At the start of the first flying lesson of November, Madam Hooch came over to Harry with a bundle.

"Here we go, Mr. Potter," she said, putting the bundle down and rolling it out. Harry looked on with interest, ears twitching, as a pair of very similar looking brooms rolled out.

"I've got an idea about that instability of yours," Madam Hooch explained. "These are old Swiftsticks, very resilient brooms, not hard used but they're old enough that they're not worth much any more. But they're durable enough they should be nice and even."

"I'm not sure I understand," Harry admitted.

"Well, I got hold of these from a contact of mine at Quality Quidditch Supplies," Madam Hooch told him briskly. "Took a week to get time with old Filius to alter the charms, too – the cushioning charm's been turned down and we've added a sticking charm in their place. Wings out."

Harry complied, and Madam Hooch put one of the two Swiftsticks under his wing – just below the long join where it met his body, where it wouldn't impinge on a full flap of his wings.

"Stick," she said, and it did – probably sticking firmly to his durable robes, rather than to his hide. The other one went under his other wing and stuck on the same way, and she stepped back to check on her work.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Harry asked.

"I had Septima work out the numbers with me, don't worry," Madam Hooch assured him. "You're good enough at controlling brooms, it's just that you're not used to balancing a single source of power. If this works we might see about getting you used to a single broom, but this ought to work out better for now."

She raised a hand in caution. "Remember! You'll have to control the brooms the way we've been discussing without leaning on them. This still isn't going to be easy. And if you have trouble, tell them to 'unstick' and they will – they're attached to one another now."

"Right," Harry said, looking at first one broom and then the other. They had little serial numbers engraved on the head of the broom, both of them four-digit numbers beginning with a 5, and he wondered just how old they were before shrugging it off.

If there was anybody in the entire school it was safe to experiment like this with, it was probably him.

Madam Hooch turned to give instructions to the rest of the flying students for a few minutes, telling the ones in the first-class (mostly Wizarding children used to flying brooms, but not all of them) to practice flying in formation in small groups, while the ones in the second-class were to keep working on flying straight and level.

"Up you go, Mr. Potter," she added, and Harry crouched before jumping into the air with a sweep of his wings.

At first, it felt just like his normal flights. Then he did that funny little mental thing which he'd learned over the last couple of months was how you made a broomstick start going, and it was very different all of a sudden.

Doing his best to keep himself from simply surging off into the distance, Harry kept his wings spread and tried to think of it like diving, and that helped – he lowered his neck a little, flexing his wings back, trying to use them to control his flight rather than push.

Then it seemed to click, all of a sudden, and he banked around to the right – going wider than he expected, but definitely flying with most of his momentum coming from broomsticks instead of from his wings.

"Very good, Mr. Potter!" Madam Hooch called, flying alongside with her own broom. "Now let's see a landing!"

Turning again, Harry did his best to turn the speed of the broomsticks down again. It was a bit difficult to concentrate on that at the same time as shedding altitude and flaring his wings – but he managed it, touching down with a thump and turning both broomsticks off at once.

"Nice one, Harry!" Dean called.

"Thanks!" Harry called back with a wave – but that somehow managed to start just one broomstick going, not both of them, and he stumbled as the force pulled him to the side. His wings flared out automatically and he flapped hard, trying to stabilize himself like he had back at primary school during cycling proficiency, and it all got a bit complicated.

When the world stopped spinning, both broomsticks had detached – Madam Hooch quickly dispelling the effect of the sticking charms when Harry actually left the ground not under control – and Harry had ended up upside down against a grass bank.

It felt like he'd left a dent.

"All right, Mr. Potter?" Madam Hooch asked, as Harry pulled himself out of the impression he'd left in the soft ground. "Still some work to do, I think."

Harry could only nod agreement, but he was still smiling.

Forty-five minutes and three crashes later, Harry was feeling a bit less sanguine about the whole thing. Draco hadn't stopped laughing since about halfway through the class (except when Madam Hooch glared at him) and while hitting the ground at fifty miles an hour didn't actually injure Harry it was still starting to give him a bit of a headache.

At the end of the lesson, though, Madam Hooch pointed something out which interested everyone and which made Harry forget his worries about what would happen if he landed on one of the two nearly-identical brooms – the first Quidditch match of the year was on that weekend, Gryffindor against Slytherin.

"I think we've got a chance if the game goes long enough," Ron speculated, on the way up to Gryffindor tower. "Fred and George say the Chaser team's great, and of course the better that is the more you want a long game… I remember Charlie said that Oliver Wood's good too, he's the Keeper, and of course my brothers cause havoc on the pitch which is what you want from a Beater."

"And the Seeker?" Neville asked, keen to show he was keeping track.

"…not sure," Ron admitted. "I don't think they wanted to talk about it."

Saturday rolled around, and so did the Quidditch game.

The pitch was big enough that the stands had plenty of room for people to sit as they pleased, forming small groups among the large numbers of seats, and Harry's friends took advantage of that to set up in a group.

"It does look kind of empty," Dean said. "If this was a Hammers game the stands would be a lot more full."

"I did read about that, actually," Hermione said. "Because the stadium's made with magic, they can just make as many seats as they want. So they can just put dozens of blocks of twenty-five or fifty seats everywhere."

Harry had been fiddling with the seats a bit, and finally decided it would be most comfortable to lie across two of them. "So this is probably never full?"

"Right," Hermione agreed, looking slowly around at the other stand blocks. "It looks like just about everyone in the school is here."

"Of course they're here!" Ron snorted. "This is the first Quidditch match of the year!"

"I'm not quite sure everyone's here," Hermione replied. "The box the teachers are in… it looks like a couple of them are missing. Isn't there meant to be a Divination teacher?"

"Would she need to come?" Harry asked. "She'd just look in her crystal ball and know who was going to win."

"That sounds awesome," Ron said. "Divination's kind of weird, but it sounds useful-"

Whatever else Ron was about to say was drowned out as Lee Jordan was permitted access to a microphone. The Third-year was very enthusiastic, and – it sounded to Harry – a little bit biased, a he was enthusiastic about Gryffindor and complimented the whole team as they flew out onto the pitch.

Slytherin's team got less in the way of compliments – which was to say, just about none at all – and Madam Hooch walked out to the middle of the pitch before releasing the three flying balls.

"They have to give it at least ten seconds for the Snitch to vanish," Hermione said, into the hush as both teams mounted their brooms, and then the whistle blew.

Quidditch looked a bit like a cross between a rugby game and a dogfight, with both sides sometimes passing back and forth or lining up for pursuit but also having to deal with the frankly dangerous Bludgers. Ten minutes into the game, the score was thirty-twenty to Slytherin – and it would have been a lot higher were it not for some excellent saves by Oliver Wood – and Harry nudged Ron.

"Why haven't Cormac or Terence got the Snitch yet?" he asked.

"What?" Ron blinked. "They haven't seen it, yet, of course! Where is it?"

"Over there," Harry pointed at the little glittering streak of gold.

Ron squinted. "I… can't actually see anything there. You sure it's-"

"It's right there," Harry went on. "Under the level of the stands on the other side."

"That's way too far away to see anything," Ron said, blinking in surprise. "How good are those glasses of yours? Can I try?"

Harry passed them over, and Ron put them on.

"I can't see anything now!" he complained.

"They're Harry's glasses, Ron," Hermione said, as Ron took them off again. "They're meant to correct what's wrong with his eyes."

Harry spotted the Golden Snitch again, watching it fluttering to one side before pausing and diving down instead; there was still no sign either of the Seekers had seen it.

He wasn't really sure why – it was made of gold, after all. Some things were harder to spot than others, but gold was really easy.

"...Harry?" Neville asked, carefully. "Do you actually need glasses?"

"Well, not really," Harry replied, taking them back from Ron. "But I'm used to them now."

He put them on again, then noticed that Hermione was staring at him.

"You know that normally wearing glasses that aren't for you means you can't see properly, right?" she asked. "I don't even know how your eyes can adjust for strong lenses like those."

Harry shrugged.

"Okay, close your eyes," Dean said. "One, two, three, four-"

"Slytherin scores!" Lee Jordan announced. "Eighty-thirty to Slytherin!"

Ron groaned.

"And – look!" Dean told Harry.

Harry scanned the pitch quickly, and pointed. "There."

"Okay, this is just nuts," Dean decided. "Is this some kind of dragon magical power or something?"

"Well, Harry does like gold," Hermione frowned. "Maybe that's it?"

There was a crack overhead as (possibly) Fred hit a Bludger at one of the Slytherin Beaters. The Beater in question deflected it with his own club, sending it at his fellow Beater, and then that player launched the Bludger at the Gryffindor Seeker – who saw it just in time to avoid a full hit, but took a glancing blow which spun him around on his Cleansweep broom.

"Ouch," Neville said, rubbing his shoulder in empathy. "Quidditch looks painful."

"That's part of the fun, though," Ron said, then groaned again as the Slytherin Keeper managed to block a goal shot. "Come on, Lions!"

The Quaffle dropped down and got snagged by Marcus Flint, who bent low over his broom and charged upfield. He rolled out of the way of a Bludger sent his way by (probably) George, then Alicia snatched it from his grip. She threw it up to Katie, who found herself at the epicentre of two incoming Bludgers and two Slytherin chasers, and dove out of the way in time to avoid being the middle of a four-way collision.

Terence flashed past, making Katie brake reflexively, and Marcus took the Quaffle back off her. He got ready to throw it, and Harry sighed – seeing where Terence had actually been going.

"What?" Neville asked, then the whistle blew.

"Slytherin snitch catch!" Madam Hooch called, as the Slytherin Seeker held up his glittering prize. "Game over!"

"That's a two hundred point lead," Hermione said. "Ouch."

Ron looked crestfallen, then shrugged. "Better than some Cannons games."

"Really?" Dean asked. "How?"

"We scored!" Ron replied. "That's better than the first half of last season."

Dean gave him a long look.

"Mate, I'm a Hammers supporter," he said. "And I'm telling you – your team needs to improve."

"It could be our year!" Ron insisted. "All it'll take is for all the other teams to catch Spattergroit."

"That's, what, a hundred witches and wizards?" Hermione replied. "I think at that point it counts as an epidemic."

"Yeah, but the Cannons would have a much better chance at the Cup," Ron said. "Worth it."

"P-p-p-perhaps you have h-heard of w-wards," Professor Quirrel said, chalking the word WARDS on the board and heralding the beginning of another theory lesson. "T-the term has t-two m-meanings, in n-normal use and in t-t-technical use. W-what do you t-think it m-m-means… M-mr F-Finnegan."

"Defensive spells," Seamus told him.

"S-such as?"

Harry wrote down the Professor's words in his notes, doing his best to avoid noting down the stutter. Fortunately for the next several minutes Professor Quirrel just kept asking for examples of what wards did, writing them down on the board – prevent Apparition and Portkeys, keep out ghosts and dangerous spells, stop someone walking over the property line.

People mentioned spells to keep out anyone below a certain age, to curse a thief or just to keep Muggles away.

Professor Quirrell eventually stepped back and looked at the board, half-covered with spells, and then back to the class.

"A f-fine list," he pronounced. "And all w-wrong."

"What?" Seamus asked, sounding highly offended.

"W-ward is a term used by M-M-Muggle writers and f-foolish w-wizards," the Professor went on. "T-there is no s-such category, and I w-will not hear a-anyone m-mentioning it in m-my class in t-this way."

He turned to the board. "C-charm. Hex. J-jinx. C-charm. Curse, C-curse… im-p-possible…."

Harry watched in surprise as the chalk for every last one changed colour, one at a time. Some of them vanished entirely, but the rest took on colours indicating whether they were a Charm, Jinx, Hex, Curse or in one case a Transfiguration.

"The only W-wards are o-obscure r-rune magic used by G-Goblins," Professor Quirrell went on. "And t-that is b-because they can c-call them that if they w-want. B-but none of you w-will ever cast a p-proper W-ward."

As he spoke, Harry noticed something – a faint smell he could sort of detect over the garlic – and raised his hand.

"Professor?" he asked, when Quirrell called on him. "Are you all right? I noticed you're favouring your right side a bit, and I can sort of smell blood."

Professor Quirrell went a funny pink colour. "T-the w-weather was v-very sunny t-this morning," he said. "W-which is s-suprising after how c-cold it w-was last n-night."

"Oh, sorry, Professor," Harry winced. "I suppose you must have slipped."

"A-any im-p-portant questions?" Professor Quirrell asked, as Harry shrank back a bit.

Hermione asked why it was that the word ward had become used in Muggle language, and Quirrell replied with a shrug – saying it wasn't up to him to explain – before moving on to explain the basics of defensive spells more generally. It didn't seem like there was much logic in what the defensive spells actually got labelled, except that anything that didn't interfere with anybody inside it was maybe a Charm?

Harry wasn't sure what was so wrong with using the word ward anyway as a catch-all way of describing protective spells.

But not on exam papers, of course… unless they were about Goblins, at least.

This was one of the better lessons, though. Last week Lavender had asked a fairly innocent question and that had drawn Professor Quirrell off on a thirty-minute complaint about how few wizards understood how dangerous Muggle cars were.

On Friday afternoon, after they finished telling Hagrid about the week, Hermione twirled her wand.

"I was thinking about how you have to go out in the cold, Hagrid," she explained. "I had an idea about it."

"Oh?" Hagrid asked. "Well, um… y' don't really need to do anything for me on that front, Hermione. I've got me coat, and I don't care much about the cold anyway."

"Actually, I'm kind of interested now," Dean admitted. "What's your idea, Hermione?"

Hermione replied by pulling a glass jar out of her robes, unscrewing the top and pointing her wand inside.

"Hyacinthum Flammare," she announced, and a jet of bluish flames shot out of her wand and splashed into the container – half-filling it in moments.

"Whoa, that's cool," Neville said, watching as the fire continued to burn. "So it's fire that doesn't need fuel?"

"It doesn't need fuel, or air," Hermione told him. "And it's actually safe to carry."

She demonstrated, sticking her hand into it and scooping some out before letting it drip back into the jar. "But it'll be sort of… like a hot water bottle, I suppose. It keeps you warm enough, it just doesn't burn anything."

"Now I want to learn that spell," Ron said. "It's right cold now."

He glanced at Harry. "Well, Harry doesn't feel it. But I bet you do – Nev, doesn't it sound great?"

"Well, if it doesn't burn things… I'm just not sure I could get that spell right," Neville admitted. "I have so much trouble with the spells in class..."

"You're keeping up with the theory work," Hermione said, considering. "I think you could do it, it's not actually a very hard spell."

"If everyone else is learning it, I'd like to as well," Harry decided.

"Why do you need a spell to conjure fire?" Ron asked. "You're a dragon. You can conjure fire by breathing out."

"It'd be nice to be able to use fire that didn't burn things," Harry explained. "There are some times when I think a flame would look nice but I don't want to set something on fire, because fire gets out of control. But this fire doesn't set things on fire, or… I think the word fire has stopped meaning anything now."

He sat back, tilting his head. "I wonder what would happen if I ate some?"

"Probably best not to experiment, mate," Ron said, sniggering. "I don't want to imagine you with hiccups, it'd look like you were a firework."

"Oh, that's something I hadn't realized!" Hermione gasped. "Dean, we missed Fireworks Night!"

"Fireworks what?" Hagrid asked, putting down the jar he'd been warming his hands on. "Is that a Muggle thing?"

Dean nodded. "It's where Muggles celebrate how, um… it's something about Guy Fawkes trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament, and to celebrate how he didn't we have a big bonfire and put a Guy on it and then send fireworks up."

He glanced at Hermione, suddenly worried. "Guy Fawkes wasn't a wizard or anything, was he? Is that why they don't have it?"

"I don't think so," Hermione replied. "I think if he was a wizard he probably would have actually blown up the Houses of Parliament."

She shook her head. "Anyway – yes, Harry, I'd be glad to teach you along with everyone else. I actually wonder if you could cast it so you could breathe bluebell flames instead of your normal fire breath."

"That would be nice," Harry said, then frowned in sudden thought. "Maybe I can do that with other spells? There's one which makes water, right?"

"A dragon that breathes water?" Hagrid chuckled.

"Let's start with Hyacinthum Flammare for now," Hermione said.

Twenty minutes later, Professors Flitwick, Kettleburn and Sprout all turned up at Hagrid's hut at once.

"Is everything all right?" the diminutive Charms professor asked, as Harry waved at him.

"This?" Hagrid asked, looking around at all the bright blue flames covering his hut. "Nah, this is fine. They're just practicin' a spell."

"Oh! I see, bluebell flames!" Professor Flitwick realized. "Yes, a very beautiful Grade One spell, not one I actually teach directly – but you seem to have an awful lot of it around, Rubeus!"

"That was mostly my fault," Dean said. "I managed to get it started, but I couldn't get it to stop."

"Is there a reason why you haven't dispelled it?" the Herbology teacher asked.

"It's not actually hurting anything, is it?" Harry shrugged. "I know I'm not very good at telling that, but Hermione said it wasn't dangerous."

"It's how it looks," Professor Sprout explained. "When we saw that part of the grounds seemed to be on fire, we were a bit worried!"

"If you'll allow me?" Professor Kettleburn added, producing his own wand – which was held in a quite amazingly scarred hand.

Nobody objected, so he waved it and cancelled out just about all the flames. The only bits left were where Ron and Neville were still trying to master the spell – Ron's flames were a vivid orange and uncomfortably hot, like overheated hot cocoa, while Neville hadn't produced more than a little curl of faint blue which seemed too cold to be going on with.

"Ah, let me see those again?" Professor Flitwick asked.

"Filius, do you mind if I head back to the greenhouse?" Professor Sprout requested, as Professor Flitwick gave every indication of being ready to give a little impromptu Charms extra-credit session. "I've got some honeydew to feed."

"Not at all," Professor Flitwick told her. "Now, let me see your wand movements, Mr. Weasley..."

That Sunday, Harry re-read the important bits of their latest book club assignment – this time a book about the life of a particular sphinx by the name of Phix in Ancient Greece.

It was a little hard to tell whether it was fiction or non-fiction, though it was certainly interesting. Phix had reportedly flown all over the place and had met plenty of the people Harry half remembered from a unit on Ancient Greece back in primary school, from Theseus to Heracles to Perseus (though it seemed like a lot of these people were actually wizards, which was a bit of a surprise to Harry until he thought about it).

"We should probably get going," Hermione said, and Harry checked the clock. It was about fifteen minutes before the book club was going to start, and it was all the way down in the dungeons, so that sounded like a good plan.

"Neville?" he asked.

"I'm – oh, hold on," Neville said, and pulled his Remembrall out of his pocket.

"Good," Hermione told him.

The glass ball glowed red, then went white-red-red-white-red.

"Oops," Neville added, and shoved it back into his pocket before running up the steps to his dorm.

"What do you think he forgot?" Dean asked.

"Probably the book," Harry guessed, and not long afterwards Neville came back down with the book held in both hands. He stumbled as he reached the bottom of the stairs, almost tripping, and Katie caught him.

"Whoops!" she said. "There you go, Neville."

"Thanks," Neville replied, ears going a bit pink, and they climbed out of the portrait hole before making their way down the stairs. Hermione led the way, as she was a lot more sure about the layout of the stairs than Neville (while Harry had to admit that he had a bit of a habit of jumping over the side of the grand staircase rather than actually trying to navigate his way through the castle's passages if he was in any sort of hurry).

They reached the classroom not long before the hour, and when they entered it most of the others were already there. The two other Gryffindors who'd decided to join the club weren't present, possibly busy or just having had a better idea of how to get down in time, and Harry squeezed himself into a space between two empty chairs which Hermione and Neville took a moment later.

"Did you finish it?" Hermione asked.

Neville nodded, and Harry confirmed that he'd been re-reading it instead of doing a last-minute sprint to the finish.

"What did you think of how Oedipus reacted?" she asked. "I thought that was awful!"

"He didn't sound very happy about it," Harry agreed, and then the two Gryffindor fourth-years arrived in a rush.

"Sorry," one said, speaking for her housemate. "Peeves."

"He is a bit annoying, isn't he?" said Robert, the Hufflepuff Sixth-year who was running the club. "I think we're all here? Anyone who isn't here, put your hand up?"

Nobody did, though there were a few chuckles.

"All right," Robert went on. "Let's see… Neville, let's go with you first. What did you think of it?"

"It's a bit violent," Neville admitted. "There's a lot of times when there's battles and stuff, and she gets really angry when people get questions wrong."

He squirmed a bit. "And… the other thing is how much she seems like a normal person apart from that. I liked it when she helped out a boat that was sinking."

"That is a good start," Robert agreed. "Phix is a Sphinx, and they're Beasts rather than Beings, but they're fully intelligent and you can have a good conversation with them. It's important to remember that, though I think some of us find that really easy."

Harry thought that was probably about him.

"What about you, Elora?" the Sixth-year added, indicating one of the girls this time, and Harry settled down for a good discussion.

It was perhaps forty minutes later, and an argument about how big a city Thebes actually was (and how many people would be going in or out of it by road) was in full swing when there was a sort of muffled thump.

"Did anyone else hear that?" Elora asked.

"What's that?" Robert said, then there was another thump and a kind of scraping sound.

"That's outside," Harry reported.

"Maybe it's someone moving a cauldron?" a Ravenclaw third-year suggested, and then there was a crash and the door jolted on its hinges.

Harry squirmed out of his comfortable resting place and stepped forwards, head tilted a little, and Robert slowly drew his wand.

Then the door broke into splinters as a massive club smashed into it, and what could only be a troll shouldered through the door with a grunt of effort.

"Everyone stay back," Robert warned, his wand tip lighting up slightly. "Protego!"

A shimmering magical shield formed around the Sixth-year, and the troll stared at it for a moment before swiping its club. There was a bright flash as the club hit the shield, breaking it, and Robert went sprawling – most of the force of the blow taken by his shield, but still knocking him across the floor.

Harry ran forwards as the troll raised its club, and flared his wings before spitting a jet of flame at it. That resulted in a howl of pain from the troll as Harry's breath burned its skin, and instead of smashing at Robert it backhanded Harry across the room.

The next few seconds were a bit of a blur to Harry, but the first thing he heard after the bookcase had stopped collapsing on him was Hermione shouting the incantation for her bluebell flames spell.

"Stupefy!" someone else called, and Harry flexed his wings to knock the books and shelves aside. There were at least a dozen wands pointed at the troll, firing hexes and jinxes which splashed off its tough skin, and it was flailing about more-or-less at random with the club because there were blue flames all over its eyes so it couldn't see properly. There was a crash-crash-crash as the troll smashed the wall, the floor and a desk, reducing the latter to splinters, and Robert was back on his feet with a shielding spell up again and firing some kind of blasting curse.

With the hand not holding the club the troll scraped away the flames, and Harry dove right back in.

"Keep casting!" he told them, shooting another jet of dragon fire at the troll to distract it away from the other students. "You might find something that works!"

"But we'll hit you!" Elora said.

"He's a dragon!" Hermione said, sensibly. "Flipendo!"

Hermione's spell hit the troll, though it didn't seem to do anything, and the monster slammed the club down to try and splatter Harry. He rolled to the side, knocking over a table, then picked it up with a forepaw and held it up like a shield.

How did you fight a troll, exactly?

Harry had the feeling that the answer most dragons would give to that would be "fly into the air and set it on fire", or possibly just "eat it" if they were big enough. But there wasn't really enough room for either – though Hermione used her bluebell-flames spell again and got it in the troll's eyes, so it couldn't see, which was sort of like using fire. And then Robert managed to hit the troll's club with a jet of red light that knocked it flying into the air.

Then Harry got knocked into the air, as the troll groped around for something to hit before finding the table he was using as a shield and flinging it at the ceiling. It smashed, and Harry flapped his wings before landing painfully – on the Troll's back.

It moaned, trying to grab at him and make him let go, and Harry dug his talons in and held on tight. His wings beat automatically to stabilize him, and spells went everywhere – some of them splashing off his wings, others his back as the troll spun around, and many more of them hitting the troll.

His view of the room was a bit dizzy, since the troll kept trying to get hold of his neck and use it as a handle, but Harry was sure that Neville was missing. That was worrying, but so was the fact he was trying to keep a ten foot troll from attacking anyone – then one of the Slytherins in the club levitated a desk before Banishing it at the troll's head, and Harry jumped off for long enough that the desk hit with a crash before he landed.

"Good!" Robert said. "Everyone who can, try a Stunning spell!"

Harry closed his eyes, and heard the shout of "Stupefy!" followed by the flickers and flashes of several stunning spells hitting him, the troll and the room nearby.

Then a very different voice shouted "Deflagrato!" and an explosion knocked Harry spinning through the air. He quickly opened his eyes, flared his wings as best he could, and managed to sort-of-crash into a table.

He watched as an upside-down Professor Snape lowered his wand, looking at the unconscious troll. There was a large scorch mark on its side, and it had been sent head-first into the wall by most of the force of the blast.

"What in Merlin's name happened here?" he demanded. "Stevens?"

"A troll came in during Book Club," Robert answered, panting.

"I knew that much!" Professor Snape said sharply. "Longbottom could say little else. Why does this class look like a bomb has hit it?"

Still a bit dazed, Harry rolled over onto his front and looked around. Most of the desks had been wrecked and the survivors turned over to try and trip the troll over, there were hex and jinx marks on the wall near the door, and it even looked like it was on fire from all the bluebell flames the troll had flung around. And that was before noticing the collapsed bookcase Harry had hit, or the three or four places where the troll's club had smashed into the stone walls and floor.

And, looking around the door, was Neville.

"Harry kept the troll distracted," Hermione began.

"Granger, I was speaking to Stevens," Professor Snape told her without looking. "Unless your name has changed in the last forty-eight hours please keep quiet."

"She's pretty much right, Professor." Robert said. "When it came in I cast a shielding spell, but the troll knocked me aside. Then Harry got involved, and he kept going in even though he was being hit really badly – he let the rest of us curse at it without being distracted. But I don't know how we would have stopped it if you hadn't shown up, Sir."

Professor Snape frowned, seeming to be thinking hard about something, then waved his wand. "Well? All of you get out of the way so I can fix this, don't be fools."

Hermione insisted on taking Harry to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey looked him over, cast a spell Harry didn't know and then asked why on earth Harry had been brought in for a few mild bruises.

When she heard what Harry had actually been involved in, however, she said he'd have to stay overnight. Harry wasn't at all sure that made any sense, but Madam Pomfrey was the school nurse and so she was the one who was the medical professional.

At least his friends brought him his books, and Harry took the opportunity to read through The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings again, focused specifically on the bits about trolls. He was sure it hadn't taken quite that much work to defeat the trolls in those books, and wanted to know what to do in future.

'Wait for the sunrise' wasn't very helpful, admittedly.

AN:

Well, if everyone's watching Quidditch...

Also: Troll in the book club!