I've Got You {Year One}

Quirrell

A month has passed and Harry thought everything was going great. He loved all his classes, receiving O's on everything. He went to the library every night with Draco and Hermione before they all made their way down to dinner.

Harry missed his family back home, but he wrote to them every Friday night. He left out the letter from his mother, planning to surprise Petunia. He told them all about everything else though, his friends and his classes, his grades and his teachers.

He liked most of his teachers. At first, He had a rocky start with Snape. The professor always had a derogatory remark, until Harry turned in his fifth perfect potion. Snape was impressed, but would never admit it. He moved on to torturing Gryffindors after that.

Petunia mentioned in one of her letters that she knew the Potions Master from when she was a child. Apparently, Snape was friends with Harry's mother, Lily. His aunt wasn't very kind to him, in her jealousy of Lily's magical abilities.

The only other teacher that seemed off was Professor Quirrell. He was a fidgety man who never looked people in the eyes and was constantly talking to himself. He wore the same purple turban every day, it carried around a breathtaking stench. Any time Harry would try to talk to him or ask a question about an assignment after class, Quirrell would all but run from the room.

They had just finished lunch and were on their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Every other afternoon, after lunch, Harry and Draco sat at the far left, front row table in Defense class.

Quirrell was stuttering on about something when they entered, but he had already set the assignment on the board, so no one really paid him any attention. Giving up, he sat down at his desk.

"He's talking to himself again," Draco said after awhile, barely above a whisper, just loud enough for Harry to hear only. Looking up, Harry could see Quirrell with his elbows on his desk, hands cupped over his mouth, and his eyebrows moving up and down as his eyes darted around the room.

"He's not talking to himself. He's talking to that thing on his head. I mean, can we even call it a turban anymore? It's as if the nasty thing is a piece of him," Harry said, watching his professor. Draco snorted, causing Quirrell's head to snap up and he glared at the two boys. They lowered their heads back to their assignments.

They shared this period with a few Gryffindors and Seamus Finnigan was in the back practicing some spell, when the bookshelf behind Professor Quirrell exploded and caught on fire, sending Quirrell into a frenzy.

"Ah!" Harry's hands went straight to his head. When the professor turned around to deal with the fire, Harry's forehead felt like it was on fire instead.

"What? What is it? Are you okay," Draco asked in a hushed tone, looking around to see if anyone was watching them, causing Harry pain.

"My forehead," Harry whispered. "It's on fire, Draco. It burns so bad." Seamus tried to get up to help Quirrell and the professor screamed for him to sit back down before he ruined anything else.

Another Gryffindor, Dean Thomas, got up instead and ran to help him, Weasley joining in, too. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, tears in his eyes at this point.

"What can I do? You want me to get someone? Madame Pomfrey? Snape? Dumbledore?" Draco kept listing off people in his hushed tone till Harry grabbed his hand under the table.

"No. I'll be fine, just— just stay with me. Don't let anyone see me, please," Harry pleaded, his voice cracking at the end. He gritted his teeth, determined to push through this, whatever this was.