The Black Forest or the Secret Diary of Prof. S. Quirrell

July 1, 1990

Fausto was the biggest dragon I had ever seen, although that’s not saying much considering my past experience.

He has the flu, according to Skunk who enjoyed my awe as much as I enjoyed being so close to such an animal.

“He’s beautiful,” I kept saying over and over again like some half-wit.

“Right. Till he pukes on you.” Skunk brought out a small flask and took a sip. “Butter Scotch?”

“No, thank you. It’s too early to start in on that.”

“It’s never too early in Romania.” Skunk belched. “Have a good sleep?”

“It’s good to be in a bed again.”

“Levin’s got you on the ground, eh? Mind she doesn’t ‘get you’ on the ground, eh? A nice piece of ass, not that anyone can get near it.”

I nod. Slytherin taste in women has always been questionable – either she is a dirty, disheveled person whom no civilized person would desire – like Levin – or else she is an ice princess with attitude for the three or four wizards combined.

“Weasley wants to take you out to the exercise area after I’m done with you. Am I done with you? We’re going to give Luther an enema, if you want to watch.”

More Weasley or a dragon enema. The redhead won.

And I am grateful he did.

“For the flying species, this area gives them a space to stretch their wings. Their muscles will atrophy if they don’t fly, grounding them completely. Various spells placed within a 35 kilometer radius prevent the unhealthy from leaving and hide those dragons living here.”

“It’s admirable work you do. I’m impressed.”

“You’re just saying that, professor,” Weasley almost turned the color of his hair. “This isn’t anything like what Bill’s doing or even my Dad.”

“This is better.” At that moment, I really meant it. Dragons in flight are elegant, their scales catching the sun like green and red and blue and black fire.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m throwing my life away, dedicating it to something not even human.”

The comment weighed on us and we let the silence lay between us. I might have expected doubts from someone like Skunk, but not Weasley.

“Look at you. You’re training the next generation to fight evil. I make sure some overgrown flying reptiles get three hots and a cot. I’d matter more if I played Quidditch for an amateur team, let alone for England.”

That reminded me of the present from Hooch, which I’d completely forgotten. I handed it over to him without a word, not really knowing what to say.

“A Quidditch whistle?”

“From Madame Hooch. She wanted me to give it to you and to tell you she still thinks of you. When England goes up against Romania.”

“Really.” Something caught in his voice and failed to express itself. “Heartbreaker Hooch sent me this?”

“Heartbreaker?” I couldn’t help asking, my turn to pose an uncomfortable question.

Weasley turned the whistle over and over in his hands and didn’t answer. He was somewhere in his past where he welcomed few visitors and suddenly I understood we were also alike.

“Not everything was happiness and joy and light in our youth.” I hoped to reassure him, although, honestly, I wasn’t sure how.

“Not everything when all you’ve got is a don, a talent for beasts. Sometimes I envied you.”

“Why? I couldn’t play; Magic Creatures was my worst subject; I wasn’t popular; girls didn’t like me and even if they did-”

“You come from a prime wizarding family and a wealth one, too. You knew everything about everything and with no effort. And you always seemed to know who you were. I always felt like Bill’s less cool little brother, then Knickers-in-a-Twist’s older brother. It didn’t matter how well I played or how many records I broke or what respect I had on the field. I didn’t know who I was. When I graduated, I took the dragons job because I thought maybe I could distinguish myself in a way that mattered. Why play 2^nd string for England when I could do something that would cause them to really notice? Only they haven’t. They haven’t noticed at all.”

Weasley’s eyes wandered over the mountain tops and centered on a Longhorn, happily cavorting in the sun. “When the boys had a go at you, I figured most of them hated you because you whipped them with your brains or because your parents were rich and pure blood. A few swore you were a Slytherin hiding out in Ravenclaw. I always disagreed.”

“Thank you.”

“I told them you didn’t have enough heart for Slytherin. They have a wealth of that, even if they’re bad ones.”

I stared at him, unable to protest, although something in me wanted to do so. Heart. Again heart.

Charles dropped the whistle into his pocket and he half-smiled. “Do you remember – your sixth year, my fifth – when the Slytherins put the love potion in the Hufflepuff Quidditch team’s water right before the match and the two beaters – Quincy and what was his name?”

“Bernie.” My first paying job was tutoring that one through Defenses and Potions. He passed both, but I can’t say anything for the rest of his courses.

“Bernie. Both saw the keeper Kelly right after they had their drinks. They chased her through the hoops –”

“Through the Forbidden Forest –” I had been alone in the forest at the time.

“Right into the lake. And they followed her right in!”

“I remember her calling for help as the dip did nothing to cool their ardor.”

“It made it worse! They were trying to drown each other – ”

“To prove their devotion.” I started to giggle, seeing the girl before me, dripping wet, but still fighting off the two boys. “Slytherin won that game.”

“No contest. Remember the year Ravenclaw almost won the house cup?”

“McGonagall kept giving me points in her class –”

“I swore on my honor that if she gave you another five, I was going to frag her.”

“Frag?”

“Right – it was the year my Dad got all taken with a muggle video player and muggle war movies. He was always playing these American ones –The Deer Hunter, Apocalypse Now – and they were always going on about fragging – killing – the higher-ups.”

“I’d have liked to see you take on McGonagall.”

“Yeah, me too. But she never did give you another five and we killed you at Quidditch.”

“I remember. I didn’t really care. It wasn’t my fault we lost.”

“No, it was your seeker, Ling Chang. I beat him to the snitch.”

“As always. You were good at the game.”

“Still am. We’re always challenging the Romanian amateur teams – and winning. We’ve even made a fair beater out of Jones, although we have to keep explaining the rules to her. Americans, they have no appreciation for the beautiful game.”

“Don’t they have some sort of –”

“Oh, yeah, but they’re the only ones in the world who play it.” It was easy to get Charles passionate by talking sport. “They have Quidditch, but they’re no match for England. I heard they’re bidding to host a World Cup in New York, but come on. Give us a decent Quidditch team first, then we’ll let you host the championship.”

“Gods and monsters, is he going on about Quidditch again?” It was Skunk, emerging from his subterranean infirmary. “When he does that, just bring up Hoochie and he’ll stop his jawing.”

“You, shut your gob, eh?” Charles was joking, but also serious.

“Right. So, boys, I was spreading around that we have a Hogwarts professor on the premises who is looking to celebrate before returning to Levin’s and damned if they didn’t think going back out into those woods was reason enough to have a little get together.”

So after I shower and freshen up, I’ll meet Charles and Skunk in the commissary for dinner and a reception. Or what not.

Yes, a reception. That’s the proper word for what it was. When I arrived – a gift dragon keeper’s vest over my regular forest wear – the entire reservation had turned out, excepting a few vital employees in security or on the birth watch, who couldn’t leave their shifts. I was surprised to learn only 25 employees were kept at the center and each had very specific duties.

Failure to perform any one of them is treated harshly, so a chance to unwind was more than welcome.

Charles took me around, completely thorough with his introductions. Although I will soon forget Svenson, the Swedish Norwegian Ridgeback expert and the Romanov girls, I will not lost the impression I had that Charles combines the strongest qualities of his younger brothers – Percy’s attention to details with the good humor of the twins. If only he had Bill’s confidence. But the eldest in such families are sometimes the luckiest, if they escape the poverty before it overwhelms the rest of their siblings.

Jones hung about all night, asking about England. She’s never been and wants to discover her ancestral roots. I told her she was welcome to visit Hogwarts and to send my regards to the staff if she should go before I return.

“I will.” She put her hand over mine and suddenly, everything became very awkward. I am not allowed that kind of contact and although Jones is very nice and not unattractive, I would never risk the family’s honor nor my duty over her.

I must have radiated that fact as she blushed and tried to take her hand away. It was stuck to mine, as if glued.

“Er…Um,” I gave a yank. “You can ah…let go.”

“I would. If I could,” she answered through clenched teeth. Some snickering came from the crowd, mostly over by the medical staff.

“Hey, Jonesy, maybe you can hold onto this one,” a voice called from that corner of the room and I knew.

A hand-binding charm or jinx, depending on how it was used. So obviously Slytherin.

“Skunk!”

“At your service.” He was laughing despite Jones, who shook with anger, yet seemed on the verge of tears.

“Would you –”

“What? Has someone used a charm on you two?” Great gods, he can still play innocent. “Come on, Hogwarts, demonstrate your power for the kiddies.”

“Really!” I was put out, but what could I do? “Divello!”

Our hands flew apart as if by a great force. Jones wouldn’t look at me, but turned to Skunk and slapped him across the face.

“Fuck you!”

That was the last I saw of her.

Charles pulled me aside when it was convenient and filled me in on the proceedings. “Jones and Skunk were seeing each other for a bit until he broke it off on account that no good ever came out of America – especially muggle America. Sounds more like his father than him really.”

“Jones – and Skunk?”

“Romania makes strange bedfellows.” He smiled at me as if he saw something in me I did not.

The party died down after that incident. It was back to work for the staff tomorrow and back to the forest for me.

I will miss them. Going back to not speaking with Levin from this genuinely warm company will be hard. But I’m not here to enjoy myself. I’m here to combat evil.

Charles walked me back to my rooms, something on his mind. When I stopped to thank him for everything, he stopped me in mid-gratitude.

“Don’t go on like that. Just do me one favor. My little brother Ron – ”

“Good gods! Another one!” I meant it as a joke. He didn’t take it as one.

“Listen to me. When you get back to Hogwarts, my brother is going to be starting up, a first year. Watch out for him. I don’t worry about the twins – I worry more about you lot than for them. I don’t even worry about little Gin. But Ron, he’s marked for something. He’s got a don too; I know it. Don’t let anyone hurt him.”

I promised I would. I have the least tenure of the staff and therefore the least power, but a little protective spell work now and again won’t hurt anyone. In fact, it may just help.

And it will be good practice.

Q