Author's Note:

Woo-hoo! 43 reviews! You guys RULE! Thank you so much, it really made my week, and encouraged me to keep working on the next chapter, despite the many distractions (real work, Christmas-related nonsense, worrying about whether Amazon will manage to deliver my dad's present on time, you know the kind of thing).

Anyway, here, nice and speedily as promised, is Chapter Two. Hope you enjoy, and please review!

PB x


Chapter Two: Troll

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"I can't believe it…" Ron was saying for the umpteenth time. "We could have been expelled. Expelled!"

Hermione wished he would just shut up about it. As it was she kept breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought. She had nearly been expelled! And she had nearly died!

"My mum would have gone ballistic if I'd been expelled! None of my brothers have ever been expelled. Fred and George were suspended for a week once, but they were never actually expelled…"

She wished he would stop saying the word "expelled".

"At least you've got somewhere to go back to," said Harry, miserably, "If I'd been expelled, I'd have had to go back and live with my Aunt and Uncle, and they hate me."

Hermione glanced up at him, surprised. She was quite sure he must be exaggerating. No-one's Aunt and Uncle actually hated them.

"Yeah, but at least you can go to a Muggle school," said Ron, "I'd have to stay at home with my mum 'til I'm seventeen." He shuddered at the thought. "Fred and George would take the mickey out of me forever."

"At least you'd still be able to use magic. I wouldn't be allowed to do any spells at all. Uncle Vernon would probably snap my wand."

Ron giggled. "Yeah, the last thing you need is a snapped wand!"

They both laughed, and Hermione felt as though she had missed something.

"And I wouldn't be allowed to play Quidditch!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, as though this would be the worst thing of all.

Ron gaped at him in horror. Clearly, he also thought that this was the worst punishment imaginable. "Well, that's just… just..."

He tailed off, and they both sank into a depressed silence.

---

Ron chanced a sideways look at Hermione, sitting in an armchair nearby and apparently absorbed in her book. His stomach gave a feeble lurch. He still felt a horrible kind of gnawing guilt over what had happened yesterday. Yes, she was annoying, and yes, she was a know-it-all, and having her correct his pronunciation as though he was three was particularly galling, but he hadn't meant Hermione to overhear him complaining about her to Harry, and he certainly hadn't meant to make her cry.

---

This was all his fault! If he hadn't said - what he said - she wouldn't have been off on her own crying in the loos, and a sitting target for an escaped troll. And despite all that - his stomach gave another lurch - she had stuck up for them to McGonagall! She had pretended it was all her fault, that she had gone looking for the troll, and that they had realised she was missing and come to help. Well, that last bit was true, anyway. Even it was mainly out of guilt.

---

It was weird, though. She seemed like the sort of person who would shop them to a teacher in a heartbeat, just to win herself a couple of House points. And she'd made it quite clear over the last couple of months how much she disliked them. Him, especially. The very first thing she'd said to him when they'd met on the train was to tell him that the spell he was attempting to show Harry was "not very good". And then she'd announced that all the spells she'd tried had worked perfectly, and finished off by telling him he had dirt on his nose! Was it any wonder they'd got off on the wrong foot after that?

---

She didn't have to say what she did to McGonagall, though. She could have let them be expelled, or at least, get about a million years of detentions, but she didn't. He still didn't quite understand why. He felt he ought to say something, but what? "Sorry I almost got you killed by a rampaging troll" just didn't seem to cut it, somehow. Maybe she didn't want him to say anything. She'd probably be quite happy if he never spoke to her again, in fact.

---

He glanced across at her again. All of that mad curly hair of hers was hanging in front of her face, so he couldn't see her expression. Maybe he should just leave her alone, like she obviously wanted. No, actually, that was rubbish. Who wanted to be alone? Who wanted to have no friends? She obviously didn't, or she wouldn't have been off crying in the toilets half of yesterday, would she? Guilt coursed through him once more. Yeah, Ron, he told himself, that's definitely the way to make friends. Tell them that nobody likes them and then get them nearly half killed by a troll. Nice one. You idiot.

---

He had been worried, before he met Harry on the train, that he might have difficulties making friends here. He came from a large family, so there was never much need to socialise with other children. Not to mention that he'd been taught at home, like most children from wizarding families, and that was bound to put him at a disadvantage from all the Muggle-born and Half Blood kids who'd been mixing with other children since the age of four.

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But then he'd met Harry, who seemed to have the same worries about not fitting in (although, of course, they'd never actually discussed it), and made his first proper friend outside of the family. He didn't count that boy from the village who he'd been friends with for about two weeks one summer, since that had ended badly when the boy had pushed him into a puddle and thrown one of his shoes over a hedge. That had been a learning experience. Basically, what he'd learned was; "Don't tell strangers that you're a wizard because you'll end up walking home with one shoe on."

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It was funny, really. Dad was always telling them that they ought to make friends with Muggles, but most of the ones he'd encountered so far had hardly been what you might call friendly. The Muggles Harry had grown up with had made him sleep in a cupboard. Hermione Granger had looked down on him from day one. Although... Dean seemed really nice, even if he did like that stupid football. And Harry had said that his aunt and uncle and cousin weren't typical of all Muggles. And Hermione...

---

He sighed, and shot another sideways glance at her. Hermione had told a downright lie to McGonagall, purely to save their skins. Funny how something like this could change your whole opinion of someone. This time last week if you'd given him the choice of spending an evening in the company of Hermione Granger or a stinking twelve-foot mountain troll, he'd have taken the troll, no contest.

He started to laugh all of a sudden, and the others both looked up.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, amused.

"I was just… ha ha… remembering the look on that troll's face when you… ha ha… shoved your wand up his nose!"

Harry grinned. "It was pretty funny…"

"Yeah, he didn't see that one coming!"

Ron did an impression of the troll reacting in confusion to having a foreign object thrust up his nostril, which reduced Harry nearly to hysterics. For several minutes neither of them could speak, they were both laughing so much.

"Who keeps a troll at a school, anyway?"

"I know! Someone mental, obviously!"

"I mean, what next? A fire-breathing dragon in the Great Hall?"

"What, McGonagall, you mean?" asked Ron, innocently, and Harry shouted with laughter.

Ron laughed at Harry laughing, then frowned all of a sudden. "I hope she doesn't write to my mum, she'll kill me." He started laughing again. "I'd rather face the troll!"

"Oh, come on!" protested Harry, sceptically, "She can't be that bad."

"You haven't met her," Ron retorted.

"I have. I met her at King's Cross, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You haven't been on the end of one of her tongue-lashings, though. Seriously, you think that telling-off from McGonagall was bad…"

"I quite enjoyed it, actually."

Ron gaped at him. "Being told off? You're weird!"

"No! Fighting the troll!"

Ron chuckled. "It was pretty cool, wasn't it?"

Hermione stared at them. They'd all just been nearly killed! How could they possibly think that was 'cool'? She shook her head. She would never understand boys.

"Who shall we fight next?" Harry joked.

"Malfoy?" Ron suggested, with a distinct air of hopefulness.

"You're on." He made a face. "I tell you one thing, though; I'm not sticking my wand up his nose."

"Oh, I dunno, you wouldn't have to try very hard. His nose is permanently stuck up in the air anyway."

A jolt went through her. He'd said something very similar about her just last week. Was that really what everyone thought of her?

"Yeah, but I'd never get my wand clean. I'd have to go at it with a scouring pad."

"A what?" asked Ron, curiously.

"It's a sort of wiry green cloth Muggles use to clean saucepans," Harry explained.

"Oh." Ron made a face. "That's really boring."

"You asked!"

"I know, and now I wish I hadn't."

Ron rubbed the back of his head distractedly and chanced another look over at Hermione, who was still engrossed in her book. He should definitely say something. This was getting ridiculous.

Harry sighed. "I suppose everything's going to seem really boring now after fighting a troll. It'll just be lessons and homework and more lessons from now 'til Christmas."

Hermione gaped at him. What was wrong with that? That was what school was supposed to be about! Not nearly getting yourself killed by a troll!

Ron shook his head. "What about your first Quidditch match next week? That's pretty exciting!"

"Yeah," said Harry, cheering up slightly. "Yeah, that's gonna be great. As long as I don't fall off my broom or anything."

"You'll be fine," said Ron, confidently. "Youngest Seeker this century, remember?"

"Mm," said Harry, uncertainly. "But I've never actually played a proper match before, have I? I hadn't even heard of Quidditch 'til two months ago. What if I'm rubbish?"

"You won't be," said Ron, but he sounded rather less confident.

There was a short silence.

"The worst thing that'll probably happen is if Fred and George play some sort of practical joke on you."

"What?" said Harry, sounding slightly panic-stricken, "What do you mean? What sort of practical joke?"

"They probably won't, though," said Ron, hastily. Why did he always say the wrong thing? "I mean, they know you'll be nervous enough already. I can have a word with them, if you like."

Harry shook his head. "Don't bother," he muttered, but he didn't look happy.

"I know what we need," Ron suddenly said, and he got up without another word and disappeared upstairs to the boys' dorms. Harry and Hermione continued to sit in silence, with nothing to say to each other. Finally, after a long couple of minutes, Ron reappeared with a small, orange-coloured box, which he held out to Harry.

"Here you go."

"What is it?" Harry asked, suspiciously.

"Biscuits! Mum sent them to me for Hallowe'en."

"Have they been in your pocket?"

"No, they bloody haven't!" (Hermione cringed at his language) "Do you want one or not? They're really good. She made them herself."

"Yeah, alright," said Harry, giving in and taking one, "Go on, then. Thanks."

Ron took a deep breath. Now or never, Weasley.

"Hermione?" he asked, in a studiedly casual voice.

A jolt went through her and she looked up, despite herself. "Wh-what?"

He had come over to where she was sitting and was holding the box out to her, too. "Do you want a biscuit?"

"A biscuit?" she repeated, blankly.

"Yeah."

"Oh. Er…"

He frowned at her hesitation and his hand wavered. "I didn't steal them, if that's what you're worried about. My mum made them."

She flushed. "Oh, no! I didn't think - that's not what I -"

Now she had offended him! Why did she always say the wrong thing?

She took one of the biscuits awkwardly. They were large and round and flat and each had a design of a smiley-faced pumpkin in bright orange icing on the top.

"Thank you," she said, gratefully.

She could feel him still watching her and bent her head to concentrate on eating her biscuit, feeling her whole face practically on fire with embarrassment.

Ron still hadn't returned to his seat. She could see his battered trainers at the bottom of her field of vision.

He cleared his throat pointedly. "Um… look, I just wanted to say… I'm sorry about… about before… what I said… I didn't mean it."

"That's quite alright," she squeaked, still unable to look him in the eye. "It doesn't matter."

And anyway, it was true, wasn't it? What he had said to her. She didn't have any friends. He had only voiced aloud what everyone else already thought. What she herself already knew.

"Right," he said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. "Well, er…"

She chanced lifting her gaze and saw that he too was crimson with embarrassment. The effect of his red face with his red hair, and coupled with the red t-shirt he was wearing too, made him resemble nothing so much as a large, embarrassed tomato. She stifled a giggle at the comical image this conjured up.

"Honestly, its fine," she assured him, feeling a little more confident now. "After all, you did just save my life."

She was still rather unsure of what to make of this turn of events. She had thought that everyone hated her. She had been certain Ron Weasley hated her, after what he had said to her earlier. But they had come looking for her, on purpose. They had come to help her when she was in trouble. They had put themselves in danger, nearly got themselves killed, nearly got themselves expelled, for her. No-one had ever done anything like that for her before. She really didn't know what to make of it. Did this mean they were friends now? It wasn't exactly something one could ask.

"Yeah," he said, uncertainly, "Not really, though. I mean, if I hadn't… you wouldn't… Well, I'm sorry, anyway. I don't really think you're a - a nightmare."

The last word was mumbled and almost below the range of human hearing, but she knew what it was.

She gave what she hoped was an airy shrug. "Honestly, it's fine. People have said worse, believe me."

He looked somewhat sick at this, and she felt rather sorry for him. She wished she hadn't said it.

"Oh," he said, weakly, and slunk back to his chair, sitting very low in the seat as though hoping the ground might swallow him up.

There was rather a long silence.

"Thanks for what you said to McGonagall," piped up Harry, finally, "If it wasn't for you, we'd both be on the train home by now. So, um…thanks. We owe you."

"Yeah, thanks," mumbled Ron, who was now merely pink in the face rather than crimson.

"Well, if it wasn't for you... both of you… I'd be d -"

She stopped abruptly, a lump in her throat. It really didn't bear thinking about. She wiped her eyes quickly, hoping they wouldn't notice.

When she looked up again Harry gave her a weak smile, which she returned, gratefully.

Ron was still looking anywhere but at her.

That hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. Maybe he should have just have left it. "People have said worse"! People like Malfoy, she probably meant, and now he was included in that group, too. He was the worst person in the world. Well, if words weren't going to do it, there was only one other thing he could do...

"Biscuit?" he offered, brightly, holding the box out to her again.

Hermione shook her head. "My mum says I shouldn't eat biscuits because they're bad for me."

She almost gasped. Why had she said that? Now they'd hate her again and wouldn't want to be friends with her anymore.

Ron considered this for a moment. "Yeah, that's probably true." He glanced down at the half-nibbled biscuit in his hand. "But it's probably bad for you to try to tackle an escaped troll as well, so I reckon one little biscuit wouldn't hurt."

"Well..." That did seem reasonable. And she could always brush her teeth afterwards. "Okay, then."

She reached out to take one, but then pulled her hand back. "You've only got one left."

"I know. But we've both had two each, so that one's yours."

She hesitated. "But… don't you want it? They're your biscuits, after all."

He shrugged. "I'm not really that hungry, to be honest."

He flushed slightly when he said this, and she suspected it was a lie for her benefit.

"Take it," he insisted, and then when she still hesitated, "Look, I tell you what, you have this one, and then next time, you can bring the biscuits. How does that sound?"

"Next time?" she asked, and her heart beat a little faster.

"Yeah, Ron," Harry interjected, dryly, "I don't think Hermione's planning on fighting any more trolls any time soon. Nor am I, for that matter."

"Shut up," Ron grinned, "I just mean, you know, next time we have biscuits, that's all." He turned back to Hermione. "My favourite's anything with chocolate on it, but I'm really not fussy."

She stared at him, slightly taken aback. Was he serious?

"He really isn't," Harry agreed. "I've never seen anyone with an appetite like Ron's, and I grew up with Dudley."

She didn't know who Dudley was, but relaxed a little anyway.

"Fine," she said, feeling suddenly rather daring, "Next time you two nearly get us all killed by a troll, I'll bring in some Hob Nobs."

Harry laughed - laughed! At a joke she had made! - but Ron merely looked confused.

"What in the name of Merlin is a Hob Nob?" he asked.

"It's a Muggle biscuit," explained Harry, helpfully.

"With chocolate on," Hermione added.

"Awesome," said Ron.

Hermione smiled.

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Endnote:

Can I take this opportunity to say a big collective thank you to each and every one of you for your wonderful reviews for Chapter One? I know I always promise to reply individually to each review, but as the turnaround's so quick for this story, and as I'm rushing around trying to do a million other things this week, I just haven't got the time, unfortunately. I promise that once things have settled down again after Christmas, I will make sure I reply to all of your reviews personally

PB x

p.s: I had to re-read certain sections of Philosopher's Stone in order to write this chapter, and subsequently realised that Ron didn't start teaching Harry wizard chess until the Christmas holidays. I don't think anyone noticed though, so shhh!