(Coeus Black - PoV)
*Knock Knock Knock*
...
"Are you sure he's actually in there?" I ask Phoebe as we wait for a response.
She gives me a look and I duck my head.
"Right, right. Sorry. Not used to it, you know?"
She huffs.
"How do you think I feel?"
"Prickly," I don't manage to stop myself from replying.
Cra- "Ow!"
The door finally opens as I am grumbling and rubbing my shoulder.
The professor looks a lot worse up close. His skin is pale and patchy with dark veins, and his eyes...There is something...something weir-
"Ah, Mr. and Miss Black. And...Miss Potter..."
Like most people, his attention lingers on Iris for a moment.
"Pardon, where are my manners? Please, come in," he offers, stepping aside and waving us into his office.
Stepping inside, I glance around the...room...
...
Arithmetic diagrams of spells. Enchanted items. What must be trophies of past victories...and actual trophies. Books. Worksta-
Phoebe shoves me from behind.
Catching myself, I shake my head.
Right. Blocking the entrance.
Noting a desk in the corner, I make my way to it, neck still craning as I try to take in everything.
Quirrel conjures a third visitor chair for Iris with a flick of his wand and we all take a seat.
"Y-"
"You have the best office ever!" I interrupt, causing Quirrel to hesitate a moment before smiling lightly.
"Thank you," he replies. "But if you would allow me a moment? I was slow to answer due to being in the middle of my health routine."
"Oh! Sorry!"
"It is not a problem," he assures, opening a jar on his desk and carefully applying the contents to his face. "My medications need to be taken regularly but the timings are hardly exact."
There are a handful of jars and potions on his desk. I don't actually recognize any of them
"Right. ...Probably be bad to run out though, yeah?"
He gives a very light chuckle.
"It would be exceptionally unpleasant, for certain."
"Right," I repeat with a nod. "So...If you ever run out of unicorn blood? Just tell us."
His fingers, rubbing the salve into his skin, slow, then stop.
"...I'm sorry?"
"The unicorn blood. I have no idea how much you actually need, but the forest doesn't have that many unicorns, does it? We don't want you to run out. So if you need some..."
I shrug.
"I am sure Grandfather can get us some if we ask."
A complicated expression crosses his face for a moment before he closes his eyes and chuckles.
"I see."
Reopening his eyes, he finally focuses on me.
"I may take you up on that offer, Mr. Black. I have a reasonable store, but it may not last the year. Having an alternative to, manual collection, would be preferable."
"Great!"
...
"So uh...We talked to Dumbledore?"
"Did you now? Rumor suggests you did rather more than talk."
"Ugh. Please." I roll my eyes. "You cannot tell me you never wanted to smash that stupid Gargoyle."
Tilting his head slightly, Quirrel concedes the point.
"And I don't care what Dumbledore says, I am still not entirely convinced the Founders made it. If the Headmasters were incompetent enough to lose the commands they are incompetent enough to lose the original. Or make up the entire story so their own crappy statue sounds more important."
An eyebrow is raised.
"Your meeting did not go well, I take it?"
"What? Oh, no. It went pretty great, actually. He gave permission for Fiendfyre and everything. Didn't even have to threaten or blackmail him!"
Quirrel blinks.
"...He agreed?"
"Yup. Barely had to browbeat him at all. He was almost reasonable about it! Just tried to...threaten, or intimidate us, or something, near the end."
I scoff.
Like that would work on a Black.
The professor continues to stare at me.
"...You do realize, I will have to confirm this with him. In person."
"Better you than us."
He wasn't as bad as I feared, but still. I'm all Dumbledored out for the...whatever.
Finally breaking his gaze, Quirrel leans back in his chair.
...
"Err, Professor?" I ask.
...
"You have assaulted your classmates, destroyed Hogwarts heirlooms, right in front of him even, casually broken countless rules without concern...And he agreed. Agreed to allow you to be taught one of the most dangerous and destructive pieces of magic in circulation."
"I only broke one 'heirloom'?" I object. "I mean, unless you count the door, which," I scoff, "It was a door, not a heirloom. But Iris was the one who broke the boat, and it was Phoebe who traumatized the Hat."
"Next year's song might be interesting," Phoebe comments.
Suddenly sitting up, Quirrel looks at us.
Tensing, I frown as the atmosphere changes.
Static. He is leaking magic.
And his eyes.
Sharp. Focused. And entirely different.
No longer brown, now they are a dark, dark blue. Almost black, even.
...
"You have offered me assistance with a delicate matter, and I greatly appreciate it. I must ask, however...Can you keep another secret?"
The three of us exchange glances.
I shrug.
"I don't see why not?" I reply.
"I know lots of secrets," Phoebe answers.
Iris stares at him for a long moment before nodding silently.
He leans back in his chair.
"I, am not Quirinus Quirrel."
I resist sighing.
Please don't be a demon.
I don't think it is, but-
"I never was. I did, however, want to teach. And his identity offered that opportunity."
Ah, good. At least this isn't a new thing.
"Who I was doesn't matter-" he grimaces, "Shouldn't matter, at least. But Dumbledore," I sympathize at the vitriol he puts into the name, "for all preaches 'forgiveness'..."
His fingers tap on the desk.
"Perhaps, I should explain how I met him. He delivered my Hogwarts letter, you see."
Quirrel falls into silence again.
"What should have been a wonderful moment...the best in my life..."
He shakes his head.
"Dumbledore, has very preconceived notions of right and wrong. He was lucky enough to have always been strong. He doesn't know what it's like to be weak. To be nothing. He has no idea what it is like for everyone to either step on or ignore you. But we do, don't we?"
His attention is focused entirely on Iris, who stares back, hard.
Not-Quirrel raps his fingers on the desk.
"Years of vitriol, of abuse, only made worse by the occasional strange, 'accidents.'" Iris grimaces. "Until I understood, at least."
He smiles.
"I noticed that the 'accidents' were anything but, and eventually? I learned to control them. And from there..."
He learned to control his accidental magic? Nice! That is really really rare! No one else seems to have done it, really.
A soft laugh.
"How quickly things change. Their little games suddenly weren't so fun anymore. The matron doesn't 'forget' or overlook you anymore when there are consequences."
I nod.
The Black family figured that out a loooong time ago. 'Always strike back, and strike harder, and few will raise a hand against you.'
"When I learned of Hogwarts? I was ecstatic."
He flexes his fingers.
"Finally. Finally I had an explanation for everything. Not only that, but I could leave."
He shakes his head before looking at each of us.
"With my power, I may have finally found some measure of safety, but I certainly never found happiness there. No, the chance to leave that place? A dream come true. I wanted nothing more than to be done with the lot of them. To leave and put the entire lot of useless, small-minded fools behind me."
"Dumbledore..." his lip curls with distaste, "Dumbledore saw none of that. He saw nothing but what he wanted to see!"
The static increases and a dry patch of skin on his face cracks.
"The bastard saw nothing but 'helpless' muggles. Told me off. Threatened me."
...He really is a muggle-lover, isn't he?
He scoffs.
"And he never changed. My entire time in Hogwarts, no matter what I did. Friends, awards, trophies, perfect grades, an immaculate record... All the other teachers, the Headmaster? They loved me. But nothing was good enough for him."
Staring at the blatantly dark wizard, glowing with power and rage, skin cracking and dark veins throbbing as his cursed body seems nearly ready to fall apart at any moment, I try to reconcile the picture with his time in Hogwarts.
...
Maybe I should borrow some of these medical potions for Hermione?
Glaring at nothing in particular, he slumps into his chair.
"I am certain that he was behind everything. All my lost opportunities, the rejected forms, sending me back every year..."
...
"You had to go back?" Iris asks quietly.
He chuckles darkly.
"Oh yes. Every summer."
Dark eyes focus on Iris.
"And you know that you are not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts as a minor?"
Iris blinks.
"It is not particularly enforced for Purebloods, or even Halfbloods, but for Muggleborn? Or those living as such?"
"I never got my fairy tale rescue, Iris. No little prince. No white...or Black," his eyes glance towards me, "knight. Every year, I was sent back to that hell. Warned that if I use my only weapon, my skill, my knowledge, my power, my gift...that I will be expelled. Banned, from ever learning more. From our world."
His eyes bore into her.
"Just like he would have done to you."
Reaching over, I grab Iris's hand.
...
"H-He tried," Iris admits.
Not-Quirrel raises an eyebrow questioningly.
"He tried...to make me go back. Even with everyone..."
He nods.
"I am not surprised. It seems even you are less important than his precious Muggles, who can do no wrong."
Again he scoffs, but Phoebe speaks before he can.
"He would have sent you back," she says quietly.
Swallowing, she refuses to look at anyone.
Frowning, I take her hand as well.
"I have seen...things. If we didn't..." she shakes her head.
"He almost always makes you go back if he can. Fights for it. Even with other options."
...
Dumbledore's a bastard.
"The conclusion I came to," Not-Quirrel speaks quietly, "Was that he has his own, strange, idea of how the world works, and happily rejects any evidence otherwise."
That...makes sense. As much as anything else about Dumbledore.
...
The static begins to recede.
"I...believe I need to rest. Go. I will send for you...when it is time for your first lesson."
