The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

26 // Dueling & Danger

The bell rang, and while the rest of the class jostled each other in their rush to get out of the room and head off to dinner, Harry, Hermione, and Ron lingered behind.

Harry loved his friends, but at the moment he felt as if he could do without Hermione's fussing or Ron's bickering. It was warm in the classroom, stuffy from the heat of the evening sun sitting atop the Forest's trees, and Harry had barely had any sleep at all. Memories of last night kept popping up uninvited, and Harry's scar prickled whenever he thought of that unearthly snarl and the shiny glow of silver blood in the moonlight. Everything after that had been a bit fuzzy, but he could remember the feel of Professor Dullahan's small hands on his shoulders, and Firenze's gut-curling warning about Voldemort.

He's after the Stone. But he can't get it, right? Not with Dumbledore here! Snape won't get it either!

Professor Dullahan sat at the head of the classroom looking just as tired as Harry felt. He hadn't seen her at breakfast, nor at lunch, and she'd spent most of the class period providing them with revisions. Harry suspected that if it weren't for the steady infusion of tea she kept pouring for herself, the professor would have nodded off by now.

Ron and Hermione stopped arguing, the latter shaking her head so her bushy hair trembled. She hugged her books to her chest, lifted her nose, and said, "I think it'd be best if we asked," and Ron groaned.

"Hermione, what about dinner?"

"Dinner can wait, Ronald!"

"Bloody classes are going to kill me—."

Hermione marched toward the front of the classroom, leaving Harry and Ron to trail after her with dejected sighs. Professor Dullahan watched them come, smirking, her chin propped on her arm. "How may I help you three this evening?" The scent of pine hit Harry's nose and remembered fear tightened his chest. Was she out in the Forest again? How long?

"Professor," Hermione started, fidgeting with a bookmark sticking out from her texts. For all that she scolded Harry and Ron about being reticent to ask questions, even Hermione remained a tad intimidated by Professor Dullahan. "We, um, we wanted—well, with exams approaching, we wanted to know if you'd be willing to tutor us in Defense Against the Dark Arts instead of Potions? At least until next year—if that's not being p-presumptuous of me, that is."

Professor Dullahan grinned, and the fatigue lining her expression lessened. "Not too presumptuous, no, Miss Granger. I am a professor, after all. It's my job to teach." She snorted. "I take it you three aren't having much luck with Quirrell?"

Hermione flushed. "Well, I mean, he's a bit...skittish, and—."

Professor Dullahan shook her head. "I'm surprised you lot can understand anything beyond the stuttering." Heaving a sigh, the professor got to her feet, bracing her hands on the desk for an instant. "Let's go ask Quirinus for a lesson plan. We should be able to catch him before he heads off for dinner."

Harry fell into line with Hermione and Ron as they followed the professor out of her classroom and into the barren hall. Harry guessed that most students had bolted already, eager to find what little reprieve they could from studying. The fifth and seventh years were especially frantic, Harry knew, and the weather was so nice now it was impossible to not look out the windows and think about lounging on the lawns or grabbing a quick game of Quidditch.

Professor Dullahan rapped her knuckles against the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and waited for only a second before pushing her way in. Inside, the torches on the wall still burned and the last vestiges of sunlight peeked through the windows' thick panes. Larger than the Magical Theory room, this class—2C—was long and crowded with tables, the head of the class holding a set of steps that led up into an adjoining office. It stank of garlic.