Chapter 1
lately, professor quirell had been privately tutoring Harry, teaching him spells and more of the material he'd usually gloss over in class.
Harry wasn't very sure if that was a thing teachers usually did, but he just chalked it up to it being a wizarding world thing, as he hadnt really adjusted fully.
Another thing Harry found odd was that his teachers stuttering seemed to cease when they were in private, but he didn't want to ask about it, that'd get him in actual detention, probably.
But, one afternoon, Harry had 'detention' with quirell.
A cover up to have a good time to tutor Harry, the man had said, but Harry wasn't so sure why it needed to be a secret.
But, he walked in the class as he usually did, feigning being a bit upset about having detention again as quirell instructed him.
Quirell was there at the door, esuring him in, and promptly locking the door.
Huh. That usually didn't happen so soon.
Harry blushed a bit at seeing quirell, trying to avoid eye contact so the man wouldn't notice.
"Stand over there for me, Harry." He said, pointing at a table.
Harry, again, wasn't sure why, but obliged, standing infront of it.
Quirell chuckled a bit at the display, making Harry's stomach flutter at the sound.
"Oh, no, just sit down, fancy any tea, perhaps?"
Harry nodded, and the older man smiled at him, leaving to his office to prepare it, Harry assumed.
He waited for a few minutes, just taking time to look around the classroom.
Harry felt like he could trust quirell the most out of the other teachers, he realized.
But, he felt something else, too.
Though, his uncle said 'boys shouldn't like other boys! I don't know why those people are so comfortable these days.' but, his uncle had been wrong about alot of things. but this wasn't quite right, quirell wasn't anywhere near his age.
Even the dursleys warned him about things like that.
Well, he didn't really have to worry about that, he'd just handle his crush like any other kid probably would.
Harry startled out of his thoughts at a 'Click!' sound.
Presumably the door opening, which was confirmed as Harry looked up, seeing quirell handle two cups of steaming cups with the tea bags still inside, which he quickly set down, scurrying back to grab something else.
He came back out of his office with a little jar, closing the door softly behind him.
He sits opposite Harry, setting down the jar on the table inbetween them.
"I wasn't sure what type of sweetness you wanted, so I opted for the jar. I swear, how much you use tends to change each time I treat you to tea." He smiles warmly.
Harry smiles back, picking up the spoon inside the jar, putting a spoonful or two in his tea.
He waits a few moments for it too cool, although quirell had already started taking slow sips of his still steaming tea.
Harry tries to copy that, but ended up drinking it faster than he intended.
It was a good amount of sweetness for him.
The silence was comfortable, but a bit awkward as well, something Harry couldn't quite explain.
"Uh , sir?" He inquires after setting his tea back on the table, fidgeting with delicate fingers.
Quirell still holds the now warm tea cup in his hands, but looks down at Harry, something shifting in his eyes.
"Yes?" He inquires.
Harry suddenly starts to feel a bit weird, his legs and arms feel like they fell asleep.
But, he ignores it for the moment.
"Well, I was wondering... Uh, not that I mind just drinking tea but, are you gonna teach me any spells or anything today?"
To Harry's surprise, quirell shakes his head.
"No, potter dear. You should relax, youve been working quite hard on the assignments I've given you. Just relax."
Harry flushes a bit at the sudden nickname, but nods.
The weird feeling hasn't receded, Harry realizes, progressing into a fuzzy limp feeling on his joints.
He tries standing, but his body protests the movements, and he has to sit back down.
"You know, Harry.." quirell starts, making Harry look up the best he can manage.
"I see the way you look at me."
Harrys stomach drops.
Quirell sets his mug on the table, looking at Harry like hes prey.
He stands up, inching closer to Harry, then Stands beside him for a few moments.
"I know you might feel strange right now, and that's alright, just relax. I'll do the work for you."
Quirell begins to inch his hands towards the boys cloak first, pulling it off him, Harry being unable to move a muscle.
He then props Harry up on the table.
He tugs down the boys trousers.
"You want this, don't you?" Quirell says, stroking Harry's cheek.
Harry can't respond, can't fight back.
His breathing quickens, but quirell doesn't notice, or ignores that.
He doesn't want to do this.
He likes-liked the older man, but not like this.
Tears begin to form in his eyes, which quirell wipes away with a gentleness that makes Harry sick to his stomach.
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Quirell helps Harry put his clothes back on, as he's still feeling limp.
He helps Harry clean up, and seems to use a spell to get rid of the odd effects.
He ushers the boy towards the door, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Harry doesn't move a muscle, still quite spaced out.
Weirdly, quirell seems understanding of this, and unlocks the door for him.
He can't feel glad for that, not now.
He wants to get out. Never come back-never-neve-
His hand rests on the doorknob, but the man's voice echoes from behind.
"Oh, and, Harry?"
The boy turns around, unable to make any noise, but just giving a slight tilt of the head.
"Don't tell anyone what happened tonight, alright? There's not anything wrong with it, really, but people find it odd, you know. But, I know you liked it." He teases, making Harry grimace.
He simply nods in response, finally being able to escape.
Quirell cant let him off the hook yet, it seems.
"Alright, go to your dorm, Harry. You've got another class with me tomorrow, you wanna be on task for me, don't you?"
Harry nods again, closing the door behind him.
He watches the door as it closes, then makes a run for it once it fully does.
He isn't sure where he's going, but he's just running , running, running, running, and running.
Harry feels the hands cradling through his hair in phantom whispers, the digging of overgrown nails into his skin.
He wants to run from the feeling, run from it all.
Aparentally, in his state, He actually did end up at the dorms.
In a daze, he says the password, walking inside.
He ignores every person in his vicinity, and jumps on his bed.
He hears voices and people assumedly trying to chat with him, but he just can't do it.
God, no, why cant anyone leave him alone? He just wants to be alone.
Before he can catch it, tears slip down his cheeks.
He hasn't changed into proper clothes , but he cant say he really cares.
Harry drifts into sleep, head facing the wall so no one catches the silent tears falling from tired, too old eyes.