character/pairing: Quirrell/Alice Longbottom.
summery: He lies when he tells the story of his turban to the class - there was no African prince.
author's notes: Written for the second installment of my rarepair_shorts prompt table with the prompt of surprise. Two in one day, I believe this is called being on a roll.
Chapter one here.
“Come on.” She whispers her words, and takes his hand. She leads him, almost blindly, through the labyrinth of halls they have long called home.
Life at sixteen is easy for them both. He is the Ravenclaw that has hands slightly too large for a neat script of writing, and she is the Gryffindor that shows her courage in her temper. She roars like a lion and burns like a forest fire and he cannot help but be drawn to her.
“Where’re we going?” They continue to whisper, their need not to break the stillness that hovers over the castles evident in their tone. He follows her through, almost as blindly as she leads him.
She has spent her summer in the darkest groves of Africa. He has spent his at home, silently alone as he awaits her owls. He opens them one after one, Wednesday after Wednesday and yet still, he cannot fail to notice how her elegant if somewhat sloppy words fail to show him her welsh-women vowels.
And suddenly as she turns and smiles at him, he knows he cannot help but forgive her for leaving him.
They have reached the sunlight now and he feels as if the rays are basking them both in ecstasy. He grins and she grins and from that point on it feels infectious.
“Here.” They are still whispering and he looks down as she presses the soft material of the turban into his hands.