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So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. He learned about magic early and, adopted by Mercy Fuller, launched a junior academy, mainly for Muggle-raised children aged seven to ten. Strong bonds of friendship were formed, which, on starting Hogwarts, helped them avoid expulsion, and pressured Dumbledore into hiring Mercy as Potions teacher in Harry's classes. Now read on...

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Chapter 7

Death At Hogwarts!


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Comfortable Weeks

With Snape no longer teaching them, the next week or two passed smoothly for Harry and his friends. In addition, Padma and another Ravenclaw called Mandy Brocklehurst, who both dormed with Hermione and Luna, were delighted with Mercy Fuller's Potions class – as were Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein. The Hufflepuff first years who shared the class were also thrilled at the vast improvement. Harry had become remarkably popular overnight.

One fly in the ointment was that Ron Weasley would regularly glare and sneer across the Great Hall at Neville during meals, sniggering loudly at whatever he was saying to Seamus and Derek – the only other Gryffindor boys in his year.

"He still thinks I should have been expelled," growled Neville. "Even though I made him realise his Chudley badge is worth over fifty Galleons – just for the material."

"Crikey," yelped Harry, half-choking on a second helping of treacle tart, "he could buy the team for that."

Their laughter evoked another dark scowl from Ron. Neville shook his head, wishing Weasley would just let it go.

Luna patted the back of his hand. "Don't think too badly of him, Neville. Seamus is really Derek's friend; poor Ron has nobody."

"I wonder why?" sniggered Harry under his breath.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. The turbaned professor smelt of garlic and stuttered nervously. Nobody took him seriously and some even asked Harry if his mother could take over Defence classes as well as Potions. Harry smiled and shook his head. "I wish..." What could he do? All the ex-Academy members were already a year or two ahead in many aspects of Defensive spells. He wondered if they might find somewhere to practice together for fun.

But generally Harry was content to go along with the status quo rather than stir things up. There was a relaxed atmosphere about many of the classes – almost to the point of falling asleep in History! It was a pleasant time, an enjoyable period of their lives which passed happily by as summer slumbered further into autumn, and sleepily pulled a blanket of leaves over itself to keep warm.

Only one curious incident caused a tiny ripple on the peaceful surface of school life in their first month. A young, blond-haired Slytherin had tried to annoy Harry in the passageways but without success. He'd demanded a wand duel, but Harry just laughed and walked away.

Harry, Luna, and Neville arranged a low-key celebration for Hermione's twelfth birthday; Harry having gifted her a box of magic puzzles to exercise her mind and spell-casting. To be honest, he wasn't sure if they were even solvable, but if anyone could, it would be her.

Towards the end of September, many were looking forward to the first flying lesson – Harry mainly because thereafter he would have access to the brooms, and allowed to fly in his spare time under the guise of 'flying practice'. He'd already mastered the art of course, as had all former members of the Fuller Academy.

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The Flying Lesson

Hermione Granger smiled at Luna as they sedately performed their twentieth figure-of-eight almost thirty feet above the ground. Professor Mercy Fuller had expertly taught them this amongst many other life skills, acclimatising them gradually until they were as relaxed when flying a broomstick as lounging in a comfy chair. Just below were Megan, Hannah, and the other Hufflepuffs performing just as well. Up above, of course, Neville and Harry were racing – Harry finally throw-catching a tennis ball to handicap himself plus the occasional exuberant spiral. He was still laps ahead by the look of the silly grin on his face. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Boys! But deep down, she couldn't help but admire his skill and daring.

Madam Hooch's whistle signalled the end of the lesson. "HARRY POTTER!" She looked rather fierce and summoned the tennis ball, snatching it out of the air once it was within range.

Hermione gripped her broom more tightly and swiftly descended before Harry. "He flies perfectly safely, Professor – Harry just loves the freedom of–"

"–Quiet, Granger! Potter, follow me – NOW!" said Hooch, her eyes smouldering. "The rest of you – class dismissed."

With a puzzled look back at Hermione, Harry trotted after Hooch into the castle, along several corridors, then up to the seventh floor in the west tower before stopping outside an oak door. Harry groaned as he recognised – by the Ravenclaw emblem – whose it was. Now he was in real trouble! Hooch knocked, opened it, then poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Filius, but you remember asking me a couple of years ago that if I came across any especially talented–"

"–A flier!" squeaked Professor Flitwick throwing down the quill he'd been using. "Come in, come in!"

"Not just any flier, Filius – I've found you a Seeker."

Harry cried, "Now, hang on a min–"

–But Hooch had dragged Harry in with her. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

"No, I've flown for years, but–"

"–Good. He caught this strange thing during a reverse spin!" Madam Hooch held up the tennis ball. "Charlie Weasley couldn't have done better – if at all."

Flitwick was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Of course, but–"

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Hooch, squeezing his upper arm as if testing the ripeness of a dirigible plum. "Light – sturdy – we'll have to get him a decent broom, Filius – a Nimbus Two–"

"–I already have one back home but–"

Flitwick was jumping up and down with glee. "I shall speak to the Headmaster and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."

He peered sternly at Harry. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter." Then he smiled. "Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

"Yes, I know," said Harry, annoyance creeping into his voice. "I'll give your offer due consideration after I've discussed it with my mother. I love flying, but personally, I think Quidditch is far too dangerous."

Flitwick's mouth fell open in shock. He stared after the departing boy, too paralysed by disbelief to even think. What did he say...? Just outside of his eyeline, he heard Hooch stagger against his desk and hit the floor in a near-swoon.

Harry Potter had walked away.

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An Eery Voice

Patiently, Hermione guided Terry Boot's arm as he attempted to levitate a feather in Charms class. "Your swish is quite good but the flick doesn't have enough snap," she gently explained. "Also, your pronunciation is slightly off, causing the feather to skid away."

Terry frowned with impatience. "Show me again."

Hermione smiled and raised her wand. "Win–gar–dium Levio–saah!"

"So it's saah not sa?" – aah!" said Terry, and with more eagerness, tried again. He grinned as his feather finally danced into the air at his command.

To Flitwick's delight, all of the Ravenclaws had now succeeded with the spell. Not so the Gryffindors, who were sharing the class. Lavender Brown had to escort Seamus to the hospital wing because Ron Weasley had accidentally jabbed him in the eye with his wand tip. Ron was given detention under the supervision of Filch the caretaker, scrubbing stinky toilets for the rest of the afternoon.

Meanwhile, Harry was attempting precision control of the levitation spell on his quill to tickle Luna's nose. They'd been practising third-year charms in their spare time, and first-year lessons were becoming rather boring unless he pushed them to the utmost.

They had a free hour after Charms before dinner so Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Luna found a spare classroom to work on their cheering charms. Only Hermione had succeeded before this. She cautioned them all, "Now listen, don't use this charm to intoxicate yourselves because it's said to become addictive. It's true purpose is to overcome depression, to lift your spirits when you're down. Remember that."

It was an advanced spell for first-years to try, and they finished up more dejected than they started after failing repeatedly. Luna managed a giggle and a sneeze, but Neville said it was probably a bit of Harry's quill left up her nose.

"Don't worry, you'll get there," said Hermione, and cast the charm lightly upon them all.

So it was an upbeat group that headed to dinner that evening. But perhaps they were too relaxed, for when screams were heard from the Great Hall, they were slow to react.

Neville was first through the door. He stopped on the threshold and grinned back at the others as they joined him.

Halloween was being celebrated. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. Girls were shrieking and trying to shoo the little creatures away from their hair. Harry swore he saw the blond Slytherin boy hiding under the table.

As they sat down, food appeared on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet. Harry half-turned his blue ring for a little protection, and he and Hermione also cast weak shield charms over their friends to keep out the bat droppings – then they all tucked in.

Harry was just helping himself to a jacket potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

All was chaos. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins milled about in confusion because their dorms were down in the lower levels in and near the dungeons. However, the Ravenclaw prefects seemed to have their students well controlled, leading them quickly out through the noisy crowd towards the Ravenclaw Tower stairs.

But Neville had hung back, frowning. "HARRY," he cried loudly to be heard above the shouts and pounding of feet, "did you see Ron Weasley at the feast? I noticed he wasn't anywhere at the Gryffindor table scowling at me. What if he's still scrubbing toilets with Filch?"

Harry stopped in mid-stride, trying to think quickly. Robert Hilliard, the Ravenclaw prefect bringing up the rear, was urging them onwards. "Get along now, KEEP MOVING YOU TWO!"

Never stop asking for help and never stop offering it...

"Excuse me, but Ron Weasley's missing. We think he might be–"

"–EDGECOMBE!" cried the distracted Hilliard. "WHAT ARE YOU – what were you saying, Pott– oh, HELLO, Cho! No worries. Stick with me and I'll see you safely up the tower – no, it's no trouble. Hang on to my arm and keep close so I can protect you more easily..."

Harry stared open-mouthed at the lovely girl, guessing from her figure she must be thirteen at least, then shook his head to focus, growling, "Hilliard's practically drooling over her – look where he's got his hand round her hips! He won't remember what day it is, let alone Ron Weasley..." never stop! "OY!" Harry called, just before the prefect disappeared into the sea of students, but to no avail. never stop! "HEY!"

He shrugged at Neville then looked back through the doorway. The Great Hall had almost emptied except for a few Slytherins and their final prefect who glanced back from the side door and stared at Harry for a few seconds. Dumbledore and the rest of the Hogwarts staff had all presumably hurried out to find the troll. Quirrell was still face down on the floor. "Useless..." muttered Harry.

"You follow the Ravenclaws up, Harry," yelled Neville over his shoulder. I'll run after the Gryffindors and get a different prefect. I think Ron's brother is one." He was sprinting away before Harry could protest.

Then, in that moment of complete aloneness, Harry froze. His silver riskless – the adornment he'd bought all those years ago in the Curiosa and Curiosa shop – was twitching very strongly on his wrist, alerting him to serious danger. A silence was falling as the bulk of the students were hurrying away out of earshot and with no other distractions, his entire attention focused on his mother's advice in situations of unknown danger: RUN! But a high cold voice pierced the air, "Harry... Potter... we meet... again."

Harry whirled around. Quirrell had struggled to his knees, still facing away from Harry – but there'd been no stutter, so who had spoken?

And there it was again... "Take him... while we may..."

Quirrell turned and began to advance towards Harry with a quite new expression on his face: menace! "Potter! Come here!"

"POTTER!" Snape had entered from the side door at that same moment. "Breaking the rules again as usual! Why aren't you with the other Ravenclaws! That'll be ten p–"

"–Ex–ssactly wh–what I was g–going to ask!" simpered Quirrell.

Snape's head turned. He'd clearly only just noticed Quirrell was still there.

"There's a missing Gryffindor, sir!" cried Harry. "Ron Weasley was serving detention with Mister Filch, sir, and–"

–A blood-curdling howl came from the main entrance behind Harry; he spun around in time to glimpse a cat streaking down the marble stairs. "It's Mrs Norris! They must be–"

"–Leave this to me, Potter!" snarled Snape, sweeping past Harry. "Which direction?"

"Up there sir! First floor! They were cleaning bathrooms!"

A bloody chunk the size of a football came hurtling down to crack and roll like a coconut along the stone slabs of the Entrance Hall. For a few seconds, Harry could not make out what it was. Then bile rose up from his stomach as he recognised the familiar face on one side staring blankly at him.

Snape spat back at Quirrell, "Keep students away from this hall, Quirrell! Potter – follow me. Keep close but do not attempt to interfere – and stay behind me!"

Harry was wiping sick off his mouth, and felt too giddy to object. "Yes, sir," he said meekly.

Then realisation struck him. "NEVILLE!"

"Keep behind me, Potter, I said!" cried Snape, rushing up the stairs with Harry trying to pass him.

"Neville went up there only a minute ago, Professor! He was going to warn the Gryffindors!"

"Bombarda!" There was a mighty explosion from above and they ducked as a heavy door came spinning over them, instantly followed by a rush of hot air and a foul stench like a bog full of rotten meat and diarrhoea.

Despite Snape's order, Harry reached the landing first. Sprawled out was the huge troll, its guts split open and last Sunday's near-digested dinner spilling out, bones and all. On its face was a vacant expression of utter astonishment. Neville was gripping desperately to the balustrade, shaking and waving his wand defensively.

"Don't worry, Neville," said Harry. "I don't think it's going to get up again." His foot bumped against what appeared to be a cracked saucer, and he bent down to pick it up.

"Longbottom!" roared Snape. "What do you think you're doing with a fourth-year spell! And don't you know that trolls are magically-resistant?"

Harry tapped the saucer; it was as hard as iron.

"Didn't think, sir..." squeaked Neville. "I missed anyway and hit the door. It was the door ripping past the troll's stomach that did the damage."

"Where's the... rest of... Mr Filch?" Snape looked towards the open doorway of the first floor's girls' bathroom. "And Weasley?"

Neville pointed at the first cubicle just inside where a red-haired boy was visible, slumped over, head down the toilet. "Knocked himself out levitating the troll's club, sir."

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The Investigation

Next morning, Professor Flitwick was marking homework in his office. He leaned back and released a sigh of satisfaction; his first years had the best average in living memory – possibly ever.

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter."

The door opened.

"Ah, Potter, come in. Changed your mind about playing for your house?"

"Uumm... no, sir. ... Professor, I was wondering how the investigations were going."

"Investigations?"

"Into the decapitation of Mr Filch."

Flitwick frowned. "A sad business. That creature tore him apart like a chicken wing. Being a squib, Mr Filch had no protection. Longbottom did very well, though I'm not sure I approve of his using such an explosive spell."

"No, I meant, how did the troll get into the castle?"

"That, I confess, is a mystery."

Harry frowned. Never stop "But how far have the Aurors followed its path back? Trolls leave very distinctive tracks."

"Aurors?"

"Professor, a man has been killed. Surely the Aurors have been called?"

"That, Harry, is a matter for the Headmaster."

Never stop. "Then I'll appeal to the Headmaster."

"Do not concern yourself, Harry. I'm sure the–"

"–concern? CONCERN! Professor, a dark wizard tried to kill me once, and he's still out there! Who knows what method he–"

"–You can't believe that, Potter! You-know-who died when his killing curse rebounded from you."

"I do believe it, sir – in fact I know it. I've been given positive proof from a Ministry Keeper official. And if a stupid troll can so easily get into Hogwarts without leaving a trace, then I'm certain Voldemort can do the same. If you won't do anything about my safety, then I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore!"

For the second time, Flitwick stared gobsmacked as Harry walked away.

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An Unlikely Occurrence

"Enter..."

Harry pushed aggressively into the Headmaster's office, annoyance on his face. "Sir, why haven't the Aurors been summoned to investigate the killing of Mr Filch?"

Dumbledore's silvery-grey brow furrowed. "Aurors deal only with crime, Harry. Poor Mr Filch was attacked by a wild beast. An unfortunate accident."

"Accident, you say?" choked Harry. "So a troll accidentally wandered into the most protected magical building in the country?" never stop "And if it happens again tomorrow – ten times a week – and kills a hundred children? You'd still say they were accidents?"

"Harry, that's hardly likely now is it?"

"Not likely? Ah well, that's most reassuring. Thank you, Professor. I'll sleep easy tonight. I'll tell my friends not to worry because it's unlikely they'll get torn apart in their beds."

"Harry..."

"Don't worry, Professor. It's unlikely I'll ever trouble you again."

And Harry walked away.

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On The Trail

Harry was still simmering at lunch. "Luna, what do you know about trolls?"

"They have a great sense of smell, Harry. It carries for miles. I love wild creatures, don't you?"

Harry wrinkled up his nose in frustration. "No, I meant–"

"–Mr Hagrid has a boarhound," smiled Luna, dreamily.

Harry sighed. This was going nowhere. Still... never stop!

"Luna..."

"Boarhounds are such wonderful hunting dogs," romanticised Luna. "Fang knows when I'm about to visit before I do."

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, realisation dawning in the stupid troll areas of his brain cells. He threw down his unfinished tuna sandwich. "Luna come with me. I'd like you to introduce me to this... Mr...?"

"Hagrid."

Hermione and Neville exchanged glances. She sighed and scooped up several sandwiches and pies which she stuffed into the pockets of her robe. "We'll come too."

They were soon knocking on the door of Hagrid's home – a hut near the Forbidden Forest.

"Harry? Harry Potter? Come in, come in, all o' yeh..."

"So you see, Hagrid," said Harry, after he'd fully explained the situation, "we thought Fang would be ideal for tracking how the troll got into the castle."

The huge dog pricked up its ears eagerly at the sound of its name, but Hagrid looked doubtful. "I dunno, Harry. I think I should ask Professor Dumbledore if–"

"–He's already agreed," lied Harry. "It was his idea actually." The others looked askance, and Neville was gazing at the ceiling whistling softly, but Harry kept facing forward with the most innocent expression he could muster, and Hagrid yielded.

Harry grinned and pulled out the cracked old saucer he'd found on the landing.

"Where'd yer get tha', Harry?"

"Erm, think the troll must have dropped it."

"Tha's a toenail, tha' is – see all tha' cheesy gunk underneath where yer holdin' it? Let Fang 'ave a sniff then..."

Harry pulled a face, and after holding the repulsive cuticle out at arm's length to the dog, dropped it and wiped his hands on his hankie in disgust.

Fang was quickly on the trail, tongue lolling out and slathering. He led them to the side door that gave access from the castle to the greenhouses.

"See tha' little crack?" said Hagrid as he inspected the door frame. "Splinters forced off. Troll musta' pushed quietly in this way unnoticed."

"Uumm, Hagrid, wouldn't a troll more sort of... barge the whole door off along with half the wall?"

"Who knows wha' trolls might do, Harry?" said Hagrid gravely. "Maybe thought 'e could sneak out a few bones to gnaw on, unseen like."

Harry wasn't convinced. Stealthy finesse didn't seem to be a method a troll would have any comprehension of, and he could detect a faint but definite taint of dark magic around the door. Hermione nodded earnestly at Harry, as if she could sense what he was thinking.

Up the back stairs they trudged, following the loudly sniffing dog until finally...

"Seems to 'ave blundered back an' forth on th' first floor wondering where everyone were, before heading forward," said Hagrid. "Bit dim trolls are, if yer get my drift."

"Come on, Fang," said Harry, encouragingly. "Try down the main stairs..."

But Fang was having none of it. He'd now found the area where the troll had died, and seemed satisfied his prey was accounted for. The trail ended there.

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Yes, I confess I got the troll location non-canon even though I did check first – should have been down the basement stairs, but I only realised after this and the next chapter were so far advanced I could see no way to rewrite them easily. So, in this fic, it's a first-floor bathroom.

And yes, I swore I'd never do a template Potter fic again with trolls in dungeons etc., but I was agonising over Harry walking away from absolutely everything and the story being too dull. I decided to keep some of the original elements but make them as drastically different as I can, and thereby hopefully more interesting.

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

– Hippothestrowl

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