Lisa, I just have trouble sleeping, it's not a big deal. I like to see the castle and I never get caught, do I?"
She sighed, and he could see her begin to relent.
"I appreciate this, you know? All of you getting together like this. It means a lot to me, but I'm okay. Really." Harry wasn't a psychologist, but he knew that probably wasn't entirely true. However, he was better. He rarely panicked in conversation and he hardly ever longed for his cupboard anymore. He had been happier here than the previous nine years combined.
"Fine. The others won't be happy though."
He felt relieved. "Thank you, Lisa." He nudged something that made her feel warm inside and she smiled.
pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq
Harry supposed that was the first time he used his talents on a friend in a way that went beyond a simple invasion of privacy. Sure, he used them to find out what they wanted and make them content – which was a manipulation, certainly – but was never as forward as that.
He didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.
"Who's there?" he asked suddenly as Harry climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"
He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.
"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."
Harry had a sudden idea. "Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."
Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.
"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, Sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake, I didn't see you, of course I didn't, you're invisible, forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."
"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this place tonight."
"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you." And he scooted off.
"You are not the Bloody Baron." Harry heard from behind him. A voice like steel wool on metal spoke just above a whisper.
Harry whirled around to see a wand leveled at him. Holding the wand was a strong jawed man with a turban.
"Imperio." The voice came confident and cool, barely above a whisper and yet it brimmed with fire.
A soft influence in Harry's head grew. Harry felt as though he might float away. The world no longer concerned him. There was a voice though. It whispered.
Show yourself to me.
Harry removed the cloak with twitching and sporadic fingers.
He felt bile in his throat and he rushed back to Earth.
"Potter." The Professor said huskily. "Of all the students in all the castle, you would be here tonight?"
Harry shook his bindings. He was covered in strings and they pulled at his mind.
Fight back.
He demanded himself.
No sooner had he thought the words was there pain. He fell to his knees clasping his skull.
"The price of resistance, Mr. Potter." The Professor's words were amused. "As entertaining as this would be, I am in a bit of a rush. Avada-"
"No."
Harry heard a new voice. He heard it out loud, and he heard it in his head.
"Bring him. I want to show him. I want him to know."
"Come Potter." Quirrell bade.
Harry considered resistance and an odd creep of agony traced its way up his spine. A warning. Obedience would be enforced.
Harry followed the professor and as he did he felt a sense of pleasure wash over him. Euphoria at his conformity.
Harry stepped inside the third floor corridor after the Professor Quirrell. In a magnificent twist of magic the man summoned a beautiful silver harp. The Professor walked past the enchanted harp which he had bewitched to play a lullaby tune. It had evidently worked, because the enormous three-headed dog fell asleep. The great beast in the room really was impressive, and more than a little intimidating this close. He didn't gawk long, and quickly followed the man down.
He could hear the stuttering professor muttering to himself. The man had dropped down, so Harry cast spongify on his shoes to be safe before following. He fell past some plant which was writhing away from an orb of fire, it gleamed like the sun and Harry could feel the heat even as he fell past it.
He landed on the ground, cushioned by his shoes. Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead, he could hear it over the Professor's mutterings. He pursued the man further in.
I'm going to die here.
Harry thought between the coaxing rushes of feeling that the imperious curse left him. They fell like waves on a beach; irresistible, undeniable, eternal.
They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.
Quirrell nodded to himself. The Professor stood there, waving his wand and muttering. It took him a moment but eventually he determined the right key somehow and mounted the broom. He immobilized the keys with the freezing charm and flew up to it. He grabbed it, went over to the door, and opened it. Harry followed him through.
In the next room the man played an oversized game of chess to get through the room. It was fairly dramatic, as the pieces exploded when they died.
Harry felt the curse sag. Was it lifting? Could he run once it fell?
He clutched his skull as it was torn open by the mind magic. The spell had not actually faltered, it had been a trick. A reminder.
Was this the summit of mind magic?
In the next room there was a troll which died almost instantly at the end of the professor's wand. A flash of light almost too fast to see, fire the burned so hot Harry could feel it nearly ten meters away.