When Masks Fall

When Masks Fall

Chapter 2: "O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!"
-Romeo and Juliet, (Act I, Scene V)

Part of Lily dreaded going to dinner after the whole drama outside of the Divination classroom earlier in the day.

So far, she'd managed to stay socially clear from most of her other Housemates by appearing quite caught up in their afternoon class and by hiding herself behind a formidable stack of books in the common room while the others all relaxed and waited for dinner. Though the O.W.L.s were still a long time off, people studying hard at all hours of the day was a sight starting to become more common.

Despite her cover, Lily was aware of the frank, curious stares of the other Gryffindors and knew that this could only mean one thing: the stories about her and Quirrell had already begun.

When five o'clock finally came, she knew it was hopeless. There could be no more pretending to read books. She was going to have to endure the stares, whispers and questions. Though as a pretty, popular girl, she was somewhat used to this, it never made the experience any more welcome or easy.

She watched the first wave of people exit the common room for the Great Hall, and then stood to gather her things. Normally, she didn't bring books to dinner, but she intended to go to the library after dinner and didn't want to make the extra trip back to Gryffindor Tower to collect her books. It was easier just to drag them along with her.

Turning to stuff The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 into her bag, she managed to drop two of her other books onto the floor, then knock her bag over as well. She gave a rueful laugh. She had been waiting for most of the others to leave so that she could walk alone, and this little accident had certainly bought her the time to do so. And goodness knew it seemed like she was making a career of dropping books lately.

As she bent down to retrieve her dropped books, she was startled to see another pair of hands already on the scene to help her. Glancing up, she saw that the hands belonged to Remus Lupin.

He caught her looking and gave her a smile. Of all James Potter's friends, Lupin was the easiest to get along with. Quiet and kind, he was the sort of boy who would pause to help injured animals and damsels in distress - and a damsel in distress was what she currently was.

"Thank you," she said, holding out her hands to receive her rescued texts. "I don't know what's the matter with me today."

"It's quite all right," Lupin said, waiting as she reorganized her load. "It's fortunate, actually. I wanted to talk to you."

Fastening her bag, Lily turned to regard Lupin. She thought he looked a bit sheepish, but knew that could just be because of his shaggy hair and almost melancholy eyes. She'd learned over time that his looks were deceiving. Though he was as kind as he appeared, he was neither melancholy nor timid. He had a very ready (if slightly zany) sense of humor and could turn into quite the shark if put upon.

"That's fine," she told him. "We can walk to the Great Hall together, if you like - kill two birds with one stone."

He didn't say anything, but headed toward the door. Smiling a little, Lily followed.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier today," he told her, stepping through the Fat Lady's portrait hold.

Puzzled, Lily lifted her eyebrows.

"Why?" she asked. "You didn't anything wrong."

They walked a few moments in silence, Lupin clearly thinking.

"I'm a prefect, Lily," he said suddenly, shifting his gaze to meet hers. "I should've done something - stepped in, you know."

"So what you're a prefect?" Lily countered. "Quirrell is a prefect; he didn't do anything. Bellatrix Black is a prefect; she didn't do anything..."

"Yes, but you can't honestly expect her..."

"It doesn't matter, though, Remus. What matters is that you weren't the only prefect there who didn't act."

At this, Lupin fell silent. He didn't seem happy with her logic, but he appeared to accept it. Maybe he just wanted a reason to punish himself, or to feel guilty, Lily thought. She had long suspected that he had some sort of guilt complex, and this only seemed to confirm it.

"Did you like him?" Lupin asked a moment later, swerving to avoid a group of second year Hufflepuffs who all turned to look at the two of them with a measure of respect that made Lily feel uncomfortable. She remembered being their age and being a bit awed by the older students, but couldn't remember it being that obvious.

"What?" she asked, turning to look at Lupin instead of the second years. "Oh, Quirrell you mean?" She paused to mull this over, surprised to realize that she hadn't actually asked herself this question.

"You certainly seemed to like him," Lupin said after mistaking her silence for secretiveness. "I was just wondering because you were awfully keen to hide behind your books when we got back to the common room. I thought maybe you were embarrassed."

Lily froze in mid-step. Lupin might as well have tossed a bucketful of icy water on her face for all the unpleasant shock she felt. Not only was it humiliating to know that her 'studying' ploy hadn't worked at all (she now understood that it had probably made people more curious than ever about what had really gone on), but the worst part was knowing that the reason she'd been hiding in the first place was because she had liked Quirrell. Very, very much. So much, in fact, that she was afraid her friends and Housemates might see it on her. And why was she embarrassed? Because Quirrell was an unpopular Slytherin boy and she was being rotten enough to worry about her reputation.

"You're right," she said at last, looking at Lupin, who had also stopped and was beginning to regard her with some alarm. "I did like him, and I was embarrassed." She shook her head, unable to believe how awful she was. "I liked him and I didn't want anyone to know I did. How horrid is that?"

Lupin shifted uncomfortably and Lily sighed. He was renowned for his sympathetic listening, but apparently that didn't extend to 'girl talk'. But then again, the two of them were not especially close. Taking pity on him for his obvious distress, she began to walk again and tried changing the subject.

"So what about you, Remus? Have you been studying for your O.W.L.s?"

His shoulders settled back down as he fell into step beside her.

"Not too much yet," he said. "It's a few months away still, so James and Sirius aren't too interested in preparing."

"I didn't ask about them."

Lupin looked at her as though she was slightly dense.

"Yes, but they're my friends. Every time I sit down to study ahead, they want me do something else." He grinned suddenly, flashing very nice, very white teeth. "And usually 'something else' is a lot more fun than studying for our O.W.L.s, so I do it."

Lily smiled back. He had a good point.

"Here," he said with a nod, stepping aside as they reached the Great Hall. "You go first."

Hesitating for a fraction of a second, Lily gathered her courage. At heart, she was a stubborn, independent girl who almost always obeyed her feelings rather than her thoughts, and if ever there was a time to be that girl, it was now. Taking a deep breath, she went inside the Great Hall and looked around. Nothing happened. There was no wave of silence, no hundreds of eyes staring, no whispering. A few heads turned in her direction to take note of the new arrival, perhaps lingering a little longer than normal before returning to their food and conversation (or maybe that was just her paranoia).

Struggling to get control over what was left of her anxiety, she paused in the entryway to look over at the Slytherin table and find Quirrell. She saw him sitting at the end of the table closest to where she'd entered, several empty seats next to him and a large book open beside his plate. Though noticing him was still rather novel, she'd been to school with him long enough to know that this was the norm for him. The other Slytherins usually left him to his own devices, and more often than not, his only companion was a book. It took her a second to realize that he was eyeing her rather fretfully Or maybe he only looked fretful because of his wide yes. Either way, though, he was watching her with expectation.

It suddenly struck Lily that this was what the saying 'the moment of truth' actually meant. She had two choices: she could pretend not to notice him and walk to her table (thusly saving her the worries she'd been brooding over since that afternoon), or she could smile at him for the world to see (which would open the door to possible ridicule...or worse). But what to do? How much did she like him? How much did she care what other people thought?

The two of them stared at one another for what seemed like forever, his face becoming more and more worried as the tenths of seconds ticked past. At last she smiled, unable to stop it. Trying to deny herself the pleasure of him was like trying to deny the pleasure of a kitten; he was just too cute.

An answering smile grew across his face and he raised a hand in greeting. The motion caused several heads at the Slytherin table to turn, but resolved in her course of action, Lily waved back. She then continued on her way to her own table, head high. Let Rosier and Snape leer if they wanted, she was going to eat and not worry about it.

**********

Quirrell watched Lily Evans walk over to join the other Gryffindors, her auburn hair floating cloudlike around her shoulders. He hadn't thought she'd smile at him. Why would she? He was a stuttering runt with no friends, and she...wasn't. She was the complete opposite, in fact. Still though, she had smiled at him, and now all he could do was watch her walk away.

Like other boys in the school, Quirrell had eyed Lily with growing appreciation over the past year. She was pretty, friendly and a good student, so really it was difficult not to notice her, but he'd never dreamed of talking to her until about two weeks ago, after seeing her turn down James Potter's advances in the Great Hall at breakfast. If Evans could refuse even good-looking, athletic James Potter, then surely Quirrell could take a small risk. After all, there was no way he'd be foolish enough to approach her in a large room with everyone in the school watching, so when she spurned him it would at least be more private.

He realized that the only real opportunity he'd have to talk to her would be in either Divination or Care of Magical Creatures, the two classes that Gryffindor and Slytherin shared. He quickly rejected Care of Magical Creatures because that was a loud, active outdoor class that wouldn't allow any intimacy. Sitting next to her in Divination was a bit of a gamble however, because there was always the chance she could turn him down in classroom full of people. In the end, though, he'd decided that he had nothing to lose. She was either going to like him or not like him, no matter where he sat in class. The only catch was coming up with a plan that was guaranteed to give him the chance to join her. But despite this reassuring talk with himself, it had still taken him the full two weeks to work up the courage to formulate and execute a plan he thought would work.

At the start he'd felt foolish, first lurking behind her as she exited her History of Magic class with the other Gryffindor 5th years, next casting a subtle disarming spell as she walked so that she'd have to linger to gather her texts and papers from the floor where they'd fallen.

His heart beginning to hammer in his chest, he'd then worried that his ploy wouldn't take up enough time, that she wouldn't be late enough to Divination to have to sit alone. He didn't dare risk knocking her books from her arms again, however. Once could be construed as clumsiness, a second time might merit suspicion. Besides, if his strategy didn't work out properly this time, there was nothing to stop him trying it again in the future.

As he continued to tail her, he realized that one of the things he hadn't taken into consideration when formulating his plan was the distance between Professor Binns's classroom and the North Tower. Trailing her for so great a distance had potential problems because the longer he followed her, the greater were his chances of being caught at it. It had worked to his advantage though, because he was the last to arrive. By the time he'd walked into class, Lily had already set up her things and had her chin resting lightly in the palm of her hand, not even noticing him as he sat down. Even then he'd been petrified, but for once in his life, something had worked out.

He flinched as his copy of Hogwarts, A History suddenly slammed closed beside his plate.

Cross at being jarred out of his happy reminiscence about sitting next to Lily Evans, Quirrell turned his head to stare down the table at his Slytherin Housemates, trying to figure out which one had done it. He wasn't surprised to see Evan Rosier's nastily grinning face pointed in his direction.

Quirrell sighed. Leave it to Rosier to be foolish enough to use a spell right in front of the Staff table but manage to get away with it. Ah, but there was Snape, as if on cue, firing a glare at Rosier from across the table. Quirrell watched Snape's lips move as he said something that looked brief and cutting. Rosier glowered back, and said something that looked equally as unpleasant. He then stood up and stalked his way down towards Quirrell's end of the table.

Taking a deep breath, Quirrell tried to appear relaxed and unconcerned by gathering up his books and putting them in his bag. Like most people with good sense, Quirrell found Rosier nerve-wracking. There was something about the other boy - a look, a feel, maybe even a scent - that spoke of nothing but violence and chaos. Only Rosier's other friends seemed unaware of this aura about him, and even they not entirely, because every once in a while, Snape would sarcastically refer to Rosier as 'the Morningstar' or (even more rarely) 'the Lightbringer'.

With an intelligence, drive and curiosity that nearly rivaled Snape's, Quirrell had looked these phrases up in book after book in the library, even gaining admittance to the Restricted Section to try and find some clue as to what the names meant. After three weeks of effort, it was by accident that he found 'the Morningstar' in a library book while looking for some recreational reading. The book (obviously meant to help 7th year students taking Muggle Studies) was called Secrets of Muggle Christianity Unraveled. The Morningstar, apparently, was none other than the Devil himself, and 'the Lightbringer' was merely another name for him.

Because Wizarding and Muggle cultures had once lived side by side, Satan was a concept that Quirrell could acknowledge and understand, but knew little about. The book had actually not offered much explanation about the Devil, but Quirrell was bright enough to make the necessary inference: even Snape understood that Rosier was little more than a demon in boys' clothing. However, this inference had allowed Quirrell an additional observation: Severus Snape took his Muggle Studies very seriously. An odd subject for a Slytherin's interest, Quirrell thought, but certainly not unheard of...especially with an overachiever like Snape. He had stored this tidbit away in the back of his mind, nevertheless. Information like that about Snape might prove useful one day. Profitable, even.

Settling down across from him, Rosier laid his yew wand on the table and offered the same unpleasant smile he'd given a few minutes earlier, then gestured at Quirrell's books.

"Leaving us, are you?"

Quirrell opened his mouth to reply, but sensed a stutter coming. Counting slowly to three, he tried to get it under control.

"Yes, I'm leaving," he said once he was ready. "I'm going to go study."

The ugly little smile melted off Rosier's face and he leaned in closer. Watching the other boy's hands carefully for any sign he might go for his wand, Quirrell realized that Rosier was in no mood to play around and tease. He just wanted to spew his threats and be done with it.

"So, you've got yourself a Mudblood girlfriend," Rosier said, voice strangely flat.

"She n-not my girlfriend, Evan. We just talked in d-d-d-Divination today."

Rosier looked away for a moment, distracted by the black blur that was Snape sitting down beside him.

"I can handle this myself, Severus," Rosier said, his tone snippier than he usually took with his friend. "Honestly, I don't see why you have to hover over my shoulder all the time."

Snape said nothing for a moment, his black eyes fixed on Quirrell. Attempting to look unperturbed, Quirrell stared back. He and Snape had never gotten along, but this year was the worst he could remember. He suspected Slughorn tapping him for prefecture over Snape was what had done it, although that could not excuse years past.

"I don't like you, Quirrell," Snape said abruptly, almost as if reading his mind, "and I have no desire at all to help you, but Evan is about to give you advice I think you'll find valuable. I suggest you take it."

Quirrell arched a politely curious eyebrow, but refrained from comment. He tried to search Snape's pale face for any clue as to what he was thinking, but it remained impassive and icy as a statue's. He then shifted his eyes back over to Rosier who was about to speak.

"She's not your girlfriend, then?" Rosier asked, mocking.

Rolling his eyes, Quirrell shook his head and wondered how much more immature the git could be.

"N-n-no," he snapped. "She's not my girlfriend. I told you, we just sat together in Divination and t-talked a little. That's all."

"Are you sure?"

Usually reserved and mindful of himself, this forced Quirrell over the edge, his temper breaking with what seemed an audible crack.

"Y-yes, I'm sure!" he spat back. "Why, Rosier? Are you jealous of her? Are you interested in me? Should I be t-t-t-talking to you in Divination, instead? Would you like to go out on a d-date with me?"

There was a beat of silence between the three boys, but then Snape laughed, startling Quirrell out of his brief fit of anger. Quirrell could not recall having heard him laugh before and was taken aback by it. The sound was quiet and smooth, and not at all unpleasant. Normally sullen, Severus Snape was given to terseness rather than hilarity...but nice fellow that he was, a joke at his friend's expense seemed to have turned the trick and amused him.

Startled at this mutiny, Rosier first glared at Snape then stood up and lunged across the table to grab at Quirrell's shirt.

"You pillow-biting little bastard!"

Even smaller and quicker than Rosier, Quirrell managed to dodge his way out of danger, then saw Rosier fumbling for the wand he'd placed on the table. Anticipating this move, Snape had already snatched his friend's wand up and was holding it out of his reach with one hand while trying to drag Rosier back down to a sitting position with the other.

"Stop it, Evan!" Snape said. "Don't be an idiot! Dumbledore's up there!"

Though this was obviously important to Snape, Rosier didn't seem to care. It was only after several seconds of struggling and swearing that Snape was able to get him to sit down again.

"Seems to me that you're the one who likes t-to bite the pillow, Rosier." Quirrell taunted, swinging his book bag up onto his shoulder so that he could make his retreat to the library. "Do you do what Snape tells you in the b-bedroom, too? Or is it just in puh-puh-public?"

What little color there was to Snape's face drained away, leaving his eyes very black and his lips very red. Quirrell realized that he'd overstepped any kind of truce there'd been between them, no matter how fragile, but was determined not to back down. Rosier, for his part, was furious. His face was the color of old brick and flashes of his teeth were visible beneath his curled lip.

"Blood traitors aren't welcome in Slytherin House, Quirrell," Snape said as the other turned to leave. His voice was even and quiet despite the cold rage on his face. "As I said before, that's advice I suggest you take."

Though anxiety gnawed at his insides, Quirrell kept his head held up. The altercation hadn't gone the way he'd envisioned, and it had probably done him some harm, but still, it was a nice change to walk away from a fight feeling as though he hadn't come off a coward.

"With all d-due respect, to hell with you both. If being a blood traitor means I can have a girl rather than being 'pure' poufs like you two, then so be it."

Smiling a little, Quirrell took the opportunity to leave before either boy could decide he didn't care about all the instructors present and went after him anyway. He realized that he was in a good mood despite the new threat of Snape and Rosier wanting to get even with him. He had stood up for himself and hadn't let either of them threaten him. Even though the things he'd said had only been designed to needle them, he still felt accomplished. It was a stupid move, he supposed, but it was wonderful, too.

Entering the library a few minutes later, Quirrell looked around for a table to spread out at. Since most of the other students were still at dinner, he had his pick. He chose the table nearest Madame Pince and settled in, pulling books out of his bag and checking the entrance every few minutes. He may have shown some bravery in the Great Hall, but he wasn't stupid. Snape would come to the library as soon as he was done with dinner, and Quirrell wanted to be sure that he was safely within Pince's eyesight. Of course, this plan was only good until the library closed at 8 o'clock, but it was better than nothing. He would have to worry later about what he'd do once he got back to the Slytherin dorms, though he thought maybe his prefect's badge would save him a lot of trouble that he might otherwise been forced to endure.

It didn't take him long to get caught up in the series of rune dictionaries he had scattered across his table. An intelligent boy, Quirrell liked the challenge that Ancient Runes posed him. It was very much like learning a new language, but even more demanding because aside from learning how to write and recognize the Futhark alphabet, one also had to learn how to Divine the future with it.

After fifteen minutes of going back and forth between his parchment and references, he was so involved in his studies that he didn't even notice Snape and Rosier enter with Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange until they were practically on top of him. Startled by their unexpected proximity to him, he twitched and pulled away from where they were passing. First glancing back to make sure Madame Pince was at her desk (she was), he turned and watched as the four of them sat down only two tables away.

Snape immediately took out a stack of textbooks, several rolls of parchment and a quill made from a feather as black as his hair. He paused to give Quirrell a stare so ominous that the other boy felt like sweeping up his rune dictionaries and leaving, but he managed to hold his ground and wait until Snape dropped his head down over his work. Rodolphus Lestrange was also hard at work with his Transfiguration textbook, but Rosier and Bellatrix apparently had no intention of cracking open any books. They appeared to be gearing up for a game of Wizard Chess which, though frowned upon, was permitted in the library. Every few minutes, Rosier would look up at Quirrell, his face twisted with hate, which was daunting at first, but soon Rosier got sucked up into his game and his glares became less frequent.

With a sigh, Quirrell returned to his studies. First, he picked up the book he'd been consulting before the other Slytherins had entered, and then he thumbed back to the entry for 'Thurisaz', which was represented by a sapphire as its gemstone and was a caution against dark knowledge and harmful obsessions.

Clutching his nightingale feather quill in his hand, he started to write, but didn't manage to do so for very long. Only another fifteen minutes went by before a stack of books thumped down onto his table, making him jump. Quirrell made an anxious sweep across the table, trying to get his materials out of the way. No one ever sat with him, so he usually had the run of his immediate area...but he hadn't looked up yet. There was always the possibility that his visitor was one of Snape and Rosier's other friends and not some third year desperate for a place to sit.

With some anxiety, Quirrell raised his head to inspect the situation.

"Hello, again. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

All he could do was blink.

"Of course," he finally managed. "You're always welcome t-to sit with me, Lily."

Smiling (a little nervously, he thought), Lily Evans sat down at the head of the table then turned her chair at a diagonal so that she was facing him. There was an awkward silence as the two of them looked at one another, and Quirrell thought he might actually pass out from happy embarrassment. It seemed like everyone in the room was staring at them, but so much the better for him. Let the world see that Lily Evans liked him enough to sit down with him. Perhaps they'd think better of him.

Her eyes, green and catlike, bored into him a moment longer, but then she brushed a tendril of her dark red hair behind her ear in the same way she had in Divination class and looked down at the table. He watched as she elbowed her own pile of books aside and then, reading the titles of his, reached out to swing one of them around to face. Protesting this invasion of his belongings did not occur to him, but he would not have denied her, even had the thought struck him.

"Advanced Rune Techniques," she read aloud. "I didn't know you took Ancient Runes."

"I have since third year," he said. "It's a fascinating subject."

She looked up and smiled at him again. His heart ran at a ferocious pace for the span of a dozen beats as it sank in that she was smiling at him, it then regained its normal rhythm. Marshalling his self-control, he was able to return her smile with the same tiny grin he'd used during Divination class. He didn't think it was his imagination; she had seemed quite responsive to it earlier. As if in proof, two spots of crimson appeared in her cheeks and settled there, but she did not avert her eyes from his.

"I know it's an interesting subject," she said. "I take it, too. In fact, I really ought to be doing my homework for it, but I just had to ask you something."

Quirrell felt his stomach do a slow, lazy flip. It couldn't be, could it? Could Lily Evans actually be getting ready to ask him on a date to Hogsmeade? Already?

"Oh, of course. Please, ask m-me anything." He said this more quickly than he would've liked, and chastised himself for sounding too eager; perhaps even desperate. But he could tell that this answer seemed to please her, though he couldn't see why it would. She sat up a little straighter in her chair and her smile grew a little wider.

"That's so kind, thank you," she said, her face still a little redder than usual. "I just wanted to ask you about the Hat."

He blinked.

"The Hat?" he echoed back, hoping his disappointment was fully veiled.

Lily nodded.

"The Sorting Hat. We were talking about it in Divination, remember? You told me it saw something in you that made it put you in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw."

Quirrell felt a faint wrinkle of irritation crease his brow. He was beginning to regret ever mentioning that stupid Hat, though on the upside, the suspense of not telling her what it had said was driving her mad. Certainly she kept coming back for more of him, trying to find out. He was worried, however, that she was going to feel let down by his answer once he finally gave it.

"I re-remember," he said. "But I told you before Avery pushed me that it wuh-wasn't very exciting."

She cocked an 'oh, really' eyebrow at him and inclined her head in challenge, and he grinned in spite of himself, amused and flattered by the fact that she didn't believe that his story was dull. It was a pleasant surprise to finally find someone who didn't think him uninteresting.

"All right, all right," he gave in, waving his hands to deflect her. "Juh-just don't hold it against me when I turn out to be boring."

Lily's expression became serious and she shook her head.

"I don't believe that for a second, Quirinus. There's more to you than just a Quidditch pitch, or a textbook, or something like that."

"Ha. A puh-puh-pep talk. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now spill it."

Quirrell paused to think about the words he wanted to use, though he also had to admit that he was flustered by her interest and was trying to rebound from that as much as he was planning what to say.

"Well, if you remember, I was called up for the Sorting right after James Potter, which is really a d-difficult act for anyone to follow," he said, feeling a bit sardonic.

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Please. Did you have to bring him into it?"

"I think so. It's in the school r-r-rules, isn't it? Mentioning James puh-puh-Potter in the context of every sentence?"

He was gratified to see Lily burst into laughter, her eyes wide, as if she couldn't believe what he'd said. He smiled at her, pleased to have made her laugh, and his smile widened when she suddenly clapped her hands over her mouth to choke off the loud noise. Looking hesitantly over her shoulder in the direction of Madame Pince, Quirrell watched as she slunk down into her seat.

"She's looking at me," Lily said, her voice small.

Out of the corner of his eye, Quirrell saw that Madame Pince was not the only one. The table of Slytherins was also looking over in their direction, as was a table full of her Gryffindor Housemates, James Potter among them. Still though, this seemed no reason to ruin Lily's good time.

"Of c-c-course she's looking at you," he said. "I imagine people back in Gryffindor Tower heard you."

She laughed again, much more quietly this time, then straightened up and gave him an accusatory frown.

"Why do you keep avoiding this?" she demanded suddenly, as if just catching on to something. "Are you ever going to tell me what it said to you?"

Quirrell couldn't help but continue grinning. He had never imagined that Lily Evans would be this feisty and demanding. When he saw her with her friends, she usually seemed relaxed and fun-loving. In class, she was attentive and articulate, and on the occasions that they had both attended Professor Slughorn's parties, she had been sharp-witted and lively, but Quirrell had never seen her like this - impulsive and almost bossy. Fortunately, he rather liked it.

"Actually, I was juh-just going to tell you, but you're the one who interrupted me," he pointed out. "When I mentioned juh-juh-James."

She uttered a little gasp and looked abashedly at him.

"Oh, Quirinus, I'm sorry! You're absolutely right." She rested her chin in the palm of her hand and looked at him. "Please go on. I really want to hear this."

Eyeing her for any sign that she might interrupt him again, Quirrell finally took a breath and started again, contemplating his fingernails as he spoke.

"At any rate, I was very n-n-nervous when Professor McGonagall put the Sorting Hat on my head," he flicked his eyes up from his hands to check on Lily and found that she was still watching him carefully. Seeing him look at her, she gave him an encouraging smile and he went on. "I felt awful when she p-put it on my head and it just sat there," he said. "I d-don't know if you remember, but a lot of the people before me seemed to be Sorted so quickly...I felt conspicuous just sitting there w-waiting for it to make up its mind."

Lily nodded at this, and Quirrell remembered that she, too, had sat under the Hat for quite some time.

"I felt the same way," she told him. "It seemed like it took forever to place me. First it told me that I'd be well-suited to Ravenclaw, and then it told me that I had what it took to make a good Gryffindor, and then it told me that I'd make a respectable Slytherin, if only I'd been born to a Wizard."

Quirrell felt his eyebrows go up at that. Though he had tried not to place any assumptions on her, he was amazed to find that he had. No matter what he thought he'd been prepared for, finding out that the Sorting Hat had seen a touch of Slytherin in the heart of Lily Evans was just not it. He debated remarking upon it, but then opted not to. Despite the fact that she was confident enough to mention her brush with being Sorted into Slytherin, he felt it could be unwise to dwell upon it. Most people outside of Slytherin House were not proud of being considered for it.

"Oh, well, you understand then," he said. "It was an awful feeling. I juh-just sat there while it talked about where it should put me. It told me how smart I was, and how I had a thirst for n-n-knowledge that made me ideal for Ravenclaw, but then..." he trailed off here, uncertain how to continue. When he'd told her earlier that the Sorting Hat had seen something in him that made it realize he was a better candidate for Slytherin than for Ravenclaw, he really hadn't expected her to latch onto it in the way she had. He had expected her to just dismiss it as a given, to just accept that he was a Slytherin without ever questioning why. But now that she wanted an answer, he wasn't sure he wanted to give it. The two of them were building an incredible rapport and he was afraid to spoil it.

"But then...what?" she prompted a few seconds later, urging another smile from him. Anyone who had an image of her as a patient girl obviously didn't know her very well. But regardless of her insistence, he still didn't speak. Should he tell her everything, or should he gloss it over? Total honesty or a white lie?

He made his choice, and then went on.

"When it said that I was brilliant, and that I had a real thirst for knowledge, I got very excited. I started imagining that I would be the smartest one in our year, and that I'd be the s-star of the school." He felt a blush spanning his face, but didn't let it stop him. "And that was when it looked into my heart and realized that I was willing to do anything to g-g-get what I wanted."

Lily just stared at him.

"A lot of people are ambitious, Quirinus," she finally said. "I don't see why you made such a fuss about telling me."

"You d-d-d-don't understand, Lily. It told me that I was willing to do anything - good or bad, ethical or unethical - to get what I want. It saw that I'd use any means I could to achieve my ends, no m-matter who I hurt or what I d-destroyed." He stared at her, trying to force the full implication of what this meant upon her. "It tuh-tuh-told me that," he repeated. "And it was right."

Eyes now wide, Lily settled back in her chair and looked at him. It was difficult not to fidget under her scrutiny, but he managed. All he could do was watch her think over what he'd said and hope that his honesty had been worthwhile.

"Would you kill someone to get what you wanted?" she asked him at length.

Surprised, Quirrell sat back further in his own chair and considered. Though this was a question he'd asked himself, he had not expected Lily to be so forthright as to ask it. He gave her the only answer he'd been able to give himself.

"I don't know," he said. "I can't imagine there ever being anything that I'd want badly enough to kill for, but sometimes I w-wonder." He looked at her closely, thinking of what he'd done to force her to where she was at that moment. He'd snuck around after and cast spells on her to manipulate events in his favor, and why? Because he wanted her. But as truthful as he'd been up to this point, there was no chance that he'd tell her what he'd done. It was better to lie than to lose the bond they'd forged. Still though, he was proud that, no matter how he'd forced events, he'd never forced her. He might have given her no choice but to sit next to him in class, but her decision to like him was all her own.

As she had before, she sat and digested his answer, her green eyes never leaving his face. He was aware of a jitter in his stomach that was making him feel ill and realized that he was nervous. What was she thinking about him? Was he distasteful to her now?

"You'd do anything to get what you want?" she repeated at last, leaning forward again so that she could study him more closely.

"Yes."

"And what is it that you want?"

For a moment, the word 'you' threatened to spill from his lips, but he kept himself from uttering it. Though it was an honest answer, it was clichéd and more obsessive than he felt comfortable sharing, especially since there was still the threat of his intensity repelling her.

Slowly, he smiled.

"Well, right n-n-now, I want to get my Ancient Runes assignment over with," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I've been p-putting it off for days."

Lily smiled back.

"I know I said this before, but I really ought to do mine, too." She hesitated, then stood and began to put her stack of books back together. Quirrell felt his heart sink, but suddenly, she stopped what she was doing and looked at him again. "Would you like to work together?" she offered in a single rush of breath, looking as nervous as Quirrell had felt earlier. "I know we're in different classes, but the assignment's probably the same."

"P-probably," he stammered, his mood lifting as hope flooded through him.

"So, together then?" she asked for confirmation, motioning toward his books.

Quirrell nodded.

"Tuh-together."

He watched Lily sit back down and sort through her stack of books, she then paused to triumphantly show him the doppelgangers of two books he had somewhere in the sea of texts spread out around him.

"I knew I had these with me," she said. "I was planning on coming here after dinner to do some work, anyway." Though it was hard to tell in the dim light of the library, Quirrell was sure that two patches of color had once again grown on her face. "It'll be a nice change to work with you, Quirinus."

Nightingale quill again in hand, Quirrell froze and looked at her. Only in his most savored daydreams had his success with Lily Evans ever come this far, and now that he was here, he wasn't quite sure what to do. It was obvious that she liked him, and genuinely so. It was even more obvious, he thought, that he liked her in return.

He watched as she pulled out a roll of parchment and started to scrawl across it, consulting one of her rune dictionaries for a second before going on. He then realized that he might as well get to work, too. There was plenty of time to worry about what to do with the future, but their essays were due in two days.

He bent his head down to write, but the sudden sensation of eyes upon him gave him a chill, and he looked curiously around the room. His first reaction was to check on Evan Rosier and see if the little sociopath was glaring at him again, but he was surprised to find Rosier leaning over to check Snape's textbook, not even vaguely interested in what Quirrell and Lily were doing.

Snape did not seem concerned either. He merely waited for Rosier to finish reading, then pointed at something on the parchment between them and shook his head. With a scowl, Rosier scratched out what was there then started to write something over it, and Quirrell dismissed them. But this still left the question of who was staring at him. If it wasn't Rosier or Snape doing it, then who was? Or was he just imagining things?

Casting his eyes around the room, Quirrell inspected each occupied table and found no one who appeared to be looking. Then he came to the Gryffindor table and stopped.

James Potter was glowering at him with a look of resentment so embittering his face that Quirrell had to force himself not to shift in his seat. Potter usually didn't bother with him. Snape was the bane of the Quidditch King's existence, while Quirrell had always been a little nobody floating along the periphery of Potter's world. This new animosity was an unpleasant surprise.

Summoning every bit of his willpower, Quirrell met Potter's stare and held it for several defiant seconds before finally going back to his essay with a shaky hand and a queasy stomach. Although he sincerely hoped that their stare-off was not a challenge, he had to prepare himself for the possibility that it was. Ultimately, though, it didn't matter. To him, Lily was worth the acrimony of both his fellow Slytherins and her fellow Gryffindors. But only time would tell if she felt the same way.