Chapter 27: Professor Quirrell is Ill
The next day, Professor Quirrell was ill.
The news spread through Hogwarts like wildfire. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for all years were postponed. Rumor had it that he was so gravely ill that a substitute might be needed for the entire first half of the term.
Many different versions of Professor Quirrell's illness circulated among the students, and the most popular theories all involved Ryan's unexcused absence from his class.
Some students swore that Ryan had put Professor Quirrell in his place, and the new professor, overcome with shame and anger, had fallen ill and taken to his bed.
Others whispered that Dumbledore had assigned Ryan detention with Quirrell as punishment, and Ryan, in a fit of revenge, had hexed him.
One first-year, a boy named Ron Weasley, even produced a crumpled note he claimed to have found outside the DADA classroom. On it, Dumbledore had clearly written instructions for Ryan's detention. Of course, Ron was soundly reprimanded by his three older brothers later that day for "spreading malicious and unfounded rumors."
Gryffindor Common Room.
"Merlin's beard, Harry!" Ron moaned. "I swear, Percy and the twins wish Ryan Welles was their real brother! Every time I say anything, they just shout me down! But I have proof!" He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, pointing at the note on the table.
Harry looked at his friend. "A detention slip doesn't really prove anything, Ron," he said carefully.
"Oh, come on, Harry!" Ron shot up, his voice rising. "Ryan Welles skips Professor Quirrell's class, and Quirrell doesn't even show up for dinner! Then Ryan gets assigned detention with him, and the next day Quirrell is practically on his deathbed! Isn't it obvious?!"
Harry thought that Ron had been acting erratically ever since the Adventurers' Club acceptances had been announced. In his view, Ryan had simply had the bad luck to have detention on the same day Professor Quirrell happened to fall ill, and now he was the subject of these nasty rumors for no reason. What he understood even less was why so many students were willing to believe Ron's version of events over the official school announcements.
As Seamus Finnigan and the other Gryffindors were excitedly debating what kind of curse Ryan might have used to so thoroughly incapacitate Professor Quirrell, a sharp voice cut through the chatter.
"Funny, isn't it? A certain person's three older brothers are in the Adventurers' Club. His best friend is in the Adventurers' Club. But he's the only one who isn't." Hermione Granger stood there, her head held high, her face a mask of disdain for those who would gossip behind others' backs.
"What are you talking about?!" Ron leaped to his feet, his face turning a furious shade of red. He waved the detention note in the air. "This is evidence!"
Hermione snorted, not even deigning to look at him as she walked past. "Do you really think your powers of observation are greater than the professors'? Or that you're a better judge of magic than Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the century?" She paused at the portrait hole. "You're just throwing a tantrum because you were rejected. You really should have been a Slytherin!" In her mind, so new to the magical world, being called a Slytherin was the most vicious curse imaginable.
As the Fat Lady swung open, she could hear Ron's furious roar behind her. "No wonder no one can stand her! No one wants to be her friend! Does she really think she's so brilliant? From now on, we should just call her Miss Know-It-All!" She could also faintly hear Harry's voice, trying to calm Ron down.
Hermione touched the pin on her robes, and found that Ron's angry shouts sounded almost… pleasant. I don't need the approval of my peers, she thought. I don't need to be popular with mediocre people. The ones who accept me, the ones who want to be my friend, are the most brilliant geniuses at Hogwarts. A small smile touched the lips of the young witch who had, for days, endured the strange looks and jealous whispers of her classmates.
She thought of the letter she had received, now carefully tucked away at the very bottom of her trunk.
Miss Hermione Granger,
I imagine many people will not understand, accept, or approve of your actions. They will question you, accuse you of showing off. They will band together to isolate you until you are willing to smooth away your own sharp edges. This is normal. Few young people can accept their own mediocrity in the face of another's brilliance.
From your application, I saw that you have a heart that truly seeks knowledge and wisdom. I believe we are kindred spirits, fellow travelers on the same path. I believe we will be friends for a very long time.
Therefore, I cordially invite you to join the Adventurers' Club, to explore the limits of magic alongside the most outstanding minds at Hogwarts. I believe that here, you will find your true paradise.
I look forward to our first meeting this Friday afternoon.
Your friend,
Ryan Welles
Reading the letter, and seeing that Harry had also received one, had made the past few days of ostracism feel completely insignificant.
.....
The Hospital Wing.
"Headmaster, I found Professor Quirrell collapsed at the castle entrance," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice sharp as she stood guard at the door to her office. "He is very, very badly injured. The damage has reached his magical core. His body is like a tangled ball of yarn that's been mauled by a cat. It's a miracle he's even alive. I wouldn't dare let the Healers from St. Mungo's take over at this point." She glared at the Headmaster. "What Professor Quirrell needs right now is rest! You cannot go in."
She then shot a withering look at Professor Flitwick and Ryan. "And that includes the two of you!"
Ryan, who held Madam Pomfrey in the highest regard, immediately ducked behind Dumbledore. After countless injuries from his expeditions and experiments, he had become a frequent flyer in the hospital wing. Though he was always met with a lecture from the matron, her healing was second to none.
"Poppy, I believe we just need ten minutes," Dumbledore pleaded.
"I am responsible for my patients!"
"Five minutes, then. Just five minutes!" Dumbledore held up a hand, a rare gesture of bargaining for him.
"No! Whatever it is, you can say it after he is out of critical condition!"
Dumbledore folded down two fingers. "Three minutes, Poppy. Just three minutes. We really must speak with him!"
Madam Pomfrey looked from Ryan's thoughtful expression, to Flitwick's worried one, to Dumbledore's… completely unreadable one. She sighed and took a step back. "You have three minutes! And that is final!"
"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said with a nod.
"Don't thank me, Albus," she said, her voice softening slightly. "I don't know what you're all involved in, but a professor has been this badly injured… I don't think you should be letting young Ryan participate."
Ryan just smiled sheepishly. He had no defense. Flitwick, whom she hadn't addressed, kept his head down and scurried into the ward. Dumbledore simply nodded, knowing better than to argue with a Healer who was in the right. Madam Pomfrey sighed again, knowing that these three brilliant wizards would not be deterred by danger.
On the hospital bed, Quirinus Quirrell looked as if he were one breath away from death. Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Ryan could barely feel any life coming from him. Ryan noticed that his thick, foul-smelling turban was gone.
"H-Headmaster… y-you're here…" Quirrell tried to sit up, but he was too weak. His arm just flopped uselessly onto the bed. Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Ryan stood there in silence, just observing him.
Quirrell took a deep breath, mustering all his strength. "Headmaster… th-there is… s-something… I m-must… confess…"