The low sky hulked both outside the windows and in the upper recesses of the Great Hall, hiding the rafters within a fog of fine rain that, while never quite reaching the candles or the tables below, left the students hunkered, their voices subdued. James glanced toward the dais and caught the skinny young professor eyeing him sharply, his chin raised and craning, his hair combed in a glossy black wing across his forehead.
He saw James’ look and his head retracted between his shoulders like something on a spring, his eyes darting away. As James watched, the professor maneuvered a carafe of pumpkin juice slightly, as if to hide behind it.
It happened again that afternoon, in the halls between classes as the professor stood in the doorway of his classroom, his eyes sharp, watching James as he shouldered through the throng of students toward History of Magic. And again, unmistakably, in the library that evening, as James caught a glimpse of the professor between the bookcases, ostensibly reading a thick book but peering furtively at up from beneath his lowered brow.
The following day’s Charms class was cancelled at the last minute with no appearance by the professor at all. James and the rest of the class were informed, after waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour, that Professor Odin-Vann had unexpectedly taken ill.
“Merely a trifle,” Professor Votary assured them from the Charms classroom door, the irony in his eyes clearly editorializing the new teacher’s absence as well as announcing it. “I’m sure he shall bounce back in a trice and feel quite the dandy for cancelling class at such short notice.” He lowered his voice beneath the sudden noise of hastily packing bags and scraping chairs. “Something I never would have done, of course, cancel a class over a mere sniffle and cough. But, alas, young men these days don’t seem to be built with quite the same constitution as those of the older generation.”
And it seemed that the Ancient Runes professor was right after all, for as James and a few dozen other students gathered around the a notice board that evening, discussing the Quidditch tryouts announcement that had just been posted, he saw Professor Odin-Vann at the end of the hall, seemingly perfectly healthy, standing with his wand in his hand, pointed at the floor. The man seemed to be watching James, and this time, when James met his gaze, the professor didn’t glance away. James did not have on his spectacles, of course, so he couldn’t quite make out Odin-Vann’s expression. But he seemed to sense a sort of watchful resignation in the man’s posture and the set of his face.
James was tempted to disengage from the group near the notice board and approach Odin-Vann right then and there. The professor must have sensed James’ thoughts, however, for at that moment he turned, his robes flowing beneath the angles of his sharp elbows and knees, and stalked away, turning along an intersection and vanishing from sight.
James glared at the now empty corridor where Odin-Vann had stood a moment before. Was the man actually avoiding him?
Impulsively, James launched along the hall in pursuit of him, using his long legs to carry him swiftly and quietly without resorting to an outright run. He reached the intervening corridor quickly, knowing that Odin-Vann would have disappeared into any of the myriad side passages, stairways, and doors. Instead, he nearly ran into the professor, who had stopped just beyond the angle of the corner, his shoulders slumped as if he had been magically turned off.
“Professor!” James said, skidding to a halt, the surprise in his voice sharpening it to a half-shout.
The young man startled so violently that he fumbled the wand in his hand. It clattered to the floor and rolled, even as the professor dropped to a squat and scrambled for it, his shoulders cinching up next to his ears like the wings of a vulture. He tried to stand and spin around at the same time, wheeling on James, but the movement was clumsy and James had to reach out an arm to steady the man before he stumbled sideways into the wall.
Footsteps echoed behind James, following him. He didn’t need to look to know that it was Ralph and Rose, curious to see why James had run off.
Odin-Vann attempted to compose himself as quickly as he could before the newcomers arrived. He brushed a hand frantically down his robes, straightening them, and then smoothed his fingers compulsively over the thick hank of hair on his forehead, pushing it back into place.
“Mr. Potter,” he said, raising his chin as if he meant to wield his pointed beard like a dagger. “You shouldn’t startle people so. You never know how a trained witch or wizard might respond.” He gripped his wand tightly, as if to imply that only practiced control had prevented him from reflexively turning James into a frog.
“You were there, weren’t you?” James asked quickly, his voice lowered. “I saw you, and you saw me. That’s why you’ve been watching me. You’re trying to figure out if I was really there. Just like I’m doing with you.”
James had to give the young professor credit. The expression on his face didn’t change a tick, but the color drained from it so quickly that he swayed on his feet. His fist relaxed on his wand.
“What’s this?” Ralph asked, breathing hard as he caught up.
“Hi, professor. Feeling better, I hope?”
Rose had heard James’ question, however. She moved next to him and studied Odin-Vann’s face. “You were there?” she said, a suspicious lilt in her voice. A second later, her eyes blazed and she turned on James. “He was there?! Why didn’t you tell us?!” She pointed at the thin man, who heaved a deep, resigned sigh and sagged slightly.
“Let us at least not discuss this in the halls,” he growled, rolling his dark eyes. “My quarters are nearby, such as they are. Come.”
He turned and swept away, moving into the dimness of the corridor, nearly vanishing into it. James glanced back at Rose and Ralph, surprised into silence. After a moment, Odin-Vann paused and glanced impatiently back over his shoulder.
“Come!” he called, inserting a note of impatient command into his otherwise hushed voice.
Speaking volumes with her eyes alone, Rose glared at James, and then trotted to follow the teacher. Breathlessly, James and Ralph hurried to join her.
The professor’s quarters were not, in fact, around the next corner, as the man had inferred. Odin-Vann led them briskly through turn after turn, into narrower hallways and down short flights of steps, into a section of the castle that James had never before seen. Here, there were no classrooms or offices, only ranks of doors, small and warped in their stone frames, squat and close together. Finally, stopping in a damp, nondescript corridor, the professor tapped a tarnished door handle with his wand, causing the door to unlatch loudly and creak partway open.