Harry stroked the feathers on Hedwig's head, earning a few soft, appreciative hoots from the owl. She had been very angry upon seeing him handling another owl, and he considered himself lucky that his pet could be so easily bribed into placidity.
The owlery was a rather damp place, situated at the very top of the castle's west tower. Despite smelling of nothing but owl food and their droppings, Harry found that he quite enjoyed the secluded room.
Once the novelty of his presence wore off, and the other owls quieted down, he could actually take some time for himself and get his head straight.
"Well, are you going to send that letter or not?"
Or, Harry thought, perhaps not. Daphne's bitter tone cut cleanly through the silence, leaving him with no choice but to turn back around.
The raven-haired girl tapped her foot agitatedly against the stone floor, glaring daggers into his poor, innocent owl's eyes. Hedwig had not shown her any more mercy than she had him, and the trickle of blood running down her finger proved it.
"Fine, fine." he replied. Harry did want to send the letter, but a small part of his mind insisted on rebelling, whispering that it could be a bad decision. Eventually, however, he led the owl Sirius had sent him to one of the tower's many, glass-less windows.
"Take this back to Sirius." he said, nudging the letter attached to the owl's leg. It hooted sharply in response, and took off with surprising speed.
"Finally." said Daphne, reaching forward to grab his sleeve. "Now, let's get out of here. I can't stand this place."
The two Slytherins wandered off, with Harry stumbling behind and struggling to keep up with his housemate. He could only pray that the Halloween decorations Hagrid had put up would pacify her.
Quite surprisingly, he had recently learned that Daphne had a penchant for festivities.
"H-Hey! Bloody hell, take it easy already!" he shouted, after a particularly violent yank down the stairs.
"Quidditch season is starting soon." said Draco, once they found themselves seated by the Slytherin table later that evening.
Daphne rolled her eyes but said nothing, too enraptured by the spectacle that was the Great Hall. The Halloween feast was about to begin, and Hagrid had not disappointed.
Hundreds of candles floated in the air around them, lighting the hall with a soft, warm glow. The ceiling was black as night, obscured by dark clouds with only a sliver of artificial moonlight shining through. What truly set the tone, however, were the flocks of live bats fluttering between the walls and swooping over their heads.
"Seriously…" said Daphne, after a moment of silence. "You boys think of Quidditch and nothing else. It's ridiculous."
Draco spluttered, turning toward her with a look of indignation on his face, while Harry merely stifled a laugh behind the palm of his hand.
"I have to admit I'm with Draco on this one, Daphne. It really is too bad first-years aren't allowed to try out for the team."
Harry sighed, recalling the freedom he had felt during flying class. Next year, however, he would be sure to make the try-outs.
"Quite right, Potter. I wish my father would do something about that rule."
Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. Or rather, he would have, were it not for Dumbledore suddenly standing from his seat to wish them a pleasant feast.
Much like during the start-of-term banquet, an abundance of food and drink appeared from nowhere, materializing right in front of their eyes. It tasted even greater than it looked, and just as Harry was passing over a tray of baked potatoes to Blaise, Professor Quirrell stormed into the hall.
The hall fell silent at his arrival, and both students and faculty alike took in the positively terrified face of their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Which was saying something, as the man wore an almost constantly frightened expression.
Quirrell came to a halt before the head table, struggling for air.
"Troll!" he gasped. "Troll in the dungeons!"
And with that, he collapsed, falling to the ground in a dead faint with a final whisper escaping his lips.
"Thought you ought to know."
There was a massive uproar. Students and teachers alike had sprung to their feet, either screaming in terror or doing their best to calm the frenzied crowd.
Harry blinked, paying little heed to Draco who was currently panicking beside him.
"So…" he started. "Is this part of the Halloween theme, or what?"
Daphne and Blaise, who could be counted among the few students able to keep their composure, shook their heads.
"I don't think so, Ha-" began Daphne, when a loud bang echoed throughout the hall.
"SILENCE!" thundered Dumbledore, who must have somehow amplified his voice with magic.
"Prefects, account for your housemates and guard every entrance to the hall. Professors, with me."
With agility beyond what should have been possible for an old man, the Headmaster rushed out of the hall, accompanied by the four Heads of House and the handful of professors that had not elected to remain in the Great Hall.
"Hey…" asked Harry, frowning slightly as he did so. Gemma and the other prefects had just ordered every student to stand in line, making sure that no-one was missing, when he noticed something.
"Where's Quirrell?"
"What?"
He pointed in the direction the unconscious professor was supposed to be resting, only to find nothing at all.
Daphne shrugged.
"He must've woken up and rushed off to help the other professors."
Harry raised a challenging eyebrow, and she scoffed.
"I know he's odd, and up to something, but surely you can't be suggesting that Quirrell let the troll inside the castle? Harry, the man is a pathetic wreck. He wouldn't last five seconds in the presence of a troll."
"Yes, Harry." added Blaise. "I agree with Greengrass. You know, this is why Granger is convinced you're a conspiracy theorist."
Hermione!
Harry spun around; eyes glazing over the line of Gryffindors in search of his friend. As his eyes trailed over the crowd, with no nest of bushy hair in sight, he felt a very unpleasant lump form in his throat.
Of all the times to skip out on dinner to study, this had to have been the worst.
He spotted a group of Weasleys easily, their tall statures and red hair making them stand out from the rest of the crowd. Upon closer inspection, they seemed to be chewing out their youngest brother for something Harry could not quite make out, and the desperate pacing of their prefects did nothing to reassure his fears.
"What is it?" asked Blaise.
"Can you spot Hermione anywhere? I don't see her with the rest of the Gryffindors."
"I-"
Blaise's voice trailed off as he came to the same conclusion as Harry had, causing both of them to grit their teeth.
"Damn it all."
"I-I-Incendio!" stammered Hermione; her face red and swollen and cheeks wet with tears. Were she in a more reasonable state of mind, she would have remembered that trolls were mostly immune to magic, save for the most powerful of spells.
Indeed, the weak flames that sprouted from the tip of her wand barely tickled the towering beast.
Only moments before, the Gryffindor girl had been crying her eyes out, wondering if some sort of curse had been placed upon her.
She was in such a state of misery, that she believed even her friendship with Harry must have been a cruel joke – a wicked play at her expense. Someone as awkward and standoffish as her was simply not meant to socialize with other people, let alone make friends.
Even so, hope had blossomed in her chest, and when Hermione dared to believe that she might be able to experience a somewhat normal school life, Weasley had to go and shatter said hope into a million pieces.
'She's a nightmare.' was what the boy had said, complaining about her to Seamus Finnigan when he thought she was not paying attention.
Perhaps he was right. Hermione knew that she could be overbearing and even took it in stride, to some extent. She learned that her help was unwelcome, and as far as she was concerned, that would have been the end of that.
What truly hurt, however, was what Weasley had said next.
'She must've noticed she's got no friends. No real friends anyway.'
And suddenly, it all made sense. Harry had merely taken pity on her during their ride on the train, and roped the rest of the students into pretending like she was bearable to be around. She already knew the people who talked to her only did so because of Harry, after all.
A whiff of the most foul, pungent odor imaginable reached her nostrils, and Hermione recalled her most recent and glaring problem.
The troll brought down its club in her direction, no doubt hoping to smash her into a bloody pulp.
She screamed, acting purely on instinct and throwing herself to the side. The heavy, spiked club came crashing down on an unfortunately placed sink, which shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces.
Scrambling to her feet, Hermione was about to make a run for the hallway when the last voice she expected to hear – or even wanted to hear – called out for her.
"Granger, are you in there? There's a troll roaming about the cast-"
"Merlin's beard!"
Draco Malfoy took in her disheveled appearance, in all its lowliness, before noticing the approaching form of an angry mountain troll; each step heavy enough to cause the floor to quake.
Her chief tormentor promptly turned and ran, before calling back to her.
"W-What are you standing there for, you stupid m- I mean, Granger! Run!"
She ran.
Had anyone told Harry that come Halloween, Draco Malfoy would be seen rescuing Hermione Granger from a rampaging troll, he would have laughed in said person's face.
Yet here he stood, observing the two first-years sprinting in his direction as though their life depended on it.
Which it probably did.
"P-P-Potter! Troll!"
He realized he should have been more distressed than he currently was. However, the confirmation of Hermione's well-being granted him a tremendous sense of relief, enough to dwarf any other emotion.
Harry had originally made the assumption that she would be in the library, and when she was not, he had truly panicked. Thanking the gods for managing to convince his friends into splitting up, all four of them had headed in different directions.
Which reminded him of yet another problem – finding Daphne and Blaise.
"Yes." he replied. "I can see, hear and smell it."
"In fact…" continued Harry, struck by an idea. Hermione and Draco had caught up to him, and now stood behind him, panting heavily.
Harry drew out his wand and pointed it at the floor, ignoring the sliver of fear he felt at the advancing troll. He shut out the screams of dozens of frightened portraits around him, and concentrated.
"Spongify."
The floor suddenly sunk; the entire corridor appearing to collapse into itself before rising again. To his immense delight, the troll lost its balance, falling flat on its face only to begin bouncing up and down uncontrollably.
It flailed helplessly, grunting as it did so, and with not much else left to do the three students took in the ridiculous, spectacular sight.
A snicker broke the silence.
"Well that was anticlimactic."
Trust Draco to spoil the mood now that he was no longer in mortal danger.
"Hey, I'm actually pretty happy with how this turn-"
"MISTER POTTER! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF TH-"
A shrill, furious and unmistakably female voice cut through his laughter, and the three students turned around to face an assembly of professors; Daphne and Blaise standing silently at the very front.
Professor McGonagall had turned a shade Harry thought no-one outside of his uncle could manage, and looked about to explode. The first-floor corridor suddenly felt rather small and cramped, and he wished he could put as much space between himself and the Transfiguration Mistress as he could.
Another professor Harry did not recognize stepped forward; her eyes wide in disbelief.
"I-Is that the troll?" she asked. "How on earth? Oh!"
The disbelief turned into amusement, and the professor laughed. It was a soft, melodious laugh, betraying a young age despite her rather prim appearance.
"Professor Vector, I-"
"Now, now, Minerva." spoke a deep, familiar voice. "I must admit this was a rather ingenious trap."
Dumbledore appeared, wand in hand, and calmly made his way past the group of teachers. Harry did not fail to notice the way his eyes were twinkling cheerfully.
With a swish of his wand, the floor hardened once more, and the troll landed with a heavy thud. It snarled, attempting to reach for its club, when the headmaster brought his wand down in the motion of a letter Z.
The troll's eyes rolled upwards and into the back of its head, and it collapsed; the only sign of life being the steady rise and fall of its chest.
Draco gasped, making himself known to the crowd.
"I know that spell! You bewitched it to sleep for eternity!"
"What?" asked Harry. "Like the princess in Sleeping Beauty?"
Dumbledore chuckled, pocketing his wand.
"Just so, Harry. That particular tale is not quite what the common folk believe it to be, however. The fairy was in fact a jealous wizard, and Charles Perrault's account of the story grew rather muddled – what with him being a poorly obliviated muggle, you see."
He smiled at Harry's dumbstruck expression.
"I will of course wake the troll once we have delivered it to the proper authorities. In the meantime, I suggest you and your friends return to your housemates in the Great Hall."
Hermione had not yet uttered a single word. She did not trust herself to say anything at the moment, especially not when her weakness had nearly cost Harry and his friends their lives.
She had almost spoken up when McGonagall began to lay into Harry, berating him for setting out unaccompanied. Only Dumbledore's timely arrival stilled her tongue, and she retreated, trying to make herself as small as possible where she was sandwiched between Malfoy and Greengrass.
Speaking of Malfoy, she recalled how Harry had befriended him, and how appalled she had been at the idea. And now…
"Why were you not at the feast, Miss Granger?" asked Professor McGonagall, and Hermione felt her blood run cold. Her mind worked in overdrive, even as they were escorted back to the rest of their housemates.
What would she say?
The truth? That she had been bullied for the third time since learning she was a witch?
"I-I went looking for the troll. I've read all about them, and I thought I could deal with it and earn Gryffindor some points."
"Whatever compelled you to do such a thing? " asked McGonagall in shock. "Of all-"
"Excuse me, Professor, but I don't believe that for a second."
Harry grabbed hold of her hand, pushing himself between Greengrass and her.
"I don't know what happened, but I'm convinced that Hermione would never do anything like that. I'd bet my life on it. She's a complete stickler for the rules."
She felt him squeeze her hand, and could not hold back a giggle at his deadpan tone while saying that.
At her pleading expression, the professor agreed to postpone her interrogation until she had recovered.
They reentered the Great Hall, when her ears were suddenly assaulted by thunderous applause. Looking around, she found that Harry and the other Slytherins were as surprised as she was. Dumbledore, of course, smiled softly as though he had been expecting it.
"Ah, how lovely!" he said; everyone falling silent at his words.
"Now then… Young Miss Granger is with us once more and I believe all students are safe and sound. It would be quite a shame to see the house-elves' hard work go to waste, wouldn't you agree?"
And just like that, the feast resumed.
Harry dragged her over to the Slytherin table, and she did not have the heart nor the desire to tell him that they were supposed to be seated with their respective houses during special occasions.
The Slytherins were surprisingly considerate. Instead of the repulsed glares she was expecting, most sported curious, somewhat worried expressions, while the more unsavory types did not even look in her direction.
"Eat, Granger." commanded Daphne, piling an assortment of food on her plate. Over the last couple of weeks Hermione had slowly but surely begun to understand the raven-haired girl and her mannerisms.
She was haughty, and somewhat mean, but caring.
"O-Okay."
Thankfully, the rest of the evening proceeded without any further complications. Hermione reluctantly picked at her food, all the while hiding her embarrassment at how Harry and Greengrass were fretting over her.
By the end of the day, when most of the students were scraping at the last remains of their dessert, Dumbledore stood once more, thanking them for an amiable yet irregular Halloween. Slytherin were then awarded fifty points for a combination of bravery, friendship and sheer, dumb luck.
Hermione glanced toward her only friend, finding a pair of green eyes looking back at her through under furrowed brows.
"Want me to walk you back to the Gryffindor common room?"
"N-No, that's alright." stammered Hermione. "Wait, you know where it is?"
Harry smirked, a hint of his usual mischief baring itself for her to see.
"Not at all. I'd hoped to find out, though."
Standing up with the rest of the students, Hermione looked to Harry, Greengrass and Zabini in turn, whispering a soft word of gratitude.
Almost as an afterthought, she peered over at Malfoy, who had been decidedly quiet since their run-in with the troll.
"Um… Thanks, Malfoy."
The blond produced a strangled noise.
She left before he was able to form any sort of coherent reply.
Black poked at the horrendous sludge Bella and he had managed to create.
"This looks nothing like the ice cream we were served in the Alley. Why is that?"
He held back a grin at Bellatrix' subsequent flinch. She obviously believed he would blame her for their failure in reproducing Fortescue's treat.
"I'm not sure." she answered. "Perhaps it's this recipe – it might be faulty."
He hummed in thought. Either the equipment was faulty, or they simply did not know how to operate this contraption known as a kitchen.
To make matters worse, the kitchen in the Woodland Manor was not only extraordinarily large and modern, but muggle. Bellatrix had been utterly lost for the entire duration of their endeavor.
"It appears overcooked." Black eventually said. "The original product was not this dark in color, nor was it this soft."
"Oh. We forgot to freeze it, too." said the madwoman.
Black could feel a headache coming on, and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He turned; the wooden floor creaking ever so slightly in response.
Bellatrix took that as an incentive to vanish their atrocious creation, before hurrying after him.
He had insisted that she maintain her glamor at all times, and so she still appeared a young woman with straight, blonde hair and an angelic face. However, the charade could not be maintained forever, which led him to a certain topic he had been meaning to discuss.
"I wish to speak with you, Bella."
They made their way into the sitting room, and Black motioned for her to take a seat next to him. His lips twitched at her sudden wariness – she was clearly not used to such courtesy on his behalf.
"As you know…" he began, once they were both comfortably sat in a pair of large, lavish armchairs, "I wish to ingratiate myself with the magical society."
The mundane world was all but lost in his eyes, its leadership too corrupt and its population too numerous for any kind of meaningful change to take place. The magical world, on the other hand, was small and malleable.
While the brunt of the work would fall to Harry, Black found himself willing – even desiring – to help the boy along in his quest.
"I see… Lord."
The fact that Bellatrix still refused to acknowledge him as her Lord amused him greatly. She was almost as stubborn as she was mad.
Black stared into the high ceiling, observing the talented artwork along its surface. As beautiful as it was, however, he could not for the life of him fathom why angels were depicted as human babies with wings.
To their credit, he supposed the Angel of his own universe came surprisingly close. His first and only encounter with Cus had been as odd as it was enlightening.
"You were once known as Bellatrix Black, were you not? A member of one of the most prominent magical families in the world."
"I- That is correct."
He tilted his head, now grinning viciously at his servant.
"You shall once again bear that name, Bella." said Black.
"And I shall adopt it."