Author's Note: Here's the next chapter. I should have more up this weekend. Thank you for all of the support — it's been coming in fast and I never expected so much this early on. As always, reviews are welcome and much appreciated. Thanks!
As soon as Harry woke up on the morning of Halloween, he knew that it was not going to be a good day. To begin with, it was the day that his parents were murdered. Quirrell was his usual, stuttering self, and Professor McGonagall had given them a surprise quiz that he hadn't studied for. He could only hope to get a good grade. To end the day, Snape had decided to keep him after class, just before the Halloween feast. Currently, he was waiting for the others to clean up the mess they had produced while brewing a mild Ailment Ointment.
"Mr. Potter," Snape said courteously, though his eyes burned with something akin to hatred, or maybe fury. "Professor McGonagall told me of your little stunt with Malfoy. I do not want anything like that to happen again, seeing as it effectively tarnishes the reputation of Slytherin."
"Yes, sir."
"Now, Potter, it just so happens that our current seeker on the Quidditch team is — less than satisfactory. I would like Slytherin to maintain its winning streak, so I am giving you one chance to try out for the team. Flint will be waiting at the Quidditch pitch tomorrow to test your skills."
"Thank you for the opportunity, sir," Harry said, excitement bubbling up within him. He found that the best way to avoid Snape's wrath was short, concise answers.
Snape frowned. "You will be using a school broom for the tryout."
Harry nodded, and Snape dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He met Tom outside of the Potions classroom.
"So what do you think?" Harry asked him.
"About what?"
"Don't try to play innocent. I know you…you were eavesdropping," Harry said good-naturedly.
Tom sighed. "Quidditch is a dangerous sport, Harry. Not that I care about your welfare or anything."
"Well, if you don't care about me, then you obviously won't care if I just try out," reasoned Harry with a knowing smile.
"Not at all."
"You wound me, Tom. Besides, it's gotten safer over the years."
"Keep telling yourself that. I'll be there, laughing when you fall off your broom."
"Did it just get colder in here? Must be your heart. Come on, let's go to the feast."
When they entered the Great Hall, the sight of flying bats and even more cobwebs than usual assaulted them. Charmed, chocolate spiders crawled between the food dishes, and large bowls of candy made sugary additions to the normal spread of food. Draco Malfoy was sucking on an Acid-Pop, and Crabbe and Goyle were simultaneously stuffing their faces. It almost looked like an eating contest. To make sure he was maintaining his "acquaintanceship" with Malfoy, he sat down next to him.
"What did Snape want?" Draco asked.
"Something about our little 'incident,'" Harry casually replied.
"What about it, though? He didn't say anything to me."
"My, nosy, aren't we? That's probably because he favors you. Everyone knows he hates me, but I have no idea why."
"I can ask my father. Snape's always coming over to our house for business."
"Thanks, Draco. I apprecia—" Harry was interrupted by Professor Quirrell, who ran into the room, looking even more pale than he normally was.
"Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know." He collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Dumbledore stood up and silenced the crowd with several purple firecrackers. "Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
Tom turned to Harry. "What an interesting turn of events," he said, at the exact same time that Harry said "But our dormitories are in the dungeons." They sat silently as the rest of their house followed the rule-adhering, but maybe not-so-intelligent prefects.
"You know what? We should go to the bathroom. I read an American Muggle children's book before, and it said that one of the safest places to go in the case of a tornado is the bathrooms," Harry rambled.
"Right, because a troll is the equivalent of a tornado." Tom sighed. "It's probably our safest bet, though."
They easily slipped away in the commotion and set off to find a restroom. The nearest one happened to be a women's lavatory, but Harry didn't find himself inclined to care when a mountain troll was rampant in the school. They walked in and closed the door behind them, glad to find that they could lock it. Sighing in relief, Harry and Tom were about to slump against the door when they realized that they had been more stupid than the others. The troll was locked in the bathroom with three first years: Tom, Harry, and Hermione Granger. The expression of shock would've normally been comical on Tom's face.
Harry began firing mild cutting curses at the troll. "Diffindo!" he exclaimed, annoyed to see that it wasn't really working and that the troll was getting ready to strike with its wooden club.
"TROLLS ARE RESISTANT TO MOST MAGIC, HARRY!" Tom shouted as he backed into a corner. It was the first time that Harry had seen him look truly scared.
"Er...what magic aren't they resistant to?" asked Hermione Granger in a small voice.
"Dark magic, because they're technically Dark creatures," Harry finally said, also backed into the corner.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The troll's club, affected by Tom's spell, lifted up and began pounding the troll on the head. Bruises were already beginning to form.
In a moment of brilliance, Harry decided to try to use their recently-learned Transfiguration spell to turn a stretch of broken pipe into a needle. It took a lot of energy, but he was finally satisfied with its sharpness and levitated it, using the same spell that Tom had, faster and faster until it pierced the troll's heart. Noticing that it was dying, he managed to unlock the door, followed by Tom. When he exited the bathroom, he noticed that his hands were shaking uncontrollably, and his breaths were quick and shallow. What had he just done?
They escaped to a nearby corridor, deserted from the hasty evacuation of the students. From behind the corner, they watched McGonagall and Snape (who had an obvious limp) enter the lavatory and try to make coherence out of Hermione's sobs, though they didn't wait around to see what she said. Harry ran back to the dormitory, shouting the password at the Slytherin portrait of a king and pressing against the wall to try to enter the common room unnoticed.
"Just where do you think you're going, Potter? Riddle?" Gemma Farley, a seventh-year prefect, asked them.
"All of the commotion has made me tired, so I was just heading back to the dorms," Harry said in his sweetest voice.
"And where were you when we were calling attendance?"
"We made a quick trip to the bathroom. Sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused," Tom added, a sincere (but not really) smile plastered on his face.
Gemma Farley gave them a scrutinizing look, but allowed them to head back to their dormitories anyway. Both of them let out a sigh of relief.
