Chapter 37: The Future of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Position
"Headmaster?" Seeing Dumbledore's silence, Ryan decided to press on. "The last line of the prophecy… I assume it refers to Professor Snape and the student he is concerned about?"
"Ryan, you are the Seer, not I," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. He put on the air of a helpless, ignorant old man.
Ryan: (—_—)
Dumbledore: ( ´ ▽ ` )
"Severus should have reached Quirinus at the hospital wing by now," Dumbledore said, seamlessly changing the subject. "I do not believe Quirinus is in any condition to continue teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. What are your thoughts, Ryan?"
What can I possibly think? I'll think whatever you want me to think. My opinion is irrelevant, Ryan thought. "Whatever the Headmaster decides is best," he said aloud. He knew that even if Quirrell had truly seen the light and fought back against Voldemort, the damage was done. The forced Apparition, combined with the injuries sustained from resisting Voldemort, had likely crippled him magically. If Ryan's own theories about magic were correct, Quirrell, without proper and intensive care, could very well become a Squib—a Squib made, not born.
"By the way, Ryan," Dumbledore said, as if it were a casual afterthought, "in your classification system, what tier would you place Quirinus in?"
A chill ran down Ryan's spine. The sudden change of topic felt… ominous. "That was just some fun speculation with my friends, Headmaster. It's not a serious system." He tried to downplay his own theories, hoping to head off whatever scheme Dumbledore was cooking up.
"You are always so modest, Ryan," Dumbledore said, a fond smile on his face. "But I have always considered you to be the most brilliant student of your generation." He seemed to be talking to himself now. "A student such as yourself, I believe, is one who can be entrusted with great responsibility."
"I am not worthy of such a great responsibility!" Ryan blurted out. He knew exactly where this was going. Everyone knew about the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Ryan himself, during a failed magical experiment, had even seen it—a venomous, bone-chilling cloud of dark magic coiled around the very concept of the professorship. Voldemort had somehow woven his curse into the fabric of Hogwarts itself, and right now, all Ryan could do was stay as far away from it as possible.
Dumbledore was trying to throw him under the bus. He wanted to appoint him as the new DADA professor and watch him get chased out of Hogwarts by Voldemort's curse. And that was an outcome Ryan Welles would absolutely not accept.
"Now, now," Dumbledore said, completely ignoring Ryan's protests. "As I recall, Quirinus's skill level was roughly equivalent to that of an official Auror. In your system, that would be an Elite Wizard. And if he had been an Elite Auror, he would likely have achieved mastery in several fields. But for an official Auror, perhaps he only achieved mastery in practical combat, or, shall we say, Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
He's got me cornered, Ryan thought, mentally kicking himself. He wished he could go back in time to the first Adventurers' Club meeting and slap the person who had decided it would be a good idea to show off.
"And I," Dumbledore continued, his voice full of cheerful deliberation, "know of someone who has achieved mastery in Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and more. A truly talented individual. I believe such an important position should be given to such a person. What do you think, Ryan?"
He paused, then added, "There is also a very talented individual who has long aspired to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I think he would also be a perfect fit. What are your thoughts, Ryan?"
Dumbledore was surprised to see Ryan suddenly conjure a pair of sunglasses and a walking stick. Before he could ask what was going on, Ryan had put on the glasses, was tapping the stick on the floor in front of him, and was waving his other hand in the air, as if searching for something.
"Headmaster," Ryan announced, his voice flat and emotionless, "I can't see anything. I am blind."
....
The Hospital Wing.
As a special consultant for Potions at the Hogwarts hospital wing, Severus Snape was on reasonably good terms with Madam Pomfrey. After a brief exchange at the door, he was allowed into Quirrell's ward. Quirrell was alone, his bedside table piled high with gifts from staff and students. He had become something of a legend: the first DADA professor to be invalided out of his post after only a few days on the job. If there were a Hogwarts hot topics chart, "Quirrell: The Weakest Professor?" would be trending at number three.
"P-Professor… S-Snape," Quirrell stammered, trying to sit up. As a fellow professor, he could have just called him "Severus," but in his current state, he fell back on the more formal title.
"Dumbledore asked me to deliver this to you," Snape said, sitting down on an empty bed opposite Quirrell. He placed a crystal vial on the bedside table.
"Th-thank you," Quirrell whispered. He didn't check the potion, either because he trusted Snape's skills or because he was too afraid to inspect it in front of him.
"Dumbledore also wanted me to ask how your recovery is progressing, and when you will be able to resume teaching… Defense Against the Dark Arts," Snape said, his voice dropping on the last few words.
"I… d-don't know," Quirrell said, his face clouding over with sadness. "M-Madam Pomfrey… says the… d-damage is… s-severe. I need… t-to rest…" He trailed off, then added, "At least… s-six months. W-without… m-magic."
"The Headmaster didn't tell me the cause of your… ailment," Snape said, his empty eyes fixed on Quirrell. "I am curious. What could possibly have happened to a professor to leave them in such a state?"
After a long, hesitant silence, Quirrell finally told him the whole story.
"You were possessed by the Dark Lord," Snape said, his voice unreadable. "And you cast him out." Before Quirrell could reply, Snape continued, his words coming in a rush, as if he were trying to contain a powerful emotion. "I have only one request. I want to be this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Th-that's up to… the H-Headmaster," Quirrell mumbled, his gaze fixed on his blankets.
Snape stared at him for a long, silent moment, his eyes as cold and empty as those of a corpse. Then he stood, and with a swirl of his black robes, he strode out of the room, his cloak momentarily blocking Madam Pomfrey's view of her patient.
"Severus," she said as he passed, "I believe you need to inform the Headmaster of the situation. At the very least, Quirinus will not be able to fulfill his duties for the first half of the term."
"Of course," Snape replied, a faint hint of satisfaction in his voice. "I will tell him."
~~~
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