"C-coming to the Halloween feast this year, P-professor P-p…?"
James glanced up from Quidditch through the Ages to see Professor Quirrell, turban slightly askew, smiling weakly up at him. He stopped walking and smiled back at the spectacle: the little teacher was struggling futilely under a mountain of books and scrolls, many of which appeared to be trying to break free.
"You look like you could use a hand, mate," said James. "Why not just put a Following charm on some of that stuff? Oops!" He caught a couple of books as they tumbled out of the teachers arms. "
Quirrell looked embarrassed. "Th-thanks, P-p-professor, I g-guess maybe I sh-sh-should have done…."
"And what's with the Professor thing?" he continued, flicking his wand and stacking the books and papers neatly in the air. "I mean, we've known each other since first year. It's James." Another flick of his wand and the assortment of items zoomed to behind Quirrell's head and hovered there, moving when he did.
"Y-yes, of c-course, James."
"Where are you taking this lot, anyway?"
"D-dungeons. Arbutus wanted to s-s…s…"
James waited a moment, but when nothing else seemed forthcoming, he went on. "Well, I'll give you a hand, then."
Quirrell shook his head. "Y-you should get to the f-feast."
"I'm not going to the feast, thanks. Halloween isn't my favourite time of year."
"N-nor me," stammered Quirell. "B-b-but the house-elves have d-done some amazing things with p-p-pumpkins, you ought to s-see…"
James laughed. "I'm not saying I won't pop by the kitchens and see if I can sweet-talk my way into some pie and turkey, but…well, I just never feel much like celebrating around this time of year. And you look like you could use all the help you can get."
"I've g-got it now, thanks."
"Sure?"
"S-s-sure." Quirrell nodded and scampered off, the books and papers bouncing gently off the back of his turban.
James smiled a little at the sight the little man made and headed on toward his room, up the long shadowy corridors. The halls were hung with orange and black streamers that looked a little gloomy in the yellow candlelight, and the distant sounds of merriment from the Great Hall were as depressing as distant merriment always is. James's thoughts began to take a rather morose turn. Halloween again. This made ten. Why did they always insist on treating it like some day to be celebrated? Some people partied harder because of what had happened ten years ago. All he ever wanted to do was curl up in his room with a bottle of something and stare at the wall….
He was startled out of his reverie when he almost ran into Arbutus rounding a corner. The older wizard nodded at him.
"Oh, hello, Professor!" said James, shaking himself. "Er, Quirinus was headed toward the dungeons when I ran into him; he must be nearly there by now."
Arbutus looked puzzled. "Quirrell?" he said. "Why was Quirrell headed toward the dungeons?"
"Didn't you want to see him?"
"No, I didn't."
James blinked. "Well, he said you did."
"Perhaps you misheard him."
They looked at each other for a minute before James grinned. "Or perhaps…a secret meeting?"
Arbutus shrugged. "Perhaps. He has been behaving rather oddly of late."
"I guess you're right. He's been weird ever since that trip to…Albania?"
"Indeed. Eating very little, dark circles under his eyes, spending great amounts of time alone. It may be my imagination, but he also seems somewhat more nervous than heretofore."
"Those are the signs, all right. Well, well, well, our own little Quirrell."
"I wondered why he spent all that time on the third floor between classes. I thought at first he was simply lost, but he's been there more than once."
"Hang on. The third floor?" James's brow furrowed. "There's nothing romantic up there."
Arbutus raised an eyebrow, and the younger teacher grinned. "Well, not that I would know from personal experience, of course," he amended quickly.
"Of course not. Because you spent all your time here studying and behaving yourself."
"Of course! But it seems to me, speaking from a purely theoretical position, that the only remotely romantic spot up there would be one of the rooms in that corridor on the left-hand side. You know, dark and secluded. And obviously he couldn't go in there because of the…because of the…"
He paused as an unsolicited consideration occurred to him, and he fell silent for a long moment. Arbutus raised his other eyebrow.
"Quirinus is an all right sort of chap, isn't he?" James said at length.
"You know him better than I do," said Arbutus.
"I mean, a bit wet, you know, but a fellow can't help that. He's not the sort…I mean, he wouldn't…er…"
James ran his fingers through his hair so that it stood on end even more than usual.
"I mean to say…you don't suppose that Qu…"
Suddenly a massive noise exploded behind him, like hundreds of voices raised in panic. Before James had turned well around, Arbutus had gathered up his long robes and sprinted down the corridor in the direction of the Great Hall.
James found himself swamped by students pouring into the corridors, harassed-looking prefects and one or two teachers attempting to herd them. Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Flitwick wormed their way through the crowds and headed down the corridor that led to the dungeons.
"Oi, oi!" said James, grabbing a passing prefect. "What's going on?"
"Troll in the dungeons, sir," she replied. "Excuse me, sir. Ravenclaw first years, this way. Stay in line, please. Please keep calm. This way, this way."
Troll.
Little Quirinus had always been good with trolls…
The other teachers were nearly upon him; if they saw him they were bound to want his help with subduing the beast. He ducked his head to keep from view. When they were well down the corridor he flattened himself against a wall and seamlessly slipped behind the tapestry into the secret passage beyond.
Not for nothing had James spent seven years of his life going over this castle with a fine-toothed comb. He knew the passages and hideaways better than anyone, even old Filch the caretaker. He could make his way from the deepest darkest dungeon to the tallest Astronomy tower without being detected, even if he stopped for snacks on the way.
Third floor corridor, he thought, beginning to run. Two ways to get there besides the stairs…right, left, straight on across the hallway, two locked doors, left again, and then…
But he was getting rusty. He had to pause and think for a fraction of a second.
Disused dumb waiter takes you straight up to the third floor, but that hidden staircase would go through the teachers' dorms on the first floor. Time difference—thirty seconds. Thirty seconds could mean a lot; how long can it take to track down an enormous rampaging troll? But taking a left at the top of the staircase would lead you to the chasm. Fifteen feet across…
And he was off again, his glasses slipping down his nose. I should do practice runs. When was the last time I set a really good challenge for myself? Nipping through tapestries and visiting Hogsmeade for a pint now and then, not exactly keeping me in shape…There was the staircase. Up to the first floor, then the side passage into his room (he'd picked this room because it had a secret passageway leading out of it, one that he was pretty sure no one knew about). He swept a certain silvery cloak off his nightstand and threw it over his head, then clamped his jaws down on his wand, concentrated, raced up the remaining steps, took the left, and jumped…
He skidded to a halt outside the third floor corridor, fighting for breath. I'm getting old, he thought. He could tell no one had entered the corridor yet; his senses were that good in this state. Of course, not like old Sirius—Sirius used to be able to tell when they were being watched from a hundred feet away and whether it was a male or female and how old.
James heard footsteps. Silencio, he thought hastily, and his heavy breathing quieted. As a quick additional precaution, he shut down his mind. That was the easiest one to do, though of course his teacher had never been satisfied with it. Just "an invisibility cloak for the mind", he had said, but the imagery had appealed to James.
The footsteps grew louder, and Quirrell appeared around the corner. He still had one or two papers bobbing and floating around his head, but other than that his entire aspect had changed; he no longer looked the terrified, squirming, stammering little boy of twenty minutes ago. He was now a man with a purpose. He strode toward the door, opened it with a blast from his wand, and slipped inside.
James concentrated, and the world shifted. Quirrell, the idiot, was closing the door behind him, doubtless to prevent anyone from interrupting, but James leapt forward and wrenched it back open.
Quirrell whirled at the noise and at the sudden jerking of the door out of his hands. His face became the familiar old mask of terror as James apparently materialised from the shadows, removed the wand he had clenched in his teeth, and smiled brightly.
"Hullo, Quirinus," he said. "Got a bit lost, have you?"
"J-j…J…"
A growl sounded behind him. No dog appreciates being interrupted in the middle of a nap.
"Get behind me," said James.
A second growl joined the first in grating harmony.
"I-I…"
The third head had finally woken up and decided to join the others in a light snack…
"NOW!"
Quirrell scampered behind him just as the dog lunged.
"Stupefy!" The middle head blinked; James moved, quick as lightning, and just barely dodged the left head. He tried to back up, but he didn't see the right head zeroing in on him until he was almost too late; he ducked and felt its teeth brush the top of his head. The middle head had recovered and dove for him; he leapt over it, but the left head and right head came down at once and the right one clamped onto his leg. Burning pain shot up his side.
Quirrell stood and watched with his mouth open.
"Get out of here, you idiot!" shouted James. Quirrell fumbled backward and had almost gained the corridor outside, but then he slipped on something invisible and fell with a sickening crash. James swore; the dog's massive teeth had cut through the flesh on his leg and were working their way through the muscle to the bone. He hit it between the eyes, but it merely grunted and shifted to get a better gnawing position. There was no way he was going to be able to get his leg out of its clutches, and even if he could all his flesh be torn off at least and maybe his bone broken.
But if he could just…
One of the other heads appeared to be focussing on Quirrell.
"Hurry up you bloody blithering idiot get out!"
"B…b…"
"I will be fine just go go GO! And close the door!"
Quirrell scrambled to his feet and ducked out. The two heads made for James, but he was ready this time. He jabbed one in the eye with his wand, which sent it reeling away howling in pain, and gave the other a terrific kick with his free foot, which didn't accomplish much aside from turning the head a few degrees. But it was just enough. As soon as the door slammed behind Quirrell, James bit down on his wand, partly to keep himself from screaming, and concentrated.
It took most wizards decades to perfect their Animagus transfiguration. He'd always been proud of the fact that, as a teenager, it had taken him two years, seven months and nine days.
The change was just fast enough and the difference just great enough that he was able to slip his leg away and kick the right head fiercely in the eye pain pain pain bad idea but the other two heads zeroed in now. He ducked and rammed into the head as hard as he could in the confined space, sending the dog's body itself backward several paces. He had just time to change back, retrieve what was on the ground, and open the door before the creature lunged again…
The chain held. The dog blinked in surprise as the collar seized around the massive three-pronged neck, preventing him from finishing off the delicious prey just beyond the door. James slammed it shut with his shoulder and collapsed forward, cursing venomously through his teeth.
His leg was still attached, but as far as he was concerned that was the only good news. Quirrell had disappeared. James could barely see through the burning, tearing, throbbing pain that wasn't quite enough for his entire leg to go numb. He'd heard once that pain was the body's way of letting you know something was wrong; well, great, body, I know I almost had my leg eaten by a three-headed dog; can you stop with the pain now?
Flinching and cursing, James gingerly lifted his robes and looked at his calf. The vicious teeth had torn his flesh raw and ragged, revealing more than he'd ever want to know about what lay under the skin on his leg. A pool of blood had already formed around his foot, and his sock and shoe were soaked.
He swore once more for good measure and conjured some temporary bandages just to stop the bleeding. The pain didn't stop, but he was, barely, able to haul himself to his feet. Can't go to the hospital wing, she'll want to know what happened, the nagging old prune…
That's when he heard the scream. And then a crash, and an inhuman howl.
Troll.
He'd forgotten about the bloody troll. He'd let the other teachers deal with it while he ran off after some insane hunch. Which turned out to be right, but still…He couldn't change again, not now; he'd lost too much blood to concentrate properly. But it came from downstairs; he hobbled as fast as he could pain, pain, painbloodygoddammit down the corridor, found the disused dumb waiter, and swung himself on. A painful jump in place and it creaked and fell straight down.
This is idiotic, limping like a little girl with a skinned knee.
Another crash, and a yell. He hauled on the ropes and stopped his descent. Leaving his cloak there to be retrieved later he sprang out into the corridor dammit bad idea, raced toward the sound, and gained the door from which it had issued just as Professor McGonagall arrived closely followed by Quirinus.
You little sneak, I'll deal with you later…
"Potter!" said McGonagall. "Where on earth have you been?" Her sharp eyes didn't miss anything. "Is there something wrong with your leg?"
"Yes," he managed. Quirinus shot him a look somewhere between threatening and pleading, so he invented quickly, "Cramps from broomstick…I was resting in my room and only just now heard the commotion…what's going on? Isn't this the girls' toilet?"
"A troll got in somehow," replied Professor McGonagall crisply, giving him a suspicious look but obviously deciding to ignore for now. She produced her wand. "Be careful; I believe there are students inside…"
She slammed open the door.
The scene inside impressed James as something between horrifying and hilarious. Six of the seven sinks had been smashed into rubble; little spurts of water gushed from the walls and floors and pipes. A mirror had been shattered and pieces of glass covered the immediate floor space, and two of the stalls had been reduced to splinters. Bits of plumbing littered the area, along with actual litter from the bin, which was upside down. He only noticed all this as an afterthought, though.
A mountain troll sprawled across the floor, his limbs outstretched in unnatural positions, and three students stood around it in attitudes ranging from horror to triumph. Hermione Granger, the one who thought you could learn flying from a book, huddled against the wall trembling in terror and relief; Fred and George Weasley's little brother stood stupidly with his wand raised, looking shocked; and Harry Snape the little rat leaned over the troll but straightened up when the teachers entered. He had a rapidly purpling bruise on his forehead and a smug little grin on his face that James would have recognised anywhere.
Arrogant, just like his father; stupid, just like his father; selfish, glory-seeking, just like his father…
Professor McGonagall started in shouting. Much as James would have liked to strangle three first-years who thought they could take on a mountain troll, but especially that little idiot, bet it was his idea he knew from experience that McGonagall was much better at shouting than he was. He bent to examine the troll instead.
It wasn't dead, with nothing more than a nasty lump on its head and a bloodied nose, but it was knocked out, and as long as it remained that way it should be easy enough to move. How in the world had three first-years managed that?
As James knelt to examine the injuries more closely, his leg screamed at him. He set his teeth to keep himself from cursing bloody stupid dog and gripped the one good sink to haul himself painfully up; the red mist cleared from his eyes in a minute or so. Kneeling over a troll corpse, he decided, wasn't necessarily a good idea in his condition.
"I'll go get Professor Dumbledore," he said between his teeth.
"I think perhaps you should take Quirrell with you," McGonagall said, glancing at the little teacher who sat on a toilet clutching his heart.
Little worm, you're faking it. You were always good with trolls, surely McGonagall remembers that? We had to deal with one for our NEWT…
He nodded and looked meaningfully at Quirinus, who got up meekly and followed him.
They passed out of the room and halfway down the corridor before Quirinus attempted to say anything.
"J-James…"
"That troll could have killed those kids, Quirrell," said James. "What were you thinking?"
"I…I…"
"We'll talk about this later," he snapped as Filch the caretaker hurried by. "Just go. And don't think about trying that third-floor corridor again; I might not be there to save you next time."
Quirinus stammered out something unintelligible and hurried away toward his room.