kbinnz - Harry's New Home

"Nah," Harry brushed aside her ideas excitedly. "We'll solve a mystery!"

Hermione looked apprehensive. "What mystery? You'd better not be talking about the third floor -"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, Hermione. I'm not stupid, okay? Pr'fessor Snape would kill me if I went up there after the Headmaster told us all not to an' said it was dangerous an' all. An' even worse than that, the Headmaster might decide to send me back to the Dursleys for disobeying him."

"But what other mystery is there?" she asked blankly.

"Professor Quirrell!"

"There's a mystery about Professor Quirrell?" Ron echoed, confused.

"Sure!" Harry's eyes were shining. "I mean, Pr'fessor Snape can't stand him тАУ he's always giving him The Look тАУ an' that's got to mean something. An' now he's been in the Infirmary since the Quidditch match тАУ that's got to mean something too!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Boys! Always trying to find a secret when there wasn't one. "It means that the poor man fell down the stands in all the excitement. The Headmaster announced that he'd been badly hurt and would have to stay there for a while, remember?"

Harry huffed in disbelief. "C'mon! Madame Pomfrey fixed your wrist up in no time тАУ what could he have done to himself that takes more than a week to fix? If he's that hurt, why would he stay here? Shouldn't he be in a hospital?" He paused abruptly, a little uncertain. "There are Wizard hospitals, right?"

Ron looked thoughtful. "He does have a point, Hermione. If anyone's really hurt, they should be taken to the wizarding hospital, St Mungo's. I mean, Madame Pomfrey's really good an' all, but she's only one person, and this is just a school infirmary. St Mungo's has a big staff and special spells and all that stuff."

"Hmmmmm." Harry saw that look in Hermione's eye and knew she too was hooked.

"And then there's the biggest mystery of all," Harry said temptingly. "What's under his turban?"

Ron snorted in amusement. "Is that like asking what's under his kilt?"

Hermione gave him a primly disapproving glance, ignoring Harry's snigger. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Ronald."

"Seriously, though," Harry persisted. "I overheard some of the older students talking, and he never used to wear a turban, so why'd he start? Maybe he's hiding something in it!"

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. "Why? If he had something to hide, why not just put it in Gringotts or someplace else that's safe?"

"Maybe he can't. Maybe it's something on him," Ron suggested. "Like тАУ like a curse scar!" he exclaimed, his eye falling on Harry's.

"He's a DADA teacher. Why would he need to hide a curse scar?" Hermione argued.

"Maybe because he lost the fight and he doesn't want everyone to ask about it and find out?" Ron offered, a bit lamely.

"I bet he's just going bald and is vain about it," Hermione said dismissively. "Men can be very silly about losing their hair."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. And girls aren't silly about their hair at all." He mimicked Lavender's high voice and petulant tones. "Ooooh, I just don't know what I'm going to do, Parvati! My hair just won't stay the way I want it to. You're so lucky that your hair is so perfect. I wish I had straight hair like yours!"

Harry got into the game. "Oooooh, Lavender, I don't know what you mean! I just love your hair. You've got those lovely curls. I wish I had curly hair!" Harry minced in a passable impersonation of Parvati.

Hermione huffed. "Just you wait, you two. In a few years, you'll be in front of the mirrors too тАУ wanting to look nice and impress all the girls!"

Harry and Ron collapsed in laughter. "Us? Mirrors? Girls? Yeah, right!"

Hermione huffed again and rolled her eyes. Sometimes it was so hard being the mature one.

#

Snape looked over the piles of parchment still to be corrected and sighed. Work had really piled up over the last week, thanks to all the time he had spent masterminding Black's reemergence into the Wizarding world. Not to mention convincing Dumbledore that he had to do something about Quirrell. After the last Quidditch match, he had told Albus in no uncertain terms to get rid of the stuttering wreck, but the Headmaster had proved surprisingly recalcitrant.

At first Snape had assumed that, once again, Albus' inability to see the Dark side of anyone was blinding him to the threat that the man posed to Harry, but further conversation had made it clear that Dumbledore simply wanted to know who was giving Quirrell his orders.

"You and I both know that Professor Quirrell has neither the wit nor ambition to attack The Boy Who Lived of his own accord," Dumbledore had said, his mien for once grim. "I want to know who has the audacity to attack one of my students on these very grounds."

Snape had grudgingly admitted the logic of such a plan тАУ could it be Lucius? Or one of the LeStranges, pulling strings from Azkaban? Or perhapsтАж He was forced to admit that not knowing was just too dangerous. "Very well, but how are you going to prevent him from attacking Harry again or тАУ on the off chance that if it isn't a Death Eater plot тАУ some other student?"

"He will remain in the Infirmary, recovering from his very nasty spill," Dumbledore replied, twinkling again. "It seems in all the confusion poor Professor Quirrell lost his footing and suffered some very serious injuries in a fall from the stands."

Snape unwillingly agreed. At least it bought them some time. It kept Quirrell isolated and Harry safe while not тАУ necessarily тАУ tipping off whoever was pulling Quirrell's strings. But he didn't trust Albus entirely, and he had taken to prowling the corridors near the Infirmary during the night, ensuring that the DADA professor didn't sneak out while Madame Pomfrey slept.

Between guarding Quirrell, scripting Sirius' press conferences, teaching class, and keeping an eye on his House, he was feeling more than a little frazzled. He hadn't really paid much attention to Harry, either, though at least he saw him in class and at the Great Hall for meals, not to mention during those evenings when he had supervised their punishment. For a few days the boy had seemed a little quiet, but now he and his little friends constantly had their heads together, whispering and muttering. Obviously they were plotting something to celebrate the end of being on restriction, and if they weren't careful, they'd end up right back on it, Snape fumed. He had no intention of allowing Harry to run wild the way his father had, though he had to admit he hadn't been a particularly good guardian of late. Perhaps he needed to do something with the brat, just to remind the little terror that he was under close scrutiny.

#

"NO! No no no no. No."

Albus smiled. "I just wish you to think about it, my boy."

"Have you gone deaf, Headmaster? I said no. The idea is absurd. When I brought up the topic, I was thinking more along the lines of having the brat do his homework in my quarters one evening," Snape snapped, mentally kicking himself for even mentioning his thoughts to Albus.

"So that he can be working at one table and you at another? That is hardly spending time with him."

"It most certainly is spending time with him. He would be in my presence, would he not? That is the meaning of the term 'with him'. And your idea is patently ridiculous. I am not going to encourage the little monster to celebrate the end of a punishment. That would be the epitome of encouraging bad behavior!"

"I made no such suggestion, Severus тАУ"

"Taking that brat out for an ice cream the first day he's off restriction most certainly is celebrating the end of that restriction. I am not going to buy him sweets and make a fuss over him when he earned every day of that restriction with his appalling actions." Snape sulked. "It would be the same as telling him the punishment was too harsh."