beholder_mod (beholder_mod) wrote in hp_beholder, @ 2008-04-29 17:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, gilderoy lockhart, quirinus quirrell, slash |
FIC: 'How Quirinus Quirrell Gained a Second Head' for arbor_vitae
Recipient: arbor_vitae
Author leianora
Title: How Quirinus Quirrell Gained a Second Head
Rating: PG for violence
Pairings: Quirrell/Lockhart
Word Count: 1679
Warnings: some torture, but not graphic, creepiness, and some angst.
Summary: Needing some time to get away from England, a young man foolishly seeks adventure, and gets more than he bargained for.
Author's Notes: -----
***
Discontented with the sudden plague of peace that was sweeping through Wizarding England, Quirinus Quirrell left the island to look for some place more exciting. He left his life as an Auror recruit, his sensible one-room flat, and his friends behind and simply disappeared. Since he was at the top of his class in Defense against the Dark Arts, he reasoned that he would have no trouble if anything or anyone magical sought to harm him. His former lover, a very handsome man named Gilderoy Lockhart, advised him to go to Eastern Europe if he wanted a bit of harmless excitement. Later, he would come to regret his rash decision. Gilderoy's suggestion would cost him more than he wanted to pay.
The first place he stopped was the continent. His sojourn through Western Europe was largely uneventful. He did, however, run into several witches and wizards who warned against going east into the Carpathian Mountains. Refusing to pay any attention to their advice, he wandered wherever his feet took him. He wasn't surprised to find that they had led him to the east. A part of him had wanted to go there anyway.
In Hungary, he met and conquered four different vampires. The last one had very nearly bitten him, and that was the first time he thought of going back to England. After a night of uninterrupted sleep, however, he quickly canceled that plan and continued.
When he reached Albania, he smiled. The smells of the sea was strong, and no wonder. The Adriatic Sea was on one side of the country, and the Ionian Sea was on the other. He'd never planned to come this far, but it somehow felt as if he were being drawn to this place. The Communist government was still in power, but that hardly mattered in the Wizarding part of the country. The population of magical folk was very small, and they all had little to tell him. He did hear about one fairly disturbing rumor, however.
It first came to his ears while he sat alone in a tavern listening to the talk of three wizards sitting at the table behind him. Frowning, he focused on their conversation. He'd heard the word Voldemort. At first, he thought the men were talking about England and its current events. Perhaps they wanted him to tell them more about what had happened? Well, if they did, they were going to be disappointed. He didn't really know much himself. All he'd ever been told was that while trying to kill a baby boy, the self-styled Lord Voldemort had unwittingly killed himself instead. The thought of that made him smile. As he continued to listen, however, he slowly came to realize that they were speaking of the Dark Lord of England in the present tense. Wondering if he was losing his mind, he leaned a little closer, trying not to be too obvious about it.
Just as he was nearly convinced that he had somehow mistranslated their words, the door to the restaurant blew off its hinges, and several men in black robes and the all too familiar masks of the Death Eaters stood outlined in its frame. He forced himself to stay calm, even as everyone else in the place started screaming and trying to get away from what was about to become a killing field.
He rose to his feet, realizing with horror that he was the only one who had given any thought to staying and fighting. Refusing to be intimidated by that thought, he stepped forward and prepared to take on his enemies. He had only one hope. He needed to keep as many of them distracted as he could, so that the innocent people could get away from here. He also hoped that he would come out of this alive, and relatively sane.
He kicked the feet out from one of the men, and smiled in satisfaction when he went down with a scream of pain and a sickening crack of broken bones. He kicked the man in the side of the head, and then stepped over him. He ducked a killing curse, sidestepped a Crucio, and stunned two more Death Eaters in succession. There were still so many of them, though. He didn't stop to think or plan anything. He simply fought like a primitive beast. He couldn't even glance around to see if any of the innocent bystanders had gotten clear of the fighting yet. Desperately hoping that they had not only gotten out, but were going for help, he continued to fight. It was the only thing he could do.
He wasn't sure when the blow came. All he did know was that his head went numb, and then pain bloomed behind his eyes like a miniature sun. He passed out cursing the Death Eaters and their damn Dark Lord. His last coherent thought was, `I'm going to die.'
When he came to, however, he certainly wasn't dead. Though part of him wished he was, he knew that he was still very much alive. His head hurt too much for him to be dead, and he was still breathing. He moaned, and then realized that he was not alone.
"Ah, you are awake, then. That is good. I am glad my people did not kill you."
"I'm not," he muttered. "I wish I had died. Damn your people for not finishing it."
"Ah, but my friend, you have an opportunity to do something wondrous. Your name will go down in Wizarding England's history! And, best of all, you will be favored above all of the Dark Lord's other followers. You will be a vessel for the Greatest Wizard in the world! Your fame will long be remembered. Is that not grand?"
Before he could answer, he passed out. The last thought he had was, `I'm not interested.' He wasn't sure if he'd actually said it aloud, though. Whatever the case, he would never allow himself to give in to this insane man's schemes. If he did, he would be reviled.
He awoke to hear the sound of chanting. Fearing the worst, he tried to turn his head. He soon realized that it was impossible, so he struggled against the invisible magical bonds that held him. The chanting wizard ignored his struggles and continued his incantation.
Before he could even begin to think clearly, he was dragged to his feet and blindfolded. He was then bound to a flat surface and gagged. Though he fought as hard as he could, it availed him little. His heart began to pound with dread as the chanting stopped.
In the next hour or so, he was unable to do anything except listen. His confused mind recorded the actions of the people around him, but he could do nothing. There were at least a half a dozen men around him, and they were doing something he couldn't understand. He started to feel very strange. Sudden, the one standing right by his head spoke in English. The change from his native tongue into English startled Quirrell.
"I have brought forth the vessel for your new body. May it serve you well, Master."
Quirrell was forced to sit up, and he felt as if something had started to constrict his breathing. He gasped for air, but before he could pass out once again, a soft voice spoke.
"Drink this."
When he refused, he heard the one thing he had been dreading for awhile.
"Imperio!"
He drank the bitter liquid and realized too late that it was blood of some kind. He gagged, but he had already swallowed it, so there was nothing he could do.
He had no memory of returning to his hotel room, nor did he know what he said to the checkout lady. The next thing he did remember was standing in line at an international floo point, staring into space and shivering as he went into emotional shock.
The headache pulsed in rhythm with his pounding heart. It roared inside his skull like an enraged dragon, and no potion could ease the pain. When his last jump dropped him at the Leaky Cauldron several hours later, he passed out from the agony.
When he came to once more, Gilderoy was leaning over him anxiously. He moaned as the light hit his half-closed eyes. There was something about the expression on his lover's face, however, that would not let him close them completely. He looked like a man who has just been told that he had won a million galleons.
"What happened to you?" Gilderoy asked softly. "The owner of the Leaky Cauldron contacted a healer at St. Mungo's, and I was called soon after. Where did you go?"
Quirrell told him the entire story, leaving nothing out. The details flowed from his lips without any hesitation. When he had finished talking, he grabbed a glass of water and drank its contents greedily. An incredulous silence followed his long narrative.
Finally, Gilderoy spoke. "That's an amazing story," he whispered. "I'm just glad you're all right. Those people could have killed you, and no one would have known!"
He was released from the hospital two days later. No one realized that he was no longer alone inside his head. He had been very careful about keeping the secret hidden. A part of him desperately wanted to say something, but he simply couldn't. Every time he tried, he found himself exchanging pleasantries with the people around him instead.
He could barely keep track of time, or events as they happened. When he found himself sitting in the Headmaster's office interviewing for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position a year later, part of him could hardly believe it. Another part of his mind knew, however, that getting a job at Hogwarts would give him access to certain things he would need in the very near future. He wasn't sure what those things were, but somehow he knew that he would figure all that out when the time came, and not a moment sooner.