AN: Sorry for the delay! Here's the much-awaited troll fight! I hope you enjoy! Also, remember to check out my original fiction at FictionPress or Wattpad if you're interested, posted under the same author name! :)

Cheers!

If you asked Harry how he was able to get to the dungeon's girl's loo so quickly, he wouldn't have been able to give you a straight answer. At least, not at first.

It was only as he stood there, face flushed, chest heaving, that he realised he had channelled some of the Force into his limbs to get him to go faster. It was a trick he hadn't really put to use since his days at St. Grogory's. Thus, his present lack of endurance was something of a harsh critique of that lapse in physical conditioning.

As he stared at the ruined door frame before him, the looming figure of the troll just a few steps away from him, he made a mental note to find a way to resume his physical training.

However, all thoughts about how best to do that fled his mind the moment he heard Hermione's piercing shriek of terror.

Now, a Sith was not a creature of love. Or compassion. Masters like XoXaan did a rather effective job to stamp such "weakness" out of their pupils. Similarly, beyond the mild affection one felt for one's pets, Harry had no emotional bond to Hermione. As far as he was concerned, she was a useful tool, not an equal.

But she could be. She could be his first effective recruit into the Sith Order. She certainly had the darkness within her — it was just waiting to be let out.

Which made her survival at present a critical priority.

The problem was his weakness. How does one defeat a Mountain Troll? According to the texts he'd read, these lumbering, idiotic creatures had thick hides, and they more than made up for their lack of wits with an overabundance of physical power. Even a single, errant blow could potentially smash his bones into a fine dust.

As far as his instincts were concerned, this was a fight far out of his league. As far as his Sith mind was concerned, however, this was just a major obstacle he needed to defeat. If he didn't, how could Master XoXaan ever trust him to deal with anything significant? She would expect him to deal with the troll, even without a lightsaber in hand.

That's the king of master she was: you either sank, or you swam. And to make sure she had the right pupil, she took that idea up a notch by burdening you up with extra weights just to make it a bit harder.

Again, Hermione's screams of terror pierced the sound of the troll grunting in annoyance as it lumbered forward.

Alright, then. First things first.

He flung out a hand and, channeling his anger, unleashed a barrage of blue-white lightning at the troll. Unfortunately, other than a twitch in the monster's shoulder, it didn't seem to affect it. If anything, it paused for a moment, scratched said shoulder, then shrugged and took another step forward.

"Oi!" he yelled at it. That actually proved effective, as the mean, dumb brute turned to look at him quizzically. "Come and get me, you ugly, putrid waste of space!"

The insults themselves probably flew right over the troll's idiotic brain, yet it somehow understood it was being insulted, as it bellowed in anger at him — the same way a lion or a tiger roared at a challenger.

Hmm. Perhaps it wasn't the insults that had gotten to it, but rather that it considered Hermione to be its property?

He smirked in response. The beast had to be taught its place, it seemed. Silently, he watched as the troll's bulging muscles tensed in anticipation of its predictable charge at him. As expected, it roared again before running right at him, its disproportionately smaller head ramming through some of the stonework.

Having seen the charge coming, however, Harry was well clear of its path of destruction as it slammed headlong into the hallway's wall. To its credit, the blow didn't seem to faze it. As soon as the dust settled, it was back in view, scanning its surroundings for him. Again, Harry extended his hands and shot lightning at it, keeping up the current for a few seconds this time. The creature flinched this time, likely as a result of the frightening visual. However, it quickly realised that the lightning was not as painful as it looked and glowered at him.

"Damn," Harry muttered as it bellowed again. "New plan."

He watched the troll raise its club — more of a thick, broken branch than an actual club, in truth — and decided not to let it follow through. Spying some of the collapsed stonework, he reached out with the force and flung it at the troll's wrist. The thick, broken stone connected, and while it didn't seem to cut into the thick hide, it was enough to get the troll to yelp in pain, but not enough to get it to drop the club.

Cursing under his breath, Harry called upon his training and dove towards the troll, narrowly dodging the creature's blind swing. Rolling underneath it, his senses were struck with the nasty waft of the troll's disgusting body odour, causing him to gag as he regained his footing just behind it.

Unfortunately, that was enough of a distraction for the troll to turn on its heel, clipping him in the shoulder with a swat of its free hand. The blow sent Harry spilling on the floor painfully, his shoulder throbbing in pain.

"Shite!" he hissed as he held onto his aching shoulder. Was it broken? He tried to move it and was rewarded with a jolt of sharp pain. However, his arm was responding, which meant it wasn't broken — just very bruised. "At least there's that," he mumbled.

The pain made him mad, though, and he drew on it like a dehydrated man receiving water for the first time in a while. The pain dulled — it was still there, but it was now far more manageable. More importantly, he could feel his grasp on the Dark Side strengthen as he let his fury wash over him.

"Big mistake, arsehole!" he yelled, again extending his hands and firing off some lightning at it — this time, aimed at the creature's smallish head. The first arc of lightning was wide off the mark, courtesy of a flinch, but the second one hit home, a tendril of lightning hitting the troll right in the eye.

It howled in pain but was momentarily paralysed as Harry poured everything he had into the lightning. Every nerve ending in its being had to feel like it was on fire right now, and it showed. Its arms were outstretched, hands as well — all of its limbs shaking uncontrollably from the overflow of electric energy coursing through its being. Even from a couple of meters away, Harry could even start to smell its flesh as it cooked from the inside.

He grinned and pumped up the power by firing off another arc of lightning at it from the hand that had missed. This time, his aimed prove true, and hit the other eye, as well as its open mouth.

The creature's shrieks grew even louder as Harry sought to effectively torture it to death. Yet, Harry started to see a very definitive problem with this plan — he was running out of juice...and faster than the troll was dying.

Eventually, his lightning died out, but the beast was still alive, though blinded and heavily injured. He fell to his hands and knees gasping from the exertion, emulating the troll, but his head shot up when he heard the last thing he ever wanted to hear right now.

"Harry?"

"Hermione! Get back—!"

It was too late. Perhaps out of instinct, or just bad luck, the troll blindly lashed out at the sudden, new arrival. Before Hermione had a chance to scream, the troll's backhand had nicked her in the side, slamming her against the stone wall with a sickening splat.

"NO!" he yelled impotently as he watched Hermione crumble to the ground, an ugly splatter of blood decorating the wall where her head had hit.

Fury the likes of which he had never felt before filled him in that instant. Fury at his impotence. Fury at the creature, for injuring him. Fury at its gall to even lay a hand on what was rightfully his property!

He let out a feral roar as his rage hit its peak, the very walls shaking from the amount of Dark Side power he channelled in that one moment. Even the troll seemed taken aback by the display.

"DIE!" he yelled at it, hands outstretched. Yet, this time, he did not fire off more electricity at it. Instead, he grasped at something a bit more poetic, all things considered.

Its heart.

The troll, clearly having expected more lightning to come flying at it, was momentarily confused by the absence of pain until its eyes suddenly shot open and a strangled shriek ripped out of its mouth. Its large, grubby hands clawed at its own chest as it fell on its knees, the pain of Harry's grasp on its heart increasing with every additional ounce of pressure he applied to it.

His rage dulling his pain and exhaustion, Harry got to his feet and slowly walked over to the twitching troll as it rolled onto its back, still screaming in agony as it tried to dig into its chest. He stood over it and looked down at its pained eyes with a cold, furious scowl.

"You took what was mine," he hissed at it as his clutching hand tightened further. The troll spasmed in response. "For that, know this, if you can even comprehend my words: I will not rest until every single one of your kind has been exterminated from this world."

Whether the troll understood him or not was academic to Harry, though he swore he saw a spark of understanding and terror in its dumb eyes as he made his vow. He hoped it did.

"Die in agony," he pronounced imperiously before applying the full might of the Dark Side to his attack on the troll's heart. The troll went into spasms of pain before Harry finally finished clutching his upheld hand, the Dark Side letting him feel the moment the troll's heart was crushed.

The creature gave one more death throe before collapsing onto the stonework floor with a heavy death rattle. Its tongue was hanging out the side of its mouth, eyes burnt out from his earlier assault. The crisp and nasty smell of cooked troll flesh assaulted his nostrils, prompting Harry to sneer in disgust.

With his foe defeated, however, Harry had better things to do. Looking over to where Hermione lay crumpled, he slowly walked over, his rage diminishing slightly as something else — regret, maybe? — asserted itself in his soul.

He found her where he'd last spotted her — lying on the floor by the ruined bathroom entrance, a pool of blood surrounding her head, soaking her bushy hair. Gently, he turned her over from her side and winced at the injuries he saw.

The entire right side of Hermione's face looked like one giant bruise, stained with her own blood. Her jaw was noticeably broken, and he could even spot a few loose teeth lying in the pool of blood. Her skin was broken in numerous areas, with the faint white of bone jutting out of her cheek and parts of her jaw. Brushing her hair out of her face softly, he grimaced at the size of the head injury she'd sustained.

She had to be dead. She simply had to be. This amount of injury was simply unsurvivable.

Thus, it seemed to Harry like nothing short of a miracle when he noticed she was still breathing. Barely, but noticeably.

"I can't believe it…" he breathed. "Hermione?!"

"MISS GRANGER!"

Harry's head shot up instinctively, as did one hand, ready to blast any further enemies. He only belatedly remembered to pull out his wand to hide his abilities. Even so, it proved entirely unnecessary, as the incoming group, who sounded as though they were further down the hallway, was not hostile.

It was the cavalry. Too damned late for his liking.

Still crouching by Hermione's body, Harry raised his wand hand and shot out some sparks. "Over here!" he shouted. He glanced over at Hermione. If anyone could save her, it would be the staff. Perhaps this entire fiasco could still be salvaged to his benefit.

When the teachers arrived, Harry forestalled any demands and questions by gesturing at Hermione. "She's injured!" he said urgently. "She took a blow to the head!"

Much to his dismay, the leader of the group was Dumbledore himself, who seemed to take stock of the situation in record time. Nodding in agreement at the unsaid suggestion, he quickly looked up. Harry wondered why, until the man sharply said, "Fawkes!"

In a blaze of fire, a magnificent bird appeared in the air between Dumbledore and his wounded students. Harry had to restrain a flinch when he saw it.

"To the infirmary! Go!" the headmaster ordered the bird, who nodded and quickly swooped down to Hermione. Before Harry had any chance to protest, it trilled a soft song before once again bursting into a flash of fire.

Flinching, Harry's hands shot up to his eyes and furiously rubbed at them. Once his sight was restored, he realised Hermione was no longer on the floor beside him. Only Dumbledore and the other teachers were there.

"Minerva," Dumbledore addressed his colleague first. "I'm sure Miss Granger would appreciate a familiar face when she wakes up."

The stern-looking witch nodded shakily before turning and leaving the premises quickly. Only then did Harry get a good look at who else was present. Dumbledore and Flitwick were the most prominent to him. Behind them, likely more interested in the troll corpse, were Snape and Quirrell.

"Harry?"

The headmaster's gentle voice snapped him out of his reverie, and Harry refocused his gaze on the man he knew to be his greatest obstacle to Sith glory. For all that, the man looked genuinely concerned.

"Harry, are you alright?" he asked.

Harry mentally shook off the cobwebs in his head before slowly nodding. "I'm fine, Professor," he half-lied, unwillingly flinching as his injured shoulder throbbed. "Just got nicked a bit."

"Let me see that!" Snape demanded as he pushed past his boss and Flitwick. Both men looked somewhat surprised at the sight of Severus Snape showing concern for a student not in Slytherin. Harry could only fathom why.

The Potions Master quickly vanished Harry's half-torn shirt and scrutinised his swelling shoulder, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Bone bruise at least," he declared. None-too-gently, he grasped Harry's arm and tried moving it. Harry bit down a pained gasp. "Doesn't look like Potter lost functionality of his arm, though."

Harry bit back a clever retort, knowing he was already being treated with far more gentleness and attention from the surly Potions Master than was usual. With his goal of going back to the Dark Forest in the future in mind, he chose not to antagonise his potential, future benefactor.

"I got it trying to distract the troll from Hermione," he preempted the headmaster's question, who closed his open mouth and nodded sternly.

"And Miss Granger? How did she sustain those injuries?" asked Flitwick seriously.

Harry winced as Snape let go of his arm. "I'd distracted the troll and gotten him out of the bathroom. I'd hoped Hermione had made a run for it, but she stayed put. The fear, I guess," he explained. "Then she called out to me just as the troll was injured. It struck out blindly and got her in the side."

Again, his head of house and Dumbledore nodded, with the headmaster turning to look at Quirrell behind him, who looked a bit pale — likely from the troll corpse. "Quirinus, please head to the infirmary and relay this information to Madame Pomfrey. I daresay she will be grateful for the added context."

The turban-wearing professor nodded feverishly. "Yes, headmaster! At once!" he agreed before fleeing the scene.

Dumbledore then turned back to look at Harry. Faintly, Harry felt something brush against his mind. Panicking, he did the one thing he could think of in his condition. He flinched. Immediately, the tendril fled.

"Mister Potter?" Flitwick asked worriedly, rushing to his side. Snape withdrew and went to stand by Dumbledore, occasionally shooting glances at the troll corpse. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Harry bit out. "The shoulder...I guess I didn't really pay any attention to it during the fight..."

"It's quite alright," Dumbledore told him gently. "Perhaps we should resume this conversation after you've visited Madame Pomfrey?"

Flitwick nodded. "I think that would be best," he agreed.

Harry paused before nodding. Rationally, it seemed like the best choice. As it was, he could not think of good excuses to account for the troll's injuries. By pushing back the necessary debriefing, he would buy himself enough time to make up a believable story.

"Yes, please," he said with a weak smile. It seemed to work, judging by Dumbledore and Flitwick's softening expressions. Only Snape seemed unmoved by his pain, though, in his eyes, Harry saw something akin to respect. Why?

His shoulder throbbed, derailing his curiosity.

Questions for later, he supposed.

Two Weeks Later...

It took some convincing, acting, and a lot of spin, but eventually, both his Head of House and the Headmaster had left the infirmary satisfied with his story. Or, if not, doing an excellent impression of being convinced.

For the most part, they had seemed particularly impressed with his devotion to his endangered "friend." Yet, if that was the impression he'd given, he wasn't about to enlighten them otherwise.

Their explanation for their tardiness, on the other hand, was far less impressive. According to Flitwick, the Heads of Houses had all gone to take their students back to their dormitories. Only a headcount had revealed Harry and Hermione's absences. Fortunately, Michael and his other year-mates had immediately thereafter informed Flitwick that he'd been last seen talking to Neville, who in turn informed McGonagall about Harry running to find Hermione.

That had led to the news breaking of Hermione's reasons for hiding out in the bathroom. To the school's discredit, Hermione's tormentors suffered no punishment, given that they had technically broken no rules or deliberately attempted to cause Hermione harm via the troll. It was simply ruled an unfortunate accident.

Which was terrible news for Hermione, but wonderful news for Harry. He knew the bushy-haired girl's faith in the system would be severely shaken, if not completely shattered, once she heard the news. Vulnerable as she'd be, her dependence on Harry's approval would only increase as he offered her a shoulder to cry on, both metaphorically and literally.

And speaking of Hermione, the poor girl hadn't woken up yet from her coma. The blow to the head had apparently been critical, according to what he'd overheard the Headmaster and Madame Pomfrey say while they thought he was asleep. Had Fawkes not arrived when he did with her in tow, she would have likely perished. The phoenix — which he now learned Fawkes was — had even donated some tears, which apparently were a powerful healing agent.

He filed that little tidbit away for future use.

Either way, it seemed like Pomfrey was unsure whether Hermione's injuries — particularly her head trauma — would have lasting effect on the girl. For all of magic's/the Force's ability to heal, the brain was apparently delicate enough that even witches and wizards hesitated at tampering with it. Medically speaking.

He wondered if perhaps XoXaan had some Force technique to heal such wounds; it would help him greatly in converting Hermione to the Dark Side.

The day after his internment at the infirmary, he was released back into the general population. Compared to Hermione, his injuries had been minimal, and in Madame Pomfrey's capable hands, he had healed practically overnight — though he also credited XoXaan's meditation technique for his quick healing. Even after he was released, however, Harry insisted on coming back to the infirmary every day thereafter to visit Hermione, if only to keep up appearances and to give himself an excuse to be away from the other students — even his year-mates — who all demanded that he retell the story of his fight against the troll. Like he was some bard or something, retelling a heroic adventure.

It was amusing to him that they thought so. From his perspective, it had been a life-and-death situation wherein he had admittedly scrapped by. Not that he would ever admit to this weakness to anyone. Still, retelling it time and time again got tiring, so the excursions to visit Hermione were welcome breaks in his daily routine.

Besides his newfound fame, however, the only other positive note was that Snape seemed to take a greater, more teacher-ly interest in him. While he was still ever surly in class, the hook-nosed man seemed intent on actually teaching him about Potions, occasionally dropping backhanded compliments or suggesting alternative means of brewing a particular potion.

All of which he filed away for future use. He had yet, however, to authorise another expedition to the Dark Forest, but Harry was fairly certain that a good grade in the upcoming Potions test would nail him that one.

As for XoXaan's holocron…

Harry frowned as he sat next to Hermione. He had thought that taking down the troll would be enough to rouse his Master, but it hadn't. Encouragingly, however, it had pulsed with dark energy when he'd called out to her, but it seemed more like a move designed to encourage him to keep going than any guarantee that she would hear him out. Further attempts to rouse her had all failed.

It was irritating.

Even so, Harry had kept up with his Sith training, meditating and drawing on his darker emotions whenever he had a chance and privacy. The fight against the troll had given him a new wellspring of anger to use, and he was more than happy to indulge himself in revenge fantasies against the troll community at large. The memory of Hermione getting injured was also enough to send spikes of fury coursing through him, though he hesitated to draw on the memory too often, lest its effect diminish over time.

"Hey, Harry…"

He nodded at Neville as the pudgy boy sat on the other side of Hermione's bed. Madame Pomfrey had been more than a little displeased at the "crowd" of visitors that Hermione received on a daily basis (which in truth only accounted for Harry and Neville), but had relented in consideration of the circumstances.

"Hey, Neville," Harry greeted the boy. "Is the Quidditch match over, then?"

Neville nodded. "Yeah. Gryffindor lost to Slytherin," he reported.

Harry nodded and shrugged. He didn't much care for the sport itself — XoXaan had, in fact, discouraged him from most sports while growing up, arguing that they were a distraction from his Sith studies. Still, they were a necessary evil in terms of social interactions, and were it not for Hermione's condition, he would've been expected to attend.

How bothersome.

"How's she doing?" Neville asked softly.

"Same as always."

The Longbottom heir nodded shyly, and Harry had to scoff. Surely, the boy had to know that there wasn't going to be much change to their mutual acquaintance's condition until she woke up. Most of her facial injuries had healed well under Madame Pomfrey's attention, though he could still spy a scar here or there.

"It's not right."

Harry hummed quizzically at Neville's sudden, fierce statement.

"Those boys who bullied her," Neville elaborated, scowling at the floor. "It's not right that they didn't get punished for putting her in that position."

Harry didn't particularly disagree — after all, they had nearly cost him a valuable pawn — but chose instead to keep his silence. It seemed to egg Neville on.

"I mean...why can't Professor McGonagall see that she wouldn't have been injured if only they hadn't bothered her?" the pudgy boy asked, his hands clasped tightly against one another.

Harry raised an interested eyebrow. The boy was letting off some pretty dark vibes right now. "According to the headmaster, they didn't technically break any rules," he pointed out.

"Then the rules are stupid!" Neville suddenly hissed, shooting off a spike of Dark Side energy that went completely undetected by anyone not called Harry Potter, who straightened up in surprise.

He looked at Neville with new eyes — like most, he had practically written off the pudgy Longbottom heir. He was weak willed, spineless even, and wholly unwilling to make waves. Yet, for whatever reason, he seemed greatly attached to Hermione, and his present anger, though righteous, was wholly uncharacteristic of him.

Perhaps he had misjudged Neville? Perhaps here was another potential acolyte?

Whatever his thoughts on the matter were, however, they were quickly dismissed when he suddenly heard a soft groan coming from the bed. Immediately, his eyes went to Hermione, whose eyes were scrunched in seeming pain.

"Hermione?" he heard Neville ask worriedly. Unlike Harry, the boy had shot to his feet in concern at the sound of her groaning.

"...le?" Hermione mumbled.

Harry frowned. "Hermione? Can you hear me?" he asked.

Slowly, Hermione's eyes opened up, but despite the sight of her intelligent brown eyes, he quickly realised something was wrong the moment she frowned.

"...ry?...ee?" she squeaked, her voice straining. Her eyes widened in panic as her trembling hands tried to reach up to her throat and eyes simultaneously, the indecision increasing her fear and horror.

Harry looked up at Neville, who seemed equally riveted with panic. "Neville!" he barked, getting the boy's attention. "Get Madame Pomfrey! Now!"

That seemed to snap the boy out of his stupor, as he nodded and dashed off. Returning his attention to Hermione, Harry reached out and grasped her hand, almost smiling at how perfectly this situation had arranged itself for him.

"Hermione," he said softly. "It's me, Harry. Don't worry. Neville went to get Madame Pomfrey," he reassured her. "You had Neville and me worried, you know."

Tears had started to form at the corners of Hermione's eyes, and Harry had to stop himself from grinning. The girl had grasped the subtext of his words — that only Neville and he had cared enough to worry about her.

"...ow...ng?" she tried to say, her eyes watering even more at her own inability to speak. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she meant to say, though.

"Two weeks," he informed her. "Neville and I have been visiting every day."

He would've preferred to leave Neville out of his narrative entirely, but the newfound realisation that the boy was very protective of Hermione necessitated that he be included. He would use Hermione's vulnerability to draw her to his side, and then use Neville's fondness for the girl to draw him in as well.

Again, however, his words seemed to have mixed effects. He felt her joy at being visited by her friends every day, as well as the crushing disappointment that no one else had. He pondered whether to influence her mindset further with the Dark Side, but the prompt arrival of Madame Pomfrey quickly shuttered that idea.

"Out of the way!" she immediately barked as she came up to the bed. Harry dutifully let go of Hermione's hand, which distressed her even further. Kudos to Pomfrey, he thought. As she ran her wand over Hermione, the nurse turned to look at him and frowned. "Mister Potter, perhaps it would be best if you left now. Miss Granger requires rest."

Harry nodded. "I understand. I'll be back later, Hermione," he said out loud for the girl's benefit. His words seemed to have the opposite effect, however, as Hermione's hands tried to reach out to him. He lingered only long enough for Pomfrey to shoot him an insistent look before walking away with a reluctant expression.

"None of that, Miss Granger," he heard the nurse say as he walked away. "Please stay still so we can figure out what's going on."

Harry smiled. Already, the adults were doing most of his work for him. By denying her access to her emotional support, they were inadvertently making her more and more vulnerable to his manipulation. As well intentioned as they were, their actions would prove to be their undoing.

The moment he audibly closed the infirmary's door, he felt a wave of Dark Side power wash over him, originating from within. His smile grew.

She was almost ready.

A Week Later…

"Did you hear about the Granger girl?"

Harry kept his expression carefully neutral as Michael brought up the topic while on their way to Charms class.

"What? That she got released from the infirmary? Everyone knows," replied Terry. "Poor girl."

"Not that! I heard the attack left her blind!" Michael said insistently. "And mute!"

"Ouch." That was Anthony. Eloquent as always.

"Not entirely mute, but the blind thing is true," Harry confirmed flatly. Immediately, he got three sets of eyes focusing on him. He rolled his own in response. "I visited her every day, remember? Her injuries were extensive."

"While you walk away from a fight with a bloody troll with just an injured shoulder," Michael remarked snarkily. "Bloody miracle, that."

"I got lucky," Harry said simply. "That's all."

"So you've told us," Terry remarked. "Doesn't make it any less of a miracle. Or stupid. Seriously, Harry: rushing off to fight a troll to save a damsel in distress is rather Gryffindor of you."

Anthony nodded. "Much wiser to just tell a teacher."

In hindsight, sure — that might've been the best call to make, objectively speaking. The problem with their logic, however, is that they assumed that Hermione had not been about to become troll prey when he rushed off. As it was, convincing a teacher of her predicament would've likely ended up killing Hermione.

Not that he'd ever say as much. Most of the school — some Slytherins included and some Gryffindors excluded — admired him for his bravery. Those who disagreed did so on the grounds that he'd been foolish (the Slytherin majority) or had somehow shamed them by being a brave Ravenclaw who saved a Gryffindor (the Gryffindor minority).

Either way, his star was on the rise — exactly as he wanted it. With the admiration of his peers, it would be easier to sway them to his side in the future. It also removed some of the oversight from Dumbledore, who seemed convinced by the incident that he was trustworthy.

Though it was hard to tell with that old man. Even with his Force senses fully attuned, he could not get a single concrete read off of the headmaster.

"Hindsight is 20-20," he said with a shrug.

Anthony frowned. "Hindsight is what?"

"Muggle saying," Terry informed his classmate.

"Either way, Granger's finished here," Michael pronounced as Anthony nodded in understanding.

Harry frowned. "How so?"

Michael stared at him funnily. "I forget you're not used to our world," he noted absently. "Anyway, Granger can't really stick around if she can't speak or see, now can she?"

"Why not?" asked Harry, concern welling up within. It would be somewhat irritating if he'd worked so hard at undermining Hermione's will, only to lose his pawn this early on to something as preposterous as her injuries!

"Well, most spells need to be spoken aloud, yeah?" Terry pointed out gently, picking up on his distress apparently. "And nevermind Potions. How would she brew? Or pick ingredients? Or prepare them?

"Merlin's beard, Harry! How would she even get around in this castle?" Michael added.

"Surely, Hermione's not the first blind and mute witch there's ever been," Harry said heatedly, stopping in his tracks. "Surely, there's a way for her to stay and learn!"

His classmates glanced at each other uneasily. "Harry…" Terry started.

"Fact is, Harry, most blind and mute witches — Merlin, even the deaf ones — don't typically end up coming to Hogwarts," Anthony informed him bluntly. "They get homeschooled."

Harry immediately saw the problem with that. "Hermione is Muggleborn," he pointed out.

Terry nodded slowly. "Which means she'll probably fall off the radar," he admitted. "That's how it generally goes for people like her."

The revelation struck him like a truck. For all his glee at getting Hermione in a vulnerable position, he had completely overlooked the fact that the Wizarding world was laughably behind in terms of inclusion. To them, a witch as injured as Hermione might as well have been a Squib.

Well, he could not allow that to happen. He needed her by his side. He needed that resourcefulness and intelligence working for him. He needed her in order to get Neville as well. Far too much was riding on her remaining at Hogwarts for him to just give up like that.

That was why, upon class ending with Flitwick, he waved off his classmates and marched right up to his Head of House, a look of determination etched on his face.

"Mister Potter?" Flitwick asked curiously. "How may I help you?"

"Professor," he spoke respectfully, but firmly. "Is it true that Hermione might be kicked out because of her injuries?"

Flitwick seemed taken off-guard by the question, but the fact that he spent more than a few seconds to answer told him everything he needed to know. What his classmates had said was true. Hermione was destined to get kicked out.

"It's unfortunate…" Flitwick said gently, likely thinking that he was sparing Harry's feelings, "...but the school doesn't exactly have the means to deal with cases like hers."

Harry repressed a snort. He doubted that. With all the magic flying around, there was sure to be a mute assistance spell to help her spell out her thoughts audibly. Instead of vocalising her spells, Hermione could move directly into silent casting, which he knew the upper years were taught. Hell, she could learn sign language and so could the teachers.

This was just the Wizarding world being too entrenched to do anything effective about the situation.

Fine. If that's the game they wanted to play, he would rock their narrow-minded beliefs.

"Sir," he interrupted Flitwick as the diminutive professor explained the school bylaws. "What if someone were to take charge of Hermione? Guide her and assist her?"

Flitwick frowned. "Mister Potter, I commend your dedication to your friend," his Head of House said, sounding genuine, "but the additional workload…"

"...is something I would be willing to take," Harry said firmly. "I am already among the top scorers of my class, Professor, as you well know. I am also one of Hermione's few...friends. I know her. She loves Hogwarts. She loves to learn, and to strip her of a future simply because the school can't adapt is hardly fair, now is it?"

Flitwick frowned. "...No, certainly not," he agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "But Mister Potter, you are both in different Houses. Most of your classes would not even intersect. How would you provide assistance?"

Admittedly, that was a problem. At least, until one considered Hermione's very particular reputation. "Professor, before the incident, Hermione was on the path to becoming the top scorer of our year, was she not?" he asked.

Flitwick nodded, pleasantly surprised by the tangential question. "Why, yes!" he agreed. "One of the smartest students I've had the pleasure to teach. No offence, Mister Potter!"

Harry repressed an eye roll. If only the man knew how much he was holding back…"None taken, professor. However, as you've heard by now, her smarts have put her at odds with much of her House, one such incident leading to her present state."

Again, Flitwick frowned, though this one was more severe. "Ah, yes…" he confirmed. "Shameful, what happened. Simply shameful," he commented before frowning at him. "Are you suggesting we move her out of Gryffindor, Mister Potter?"

Harry nodded. "More than that, Professor. Make her an honorary Ravenclaw," he suggested. "Unlike in Gryffindor, she will not be discriminated against among us for her intelligence. If anything, I'm sure Padma, Sue, Mandy, and Lisa won't mind the additional competition."

The Charms professor chuckled. "No, I suppose they wouldn't," he conceded before frowning thoughtfully. "It would be unprecedented, but your idea has merit. It would be truly tragic to deprive someone as talented as Miss Granger of an education because of something out of her control."

Harry nodded. Good — Flitwick seemed convinced. "It's the fair thing to do, Professor."

"Indeed, indeed," his teacher agreed absently before staring at him again. "And you offer to take care of her? To guide her and help her out academically, as needed?"

Harry nodded again. "I will."

Flitwick hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I can't say I'm displeased with the notion of having Miss Granger transfer to Ravenclaw...though I suppose Miner—Professor McGonagall might have a problem with it. Allowances will have to be made…" he began mumbling, his train of thought apparently running a mile an hour.

Harry coughed, startling his Head of House. Flitwick blushed at the indiscretion and nodded at him.

"Very well, Mister Potter. You have my support. I will bring this up with Headmaster Dumbledore as soon as I can," he announced, filling Harry with barely disguised glee. The Charms professor shot him a proud look. "I have to say, Mister Potter: I am beyond gratified to see you reach out like this on behalf of a fellow student. You make our House proud."

Harry ducked his head. "I am merely thinking of the greater good, Professor," he said with all the humility he didn't feel.