Haaa, so it may be 3AM but here we are anyway. I'll be honest I totally forgot it was Saturday and that tonight was "upload night."

ANYWAY, thank you all for reading and getting this far in the story! As always, I'm very appreciative of the words and favorites/follows that are left to me. I would also like to take a moment to give you guys a little outline for how I've written this story.

First year and second year are pretty heavy with canon (largely because Belle is an 11/12 year old and nothing is more important to her than school and friends, and it just so happens she considered Harry Potter as her best friend). But once we reach third year, things start deviating a bit: and I'll say that fifth/sixth year and on is a doozy, most of which is written largely without aid of the books.

So yeah, just thought I'd give you a little heads up! Have a great day/evening/night, everyone, thanks for sticking with me! :)

For a moment, all three of us stood shock-still. From the corner of my mouth, I hissed back to Hermione, "Get back in the stall."

But Hermione only shook her head, withdrawing her wand. "No way. We'll take it out together."

I nodded curtly and withdrew my own wand—but that was when my eyes landed on what the troll held in its hand. The object was a humongous stick, with pointed barbs laced in the wood: a club.

Before I could utter one of the few spells I knew, footsteps clopped across the tiles of the bathroom floor, and a familiar voice shouted, "Belle, Hermione!"

In barged Harry and Ron, their wands already unsheathed and pointed at the monstrous creature ahead of us. Hermione and I seized this distraction to run to opposite sides of the bathroom, doing our best to force it to choose a target.

The troll roared and turned back towards me.

"Bloody hell," I gasped, my hands shaking. There was no spell in my arsenal that would do much damage against an adult troll…

With greater speed than I would've expected, the troll swung its club in my direction. I shrieked and dodged to the side, narrowly missing being crushed.

"Confuse it!" shouted Harry's desperate voice—he grabbed a broken sink tap and threw it at the troll's head.

Ronald quickly followed suit, yelling, "Oi, pea-brain!" and throwing a metal pipe at it. The troll hesitated long enough to stop focusing on me, during which time I sprinted towards Harry and the exit to the bathrooms so we might have a clear shot at getting away.

But when I turned around, Hermione was frozen in place. I moved back towards her, yanking her arm and forcing her to follow me back to Harry—

The troll barreled towards Ron, who was pinned against the wall. Before I could utter a spell or chuck a piece of debris at the troll's head, Harry leapt forth and managed to grab the troll around the neck, effectively confusing the great beast.

Unfortunately, grabbing onto it did not seem like a good idea. The troll shook its head wildly, trying to buck Harry off. Both Ron and Hermione stared at him in horrification as he did his best to remain seated.

I recalled one of the hexes I'd learned in Charms. Pointing my wand at one of the troll's kneecaps, I recited, "Rictusempra!"

The troll buckled to its knees on the bathroom floor; in the chaos, Harry somehow managed to shove his wand up its nose.

In retaliation, the beast grabbed Harry off its neck and prepared to hit him with its club.

"Do something!" Harry shouted, somehow avoiding the blow from the club.

Panicked, I scoured the room for anything I might find useful. My eyes landed on a sharp piece of broken porcelain—I seized it from the ground and, with a mighty yell, drove the point of the shard deep into the back of the troll's thigh.

The roar that followed was nearly deafening: all four of us threw our hands to our ears in order to block the sound. If anyone was nearby, they absolutely would have heard it.

As the troll reared back for another blow to Harry, Ron pointed his wand at it and yelled, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club escaped the troll's hold and floated easily in midair. Our adversary, startled to find its weapon no longer residing in its hand, searched wildly for it. When it finally looked up, Ron dropped his wand, therefore breaking the spell.

CLUNK

The wooden club hit the troll directly on the head, causing a dull thunk to echo around the room. Harry was unceremoniously dropped, hitting the ground with an, "Oof!"

Ron and I scrambled to back away from it to avoid being squashed by two tons of mountain troll—we barely escaped its breadth and, once it was fallen, we stared at each other with wide eyes.

With the fight over, I scanned the bathroom. A few of the sinks were in shatters, the porcelain strewn all about the floor. Some of the tiles from the floor had popped up, leaving craters. The mirrors were mainly intact, but one or two had been broken, sending shards of glass everywhere.

The first to speak was Hermione, who timidly asked, "Is it… dead?"

"I don't think so," Harry responded, approaching it. "Just knocked out."

His eyes fell on his wand, which was still stuck inside the troll's nose. With an expression of utmost disgust, he pulled it out—it was covered in slimy grey stuff.

"Eughh…" he groaned, wiping his wand on the troll's flimsy shirt.

Suddenly, a loud SLAM and footsteps. A mere second later, Professor McGonagall appeared, Professors Snape and Quirrell trailing her steps. Quirrell took one look at the troll and nearly fainted, clutching at his heart.

Professor Snape inspected the troll as Professor McGonagall stared at me, Harry, and Ron. Our slight smiles faded as she menacingly whispered, "What on earth were you thinking of? You're lucky you weren't killed! Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Before we could answer, Hermione stepped out from behind the shadows and inhaled deeply: "Please, Professor McGonagall, they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!" gasped our Head of House.

"I went looking for the troll because I… I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron's mouth dropped open, Harry attempted to keep a straight face, and I was certain that my eyes were nearly bugging out of my head. Hermione was taking the fall for us, despite what had occurred earlier that very afternoon.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck its wand up its nose, Belle stabbed it with a broken piece of glass, and Ron knocked it out with its own club. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Still silent, the three of us exchanged aghast looks. We did our damn best to make it look like this story wasn't complete and utter rubbish.

As it was, Professor McGonagall didn't challenge it. With a shaky inhale, she exclaimed, "Well, in that case… Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a fully grown mountain troll all on your own?"

Hermione dropped her gaze, pretending—or perhaps not—to be ashamed.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I'm very disappointed in you. But you are not hurt at all, are you?"

At this, our friend shook her head no.

Palpably relieved, Professor McGonagall next turned to us: "Well, I still say that you lot were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full grown mountain troll and lived to tell the tale. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may…"

But she trailed off, her eyes descending towards my figure. Her eyes grew wide as she stammered, "M-Miss Skylar, what happened to your hands?"

I blinked, glanced at them, and jolted. My palms were bleeding, most likely having been cut when I stabbed the piece of porcelain into the troll's muscle. I hadn't noticed the injury until Professor McGonagall pointed it out, but now that it was brought to my attention, it began to sting.

To answer her query, I pointed towards the shard embedded in the back of the troll's leg. All three professors stared at the shard, astonished, and hardly reacted as I stated, "I stabbed it with that. It probably cut me, too."

A brief silence… and then—

"Come with me, Miss Skylar. We'll get you patched up in the hospital wing. The rest of you, return to Gryffindor tower. Students are resuming the feast there."

"Please, Professor, if I may, I'd like to accompany you to the hospital wing," said Harry, placing a hand on my shoulder. Ron and Hermione swiftly nodded, indicating the same wish.

Professor McGonagall, however, simply narrowed her eyes and retorted, "Nonsense. You've pushed your luck as it is, Potter. Return to your common room."

"It's all right," I murmured, offering Harry a small smile. "I'll be there soon."

He nodded, the small smile returned, but not quite as hopeful as my own.

With that, I followed Professor McGonagall out of the girl's bathroom. She was quiet for a few moments, before finally asking, "What was the real reason you were all in the girl's bathroom, Miss Skylar?"

To be honest, I was not surprised in the slightest that she didn't believe Hermione's story. It had looked like Snape wasn't swallowing the explanation either, and I was certain Harry's and Ron's and my bug-eyed looks didn't help matters.

And so, with a sigh, I replied, "Hermione was upset by something we said earlier, Professor. She hid from everyone in the bathroom. When I figured out where she was, I went to go apologize and bring her to the Great Hall—but before we could return to the feast, the troll found us. We had no choice but to fight it."

Professor McGonagall looked at me sternly for a moment… and then relaxed.

"I see," she said softly. She waved her hand, issuing me onward, and of course I obeyed.

Another silence reigned: and then, she asked, "How have you been adjusting to Hogwarts since last we spoke, Miss Skylar?"

I thought about all my classes, my friends, and the progress we'd all made in memorizing the school passageways. With a toothy grin, I replied, "I think it's been great so far, Professor. I've enjoyed almost everything here."

"Are you and Mr. Malfoy getting along in Transfiguration well enough? When crafting those seating charts, there was one Slytherin and one Gryffindor left over, and out of all my students, I thought… well, perhaps you'd be the most capable of tolerating a difficult situation."

This last was said with a knowing glint in her eye, and it almost made me laugh. I felt admittedly proud to be the person that Professor McGonagall had held the most faith in, and it was with this newfound confidence that I said, "Actually, we're getting along great. Don't get me wrong, outside of class he can be a great jerk, but working as Transfiguration partners has been entertaining. We keep competing to see who can master our lessons first. I almost always win."

I couldn't help but smirk. If Malfoy was going to accuse me of sucking up like he had in the beginning of the year, then I was going to do exactly that.

As it was, Professor McGonagall seemed to find this entertaining, because she allowed herself to chuckle and shake her head. By this time, we had reached the hospital wing, and it seemed that Madam Pomfrey was waiting for us.

"Well come in, come in! When I heard there was a troll loose in the school I figured there'd be at least one student who'd need patching up," she clucked, waving me toward one of the beds.

I glanced toward my Head of House, who only smiled briefly and nodded, before following. Once I was settled, Madam Pomfrey took a glance at my hands and exclaimed, "Now how did that happen?"

"I stabbed the troll with a sharp piece of a broken sink," I answered honestly.

Madam Pomfrey stared at me for a brief moment before sighing and retrieving her wand. "At least this is easily mendable," she said at last. "Put your hands out for me, would you?"

I did so, and immediately she set to work. Slowly but steadily, she waved her wand over my hands, and even as we watched, the cuts slowly began to close together, the blood staining my palms ebbing away. It was fascinating, to see the concentration and confidence on Madam Pomfrey's face as she worked.

Before I knew it, the task was completed, and all that remained on my hands were two thin white scars indicating where I had been cut. Madam Pomfrey began shooing me away: "Go on, Miss Skylar, you have a feast to get to!"

Knowing that she was absolutely right, I grinned and leapt out of the hospital bed, back toward Professor McGonagall. We began to walk out of the hospital wing—but before I could be out of sight, I turned back around and exclaimed, "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

The healer blinked and turned back to face me, a little bit of a stunned look on her face. Seeing me waving, however, she smiled greatly and returned the gesture before returning to her duties.

The walk back to Gryffindor tower was quiet. As much as I liked talking to Professor McGonagall, my mind was on a different topic: how Hermione, Harry, Ron, and I would get along after all this. With luck, the three of us would now become the four of us, and things would otherwise return to normal.

All of Hogwarts' portraits were clamoring around us, craning close to get a good look. I happened to overhear a few of them whispering and hissing about the first years who had bested a troll, such a feat hadn't been performed for nearly sixty years, etcetera…

"Here we are, Miss Skylar," stated Professor McGonagall, standing in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. There was a twinkle in her eye as she added, "Enjoy the rest of your evening with your friends. Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween," I responded, waving farewell. I was rewarded with another small smile before turning to the Fat Lady, stating the password, and entering the common room—

Where I was instantly greeted with cheers and applause. I stared, shock-still, as my fellow Gryffindors rushed to surround me, asking what possessed me to stab a mountain troll, if I had any marks or scars on my hands, if I'd do it again if I ever came across another troll…

"Let her breathe, guys, come on!"

I sighed, relieved. Harry was budging through all the larger Gryffindors in order to get to me. When he was by my side, he gently grabbed my hand and shouted over all the rabble, "Come on, Belle, Hermione and Ron and I saved you some butterbeer and Chocolate Wands! I know those are your favorite."

My face lit up at the mention of butterbeer. Without bothering to entertain the questions of anyone else, we barged our way to our little table, where Ron and Hermione were both grinning and beckoning us over.

Once I arrived, I immediately grabbed two bottles of butterbeer and uncapped them. Seeing my friends restraining laughter, I protectively huddled my beverages to my chest and defended myself with, "What? I claim these. They're mine now."

Harry no longer held back his laughter. He punched my shoulder lightly and simply shook his head as I downed half of the first bottle.

Now sated, I glanced across my friends, preparing to offer a toast… but there was something in their eyes that told me their minds were elsewhere.

"What is it?" I murmured, cocking my head sideways.

"Belle, there's something we saw… in the girl's bathroom, when you were being led away," Harry mumbled, his voice even softer than my own. I had to strain to hear him when he said, "Snape's leg was… botched. It was bleeding, it looked like he had been bitten. We suspect that he tried to get past that three-headed dog before finding us tonight."

I blinked once or twice, remembering my encounters with Professor Snape. He was certainly intimidating, but I didn't think he necessarily held a death-wish.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"How else would he have gotten that injury?" questioned Hermione, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, we already know that the dog is guarding something important. Harry seems to think it's… whatever-it-was that was in the Gringotts vault that got broken into."

I sighed, finishing off the first of my butterbeers. Even though the drink normally made me feel warm and fuzzy, the revelations I'd just been told prevented the normal rush from happening.

"Then we need to find out what it is he wants," I stated matter-of-factly. My friends nodded in resolution—and that was the end of the conversation. Try as I might to enjoy the rest of the Halloween festivities, my mind was now whirling with concerned, less pleasant thoughts.