Chapter 14- Under the Influence of Liquid Courage
Chapter 14- Under the Influence of Liquid Courage
The revelations of the night brought about another round of heavy drinking, neither man wanting to dive into the implications at that moment. By eleven-o-clock (11:00) p.m. the bottle of firewhiskey sat empty on the coffee table between them.
“I think that’s my cue to leave.” Mike slurred slightly, eyeing the dark bottle next to his empty glass. Severus merely nodded. He stood, swaying slightly, and made his way out the door with a hand on the stone walls for support. As he wandered back to his rooms, luckily not coming across another teacher or student along the way, he thought about the Dark Lord and his host. His anger at the two (2) was made ten times (10x) worse by the alcohol in his bloodstream. So, with courage and recklessness brought only by strong liquor, he made a detour to the DADA professors quarters.
He banged on the wooden door until the frail and pathetic man opened it. Quirinus Quirrell stared into his eyes, confusion and slight fear creeping onto his face.
“Afton? What are you doing here so late?” The man asked nervously. Micheal pushed the door open, storming inside the living area.
“Which one of you had the *brilliant* plan of letting a *troll* into a school full of small children?” He spat, slurring slightly, voice almost calm if it weren’t for the venom lacing his every word. Quirrell closed the door, attempting to school his features into indifference but the apprehension was evident in his sunken eyes. “Well?”
“I didn’t think-”
“No, you didn’t.” Michael cut him off. He turned to face the possessed fool, disgust and anger souring his face. He leaned on the seemingly unused couch. “If you *ever* endanger those kids again, I will personally tear you apart from the inside out. Keeping you alive just enough to feel every bit of pain I wish to inflict. Do you understand?”
The man in front of him was frozen with fear, unable to do nothing but give a shaky jerk of the head to show he understood. With that, Michael left to his own quarters before he could fully process what he did.
Quirinus Quirrell had not expected to be woken up to an insistent pounding on his door at eleven-twenty-five (11:25) at night.
He had to hurriedly put on the turban used to hide his Lord as a painful headache split his skull open. At first he was furious, expecting to tell off whoever was at the door, but when he was greeted by the sight of an obviously drunk Michael Afton he grew worried.
Quirinus knew that the troll wasn’t the best distraction, but he had been growing desperate. He was still weakening from the possession, and although the potion Afton has been supplying helps it doesn’t completely stop the decline of his body. He needed to hurry up and get the damn stone.
But as he stared into glaring eyes, rage swirling in the deep purple irises, he began to regret his decision. Just a little.
“Afton? What are you doing here so late?” The man pushed past him and walked over to lean on the couch for support in his drunken state.
“Which one of you had the *brilliant* plan of letting a *troll* into a school full of small children?” The man's speech was slightly slurred, but a threatening presence filled the air around them. “Well?”
“I didn’t think-”
“No, you didn’t.” Afton turned to face him, anger and disgust twisted his features. “If you *ever* endanger those kids again, I will personally tear you apart from the inside out. Keeping you alive just enough to feel every bit of pain I wish to inflict.” The dark presence began to suffocate the man. In the back of his mind he could feel his Lord, who was seemingly intrigued by the icy grip of death that was Afton’s magic. “Do you understand?”
Quirnius was to paralyzed by the weight of the magic to speak, giving a jerk of the head in response instead.
He watched the man stumble out of his quarters, the grip of death finally releasing him. While Quirinus Quirrell was still shaking with fear at the entity that was Michael Afton, the Dark Lord Voldemort could not be more interested in any other being.
Michael woke up the next morning with a raging hangover. Luckily he could just let his students work on their projects instead of actually teaching. He stood with a groan, heading to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. But, as the warm water cascaded down on his face, he started to remember bits and pieces of the previous night.
Harry Potter could still be there.
He cursed to himself. Stepping out of the shower, he dried off and looked in the mirror. He still had dark circles under his eyes, but he had gained some weight back and looked much more alive than he had a few months ago. The scars marring his stomach had stopped reopening finally and some of the shallow ones were beginning to fade. He couldn’t look at himself for long.
He still looked so much like his father.
People always said so. He thought it was a compliment once, what with his father being a successful and attractive man, but now it was a curse. They had the same face, same build, same eyes.
Even his own sister couldn’t tell them apart.
He turned away from the reflective sheet on the wall and grabbed some clothes. Throwing them on he headed to breakfast. It was a bit late, but he still had plenty of time before his first class. On his way to the Great Hall a few students gave him a knowing look, although they didn’t dare say anything to a professor.
He locked eyes with Severus as he walked to the staff table. The man looked… surprisingly put together.
“How the hell do I feel like absolute shit right now, and your…” Mike made a vague gesture to the other man.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He replied, but the slight smirk clued Michael into the sarcastic tone.
“Yeah right, keep your secrets.” He waved the man off and served himself a small helping of breakfast, sipping his coffee. Severus rolled his obsidian eyes.
“If you must know,” He started, “I may have taken a hangover cure once I woke this morning.” He passed Mike a small phial under the table. “I *am* a Potions Master, and could you imagine the chaos in my classroom if I weren’t paying complete attention to my students. I have the Longbottom boy in my class and that idiot would kill us all.”
Michael takes the phial and downs it without making a face. He does however give the fellow Professor a glare.
“He’s just a kid, you shouldn’t talk like that. You sound like my father.”
The atmosphere grew tense.
Maybe that was a little too soon, given the circumstances.