Chapter 7: Quirrell

When Hermione finally returned from her Christmas holiday, she was torn between horror and disappointment.

Horror over the three of us breaking curfew, and disappointment that we hadn't found Flamel yet. Of course, I had been actively ushering them out of the way of the answer for some time, but Hermione could hardly know that, now could she?

The next few days passed without a noteworthy occurrence. Till, that is, the time came for one of Quirrell's lessons.

"We found Flamel," Hermione leaned over and whispered. "Harry found him, actually. On a chocolate frog card, of all places."

I put my head in my hands and groaned. I'd nicked Harry's Dumbledore cards. Clearly, he'd stumbled across another one.

Hermione shot me a curious little smile and shrugged. "I know, not where I expected him to be either, but that's what happened. Anyway, we looked him up and found he's an alchemist. And the thing being guarded is probably the Philosopher's Stone."

I tried one last trick. "You sure? Cause if I had a rock that made gold and kept me alive, I don't think I'd hide it in some random corridor in a poorly-secured magical school."

"But there was the break-in at Gringotts, remember?" Hermione shot back, eyes alight. "Flamel must have entrusted the stone to Dumbledore to keep safe. I mean, everyone knows Hogwarts is one of the most well-protected places on the planet!"

"Troll, remember?" I shot back. "Seems more likely that the corridor is set up as a red herring. Lead the thief's attention away whilst keeping the stone safe somewhere else. I mean, would you really expect Dumbledore to be so stupid as to announce the presence of the stone at the welcoming feast? Especially when he thinks someone is actively coming after it? Someone dangerous enough to break into Gringotts?"

That gave Hermione pause for thought. She chewed her lip in newfound doubt. "I mean..."

"Something to think about," I supplied, turning my attention back to the class.

"P-P-Practice the s-spell," Quirrell stuttered, "I w-want three i-i-inches. You are a-all d-d-dismissed." There was a burst of shuffling as all the students gathered their things and prepared to leave Quirrell's typically useless lessons behind them. "A word, Crawley?" Quirrell asked, his tone rather more firm as he saw me stand.

I sat back down, suddenly tense, even as the rest of the class shot me quizzical looks and all filed out of the class. "Professor?" I replied, careful to never meet his eyes.

He approached my desk with a keen glint in his eyes, his nerves suddenly forgotten in favour of a hidden Quirrell still in control, I wondered, or Voldemort?

"I notice," he began, "that you seem underwhelmed by the content of the class. You handle the spells better than your peers, certainly."

I froze up slightly, and then forced myself to relax, avoiding his eyes. "That's up for you to judge, sir. I find the content of the classes interesting enough."

"I spoke to some of the other professors," Quirrell continued, "Filius seems to gush your praises. Minerva acclaims your efforts in her class. Severus claims you to be hard-working, and appropriately intelligent for a member of the esteemed house of Slytherin."

"That's very gratifying," I simply said.

Quirrell smiled a cold, knowing smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "They all note your enthusiasm," he said. "And yet, I'm afraid I cannot quite say the same. Might I ask why?"

"I..." My brain seemed to freeze. My lips parted slightly and my mouth went dry. My heart beat a panicked rhythm out onto my ribs as adrenaline coursed through my bloodstream. If this was going to happen, I'd prefer to die than be possessed. Should I just attack now? Or should I play the long game? What about legilimency? Was he hearing every word running through my mind? I hadn't met his eyes yet, but there was never any telling with Voldemort.

I need to throw him off!

Quick! Think of something else! Visualise!

Butterflies!

Nuclear Fallout!

Boobs!

Boobs?

No! No more boobs! Die, boobs, die!

Avada Kedavra!

"It's quite alright," Quirrell said, leaning back in his chair. "I understand now why you seem so disinterested in class. You're studying the Dark Arts, aren't you?"

What? Where did he get that from? I nodded uncertainly, suddenly eager to get up and make a run for it. "Yes, sir. Defense Against the Dark Arts, I thought maybe it would help...?" I squirmed slightly in my seat. "Don't worry, sir. I'll stop right-"

"You thought right," he interrupted. "Very useful, very powerful. Certainly more interesting than the regular class material. It's clear to me now that I was right to think you were a cut above your peers. You know, you remind me a lot of myself in that way."

Since when was Quirrell exceptional? "Sir?" I asked, feigning confusion over what he meant.

"I think I can help engage you, Matthew. The Dark Arts are powerful, yes, but also dangerous," he said. "It was good of you to take the initiative, but if you really wish to learn, then I think it best that you learn under the careful guidance of a master. For your own safety."

"Sir?" I asked again, now genuinely concerned.

"I'd hate to see talent like yours, power like yours go to waste," he said. "Such talent deserves to be cultivated, and once weekly should be sufficient to cultivate it at this stage. You are still young, after all."

I gulped, struggling to summon a sufficient excuse to turn down such an offer. "Are we allowed to study that?" I lamely asked.

Quirrell had a queer little look on his face, and his tone held a hidden anger when he replied. "If it helps you to defend yourself, I should think I am allowed to teach it to you in my capacity as your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Though I struggle to see why you find yourself suddenly so concerned with the rules, especially after so flagrantly disregarding them yourself."

"I see."

"Good," he said, "I'm glad you do. I'll speak to the other professors," he said, preempting my next excuse, "find out when you're free. Don't worry, you'll be able to meet all your other commitments just fine. I'll let you know what day and what time is decided."

I nodded stiffly. "Thank you, professor."

"No need," he said, smiling like a shark. "But I believe your friends are waiting for you outside."

I nodded and almost leapt out of my chair, bolting out of the classroom as fast as my little legs could carry me. My mind felt muddled, like someone had run my thoughts through a blender. Legilimency? Possibly. Possibly not. With that man, there was just no telling.

One thing was for certain, however: my plans had just changed. If I was going to be seeing him, I couldn't risk him finding anything out. I needed Dumbledore on my side, and I needed to contain the worst of the butterflies lest I fall under Voldemort's influence.

"Matt!" Ron called as I walked, distracted.

I snapped up from my reverie. "Yeah? What is it?"

The three of them all shared little frowns. "I was just saying," Harry said slowly, "that I'm going to play. In the Quidditch match."

I nodded. "Okay. I'm sure you'll do great, Harry."

Hermione shot me a betrayed look. "I thought you'd try and talk him out of it."

"Why would I do that?"

"Cause Snape's refereeing the match," Ron supplied as we walked.

"Ah, I see." I turned to face Harry with a knowing smile on my face as I patted him on the back. "Well, it's been nice knowing you, mate. I'll cry at your funeral, promise!"

Harry scowled.

A few days later, the match came and went quickly. Hermione and Ron sat on the stands all wound up, waiting for the penny to drop. But Harry broke into a spectacular dive, and caught the Snitch so quickly there was barely a match to watch. Hermione leapt up into her seat and started dancing a little jig, her worries forgotten. Ron led a great round of raucous cheering.

But it was what happened after the Quidditch that rather interested me.

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.

"We won! We won!" Ron shouted, thumping Harry on the back and sticking his tongue out at me even as I sulked slightly. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed!"

"I saw it," I confirmed, nodding sagely. "Nutter."

"He's still out cold," Ron agreed excitedly, "but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be alright - talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party. Fred and George even stole some stuff from the kitchens!"

"Never mind that now," Harry said breathlessly, and rather more dourly than I had hoped he would after such a victory. "Let's find an empty room, you wait till you hear this..."

He ushered us inside, checking for prying eyes and ears before closing the doors and turning to speak to us. He told us what he'd seen.

"So we were right, it is the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus' - I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have some anti-Dark Arts spells which Snape needs to break through-"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" Hermione said in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron asserted.

"Now," I interrupted, "aren't we jumping to conclusions a bit here?" Ron looked disbelieving. "The conversation you heard was out of context. You could well have misread the situation."

"He told you what Snape said!" Ron said, jumping to the defense of his friend.

I nodded. "Yes, but what Snape said doesn't seem conclusive."

Hermione looked worried, torn. "I don't know, Matt. Doesn't seem much room for misinterpretation there."

"See?" Ron said. "Even Hermione agrees, and you know how she is about Professors."

I saw Harry shoot me a look, eyes insistent and a little angry. Persuasive though I might have been, even I knew that there were just some fights you couldn't win. In this situation, in this context, with this crowd, diffidence would be the wisest course of action. At least, the least likely to get anyone killed. "I'm just... Let's be careful, okay? If this is what you say, rushing in head-first could well get us all killed. Remember that Snape is an adult wizard and we're all ickle first-years. So, y'know, nobody do anything stupid."

And with that, our little group disbanded for the day. For them partying, for me - planning.

I mean, I could hardly just leave things to them, could I? The fate of the Wizarding World hung in the balance, and the butterfly effect was already in full swing. And I rather liked the three of them, at least enough to not want to see them dead.

So, I was just going to have to steal the stone first, wasn't I?

Sorry for the long delay.

Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.