Chapter 8- Accidentally a Hero

The Forbidden Forest was clear cut and crystal clear; the cold autumn air perfectly still, and the trees so tightly packed stood as shields against prying eyes from the castle. The creatures were all silent for the night; even the nocturnal roamers; and magic hung thick in hazy mist. It spiralled inwards, getting denser and denser, until it reached the eye of the storm. It was a small clearing, with a pentagram dragged into the dirt- blood was soaked into the ridges and the spirals. In the centre of it all, a small boy kneeled, hunched over.

Raven hair flopped across his face, hanging limp and damp, despite the lack of rain, present or recently passed. Hands gripped the soil before him- the tendons strained and the bones sticking out beneath the translucent skin, that almost glowed in the single silvery light shining through the canopy of leaves. Sharp pants brought forth and took back, puffs of water vapor, that shimmered slightly in the slowly fading glow of Avada-Kedavra eyes.

Something had happened, something that would send an addictive thrill through the senses and a chill down the spine. Something that would make some of the Lightest, turn Dark, if only to experience the crackle of magic strike them down and make them feel alive for just one more moment.

Not all rituals were like this. Some were more soothing, less of an adrenaline rush. But this was one to throw off the limitations of the Trace, a weaving of spells and enchantments so old that it was solid in its foundations. It was a basic ritual, admittedly, but the amount of blood from the caster needed was enough to throw those that did know of it off. Alongside its Dark label and the illegality of performing it.

A smirk curled the corner of the boy's mouth, his eyes now a penetrating blue though the presence of green remained. A sense of self-satisfaction was present, as well as the knowledge of freedom. He couldn't be traced by the simple matter of being underage any longer, and he was hypersensitive to the idea of spells being cast his way, and his food and drink being laced. There was little chance they would trace him at all. Forced to do it the hard way. The muggle way. Just the thought sent a smile dancing across his eyes.

Slowly he stood, brushing down his robes as he did so, absently using the gesture to also spend the time of freeing himself of all the dirt and blood that grimed him. He then turned to the evidence of what had just taken place, his eyes narrowed in thought. He could not dissipate the magical residue- that was one thing he had not been able to uncover in the time- but he could remove the more visual evidence. He took out his wand for this, though he would not usually need it having grown far too used to not having one, but the ritual had exhausted him somewhat and wands helped to refrain from depleting his magic too rapidly.

Then he was walking, weaving in and out of the trees- paying no mind to what was around him. He knew the way, and he had his senses reached out to detect disturbance, so he was free to wander in his mind. There was much to do still, he knew, but he could not force himself to bring forth the plans for what happened next. The matter of Professor Quirrel still weighed to heavily on his mind- and an instinctual part of him knew that Quirrel was an important piece in the puzzle that was the missing Dark Lord. For he was missing- the ever present Dark Marks on his friends' arms proved Lord Voldemort's continued survival.

Golden light burst through the windows of the castle, though not all of them. There were a few that were darkened by the lack of candles or torches or lit fireplaces, but not all that many. He wasn't afraid of being seen by anyone happening to look out of the window- he knew that they would all be at the feast. He sneered slightly at the thought- it was a mockery of true tradition. Of what Samhain was really about. The feast was filled with sweets and sugar, along with muggle ideals. But it also was an obstruction to those few, those select few, that continued to practice what had so long ago been outlawed.

The corridors were quiet, and his footsteps echoed against the stone walls and floors. And he walked undisturbed and unnoticed, in peace and silence. That was, until he heard the shriek from a bathroom he was just about to pass. He paused, mulling over the idea, but curiosity won out his self-preservation, and he entered.

A mountain troll, for that was what he was sure it was, towered among the line of sinks and the line of wooden cubicles. Dust and debris scattered the floor, being sprayed by a broke sink and decorated by the splintered wood of the collision between the large gnarled club and a cubicle. A familiar Gryffindor was huddled in the corner, under a sink. Her black robes were dirtied grey and her frizzy hair flattened down by the arms brought over her head as she panicked and worried.

The troll roared, swinging its club down onto the same sink Hermione Granger was huddled under. She shrieked, just crawling out of the way in time. He narrowed eyes- what was a troll doing inside of Hogwarts? It was travesty that such a historical school had such poor defences. He twirled his wand, well, they would have to remedy that.

"Ah-hm," he coughed.

The troll swung round clumsily, grunting as it eyed him. It beat its club in the other hand as if trying to intimidate him. Whilst yes, he was re-evaluating his own sense of self-preservation, he was not at all intimidated. He raised an eyebrow, a simple enough gesture, designed for a simple mind- the troll's- to understand. As expected it roared and swung down the club- something he hastily side-stepped.

He went through a hundred spells in his mind before deciding on one that a) would not get him expelled and b) was not going to deplete what was left of his core entirely. A simple severing charm would do it, even if it did have to be a little overpowered.

"DIFFINDO!" All of his effort was thrown into this single spell, though a small part was held back should he need to use it, and the idea of being unconscious in front of a school of those who wished him ill was not something he was eager to achieve.

There was a pause where the spell flew, and all three in the bathroom felt it. And then it hit, exactly where it was aimed. The neck. It was in the brief moment of decapitation that he briefly thought over the idea of becoming an executioner- he certainly would be good enough at it. The insufferable girl let out a horrified scream as the head became detached from the body- each falling at their own rate. The head lolled first, scattering across the bathroom floor. Then the body fell heavily against the stone with a thud and a disturbance in the dust.

"You- you killed it."

Slipping his wand up his sleeve, he inclined his head. "I presume you do not need any help in making your way to the hospital wing?"

She gaped. "How can you be so calm?!"

He looked up at her. "Should I be anything else? Miss Granger, it was a kill or be killed situation. What did you expect me to do? Be killed?" He sneered the last question mockingly.

"Well…of, of course not," she stuttered, "But…"

He couldn't help the amused smirk. "Oh I see, the little mudblood thought that the eleven-year-old everyone else had labelled as a murderer when he was six would be fretting over the idea of killing another sentient creature? I see how your logic works, it's very thorough." He rolled his eyes, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going…"

"You most certainly will not!"

He repressed a sigh, his whole body tensing and a scowl forming on his cool mask. He turned, coming face to face with Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and a shaking Professor Quirrel. He couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the last one. He would find out his secret soon enough.

"Professors," he acknowledged tightly.

"What are you doing outside of your dormitories?" Professor McGonagall demanded shrilly, looking somewhat shaken at the scene she had walked into.

"I'm sorry, were we meant to be there?" he asked, genuinely confused, "I thought the feast would still be going on…"

"Due to the wanderings of a stray troll, students were asked to go to their dormitories, Mr Peverell-Slytherin," Professor Snape said slowly, "Which begs the question, why you are not in your dormitory?"

"I was not at the feast, and therefore not aware of the demand, sir," he said simply, "I was just heading to said feast when Miss Granger's shriek spiked my curiosity."

"Spiked…your curiosity?" Professor Snape repeated. He paused, gradually forming an invisible smirk. "It seems we have an accidental hero in our midst."

He just about refrained from sneering. "I think not. Kill or be killed. As you can see, I chose the first option."

Professor McGonagall turned her attention to the shaking lion. "And you Miss Granger? What were you doing outside of your dormitory?"

Granger stumbled for a few moments. "I never made it to the feast. I wanted to spend some time alone…"

"And naturally, the lavatory was your first choice," Snape drawled sarcastically.

Granger blushed. "Well…I…"

"Do not fluster the girl, Severus," McGonagall said sharply. "She's been through quite the ordeal." She turned her sharp eyes onto Harry. "Ten points to Slytherin Mr Peverell-Slytherin for aiding a fellow student, accidental or not. Quirinius, if you dispose of the body, I will be taking Miss Granger to the hospital wing."

"O…of course M…Minerva," Quirrel stuttered, not missing the narrowing gaze of the single boy he had slipped up in front of.

"If I may return to my dormitory then, Professors?" he said curtly, reminding them of his own presence and desires to leave their presence as soon as possible. Though he would not admit it, he had expended far too much magical energy in one night and was longing for the comfort of a bed.

"You may," Professor Snape answered, stepping aside from the door.

He walked past without a hesitation. The second he stepped into the safety of no-prying eyes, he slumped and allowed the exhaustion to mark his features. Yes, it had been a long night.

.

Hermione lay awake in the silence of her dormitory. Every so often she could hear one of her dorm mates roll over in their sleep, or an especially deep breath or sniffle, but other than that she was alone with her thoughts, and loud they were.

Madam Pomfrey had discharged her with the simple prescription of taking it easy lest the shock settle in. That would be when she was in most danger. Hermione hardly thought she would go into shock- she had had her embarrassing, moment of freaking out when Harrison first killed the troll. She did not look at herself favorably in that moment- already she was basking in the mortification. And he had so coolly brushed her off, though she had not missed the taunting amusement in his eyes.

It was all making her rethink however.

She had, of course, heard what had happened in the Library some weeks ago- the same week Lily Potter died in fact, and though it was only rumors she had heard, it had begun the questioning of just what Saeviour, and everyone else in Gryffindor had been telling her. She was smart, she had always prided herself on that, so she knew when she heard the rumors that she had made a fatal mistake. She had taken the word of a single body, and not looked at it from both sides of the argument. Of the feud.

She had never enjoyed Ronald's presence. He was loud and brash and rude, not to mention jealous of just about everything he could not have and could not be. He covered it up by pretending not to care about his grades, about school in general, nor the legacy is brothers were leaving behind them. Though she did not approve of Fred and George's past time, she could not deny they were intelligent, just as Percy was and just as she had heard Charlie and Bill were. She could admit that his inferiority-complex was well-founded but she had stopped caring the second he had lashed out at her so violently.

For two months she had been a friend to him, helped him with his homework. Practically wrote it for him, but that did not stop the hurtful words spewing from his mouth. Saeviour had not said anything, though he had not said much since his mother died, except when he was cursing and cat-calling his brother and blaming him for her death. She understood why Saeviour didn't speak out- he didn't want to lose Ron just as he lost his mother- but that didn't stop it from hurting any more than Ron's torment. So she had done what she had always done with the bullies back in primary school. She had run.

When the troll came in, she had frozen. Her endless study and practice of magic had not helped her when she needed it most and she had stood there gaping as her life flashed before her eyes. She had screamed and run though she had not run to the exit like she should've. Nor had she tried to defend herself. She had been pathetic. She had been so helplessly weak.

That was when Harrison had come in. He had strolled in, looking so calm and collected- pausing before he took out his wand. He had coughed, grabbing the troll's attention, side-stepped its efforts and swiftly killed it with a fourth-year spell.

And Hermione had freaked.

Lying there in the dark, she blushed still, thinking about it. How humiliating. She was the best in her year but at the slightest hint of danger and she was nothing but a child playing at make belief.

Harrison had passed off his presence as curiosity for her shriek. She believed this. But what she wondered on was why he had stayed and chosen to help. The troll hadn't noticed his presence. He could've turned and walked away. Allowed her to be killed. No-one would've known any different. But he hadn't. He had saved her.

Now this was where she was at a conundrum.

Harrison Peverell-Slytherin, the so-called mass murderer, recently dropped of all charges though nobody wholly believed it, the big-bad Slytherin, the Dark Wizard, the Death Eater, had saved her. And mudblood. Someone he despised. Could barely stand to be around.

And so, it was this she wondered.

Maybe Harrison wasn't so evil as everyone made him out to be.

Just maybe, he wasn't so bad after all.

Last chapter for a few months maybe less. I hoped you enjoyed it and if you have any suggestions I will gladly take them. Please leave a review, thank you.