BLOOD MAGIC | G. WEASLEY

10 - A One Man Conversation

musical mood: songbird – n. flying

It felt like hours had gone by, with Cass standing in the Professor's closet, too frightened to even breathe, when in reality it had only been a few minutes. Quirrell had spent the entire time vigorously rubbing his temples, elbows resting on his wood desk.

If you're so bloody stressed, just stop! Cass wanted to yell. Stop letting trolls into the castle, and stop trying to curse Potter off of his broom! It's that damn simple! Stop trying to avenge terrible people! Stop-

"Why so down, Quirinus?"

A sound echoed through the room, something close to a human voice, but not quite. Cass imagined that's what a demon would sound like, the types Connor would talk about, but peering through the crack in the door, she confirmed that Quirrell was alone. In the physical sense, at least, no one else was there. Perhaps it was a portrait speaking to him? No, no portrait sounded like that...

She watched the professor open his mouth, hesitating while searching for the right words. "Fuck off." He said finally, his stutter vanished yet again.

Cass bit down on her lip to prevent a gasp.

"You'd do well to mind your manners, Quirinus, or have you forgotten who you're speaking to?" The Voice clearly held an authority over the professor, who began to tremble, despite its tone being placid.

"How could I?" Quirrell shot up onto his feet. "How could I 'forget who I'm speaking to' when you're whispering in my ear day and night?"

"Don't sound so ungrateful. Our deal-"

"Our deal should've ended by now!"

"It would have, had you not been completely incompetant."

"I've done everything you've asked-"

"Liar!" For the first time in the heated conversation, The Voice grew louder, causing Cass to jump and Quirrell to flinch, as if in physical pain. "The boy is not dead! I do not have the stone! The only thing that has been accomplished is getting myself stuck to the biggest imbecile at this pathetic excuse of a school. You will get your end of our deal when I get mine. Understood?"

Quirrell hesitated again, before speaking, in a much quieter voice, nearly a whisper."Yes, my Lord. I understand."

Cass stared in disbelief. Was he talking to God?

If everything before was confusing, this had become a full on fever dream.

"I am pleased you've come around, as there is a more pressing matter on our hands than your temper tantrum."

"I don't understand."

"We are not alone."

For a moment, Cass thought her heart had stopped beating, as the mysterious book nearly slipped out of her grasp from shock. She whipped out her wand, mentally listing all the hexes she could think of.

Quirrell opened his mouth to speak, looking just as panicked as Cass imagined she appeared. But before he could say anything, a sharp knock on the door cut him off.

"Professorrrr." A whiny voice echoed through the muffled door. "I need your help!"

Quirrell shifted his turban slightly, and Cass stared in awe as his facial expression changed in an instant, to his typical antsy, innocent look. He was an actor, and a bloody good one. She couldn't help but be impressed.