this little meeting. Quirrell had let Harry know that he knew what the boy did, and would know in the future if the boy tried again. He'd put it softly by not officially reprimanding him—thank God, as his detentions with Snape and Susan were enough as it was—but he'd still made his message clear: stop, or you're in trouble.

If Harry had suspected Quirrell for the dead unicorn in the forest, he was as good as sure now. And what possible reason could a Hogwarts professor have for going into the Forbidden Forest, killing its creatures, and not wanting anyone to know? All the reasons Harry could think of only roiled his stomach.

Well, he thought, stepping into the Hufflepuff commons, it seemed he had a lot to tell his friends about.

This will close out the "Curiosity" chapter, and I'm quite glad about that. It wasn't supposed to be three parts—it just ended up this way. I suppose this will be a pattern when it comes to chapters that progress the plot. Think of this as the inciting incident.

Follow, favorite, and review.