CHAPTER THIRTEEN: "TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!"
The next couple of weeks went by without too many hitches and there didn't appear to be anything suspicious going on as of yet, in spite of the newspaper article.
The Hufflepuff House table was relatively peaceful, as indeed was the Ravenclaw table. However, both the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables were at war, though that was normal.
Draco Malfoy had taken to bullying both his fellow first years and even older students. Neville was a particular favourite of his. Neville had received a Remembrall not a week before and the spoiled Slytherin took it upon himself to snatch it from the older boy's hand. He was soon stopped, however, by Professor McGonagall creeping up behind him. Fern had to allow herself a smile at the teacher; she could be quite sly herself.
"Just looking," Draco had said, though no one believed him, except his fellow Slytherins, including Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who often followed him around ready to beat someone up who dared disagree with their fellow Slytherin.
Neville was only relieved when he didn't try it again. It was a gift from his grandmother. Fern seriously doubted that she would reprimand him if it broke when it wasn't his fault.
The chest pains she was getting were growing steadily worse and more intense. Strange that she only really seemed to have them in Defence Against the Dark Arts, though sometimes, she got them when in the Great Hall for meals.
Potions was still just as it had always been; Professor Snape singling her out, but she simply tried to ignore it as best she could; it would surely only give him a reason to test her more if she retaliated.
The injury that occurred in said class a couple of weeks earlier was healing very nicely thanks to Madam Pomfrey, for which Fern was grateful. She'd had enough scars up and down her limbs; she could certainly do without another one.
The amount of homework was gradually increasing, most students struggling with it. Fern did her best to attempt it, even if it wasn't always completely correct. When she handed in her Herbology homework, she did get a few points for effort, though she would probably not have even got that were it not for the fact that Neville had helped her a little and that Professor Sprout seemed to love her.
Perhaps it wasn't her fame that drew the Hufflepuff Head to her, but rather her values and good nature, though Fern was oblivious.
As Autumn set in, a chill began to creep through the school. Many of the older students began to cuddle each other to keep warm, though Maxine suspected otherwise.
Nicola and Doris had, in fact, joined the group of friends. They hadn't really done much the previous year; mostly kept to themselves, though Fern graciously accepted them with open arms to the Circle of Friends.
Hallowe'en was fast approaching and with it would come plenty of treats a small party in the Hufflepuff Common Room. Fern had actually not touched the goodies Simon sent her, rather preferring to share them out amongst all her friends and housemates.
Unfortunately, things don't always go to plan and the school was a bit shaken up on the 31st of October.
Of course, something came before Hallowe'en for Fern.
Simon had told her all he knew of her parents, including their birth and death dates. Fern had visited both Professor Sprout and Headmaster Dumbledore with a query on whether or not she would be allowed to visit her parents' graves. They accepted, though she would need an escort. For some bizarre reason it was suggested by the Headmaster to request someone unapproachable to the twelve-year-old. Professor Snape?
Just why he would choose a teacher who seemed to really dislike her, she doubted she would ever know. However, begrudged as he was to do it, he accepted.
It was a Thursday, which was, regrettably, a school day so she had limited time. However, she was glad that Hufflepuff didn't have their first class until after lunch.
It was decided she may have three hours to herself, so they would leave after breakfast. Fern, however, was wary of what her Professor would say to her wish for visiting a florist's shop to pick out a lovely big bouquet of flowers. After all, it had been ten years, and the poor girl had no recollection of either of her parents or their friends, having only been two at the time. It begged the question if anybody knew of what had happened when they were two.
Resentful as he was, he allowed her to, but he had to fight back his want of buying a small bouquet, if only for a certain someone.
They had side-along apparated to Godric's Hollow, though the teacher was furious at having to take care of the brat, not least of all have her hold on to him.
They approached the small basilica and cemetery and, while it was far from being a noticeable sight to an outsider, it held so dear to Fern's heart.
The wind was slowly picking up and her hair began to flutter in the cool breeze. It was getting rather chilly around this time of year, and she was glad she put her woollen cloak on.
She didn't know where her parents' grave was, though, which, quite frankly, broke her heart.
Everyone should know where their kin were laid to rest but it was the one thing Simon forgot to tell her.
Swallowing the lump of sorrow in her throat and brushing away a few stray tears, she went to examine all the monuments. There weren't many to choose from, but it was still quite an arduous task, as most of the epitaphs were faded through weathering.
After about ten minutes, however, she found it. She knelt down in front of it. "I'm sorry you both had to die to save me," she wept, as she laid the beautiful bouquet in front of the memorial. "I have often wondered about the both of you. I can't remember what either of you look like or how you were. I don't suppose I'll ever know, either. Still, I want to thank you both, even thought I'll never know you. You both brought me into this world and neither of you gave up on each other or me. I know, Daddy, that you were protecting all three of us, though putting yourself last. And Mother... thank you for giving me a chance at life. It's had its ups and downs, I know, but there are people in far worse situations than me."
Meanwhile, the once discreet listening had turned into his own personal horror. Surely this was all a front, to try and impress him; try and make her look good?
"There are people starving... innocents in gaol... children from broken homes. I'm quite lucky to be where I am. I love you." That said, she kissed her cold fingers and caressed the two names of 'Lily' and 'James.'
That was something he hadn't expected. Those words hurt him and he was sure she intended to commit such an act. Was that those words had only been spoken in jest when directed towards him? He had to bite his lip at the thought, his usual cold eyes now morose.
With that, she stood up and wiped the tears of her cheeks with her cloak. She then returned to her Professor. "I'm ready to go back to Hogwarts now. I just wanted to tell them..." She couldn't finish her sentence, however, and had to fight back another sob. "Ten years."
Yes, ten years was too long.
Once they returned to Hogwarts, the teacher without a word, Fern went off by herself in the hope of some peace and quiet; time to wonder about what her parents were really like.
At about half past eleven, her friends found her sitting under the tree by the Black Lake. She appeared to be watching the Giant Squid, but she was merely thinking over past events and what may have been.
But, now that she thought about it, what was the point with maybes? They were only more depressing than reality itself. She knew she couldn't bring people back from the dead and would be a fool to try.
After a few minutes of talking, they managed to coax her out of her hopes and tried telling jokes to make her laugh. Alas, she did not and the only person who could cheer her up now was off training to be an Auror. Where was Dora when you needed her?
As they were walking across the courtyard, Fern was nearly knocked off her feet by someone pushing past her.
"Watch where you're going!" Maxine yelled after the, in her opinion 'rude,' girl.
"I don't think she intended to, Maxine. I'd say she was upset. I've seen her in the library a fair few times and can honestly say that she doesn't look the type." Fern paused for a moment. "I must go to her. She may want someone to talk to. I don't think she has many friends."
Fern then followed the bushy-haired brunette.
"Excuse me?" Fern called, softly. "Are you alright?"
"Go away," was the tearful reply and the girl ran into the bathroom on the first floor.
"Please let me help you. Tell me what's wrong; you'll feel a lot better."
"There's nothing you can do," the girl replied, in a snappy tone.
Fern was very strange. This girl could have outright insulted her an all she stood for, but she'd never have the heart to turn her back on her.
"Maybe I can. Has someone upset you?"
She received no reply, through the locked door.
After a few short moments, Fern spoke again. "Well, I'll still be here if you want me," and she moved across toward the sinks, leaning on one.
To her misfortune however, it seemed she temporarily forgot that sinks were often more damp than arid. And then, as she stood up, she attempted to look at the back of her skirt through the mirror, her face turned into one of disappointment. A wet patch. Unfortunately, it was the day she decided to wear a white dress and it probably wouldn't be so bad but her petticoats were also drenched.
She stayed in there just for a couple of hours, mainly trying to dry off. She would have attempted a drying charm, but she'd never tried one before and would, more than likely, wind up more wet than dry.
It wasn't until around three o'clock that she realised. "Oh, no," she sighed. She forgot it was Thursday. She had a double lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts. "You aren't going to believe this, Hermione," she told the girl who wouldn't talk. "I thought it was Saturday. I forgot I had a class this afternoon." She was trying to lighten the mood, but it hadn't paid off.
Technically, she wasn't malingering, she had genuinely lost track of the time and day. But, it was too late to go now; the class would be over in three minutes.
But surely, Professor Quirrell wouldn't judge her too harshly? (She could explain later that evening, if Hermione decided to come out.)
She did have rather a lot on her mind, what with the ten-year anniversary of her parents' deaths and hoping that one day she would see them as they were and will always be, young and beautiful. And then there was Hermione and her problem.
Teatime soon came around, but Fern wasn't really hungry.
With a heavy sigh, she returned to the cubicle door.
"Please, Hermione, come out. I can help you. If somebody's said something to you, I can talk to them if you like."
"No, he was right," came the tearful reply. Who was right? "I am a nightmare."
"I'm sure you're not, Hermione," Fern said, quietly. "Whoever said that?"
"Ron Weasley." She paused. "He also said it's no wonder I have no friends."
"Oh, Hermione," Fern shook her head in disbelief. "I'm stood here talking to you. I'm trying to help you. I'm your friend."
There wasn't much more to be said on that matter, as the first-year Gryffindor fell very quiet. After a few minutes, a foul odour hit Fern's sinuses and she nearly had to rush into a cubicle, but she managed to force the bile back down her gullet.
"I don't know what that is, Hermione, but it's not very pleasant."
Not many moments later, a loud thudding could be heard along with a number of grunts.
'I don't like the sound of that,' Fern thought.
She turned on the spot with fright. It did sound very vicious and, just as a precaution, she whipped her wand out from its residence inside her corset. It was rather an old-fashioned idea, but it seemed to work. She wondered if that's where witches used to hold their wand when they weren't using them.
As the thudding got closer and closer, Fern only became more and more anxious. She began silently talking to herself with her head bowed to the floor.
After a very short while, the floor appeared to be disappearing. Either that or it was being over-taken.
There were two foreign bodies, grey and smothered in unsightly lumps and bumps with a few warts thrown in. They were feet and certainly very big.
Fern's terrified emerald eyes slowly rose up the intruder's body. Two dumpy legs... some sort of loin cloth hiding the impostor's privates, a bulbous stomach covered with even more warts. There were two fat arms, limp at the side of the creature, one holding a large wooden club and finally an ugly head with large ears.
To Fern, it looked as though the head should be on the body of another creature. In proportion to the size of its belly, its head was rather small.
Regardless of what the Hufflepuff thought, however, there was no mistaking what this thing was. A troll, about ten-foot tall.
"Hermione," she whispered, barely able to get her words out, "please promise me you'll stay where you are; that you won't come out of that cubicle."
Trolls couldn't speak English, of course and, in spite of their known stupidity, it could tell that she was giving help to the girl hiding behind the door.
Hermione didn't utter a word in response, for fear of being found out, though she probably guessed it already knew.
As the troll raised its club, Fern took this as her opportunity to attempt to dodge out of the way and slid under his other arm. This seemed to confuse him slightly as his club dropped to the floor with a thud and he looked around quizzically for his current foe.
"Oh, Merlin. Now what?" she asked. She really didn't know what she could do. Trolls weren't something she had studied in any class at the moment. Knowing her luck, however, Professor Quirrell had probably had his students studying them earlier in the day.
The troll raised its club again, but this time it smashed the top halves off five cubicles.
"Hermione, get out of his sight! He can see you!" Fern's words were in no way demanding, the only thing she wanted was for her fellow student to get herself to safety.
As pieces of wood clattered to the floor, Fern moved, as quietly as she could, to a place where the troll couldn't see her, yet she could see to levitate some of the wood.
"Wingardium Leviosa," she willed the wood to move for her, even if she could only whisper. For concentration, she shut her eyes.
Sure enough, the wood slowly levitated towards her. The troll's eyes were so fixed on Hermione, he hadn't noticed it.
Once it was in front of her, she nearly threw her wand at him, wanting so desperately for him to leave them alone. Really, she was throwing the wood scrap, but the force nearly forced her wand out of her grip.
The wood hit him but it didn't seem to be working. The troll shook its head and looked around stupidly.
Hermione scarpered over to the sinks.
No sooner had she managed to, hopefully, get out of his vision, that he swung the club at the sinks and the Gryffindor had to scramble to get out of the way. The troll nearly took her leg off.
"Help!" she cried.
As the troll swung its club back again, raring for another attack, Fern began the incantation once more. This time she had to shout it.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" but it was too loud and his attention turned to her.
He snatched her roughly by the leg and held her upside down. She knew what was coming.
Ron Weasley then came through the door, wand brandished. "Oi, you!" she shouted, picking up a sliver of wood and hurling it at the monster's head.
Fern, meanwhile, was trying her best to avoid the club which kept swinging at her full-force.
The young redhead was trying his best to distract the troll or find some way to take him down. By the time he realised what he could do, Fern had been hit by the club, right in the head and she fell to the wet floor in a heap, her eyes half-shut, blood pouring from her scalp, staining both the water and the floor red. There was also a clear gash dripping blood from her forehead and into her ear.
She heard Ron use the levitation charm flawlessly, though her vision was blurred when the club hit the troll on the head.
She felt the vibration of the troll hitting the floor with its weight and it wasn't long before her eyes closed, her bloody head lolling off to the side.