I know, the last chapter was super short. Sorry about that, life and work has gotten in the way so the last chapter ended up being shorter than I intended. Fear not, this will not be a pattern!

I do not own Harry Potter. Only Aria Bourne (the fictional one).

October 30, a Thursday, found the common room abuzz with excitement for the next evening's Halloween Feast. The older students were discussing what treats they were hoping to be served, and looking forward to the early end of classes.

"Why are we getting out of classes early?" Aria asked as she spread her homework over her section of table. Harry and Ron adjusted their books to make room for her.

"Because we're also celebrating the destruction of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Daphne said from the table next to them. "Halloween's the night he was defeated."

"By Harry?" Aria wanted to make sure she got it right.

"Yes."

"Wait, Halloween?" Harry cried. "That's when I defeated him?" Theo and Blaise looked up from their homework. Several upper years who'd overheard looked their way, but Harry didn't seem to notice. His green eyes were trained on Daphne and held such an intense desire that Aria almost backed away.

"Yes," Daphne replied. "Didn't you know that.?"

"No, I didn't. I didn't even know I was someone who was famous until I went shopping and Hagrid told me. So . . . wait . . . if Halloween's the night that I defeated Voldemort—,"

Various students gasped and made some sort of strange movement in front of their chests, like they were trying to ward off evil.

"—then that means Halloween's the night my parents died." Harry's voice faded at the end of the sentence and his quill dropped from his hand. He fell back against the back of his chair, a faraway look coming over him at the startling realization. Daphne's eyes widened and the first years shared looks. What should they do? How did one handle a friend who'd just discovered the night his parents died was a night their culture was celebrating as a victory?

"You going to cry, Potter?" Draco sneered from the couches. Aria glared at the boy over her shoulder. He hadn't gotten suspended, but Snape had taken an additional fifty points from Slytherin and given the spoiled brat a week's detention. "Poor orphaned Potter wants sympathy. You're not going to find any here."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron snapped.

"Or what? You're going to make me?"

"Yes," Aria hissed. "I will. The Muggle way."

"The Muggle way? That doesn't sound the least bit frightening." Aria made to stand, who did Malfoy think he was, mocking a person just because his parents were dead? But Harry grabbed her arm and yanked her back to her seat.

"He's not worth it," Harry said. "Not at the moment." He picked up his quill. "Regardless, I don't feel like attending the feast. You and Ron can go, but I won't."

"No," Aria said. "We'll stay with you."

"We will?" Ron questioned. Aria glowered at him and he nodded his head. "I mean, of course we'll stick with you, Harry."

"You need to come to terms with their death." The common room turned to seventh year prefect, Tyson Turner. He got up from the armchair he'd claimed to come stand by Harry. "You need to celebrate Samhain. Come to a spiritual closure about their deaths or else your magic will stifle."

"Sam-what?" Harry asked.

"A lot of our holidays are getting mixed up with more Muggle traditions," Turner said. "Halloween and Samhain being just an example. However, many who live solely in the wizarding community still celebrate the Old Religion. My family still does."

Several older students verbally agreed with him.

"Tomorrow, after classes, we can celebrate Samhain," Turner said. "Before the feast. You'll attend because you're a Slytherin and while some . . . ." he glanced at Malfoy, "have other thoughts, Slytherins stick together no matter what. Regardless of political ideals."

"I guess," Harry murmured, glancing at Aria and Ron.

"We'll celebrate with you," Ron told him.

"Yeah," Aria answered. "Even though I'm not religious or anything."

"The Old Religion is more about being spiritual than religious," Turner told Aria. "Our magic is connected with what it's around. Surround it with darkness and it'll turn dark, but surround it with light and it'll be so."

"Wizarding Philosophy?" Aria asked.

"Just common sense. We can do this in a variety of ways. If you wanted your friends we could have a bonfire before the feast and even use the Halloween Feast as a Feast of the Dead. We could set up an altar for the night too."

"We put one in our room," one of the fourth year girls said.

"I'd almost be afraid my things would be stolen," Harry muttered.

"It's frowned upon to steal things from people's altars," Turner said. "Malfoy and his cronies won't steal anything off yours."

"Excuse me?" Draco cried. Everyone ignored him.

"You'll need something personal from both of your parents," Turner continued to Harry. Harry's face fell and he slumped in his seat.

"I don't own anything from my parents, except my money," he answered.

"What do you mean?" another student asked. "You're the last of the Potter Line. Your inheritance can't be kept from you. Surely you have at least photos."

Harry shook his head.

"Are you telling us you don't even know what your parents look like?" Turner cried. Harry nodded. The common room was silent for a moment. Then, it erupted in loud, angry voices. Aria almost fell out of her chair at the start of the noise, startled as she was. Theo dropped his book and Crabbe jerked out of his doze.

"Why do you not know what your parents look like?" one girl demanded.

"My parents certainly never agreed with the Potters on matters of politics, but to deny the last heir even a glance of what his parents looked like . . . ."

"Why don't you have any photos?" Marcus Flint asked.

"My guardians, my mum's aunt and her husband, never liked my parents. Until Hogwarts, I thought they'd died in a car crash because my dad was driving drunk." Harry inched closer to Aria, obviously startled beyond belief at the outburst from the other students and the sudden surrounding of them.

"You have Muggle guardians don't you?" Tracey Paddington, the fifth year girl prefect, questioned a small sneer crossing her face.

"Yes," Harry muttered. "Certainly not the best Muggles, they hate magic and they hated my parents."

"This is not to say all Muggles hate magic," Aria was quick to add. Harry nodded in agreement, even though some of the upper years appeared skeptical at the statement.

"This cannot do," Prudence Attleberry stated. "Potter is the last of the Potter Line, one of the few houses in this world that's both Ancient and Noble. Potter, you must write your Gringotts manager immediately requesting an inventory of all your monies and possessions including properties and investments. Then you should—,"

"I have a bank manager?" Harry questioned.

"Of course you have a damn bank manager," Prudence huffed. "All pureblood families have one."

"I'm not pureblood."

"Technicality because your mother was Muggleborn. The point being, your father came from an old pureblood family, one of the oldest in Britain. Only the Blacks, Longbottoms, and Bones go back as far as yours does before you start getting other families like the Malfoys and Attleberrys coming in from Ireland and Europe. You should have met the goblin when you got your money for school. Or your solicitor should've been sending your bank statements."

"Wow, you do pay attention during our culture lessons," Tracey cried, patting Prudence o the shoulder. Prudence shoved Tracey over.

Harry looked wildly between Aria and Ron. Personally, Aria's head hurt from the information she was listening to. It appeared there was much more about being pureblood than just having no Muggles or Muggleborns in the family.

"I've never gotten any bank statements," Harry said. "I thought I was going to . . . have to ask Hagrid about scholarships until he took me to Gringotts and handed the goblin my key. My guardians certainly weren't going to pay for Hogwarts."

"Who sends the gamekeeper to take someone supply shopping?" Daphne asked.

"Who took you shopping?" Theo asked Aria.

"Professor Snape," Aria replied. "And Hermione Granger and Dean Thomas in Gryffindor said that Professor McGonagall took them."

"What's the Headmaster playing at?" Flint wondered aloud.

"He's playing god, that's what he's doing," another boy said. This seventh year, lean enough to look taller than he actually was, with deep set eyes that were dark and calculating, came through the crowd and peered down at Aria and her friends, making her feel very small.

"You and your conspiracy theories, Richards," Turner sneered.

"They aren't conspiracy theories if they're true," Richards snapped. "And, in case you haven't noticed, the only professors that give a bloody thought to Slytherin is Snape, McGonagall, and Vector; and Snape and Vector are former Slytherins. The Headmaster's never come to our defense against bullies and he's certainly proven he takes the word of others over us. He's the Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and a Grand Sorcerer as well as the Defeater of Grindelwald."

"I think we're getting off topic," Aria said. "We were discussing how terrible it was that Harry obviously doesn't know a thing about his family heritage."

"Maybe he should go to McGonagall," Draco sneered. "Afterall, his parents were Gryffindors."

Surprised at the excellent suggestion, even though it was obvious Draco was trying to turn it into something nasty, everyone stared at the blonde for a moment, making him squirm.

"That's . . . surprisingly a good idea," Turner said.

"What?" Draco cried.

"Yeah, Potter, go to McGonagall," Prudence ordered. "If anything, she might be able to tell you something useful about your parents."

"I didn't mean for it to be a good idea," Draco whined.

"Shut it," Aria ordered as she, Ron, and Harry packed up their things. They left the common room, walking quickly as they only had an hour until curfew. Ron led the way, as it appeared his brothers had told him how to get to the Gryffindor portrait hole.

The portrait known only as the Fat Lady stared ruefully down at them.

"What do you snakes want?" she demanded.

"Well, we want to talk to McGonagall, but her office hours are over," Ron answered.

"Then go away and go see her in the morning."

"We're not sure it can wait," Aria replied.

"Well I'm not going to help you."

"Then will you at least get Percy Weasley?" Ron pleaded. "He's my brother." The Fat Lady glared at them before disappearing from the portrait. She reappeared within minutes, seconds before the portrait swung open and Percy stepped out.

"What's the matter?" Percy asked, looking his brother up and down for injuries. "Are you all right? Did any other the Slytherins attack you?"

"No, I'm fine," Ron answered, though it was obvious that he enjoyed the concerned attention from his brother who, from what Aria had seen, was a bit bookish and too busy with his prefect duties to do much with any of his brothers.

"We want to see McGonagall," Ron told Percy. "See, some of the older students in Slytherin want to have a Samhain bonfire and help set up an altar for Harry since he's never celebrated Samhain, but he doesn't own anything of his parents. Not even a picture."

"Really?" Percy glanced at Harry who nodded his head, though his face was bright pink now. "And what makes you think McGonagall can help?"

"My parents were Gryffindor," Harry said. Understanding flashed across Percy's face. With a wave of his hand he had the first years follow him halfway down the corridor to a portrait of an elderly couple in Victorian garb. He knocked on the portrait and within a minute Professor McGonagall appeared.

"Mr. Weasley, this is a surprise."

"I know, Professor. But my brother and his friends wanted to see you about something important." Professor McGonagall glanced at the three Slytherin first years.

"It's not about your Head of House is it?" she asked.

"No," they answered.

"The headmaster?"

They shook their heads.

"Come in then. Thank you, Mr. Weasley, that'll be all."

The portrait closed behind the trio. Professor McGonagall motioned for them to sit in front of the fire before disappearing out of the room, returning with a tray laden with tea and chocolate cookies. She poured them tea and divided out the cookies.

"Now, what is it that you felt the need to see me about?" Professor McGonagall questioned, sitting down across from the three. "It must be important or you'd have waited until morning."

"I found out that tomorrow is the day my parents died," Harry blurted. His face turned bright red at the admission. Professor McGonagall's back stiffened, her eyes widening.

"Are you serious?" she cried, her Scottish brogue becoming thicker. "You did not know when your own parents died? Didn't your relatives ever tell you?"

"They don't like speaking of my parents much," Harry answered slowly. "I think it might . . . be difficult for them." McGonagall snorted.

"Don't try and hide your relatives disdain for the magical from me, Mr. Potter. I was there when the Headmaster dropped you at their home. Worst sort of Muggles. And I like Muggles. I have plenty of family who are Muggles."

"Well when I realized what day they'd died, I didn't feel like going to the Halloween Feast," Harry continued. "And that somehow sparked some of the older Slytherins advising me that I should, perhaps, participate in Samhain. Make an altar in memory of my parents."

"Wise advice," McGonagall said with a nod. "Helps bring closure."

"But then I realized that I don't have anything personal that belonged to my parents," Harry said. "No mementoes, no pictures . . . ."

"You don't have pictures? Your relatives . . . of course they wouldn't have photos of Lily and James." McGonagall stood from her seat and crossed over to a vanity filled with pictures; some old, some new, some in more prominent places than others. She removed one photo from a shelf at eye level and returned with it, handing it to Harry.

"This was taken on their wedding day," Professor McGonagall explained. Aria and Ron leaned over Harry's shoulder to see.

A couple, no older than twenty-one or so smiled and waved at them. The young man and woman were dressed in traditional wizarding ceremonial robes decorated with embroidery that moved about the hemline. The woman's hair was shockingly red, like the sky at sunset after a hot day, and her eyes were a vivid green. Beside her the man's hair was black and stuck in every direction and his brown eyes were hidden behind glasses.

"Your mum's beautiful, Harry," Aria murmured. Indeed, besides her own mother, Lily Potter was the most gorgeous woman Aria had ever seen.

"You look like your dad," Ron commented. "But you've got your mum's eyes." Harry traced his fingers over his parents before they kissed, James Potter scooping Lily off her feet and twirling her around.

"They look so happy," Harry whispered.

"They had their ups and downs like any other young couple," McGonagall said. "But they were happy. Especially when you came along. But they were also very brave. They wanted nothing more than for you to grow up in a safe place, where war and blood purity were a thing of the past."

"Maybe they should've moved," Harry muttered, his voice surprisingly choked. "Then they'd still be alive."

"It may seem as if they died for nothing, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said. "But, as you grow and are able to understand the nuances of what motivates people, I think you'll come to realize just why your parents staid. This was their home, and they were going to fight for it. Gryffindors to the end."

Aria thought she detected a tear roll down her professor's face.

Harry handed the photo back to McGonagall. The professor drew her wand, tapped the photo with a whispered word, and a copy peeled off the original. She removed the original from its frame, handing it to Harry, while she slipped the copy into the frame.

"There you go, Potter," she said. "Something to remember your parents by. Though if you want more, and don't tell him you heard it from me, but you really should speak to your Head of House. He and Lily Potter were the best of the friends for their first few years of Hogwarts."

"He never said," Harry murmured.

"No. With a house like yours, I doubt he would."

October 31st arrived with a calm morning and storm clouds over the distant mountains. By the time the Slytherin first years were entering their last class the day, Charms, the dark clouds were only miles away, approaching rapidly.

"Today we're going to learn to levitate objects," Professor Flitwick stated, swishing his wand. White feathers floated out of a box, one landing in front of each student. "Now, if you'll remember we've been practicing our wand movements for the past few classes. This particular charm will require the swish and flick movement. Let me see you all do it."

Aria raised her wand with the rest of her classmates, swishing and flicking to the delight of the professor.

"Now, the charm is this; Wingardium Leviosa. Let's all say that without our wands."

"Wingardium Leviosa," Aria enunciated.

"Excellent. Now I want you all to work on levitating your feathers. Remember that when you flick your wand at the end of the incantation, the wand should be pointing at the object your wish to levitate. Or you may find yourself levitating something you don't wish to."

Aria peered at her feather, all innocent looking. Hopefully this would be easier than turning a matchstick into a needle or a cup into a button.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she said, swishing and flicking her wand. Nothing happened. She repeated the spell. Had her feather moved? It certainly looked like it had. She leaned down closer to it, narrowing her eyes. She was going to be the first one to do this spell!

"Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried. The feather shifted but didn't leave the top of the desk. Beside her she heard Ron growl in frustration before shaking his wand at the feather.

"Stop!" Hermione cried from Ron's other side. "You're going to poke somebody's eye out. Besides, you're saying it wrong. It's LeviOsa. Not LeviosA!"

Ron glared at the bushy haired Gryffindor.

"If you're so clever," he snapped, "you do it."

"Ron, that's like asking for her to show you up," Aria cried, leaning around her red haired friend to watch Hermione. Hermione dismissed Ron's words with a sniff, straightened her back, and carefully swish and flicked, carefully enunciating the charm. Immediately her feather lifted from the desktop and Hermione floated it over to Professor Flitwick. Aria groaned while Ron slumped in his seat.

"Well done, Miss Granger!" their professor cried. "Ten points to Gryffindor!"

Aria turned back to her feather.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried, a hint of anger creeping into her voice. Magic seemed to come so easily for Hermione, and no matter how hard she studied, it didn't come like it did for Hermione. It just wasn't fair!

Her feather suddenly zoomed up to the ceiling, startling everyone. It floated back towards them.

"Excellent work," Professor Flitwick said. "Perhaps, though, since this is a very small and light object, you could put less emotion into your words and save such strength for larger objects like desks or people."

When the class ended, the students hurried out faster than normal in order to maximize their free time on this holiday. Ron, however, wasn't in so much of a hurry.

"You're a nightmare sometimes, Hermione!" he cried as they walked down the corridor. Hermione's eyes widened in shock at the outburst.

"I'm a what?" she cried.

"A nightmare," Ron replied. "What blood hell does it matter how I pronounce something."

"I was only trying to help, Ronald Weasley!"

"Well could you not be such a know-it-all when you do? Why else are you only friends Slytherin?"

"Ron!" Aria cried. Hermione shoved Ron into Harry before rushing off, bushy hair flying behind her. Around them people sniggered, people like Pansy and Lavender Brown from Gryffindor."

"You're such an arse, Ron," Aria cried. "What sort of friend does that?" She ran after Hermione, barely catching up with her as she ran into a girl's bathroom. Hermione tried to lock herself in a stall, but one swift hand from Aria stopped her from closing the door.

"Go away, Aria," Hermione cried. "I want to be left alone."

"Probably why you shouldn't be alone," Aria said. "If I left you alone you'd be in here crying until the feast. So, come on. My mum use to say not all tears are bad. I think crying over Ron's words is fine. The whole staying here stewing on them until the feast probably isn't."

Hermione slide down the stall wall until she was sitting on the ground. Aria settled beside her, digging into her backpack for a tissue which she passed to Hermione.

"Thanks," Hermione muttered. "Am I really such a nightmare?"

"You're a know-it-all for sure," Aria admitted.

"I just want people to know that I do belong here. You know? I've been reading about all this blood purity stuff, which really is just another form of the racism we see on television or read about in books."

"We belong here," Aria stated, making sure her voice was firm. "Nobody is going to change that fact, no matter how badly they want to. But, Hermione, there are ways of showing you're smart without being a know-it-all. Doing well on homework, passing it in on time, doing well on tests and quizzes, that's one way of showing people like the professors that you're serious about being a witch. My first year primary school teacher once told us that if the same person is constantly answering the questions, the other children won't want to because if they get it wrong, they'll feel awfully and won't be motivated to learn. I think that, in your honorable quest to show you want to belong to this new world, that you're intensity is putting people off wanting to learn and be around you."

Hermione sniffed, wiping new tears away.

"Is that why you don't show off your enthusiasm for learning like me?" Hermione asked. "Because everyone knows you're smart. I hear them talking about you in the common room. Seamus thinks you're hot."

"He would," Aria sneered. "And I won't be looking at him any time soon, though I suppose he'd be better than Draco Malfoy." The two girls stuck their tongues out in disgust.

"And yes," Aria replied. "I got bullied a lot at primary for being too smart and doing freaky things. But most of the teachers liked me because I was responsible. Granted, living where I live, that like wasn't much but I took what I could get. And I'm going to prove that I belong here too, just maybe without being pointing out the mistakes of my friend's so loudly in class."

"Do I talk loud?"

"Only outside the library."

Hermione giggled, as it was usually her who had to remind the others to whisper when they studied in the library.

"Now, come on. Let's get out of our uniforms. Why don't you join us for the Samhain bonfire? Turner's hoping we can get it in before the storm comes tonight."

"Do you think they'll let me, seeing as I'm a Muggleborn and a Gryffindor?"

"Well I'm Muggleborn."

"You're a Slytherin."

"Whatever. Come anyway."

"What is she doing here?" Pansy demanded as Aria escorted Hermione down to the bonfire area near Hagrid's hut. Hermione glared at the girl.

"She heard what we were doing and wanted to come," Aria replied. "And seeing as she knows nothing about wizarding culture except what she's read in books, I didn't see any problem about it. What's wrong with wanting to learn about the culture you're a part of?"

"She's a Gryffindor," Pansy sneered.

"She's a witch," Aria snapped. "And has every right to learn about the religions of the wizarding world."

The first years turned to the upper years who'd gathered, Turner using his wand to light the bonfire.

"The Old Religion sees no difference in blood," Turner replied. "If the Gryffindor wants to understand her new world then so be it. Maybe if Muggleborns understood this world better they'd be more apt to remain."

"Now's not the time for politics, Turner," Flint snapped. "Most of us aren't interested in your view anyway. Just get on with the ritual."

Turner rolled his eyes.

"Everyone gather round in a circle and hold hands," Turner instructed. "No funny business or I'll hex you to Iceland."

Aria stood between Ron and Hermione while Harry took Hermione's other side. The gathered group, thirty in total, made a large circle around the growing flames of the bonfire. Behind Turner, Aria could make out Hagrid's hut in the growing darkness. Lights twinkled from the man's windows and she thought she could see the man's shadow as he moved about inside.

"Great Mother and Good Father!" Turner cried, raising his hands, still clasping those on either side of him. Every followed suit. "On this night, when the Veil between our world and yours is at its thinnest, bless us that we may not be harmed through interactions with the Beyond; and grant us peace in the knowledge that those we love, who have passed, are themselves at peace."

The sun disappeared over the distant western hills. Darkness fell over the grounds, the stars blackened by the thick canopy of clouds. A rumble of thunder reached their ears.

"And now we offer our own individual prayers," Turner said. "Everyone will pray in their hearts and minds to their past family members and to the Great Mother and the Good Father. When you're done, release the hands of those you're holding and raise your wand before you."

I don't know if you can actually hear me, Aria thought, but in case you're real, Great Mother and Good Father, please take care of my mum for me. Make sure she's not in pain anymore. And mum, I miss you a lot. I wish you were here to see me at Hogwarts. You always told me that I was special. If only you knew how much.

Finished, Aria pulled her wand and held it in front of her chest. Slowly everyone around the circle brought their wands to their chests.

"The enchantment to seal our prayers over the fire is Finite Paidir," Turner instructed. "This shouldn't be too difficult for even the first years. On the count of three. One, two, three!"

"Finite Paidir!" Aria cried, her voice rising with the others assembled. Immediately she felt a rush of magic move from somewhere deep within her, through her arm, and out of wand in a display of beautiful blue sparks. Others too had sparks coming from their wands, but in different colors. Hermione's were orange, Ron's red. Harry's were a deep purple and Draco's was white.

At that moment the sky opened and rain fell heavy on the students. The bonfire went out in minutes. Everyone yanked their cloaks or jackets over their heads, sprinting for the castle. When they arrived, every one of them were soaked. Thankfully, Turner and his seventh year peers were helpful and were willing to cast Drying Charms on the first and second years who hadn't learned that particular charm yet.

"Hermione," Ron called before they entered the Great Hall. "I'm really sorry about what I said to you earlier. It was . . . uncalled for." Aria almost laughed at Harry's proud gaze he cast on Ron. Obviously Harry had had great influence on getting Ron to apologize. It certainly looked like Ron would rather be anywhere but there, if the redness of his face and ears were anything to go by.

"Thank you," Hermione replied with a sniff. "You're forgiven."

They entered the Great Hall and were immediately accosted by the elder Weasley brothers.

"Where've you been, Ronnikins?" Fred and George asked. "We saw you come in with all the big bad Slytherins, soaking wet."

"We were having a Samhain bonfire," Ron answered.

"Ah, celebrating the Old Religion," Fred cried. "Dodgy stuff that. Grandfather really gets all serious about it."

"It was fascinating," Aria stated. "I think I'd like to learn more about the Old Religion. If only to learn more about wizarding culture in general."

"Well as long as you're fine," Percy murmured to Ron. "At least it wasn't some sort of Dark ritual where you sold your soul to the devil or something."

"Can you do that?" Aria asked.

Harry and Ron steered her towards the Slytherin table.

Turner instructed the Slytherins on laying out plates filled with food at one end of the table for those that had departed from them. All the Slytherins then squished onto the last two-thirds of the table. Draco was almost shoved off the bench while Crabbe and Goyle ended up standing at the very end in order to eat.

They certainly drew more than one stare, and not just from the students. Aria noted that the professors glanced at the Slytherin table more than once. Professor Snape looked oddly proud, though she supposed the look could be construed as a grimace. He did have a peculiar way of showing his emotions.

Halfway through the feast the doors burst open and Professor Quirrell streaked in.

"TROLL!" he yelled. "IN THE DUNGEONS!" He skidded to a halt in front of the Head Table before falling over in a dead faint. Aria almost snorted. Some Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Several students screamed in fear. Dumbledore stood, waved his wand, making loud bangs erupt from the end of his wand.

"If you could all calm yourselves," he said. "If the prefects could please escort their houses to their dormitories . . . ."

"But we're in the dungeons!" Flint cried.

"And we're almost in the dungeons," someone from the Hufflepuff table cried.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "All students please remain in the Great Hall while the professors deal with the troll." He, the four Heads of House and most of the professors left the hall. Professor Vector, the Runes professor, and Professor Sinistra the Astronomy professor, stayed behind to be support for the Head Boy and Girl in watching the children.

Hermione came over to the Slytherin table, head held high as the older students eyed her with barely concealed disgust and the other tables whispered.

"What are the empty places for?" she asked.

"It's a Feast for the Dead," Daphne explained. "Food offerings for anyone who's come over for the night."

A sudden shaking of the floor caused everyone to freeze. A putrid smell that caused Aria and many others to gag filled the room.

"I think the troll's left the dungeons," someone said.

"First years to the Head Table!" Vector shouted as he and Sinistra made their way to the doors of the Great Hall, now shut and locked. "I want first years in the back, seventh years behind me and Sinistra. Youngest will be farthest from the door."

As the houses hurried to do as the professor said, the doors to the Great Hall shook with a mighty bang. Several children screamed. Aria drew her wand, even as she and Hermione latched onto each other. Harry and Ron stepped in front of them, also drawing their wands.

Could they fight off a troll? Probably not as first years, but certainly the two professors and four houses of seventh years could.

The door banged again, shaking on its hinges. Rock dust fell from the stone around the hinges. Never a good sign.

"When the troll breaks in," Vector's voice came from the front of the hall, "cast Stupify. Understand?" Dozens of students muttered their understanding.

"I don't think we've learned that one yet," Aria whispered.

"It's a stunning charm," Hermione whispering. "I read about it. It's a third year spell."

"Well then it's a good thing we've got the third to seventh years standing in front of us right? I mean, how many Stunning Charms does it take to stun a troll?"

The doors caved with another resounding bang. Splintering wood echoed throughout the Great Hall. Where was Dumbledore and the other professors? Surely by now they realized that the troll wasn't in the Great Hall?

"Fourth years to first!" Sinistra shouted. "I want you out of this room. Go through the professor's entrance!"

Second years sped past the first years towards the side door Dumbledore and others had gone through, sidestepping Professor Quirrell who was only now just rising to his feet. The first student who reached the door jiggled the handle.

"It's stuck!" she shouted. "Alohamora!" Still the door wouldn't budge.

"Wands out!" Vector yelled as the door gave a final bang, breaking open with a volley of splinters. The most disgusting smell, like rotten eggs and the garbage dump on a hot summer's day, filled the Great Hall. A troll, grayish-green with boils and scraggly hair and a large club stood before the students.

"Fire!" the Runes professor screamed.

"Stupify!" the students screamed, pointing their wands at the troll. Red bolts of magic shot from the wands of many students, hitting the troll, knocking it back a few feet, but hardly stunning it. Immediately students and professors recast the spells.

"Trolls are resistant to magic!" Aria heard Draco shout as he and the other first years tried to send off their own stunners with little success.

Fear filled Aria's stomach, rolling and weaving like waves on the river. It filled her, she could feel her magic tingling within her, like it had when she was little and over-emotional. Like right before "freaky" things happened, her accidental magic.

Focusing on that, even as the troll began making its way into the Great Hall, even as the mass of students pressed back against the back wall, Aria suddenly felt her mind and heart connect to her magic, the very center of her being. Fear wrapped around this connection, but not a paralyzing fear, an adrenaline rush fear. Her flight or fight and it was fueling her magic to do one thing, and one thing only.

Fight.

She raised her wand.

"STUPIFY!" she screamed. In the same manner as her magic had raced up her arm during the Samhain bonfire, it did so again, but this time, it was more than a tingle. It was like a fire racing from within her, heating her wand until the wood was almost too hot to touch, and in a loud red burst of light, shot from her wand with a tremendous and deafening BANG! Students ducked for cover as her red bolt hit the troll squarely in the forehead, snapping its neck back, toppling it over. It fell to the stones of the Great Hall, creating a small troll sized crater in the floor.

Aria dropped her wand, the heat too much for her.

Silence fell over the Great Hall as everyone turned to stare at her.