kbinnz - Harry's New Home

Hermione surrendered. Her curiosity was afire, and no one could say she hadn't tried. "Okay, I'll go up and see Madame Pomfrey now."

##

Two days had passed since Hermione had reconnoitered the Infirmary and reported back with the intelligence that Quirrell seemed to spend most of his time behind portable privacy screens, napping and badgering the house elves for food, books, comfy pillows, peculiar kinds of tea, and otherwise being a querulous pest. Hermione was тАУ predictably тАУ outraged on behalf of the house elves and her ire was undiminished by Ron's assurance that the little creatures loved that sort of thing. Even Madame Pomfrey was looking a little strained, particularly since her diagnostic spells were still coming back negative and the professor's ceaseless, whiny demands to the elves were getting on her nerves.

Two days is, of course, an eternity to 11 year olds, and the three were getting increasingly fidgety about implementing their plan. Then, in the middle of Charms, Ron happened to be daydreaming out the window instead of practicing his spells, and he saw something that nearly made him leap out of his seat.

"Psssst, Harry!" he managed to get his friend's attention and gestured out the window.

Harry casually leaned back to see what Ron was trying to show him, and his eyes lit up. "Hermione!" he poked the witch next to him.

"What?" she asked irritably, her wand movement now ruined by his interference.

"Look!"

Hermione glanced out the window and saw Madame Pomfrey's form crossing the main lawn, heading towards Hagrid's hut. "Now's the time! The plan's a go!" Harry hissed. He felt just like the leader of a commando squad from a movie that he'd managed to listen to from his cupboard. He'd often had reason to appreciate that both Uncle Vernon and Dudley liked to have the telly volume way up.

Hermione hated to admit it, but she felt a little thrill of excitement too. "Roger," she hissed back, having seen many of the same movies. She tidied her things together and approached Professor Flitwick.

Harry and Ron couldn't hear what she whispered to the wizard, but the man almost instantly blushed bright red and nodded vigorously. Hermione smiled gratefully and left the room.

"Blimey, she's getting good at that," Ron muttered, impressed.

Class was over fifteen minutes later, and Professor Flitwick was pleasantly surprised when Ron and Harry presented themselves and offered to bring Hermione's books to her in the Infirmary.

"Five points for being helpful Housemates," he praised them. "I'm sure Miss Granger will appreciate your thoughfulness, and here is a pass in case you are a few minutes late to your next class."

"Thank you, sir!" they chorused, looking suspiciously angelic, then sprinted to the Infirmary lest Madame Pomfrey return before Operation Turban had been successfully concluded.

Hermione was anxiously waiting for them at the entrance to the Infirmary. "He's back there, sleeping," she hissed. "You can hear him snoring. Madame Pomfrey's still gone. What now?"

'You two stay here," Harry instructed, his voice low. "When I signal, Ron, you yell, 'Troll!' like you did in the library that night. Really loud, okay?" The redhead nodded. "That should make him sit up, and I'll see what's under the turban. If he comes out of the screens, Hermione, you start yelling at Ron for trying to prank you. Maybe he won't even realize his turban is off at first. I'll be ready to cancel the hex once he's clear, and he may just think that it fell off, rather than me pulling it off. Okay?"

Ron nodded eagerly. He figured he might get in trouble for trying to prank a friend in the Infirmary, but the odds were good that Quirrell would be so flustered he'd let them all off.

Hermione's eyes were shining. This was like field research тАУ and it was much more interesting than just reading about what someone else found out. "Okay, Harry! And if Madame Pomfrey shows up, we'll just say that I got sick in class and you came to help, and you were looking to see if she was with Professor Quirrell."

Harry beamed and nodded. His conscience tried to point out that they were all telling an awful lot of lies and there were easier ways to have a conversation with his guardian, but in the heat of the moment, it was easy to drown out the little voice.

He slipped off his shoes and moved silently towards the screened area, thankful that a decade with the Dursleys had taught him how to move soundlessly. The privacy screens were nothing more than three separate wheeled panels, so it was easy for Harry to peek between them. He carefully avoided touching the screens, having learned enough about wards to know that if Quirrell had set any тАУ he was a DADA professor after all, and a healthy dose of paranoia was practically a job requirement тАУ the wards would likely be linked to the screens.

Peering through a gap, Harry saw that Quirrell was fast asleep and snoring loudly, the ridiculous turban on his head propped against the pillows and forcing his chin towards his chest at an unnatural angle. Harry stealthily cast three sticking hexes, two to stick the pillows to the bed and one to stick the turban to the pillows. Through it all, Quirrell's snores continued.

He stepped back and sent a "thumbs up" to his two friends. Hermione checked down the corridor for Madame Pomfrey then, seeing the coast was clear, nodded to Ron. A big grin nearly splitting his face, Ron joyfully sucked in a deep breath and screamed, "TROLL! TROLL!"

The results were everything the trio could have wished. Quirrell gave a convulsive leap off the bed, his wand out and before him in an instant. Even as the force of his Protego sent the privacy screens flying, he was scanning the room for the source of the shouts.

Harry's plan worked perfectly. The turban had remained behind, Stuck to the pillows, and Quirrell's naked head was now on complete display. Or should that beтАж heads?

Harry's eyes were glued to the dreadful sight before him, all thoughts of undoing his hexes long forgotten. He might be new to the Wizarding world, but he knew instinctively that this Janus-like creature standing before him was something very, very abnormal. Even the magic that was coming off of the form in crackling waves felt corrupted and wrong. The overwhelming aura of evil was only matched by the odor of putrefaction. Now that the covering stink of garlic had been removed, Harry was irresistibly reminded of the smell of spoiled meat. It was disgusting, like the poor dead cat, struck by a car, who had laid in the gutter of Privet Drive until Aunt Petunia complained to the Council.

The rancid stench alone had Harry gulping back bile, but when the glowing red eyes of the face at the back of Quirrell's head focused on him, he nearly lost his lunch on the spot. "Sssso. The boy seeks to challenge me..."

Ron and Hermione shrank back as the privacy screens tumbled to the ground. Under other circumstances, the sight of their bald-headed professor, wildly brandishing his wand, would have made them laugh, but here and now, there was nothing funny about the sight before them.

Ron was disappointed. Hermione had been right тАУ Quirrell was bald, but he didn't see anything like a curse scar. Oh, well, hopefully the man wouldn't be too angry.

Hermione's sharp eyes instantly noted Quirrell's lack of hair and she preened inwardly at her correct supposition, but she continued to scan the wizard, looking for any clues as to why he wore the turban. There was something funny about the shape of his skullтАж She shifted for a better view and froze, just as a sibilant whisper floated through the air. "SsssoтАж"

Harry swallowed convulsively. "Wh-who are you?"

The distorted face laughed silently, mockingly. "Sstupid boy. Don't you recognize me?"

Quirrell, having by now reassured himself that there were no trolls in the infirmary, twisted around uncertainly. "Master?"