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Friday, October 25th, 1991 - Morning
The morning light filtering through the Ravenclaw Tower window.
[Partner's cortisol levels elevated by 23%. Recommend regulation breathing to maintain physiological normalcy.]
Easy for you to say, Darius thought, pulling his robes. You don't have to pretend you didn't spend last night saving a unicorn from a Dark Lord while said Dark Lord is now actively hunting for you.
[Correction: "We" spent last night saving a unicorn. Partnership parameters include shared credit for successes.]
Despite everything, Darius felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Even Nano's emotional development had its limits—trying to claim credit for heroism was adorably transparent.
"You look better than yesterday," Stephen observed from across the dormitory, tying his house tie. "Less like you'd been hit with a Confundus Charm."
"Good sleep," Darius replied easily. "Helped that Terry finished his essay before midnight for once."
"Oi!" Terry protested from where he was frantically searching for his Astronomy textbook. "That was one time. Maybe two times. Possibly five—has anyone seen my book?"
"Under your bed," Michael said helpfully, already dressed and organizing his bag. "Where you left it last night after complaining about crater measurements."
This was normal. Just another Friday morning in Ravenclaw Tower. Darius enjoyed the banter that he laughed at Terry's disaster and helped Anthony find his spare quill when his first one mysteriously vanished.
[Performance assessment: Adequate. Recommend 8% increase in casual body language. Current posture reads as 'prepared for combat' rather than 'preparing for breakfast.']
Right. Darius consciously relaxed his shoulders, let his movements become less robotic.
The common room was already bustling when they descended—older students debating some obscure Transfiguration theory, younger years anxiously reviewing notes for morning classes, the usual pre-breakfast energy that characterized Ravenclaw House.
Emma waved from her usual spot near the fireplace, already surrounded by books. Sarah sat beside her, meticulously highlighting something in what appeared to be an Ancient Runes text.
"There you are!" Emma's face brightened as Darius approached. "I've been waiting forever. Well, fifteen minutes. But it felt like forever because Sarah keeps correcting my pronunciation and I need moral support."
"Your pronunciation is improving," Sarah said without looking up from her highlighting. "You only mispronounced 'Ehwaz' three times this morning instead of seven."
"See? This is what I deal with." Emma gestured dramatically. "Tyranny. Absolute tyranny."
[Subject Emma shows a 47% increase in positive affect upon partner arrival. Bond formation proceeds as anticipated, yet the consistency of this response suggests something more.]
Darius paused. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.
"I think that's just called 'studying,'" Darius offered, settling into a nearby chair.
"Whose side are you on?" Emma demanded, but she was smiling.
"Knowledge's side," Darius replied diplomatically. "Which means Sarah's technically correct, but also that you're allowed to complain about it."
"A perfect political answer," Sarah observed, finally glancing up. "You'd make an excellent diplomat, Darius."
There was something in her tone. Nothing obvious, nothing he could point to, but something that made his instincts prickle.
[Analysis: Subject Sarah demonstrates increased attentiveness toward Partner. Probability of attraction: low but non-negligible. More likely explanation remains curiosity about recent behavior shifts. Maintain current parameters.]
No control yourself, Darius thought. You're trippin.
"Or a Ravenclaw," Darius said lightly. "Same skill set."
That earned a laugh from both of them. But Darius filed it away Sarah was perceptive. He'd known that since first year, but he'd need to be especially careful around her.
The walk to breakfast was perfectly normal. Terry complained about having Potions first thing ("Snape before food should be illegal"), Michael quietly mentioned the Astronomy homework was due Monday, Anthony and Stephen continued their theoretical debate about permanent versus temporary transfiguration.
Darius participated where appropriate, offered occasional comments, and tried not to think about the surveillance camera currently recording everything in Quirrell's office, or the one in his quarters, or the fact that somewhere in the staff wing, a monster wearing a professor's skin was actively searching for him.
The Great Hall - 7:52 AM
The enchanted ceiling showed a pale morning sky with wisps of cloud—peaceful, serene, completely at odds with the tension coiling in Darius's stomach.
[Recommend food intake. Partner's blood sugar suboptimal. Stress response consuming additional glucose.]
Right. Food. Darius filled his plate with scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, forcing himself to eat at a reasonable pace rather than the efficient fuel-consumption his body wanted to default to.
The Ravenclaw table conversation flowed around him—Quidditch matches (Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff next month), complaints about essay length, excitement about the upcoming Halloween feast.
Halloween. Six days away.
[Partner's heart rate increased by 15 BPM. Recommend emotional regulation.]
I'm aware, Darius thought tightly. Kind of hard not to think about it when—
His thought cut off as his eyes instinctively tracked movement at the High Table.
Professor Quirrell had just entered, moving with his nervous flutter. He took his seat beside Flitwick, hands trembling as he reached for the toast. The perfect picture of an anxious, somewhat incompetent Defense professor.
The performance was flawless.
[Subject Quirrell scanning Great Hall. Observation pattern suggests systematic assessment rather than random scanning. Recommend Partner avoid direct eye contact while maintaining normal eating behavior.]
Darius kept his gaze on his plate, occasionally glancing up as any student might, but never letting his eyes linger on the High Table. Just another second-year, focused on breakfast and morning drowsiness.
But through his peripheral vision, enhanced by nano-assisted visual processing, he tracked Quirrell's systematic scan of the student tables. The professor's eyes moved periodically towards—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin—lingering occasionally on particular students and Harry as well.
Does he suspect the first-years as well, like that fixation on Harry? That's odd. He must know by now the Harry has no real skill that can best him. Then why? If it isn't Quirrel, maybe it's Voldemort still doubting a baby who supposedly defeated him.
[Analysis: Subject Quirrell's observation pattern focuses on students aged 13-15, above-average magical ability markers. Selection criteria matches profile of potential advanced magical practitioners. Partner falls within target demographic but displays no distinguishing observational behavior. Current concealment: Adequate.]
"Earth to Darius," Emma's voice cut through his thoughts. "You've been staring at your eggs for like a full minute. They're not going to spontaneously transfigure into something more tasty."
"Sorry." Darius forced a sheepish smile. "Still waking up."
"Join the club," Terry muttered, already looking half-asleep despite the morning hour. "Why do we have Potions first thing? It's cruel and unusual punishment."
"Because Snape enjoys our suffering," Emma said matter-of-factly. "I'm convinced that's literally the only reason."
The conversation shifted to complaints about Snape's teaching methods, and Darius let the familiar rhythm wash over him.
From the High Table, he felt rather than saw Quirrell's gaze sweep past the Ravenclaw table one final time before the professor returned his attention to his breakfast.
[Assessment: Initial observation sweep complete. Subject Quirrell detected no anomalous behavior from Partner. Recommend maintaining current performance parameters throughout day.]
Six days. He just had to maintain this perfect facade for six more days.
How hard could it be?
Potions Classroom - 8:30 AM
Very hard, as it turned out.
"Mr. Kael," Snape's voice cut through . "Perhaps you could enlighten us as to why your Forgetfulness Potion is the wrong shade of orange?"
Darius looked down at his cauldron. The potion was, in fact, a perfect shade of orange—exactly the color it should be at this stage of brewing. He'd made this potion dozens of times in his mental practice sessions, had refined the technique to near-perfection.
Which was precisely the problem.
[Analysis: Subject Snape engaging in targeted harassment consistent with established behavioral patterns. However, current potion quality exceeds expected second-year standard by approximately 40%. Recommend deliberate introduction of minor imperfection to align with age-appropriate skill level.]
Brilliant. So I need to make my potion worse to avoid suspicion.
"The color appears correct to me, Professor," Darius said carefully, keeping his tone respectful but uncertain—the tone of a student who knew he was right but didn't want to challenge a professor's authority too directly.
Snape's eyes narrowed. He swept over to Darius's workstation, black robes billowing dramatically. Up close, the Potions Master's expression was a masterwork of barely contained irritation—like a man who desperately wanted to find fault but couldn't quite manage it.
"Adequate," Snape finally pronounced, the word dripping with disappointment. His gaze lingered on Darius for a moment longer than comfortable, assessing, calculating something. "Though I suppose even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Continue."
He swept away to terrorize a Hufflepuff whose potion was genuinely the wrong color, and Darius exhaled slowly.
[Subject Snape displays increased scrutiny toward Partner. Probability assessment: 73% routine antagonism, 27% responding to increased faculty awareness of unusual students. Recommend continued adherence to age-appropriate performance levels.]
For the rest of the class, Darius deliberately slowed his potion preparation. He added ingredients at the recommended times rather than the optimal times. He stirred precisely the number of times the textbook specified, even though his nano-enhanced awareness told him two fewer stirs would actually improve the potion's efficacy.
He made his work good, but not exceptional. Competent, but not remarkable.
It was exhausting.
Corridor Outside Potions - 9:45 AM
"That was brutal," Terry groaned as they filed out of the dungeons. "I swear Snape was in an even worse mood than usual."
"Is that even possible?" Emma wondered. "I thought he existed in a permanent state of going mental."
"I heard from the first years that he gave Ron Weasley a zero before the class even started," Michael observed quietly. "Just... walked past his cauldron and declared it a failure without even looking."
"That's just Tuesday for Gryffindors," Stephen said. "Snape's been like that since he started teaching here. Probably since before we were born, honestly."
The group continued toward their next class—Charms. His mind was already elsewhere, tracking the mental feed from his surveillance cameras.
[CAM-QUIRRELL-OFFICE: Subject not present. Office empty, no unusual activity.]
[CAM-QUIRRELL-QUARTERS: Subject not present. Room undisturbed since morning departure.]
[CAM-THIRD-FLOOR: Corridor empty. No traffic detected in past 3 hours.]
[CAM-TEST-01: Library alcove quiet. Two students studying in adjacent area, neither approaching Restricted Section.]
All quiet. All normal. Which should have been reassuring but somehow made Darius more nervous.
Quirrell was teaching classes today—he had second-year Gryffindors in ten minutes, then third-year Hufflepuffs after lunch. A full, normal schedule.
Which meant he was either incredibly confident in his investigation's other places, or...
[Or he is delegating surveillance to other assets. Portraits, ghosts, even paintings that appear purely decorative may serve as observation points. Recommend heightened awareness of artificial observers.]
Perfect. So not only do I have to act normal for actual people, I need to act normal for potentially hostile artwork.
[Affirmative. Though Partner's internal monologue displays admirably sardonic coping mechanism.]
Charms Classroom - 10:00 AM
Professor Flitwick's cheerful energy was a marked contrast to Snape's dungeon oppression. The diminutive professor practically bounced as he demonstrated the day's spell—a Severing Charm variation designed to work on cloth specifically.
"Now, remember!" Flitwick squeaked enthusiastically. "The wand movement must be precise! A sharp downward flick, like cutting with invisible scissors! And the incantation—'Diffindo Textilia'—must be pronounced clearly!"
The class split into pairs for practice, with various pieces of scrap cloth distributed as targets. Darius partnered with Terry, as had become their habit.
"Right," Terry said, eyeing his piece of cloth skeptically. "Sharp downward flick, clear incantation, and try not to accidentally sever anything important like, say, my finger."
"The spell is specifically designed for cloth," Darius assured him. "You'd need to deliberately modify the wand movement to affect other materials."
"You say that like it's reassuring, but I've seen me do magic. Accidental modification is absolutely something I'd manage accidentally."
Despite his protestations, Terry's first attempt actually produced a clean cut through the cloth. Not perfect—the edges were a bit rough—but definitely successful for a first try.
"Hey!" Terry's face lit up. "I did it! Did you see? Actual success!"
"Well done, Mr. Boot!" Flitwick called from across the room, beaming. "Excellent first attempt! Now try to make the cut smoother—less force, more precision!"
Darius took his turn next. He could have performed the spell perfectly on the first attempt—muscle memory and nano-assisted precision would have made it trivial. Instead, he deliberately wobbled his wand movement slightly, made his incantation just a touch too forceful.
The cloth severed, but the cut was jagged, imperfect.
"Good effort, Mr. Kael!" Flitwick said, appearing beside their table in that startling way very short professors had of suddenly being right next to you. "But I think you're using a bit too much power. Think of it as... ah... like using a scalpel rather than a sword! Precision over force!"
"Yes, Professor," Darius said. "I'll try adjusting the energy output."
His second attempt was better—smoother, but still with a slight imperfection in the cut. Perfect enough to show improvement, imperfect enough to be believably second-year work.
[Performance assessment: Optimal. Subject Flitwick displays no suspicion, appropriate approval of visible progress. Continued maintenance of age-appropriate skill ceiling recommended.]
By the time they filed out for their mid-morning break, Darius felt more exhausted than he had after six hours of surveillance device creation.
Ravenclaw Common Room - 11:15 AM
The break before History of Magic found most of second year collapsed in the common room in various states of resignation. Everyone knew what was coming—Professor Binns, ghost lecturer extraordinaire, droning on about goblin rebellions in his supernatural monotone.
"I'm going to fall asleep," Terry predicted. "It's not a question of if, but when."
"Try to make it past the first five minutes this time," Emma suggested. "New personal record."
"Ambitious." Terry considered. "I like it."
Darius settled into a chair near the window, ostensibly reviewing his History of Magic notes but actually monitoring his mental camera feeds.
[CAM-QUIRRELL-OFFICE: Subject Quirrell present. Currently at desk, reviewing parchment. Multiple documents visible—appear to be student records.]
Student records. Of course. Quirrell was being methodical, checking for anyone with unusual backgrounds, advanced abilities, suspicious circumstances.
The door to the office opened in his mental feed, and a small figure entered—a portrait, animate and walking across the frame hanging on Quirrell's wall. The painting appeared to show a medieval wizard, and from the gestures, seemed to be reporting something to the professor.
[Lip-reading analysis insufficient—portrait at wrong angle. However, body language suggests information exchange. Subject Quirrell's expression: Attentive, analytical. No apparent breakthrough yet.]
"Darius?" Sarah's voice pulled him back to physical reality. She was standing near his chair, Ancient Runes textbook under one arm. "You all right? You've been staring at your notes without moving for two minutes."
Damn. He'd gotten too focused on the mental feed, let his body language slip.
"Sorry," Darius said, deliberately adding a yawn. "Already dreading Binns. My brain is pre-emptively shutting down in self-defense."
That earned a small smile. "Understandable. Though you might want to blink occasionally the stationary stare is a bit unsettling. You should go see Madam Pomfrey; it feels like you're occasionally going blank."
"It's all right. I can manage. Work and research pile up faster than expected."
"If you say so. Just… take care of yourself." Sarah said.
She moved away before he could respond, settling into her own chair to continue her runic studies.
[Warning: Subject Sarah's observational acuity exceeds baseline for age group. Increased caution recommended during social interactions.]
Noted. Add Sarah to list of people who might notice if I act weird.
[Correction: Add Sarah to top of list of people who might notice if Partner acts weird. Subject displays significant pattern-recognition capabilities.]
Wonderful.
The break ended too quickly, and soon they were trudging toward History of Magic with the enthusiasm of prisoners heading to execution.
History of Magic Classroom - 11:30 AM
Professor Binns emerged through the blackboard precisely as the clock tower chimed the half-hour, and immediately began his lecture in the same droning monotone that had put students to sleep for the past century.
"The Goblin Rebellion of 1612 began in the region of Scotland now known as..."
Within three minutes, Terry's head was drooping. Within five, Michael's eyes had glazed over. By minute seven, even Emma—who actually tried to stay awake in this class—was fighting a losing battle against consciousness.
Darius kept his eyes open through force of will and the subtle assistance of nano-regulated consciousness. It wasn't that the subject matter was uninteresting—goblin rebellions had significant historical importance and contained useful tactical information about magical combat strategies.
It was the way Binns delivered the information with all the engaging energy of reading a telephone directory.
While his classmates succumbed to various degrees of sleepiness, Darius split his attention between taking minimal notes (for appearance's sake) and monitoring his surveillance network.
[CAM-QUIRRELL-OFFICE: Subject departed 11:22 AM. Office now empty.]
[CAM-QUIRRELL-QUARTERS: No activity.]
[CAM-THIRD-FLOOR: Corridor empty, as expected during class hours.]
Where had Quirrell gone? He didn't have a class scheduled until after lunch—third-year Hufflepuffs at 1:30 PM.
[Unknown. Subject not visible in any monitored locations. Probability assessment: 34% in Great Hall for early lunch, 28% in library researching, 22% in other staff areas not under surveillance, 16% in Forbidden Forest perimeter areas.]
The Forest. Of course. Even knowing last night's hunt had failed, Quirrell might be scouting approaches, planning alternative strategies, maybe even attempting preliminary reconnaissance for tonight.
But Darius couldn't do anything about it. Not without abandoning this class, not without creating exactly the kind of suspicious absence that Quirrell was looking for.
So he sat. Took notes on goblin military tactics. Listened to Binns drone endlessly about 1612. And tried not to think about unicorns.