Chapter 9

"Why did you leave the Great Hall when I explicitly commanded the students to remain in their seats?" Headmaster Dumbledore asked quietly.

Do not look into his eyes… Death whispered. Harry stared intently at the headmaster's nose.

"I knew I had to go to the second floor, sir," Harry replied, sticking to his story. "It felt like the right thing to do."

Dumbledore frowned, and Harry immediately knew that the lie had been spotted. "I see," he said in a way that meant 'I'm letting it slide…for now.' "And when you saw the troll, why didn't you run?"

"There was someone in the lavatory."

"Ah, yes. Ms. Granger, I understand," Dumbledore said. He paused significantly. "How did you know that she was in the bathroom when you confronted the troll?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know," he lied.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, and Harry could see that the headmaster was frustrated with his responses. Was it so unbelievable that one boy could have done the unexplainable, given the many curiosities of magic?

The old man affected a smile and patted Harry's hand which laid atop the covers of his hospital bed. "I'm proud of you for going to such lengths to protect a nameless peer, but I feel I must caution you against similarly brash decisions in the future. Things could have ended tragically yesterday, as I'm sure you know."

Harry frowned. "Yes, sir. It would have been terrible if the troll had found Ms. Granger," he replied, quietly stubborn.

"Can you tell me what happened with the troll? I saw just as well as the rest of the staff how your effective striking hexes ended the poor beast, but I admit I find myself curious as to how a first-year student could have held his own against such a dangerous creature."

Harry shrugged. "I told Professor McGonagall."

"Forgive an old man his memory, my boy," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "Would you mind repeating yourself?"

"Well, I tried to slow it down by levitating the suits of armor, but it didn't help. I transfigured its club to cloth and cast an incendio when it was close enough, but its hide was too thick…" he repeated what he had told McGonagall while Dumbledore nodded his head.

When he was finished, Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Quite incredible. In fact, were it not for the fact that I have personally witnessed a few of your spellcasting sessions by the lake from the window in my office, I would find it unbelievable."

"My spells were mostly ineffective until the very end," Harry argued. "Anybody could have done it."

"Ah, but it takes a lot of effort to levitate such an item such as a suit of armor at the distances you described. Transfiguring a large mass like the club is also a daunting task for most wizards and witches in Britain, albeit for a different reason. Finally, as the faculty all witnessed in person, your striking hexes were cast accurately, swiftly, and flawlessly, with quite dramatic results," Dumbledore countered. "Adult wizards who have dabbled in dueling could perhaps have replicated your performance, but for a student, well…that is another matter. Especially one who is only twelve-years old and in his first year at Hogwarts."

"Oh," was Harry's articulate response.

"Can you explain to me how it is that you have found yourself so far ahead of your year-mates, Mr. Potter? I understand that you discovered magic for the first time when Professor McGonagall visited you on Privet Drive."

Harry gnawed his bottom lip and mistakenly glanced at the Headmaster's sky-blue eyes. Immediately, he felt a knot form between his eyebrows, and he found it nearly impossible to break the headmaster's gaze. After a short internal struggle, he wrenched his eyes away and stared at his bony fingers. "I spend a lot of time studying magic," he answered.

"All of your professors are impressed with your dedication," Dumbledore agreed, suddenly relaxed and friendly. Harry wondered what it was that had set him at ease. "But the proficiency you displayed goes beyond the curriculum of your courses. I know that Professor Quirrel has not taught the flame charm or the striking hex in his class, even if he has demonstrated them."

He looked into your mind, Death explained. That is why you should avoid meeting his eyes. I have managed to keep my existence a secret from him, but there will be inconsistencies in your memories that he will notice if he is given enough time to study them.

Eventually, Harry sighed, getting a headache from trying to think about his mind-reading headmaster as well as coming up with a suitable explanation for his behavior.

"Voldemort killed my parents, headmaster," he said slowly. "I was attacked in the corridors in my first few weeks at school. It seemed to me that the most important thing to learn at Hogwarts was the ability to protect myself, considering the many dangers that seem to await me in the magical world."

The best lies contain a bit of the truth, and nothing that Harry had said was false. He didn't know why it was necessary to hide his relationship with El, but something indicated to him that the headmaster would not have reacted well to the news that Harry was being tutored by an invisible man who sometimes goes by the moniker Death, among a plethora of other equally daunting titles.

"I see," Dumbledore said, and Harry saw an expression of sadness on the man's features. "You are mature beyond your years, my boy."

Harry shrugged, having nothing to say in response.

"Ms. Granger wanted to thank you in person for coming so valiantly to her defense. Shall I send her in?" Dumbledore asked, rising from his conjured chair and dispelling it with a negligent wave of his hand. The casual display of mastery impressed Harry, and he resolved to investigate the limits of silent, wandless magic later.

"Of course."

When the headmaster was gone, Harry ran his hands through his hair and sighed through his nose. An insistent itch had manifested itself in his arm, but it didn't appear to be something that he could ease, no matter how he massaged the site of his injury. It was still somewhat numb, but Madam Pomfrey assured him that there was little he could do to hurt it while it was healing, aside from breaking it once again.

Harry saw Hermione Granger, the girl that had spoken with him on the train, step gingerly into the hospital wing, he greeted her with a slight wave of his hand.

"Hello."

"Hi," the girl returned, slowly shuffling up to the side of his bed. Her hands were tangled together with the front of her robes, and she seemed to be looking for injuries with her eyes.

"I'm fine," he assured her, lifting his arm as evidence. "Madam Pomfrey fixed me right up."

"Oh." The skin around her eyes tightened. It seemed that the fact that he had needed fixing in the first place distressed her. "Well, I wanted to thank you for…well, saving my life, I suppose. I, um…saw the troll in the corridor…"

Harry winced. "Yes, well, it was the thing to do," he said lamely. "I wasn't going to leave and let the troll at you."

"It was all my fault!" she exclaimed miserably, pleading with her suddenly teary eyes. "It was just…well, I couldn't go down to the Great Hall after the things Ron said..."

Harry shook his head. "You couldn't have known about the troll," he assured her, "but you shouldn't let the things people say bother you."

"Well, you certainly don't," she said, and Harry practically saw her biting her tongue as the words left her mouth. She rushed on, "I didn't mean it in a bad way! It's just..."

"No, I understand," Harry waved her embarrassment aside. He glanced at the sunlight streaming through the window.

"Well, it's just the things that they say about you! I don't know how you can stand it," Hermione explained anyway. Harry hummed thoughtfully and closed his eyes.

"The things that they say do not define me," Harry told her seriously. "I am who I am, and I will be who I will be, regardless of the scorn or affection of others."

She blinked owlishly at him. "That's…I wish I could live that way," she said quietly.

"What's stopping you?"

She bit her lip and shook her head. "It's not that simple," she lamented, and Harry let the topic go. One day, perhaps, she would understand. "How…if you don't mind, I mean…how did you do that to the troll?"

Harry shrugged and related his actions to her. She had already seen the troll, so he figured that it couldn't hurt. It appeared that he was wrong, however, because she became progressively paler as he spoke, especially when he came to the part where his arm was broken.

"My god, Harry!" she whispered when he had finished. "Why would you do that for me?"

Harry chuckled. "I didn't know it was you at the time." Seeing that this didn't appear to set her at ease, he continued. "Think of it this way: if I had the ability to save someone from grievous injury or death and chose not to, what kind of person would that make me?"

"But you could have died!" she exclaimed, somewhat loudly.

Harry sighed. "Yes, I am aware. I didn't. What use is there in dwelling on the things that didn't happen?"

Shaking her head, she reached out and grasped his hand in both of her own. "Thank you," she said once again, seeming unable to find words enough to express what she was feeling.

"Don't be a stranger, Granger," Harry said lightly as she let go of his hand. She grinned and nodded brightly before leaving him to the care of Madam Pomfrey.

As usual, no matter the attempts by the school faculty to keep the incident with the troll a secret, the rumor-mill of Hogwarts worked tirelessly to frustrate them. Unfortunately, Harry Potter's courageous defeat of the monstrous creature quickly became the hottest subject of discussion throughout the school, and the library became his only remaining safe haven as Madam Pince ruled her domain with an iron fist and blazing eyes. No one could pester him there, not while she stood vigil behind her stack of parchment.

"Quirinus Quirrel allowed the troll into the castle on purpose," El informed Harry the next time he found himself hiding in the library, much to the disappointment of the many curious students who had been hounding him to drag the full story kicking and screaming from his lips. The ethereal being was seating on the table beside Harry's books, wearing Death's garb. His pale skin and dark eyes were what Harry most often associated with his mentor, and it was a small comfort to him.

"Why would he do that?" Harry asked, taking El at his word.

"Hmm, what fun would it be if I told you?" El replied, and the teasing statement seemed odd coming from the mouth of Death. Harry mock-glared at his master.

"What if he does something worse next time?" Harry argued.

El chuckled. "What would you do about it even if I told you?"

Exasperated, the raven-haired boy closed his book and sat back with his arms crossed. "I don't know! Report him, maybe?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Harry started at the interruption and glanced to the side to see Hermione with her satchel slung over one shoulder, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

He glanced back, and saw that Death watching him with an entirely ridiculous expression of wry amusement on his normally somber features.

"Well, nobody," he hedged.

"Talking to yourself is a bad habit," Granger chided. He shifted her weight for a moment as the words seemed to tangle in the air between them. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Harry shrugged, so she sat down quickly, as if she were afraid he might retract his tacit approval. A sort of pregnant pause settled between them, before Harry blurted out the first thing that came to mind, desperate for something to say.

"I think Quirrel let the troll into the dungeon." As soon as he said it he felt the urge to slam his head against the desk. This would inevitably lead to an argument and he didn't have any evidence…

"Professor Quirrel?" Hermione clarified, looking at once appalled and confused. Harry wondered if it had been a wise idea to tell girl who had nearly been hunted down by the troll his suspicions. Yet another reason why this was a bad idea.

"Yes. I just don't know why," Harry explained anyway. He couldn't leave off now that he'd already started.

"Why do you think that?" Hermione asked incredulously. "He's a professor!"

Dreadfully aware of Madam Pince's baleful gaze, Harry frantically gestured for Hermione to calm down. Conveniently, this gave him a moment to think of a reasonable response.

"Does that make him a saint? Besides, no troll could be smart enough to unearth a hidden passage to the dungeons. I smell a rat."

"You're ridiculous," Hermione dismissed. "You can't just accuse people of crimes without evidence."

"Do you think he's just a sadist?" Harry ignored Hermione's entirely predictable response. "I think the whole thing with Nott was intentional that first week…"

Hermione was momentarily confused, but it appeared that the gossips of Hogwarts had done its job adequately; she figured out what he was talking about after a short moment's thought. "No!" she refuted. "He's a perfectly decent fellow. With his reputation, he couldn't be anything less."

"Ah, but if you spend a lifetime hunting monsters, what's stopping you from becoming a monster yourself?" Harry postulated quietly, shuddering as his mind applied that statement to his own goals of eradicating Tom Riddle. "Anyway, it's probably not simple sadism. It never is."

Whatever Hermione was going to say was cut off abruptly as she contemplated his statement. Still, she shook her head, and her bushy mane wagged with it. "It's ludicrous!" she exclaimed, rather too loudly for the library. "He wouldn't. Not a professor."

"How does that factor into it? Maybe he came to Hogwarts because of whatever Dumbledore's got up there on the third floor," Harry argued, suddenly feeling confident in his theory. "I didn't see him after he made the announcement. What better time to check out Dumbledore's mysterious Third Floor death-trap? In fact, the troll was originally in the dungeons, so all the professors would have been on the opposite side of the castle."

"But it ended up on the second floor," Hermione pointed out. "I can't believe we're even discussing this. I came over here to do my homework!"

"Well, do as you like," Harry grouched, opening his book once again and dropping the whole issue. His mind didn't stop turning the issue over, however, and the longer he thought about it the more outlandish his theories became.