Troll!!! Troll in the dungeons!!! …thought you'd like to know…
Quirrell, Harry Potter à l'école des sorciers, page 153
ANSWERS TO MY BELOVED REVIEWERS ^_-
VMorticia: Ehh? *Re-reads book 3* CRAPPPPP!! Erm… (Goes back to correct himself) My Beta didn't find that one… Oh, so you liked all the jokes, eh? Can't wait to see how you use my favorite nickname for Longbottom! That's what happens when I write when I feel sarcastic. I love it ^_-. And I wrote an entire scene here in that mood, try to guess it ^_-. ……*Blush* erm… well, it's only for the plot, honest! *Blush harder*
Ran: Thanks, I'm trying to make it as good as I can!
Anon: Thank you!
Death: I'm working hard on keeping him in character… it's tough, cause I have to make him slyghtly (error intentional) out of character, but not too much. And the others too, since they don't feel the same way toward Harry as they do in the book. And Xing should realize his "Hobby" has become the center pillar of the Fanfiction community. Hitting the adult side of fiction on his site hits a huge part of the fandom community.
Darklady: Actually, French is my first, English is my second and I understand (barely), write the first two charts and constantly use expressions in Japanese (Kuso, Baka (More often than most), Shimatta, Gomen, etc.).
Marina: Well, you're served!
Sorry it took a while, ppl! Chapter 7 is 17 pages long!!!! That's why it took so long!! But I couldn't make it any shorter, so…
Chapter 5: Fluffy, Frights and Friends
The relationship between Harry and Snape didn't improve over the following weeks. In fact, they only got worse. By himself, Harry lost 20 points to Slytherin, all of those taken by Snape, while none of the other teachers found anything bad about him. While Harry was losing points, Snape made sure that Draco gained twice as much. As such, answering a simple question awarded the platinum-haired boy up to ten points. The black-haired boy could have handled all of this if it wasn't for the comments the Gryffindors were passing to him.
"Thanks for the help, Potter!"
"Next class, can you lose a bit more points?"
"Win points for us while you're at it!"
Harry was feeling quite irritated after the first week of those, but managed to hold himself back from murdering a few of his fellow students. One Gryffindor got on his nerves, however, no matter how much he tried to ignore her. The fact he had to work with her didn't help.
"Stir it ten times clockwise, then counter-clockwise, add a pinch of powdered beetle eyes, repeat ten times."
Harry started stirring with the wooden spoon usually used for it, following Granger's instructions, counting the number of times he moved the content. One, two, three…
"No, no, no…! You're doing it all wrong! You've got to stir it faster than that…"
Once again, Harry felt his patience take a blow, and his sanity scream and crack a bit more. He gave a dark look at Snape, who was turning around Blaise's and Longbottom's table, as Granger stole his spoon and started stirring in a way he found nearly equal to his, tuning out the girl's constant drilling.
'Doesn't she ever shut up?' He thought in annoyance. 'I pity the Gryffindors.'
"Are you listening?! You have to stir it in a wave, it's much more efficient than…"
Harry let out an exasperated mental sigh as she continued her lecture, making him sincerely wish he had brought a walkman or something to block her voice out.
The potion was, fortunately, going nicely. While Granger was more irritating than a swarm of opera-signing-mosquitoes in the middle of a swamp at forty degrees Celsius, she knew how to make a potion. While not being able to work in team without endangering the sanity of her partner, the mere fact that she knew the recipe by heart assured them a good grade. At least they would pass, but Harry wasn't sure he was going to last long enough to see it.
Any other class, outside of Potions, was going nicely. Astronomy was a total bore, in both Blaise's and Harry's opinions, with added problem that it as in the middle of the night. Draco didn't have the same view on it however, probably since one of the constellations bore his name. He even got up to telling the gullible Crabbe and Goyle that the stars were actually named after him, which the boys believed with a tiny bit of skepticism.
Soon, something else than the usual classes went and attacked Harry's timetable fiercely, tearing a hole into it, where Thursday's 'free time' was written. Quidditch practice was the name of the beast. Quote the captain, sleep nevermore.
On the morning of the twentieth, during mail, a great black owl flew down and dropped a long package straight at Harry, a bit like a javelin. The address said it was from Snape, which made it even more likely to be a javelin. But it wasn't a javelin. It was a broom. Close enough, though.
"A Nimbus 2000…" Draco gasped. "…they're the best ones on the market… at least for this year. Dad said something about a Nimbus 2001 coming out next year."
Harry grinned and looked at it. Even to him, who knew virtually nothing about brooms, it was beautiful. He couldn't wait to ride it.
And ride it he did.
The team was, Flint, Pucey and Montague as chasers, Derrick and Bole as the beaters, Bletchley as keeper and Potter as the seeker. Pucey looked like a nice guy, perhaps the only one on the team. Montague seemed to dislike him. Derrick and Bole, both mountains of muscles, towered over Harry and seemed to think he was too puny to be playing Quidditch. And the youngest player in a century was starting to believe it.
However, it all changed when he was on the field. As soon as he lifted off, he felt it. Flying was his talent. In the air, even with the whipping wind, the risk of falling off the thin wooden flight instrument he couldn't even properly feel because of the cushioning charms, he felt as at ease, if not more so, than on the ground. Back at the flying class, he had been too worried to enjoy the feeling, but now…
"Head's up!! Or not!"
…but now he was interrupted from enjoying it by a budger passing straight over him, bringing his head back to where it was, and not to where it would be if one of the budgers hit him.
Flint was ruthless on the field, especially to the beaters, those, quote, "responsible for the enemy losing an arm or two". Harry was not given an easy time even if he was new on the team; he and Higgs would compete for the snitch, while the beaters tried to kill them both, along with everyone else on the team. Harry soon understood the Slytherin team's motto: "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads.". Flint was also a great fan of the Falmouth Falcons and 'lightly' inspired his techniques – and motto – off theirs.
Two times a week, they nearly killed themselves. Another two times a week, Harry risked his sanity and Blaise every part of her body in the potion class. Two potions had already exploded, resulting in term failure for the students, unless they did loads of extra work; Patil and Brown's and Weasley and Thomas'. Oddly enough, the two entirely Gryffindor teams the closest to Draco. Not that he was suspected at all, of course. If Snape went to extreme limits to make Harry's life miserable, saying the same about Draco's was lying. It was obvious, to Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, that Snape liked him.
About as obvious as the sky is blue. Perhaps more.
"Biased git." Harry heard Weasley mutter as they came out of the dungeons. Thomas seemed to agree; both had spent their entire morning copying full pages of their book. Harry had to agree with him; Snape was a biased git.
"C'mon, Harry, we'll be late for DADA."
Harry let out a loud sigh at Blaise's voice.
"What a day though, learn the '1001 ways to be evil and annoy people for no reason' taught by S. 'slimy' Snape, then it's 'Stuttering and you, class 101' by S. 'Scared-of-Shadow' Quirrell."
They shared a chuckle as they climbed up the stairs, taking a quick walk on the third floor halls.
"Eww, what's that smell?!" Blaise complained, blocking her nose.
"Sorry 'bout that!" A loud, booming voice came. Coming out of the nearest turn was Hagrid, carrying a large red-tinted bag over his shoulder. The bag reeked of blood and raw meat.
"What's that?" Harry asked, his voice coming out oddly from behind the cape he had put in front of his mouth and nose.
"Uh… can't tell yeh that, sorry." Hagrid said, looking around nervously. "Now, yeh three better leave. C'mon, I bet yeh have a class teh go teh now…"
He ushered them away, not the way they were intending to go, as he went the other way, disappearing down the next corner. The three shot each other a look.
"Do we follow him?" Harry asked.
"You bet." Blaise replied with a grin.
They did so, following the stench more than the sight of the gigantic man. The fact that the bag was dripping crimson drops helped as well, leaving a trail for them to follow.
"Pathetically easy." Draco noted.
Harry shrugged. "Who's complaining?" He said, before looking ahead. "It looks like he's going toward the forbidden corridor."
Just as Harry had suspected, the trail led them to the forbidden corridor. The door was partly open and Hagrid's booming voice could be heard from the other side.
"Here yeh go, Fluffy! Raw an' fresh, jus' how yeh like it!"
"Fluffy?" Draco asked, disbelievingly. "Ten sickles it's a dragon."
"Deal." Blaise whispered back as they edged closer to the door. Whoever said curiosity killed the cat was thoroughly ignored.
They gave a look inside and…
"That thing is called Fluffy?!" Draco hissed in alarm.
Big enough to fill the entire room, never mind how it got there, with three snarling heads equipped with bloodied sets of jaws currently busy tearing meat apart under the proud eye of Hagrid was something that the description of a deformed, overgrown dog would fit best. It's growling was loud enough to make the door tremble and, quite definitely, freeze Harry's blood.
'Why would that thing be here?!' Harry wondered, looking around. Something caught his attention. There, between the dog's enormous paws was a trap door.
"C'mon, let's get out of here before Hagrid sees us." Blaise hissed, pulling Harry and Draco away.
The three of them went back to their original location, stilled with shock. Harry told them his observation.
"It's probably here to guard something." Draco mused. "There's no other reason for Dumbledore to allow that thing in here, unless he doesn't know."
"How likely is that? From what I heard, he's nearly omniscient. Mom reckons he can read minds." Blaise noted.
They were silent until they reached Quirrell's classroom just as the bell rang. As they sat down, Blaise turned toward Draco and grinned.
"You owe me ten sickles."
Time passed quickly enough that, before they could notice, it was Halloween, and the mystery of the dog vanished behind the thick layers of work. As first years, they didn't get much of it, except in Transfiguration and Potions, though Snape seemed very selective on who got the long end of the homework assignments. While the papers he had handed to Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were done within the hour, Blaise and Harry often struggled to finish them before the sun went down. And the potion still wasn't finished.
"Is it supposed to boil that much?" Harry asked.
Granger gave a look at the nearly overflowing cauldron and went back to cutting roots as precisely as she humanly could – Harry expected her to bring a laser cutter anytime now – and barked him an order.
"Adjust the fire, turn it lower."
Harry did so, remarking with a relieved look that the boiling passed somewhat. Hermione shot the potion another look and let out a frustrated sigh.
"No, that's too low… Turn it up a notch."
'Make up your mind, girl…' Harry mentally hissed, turning the fire back up with a tap of his wand at the simple block out of which a flame was coming out. The flame started up again and Hermione gave him a glare.
"That's too high again." She noted. "Can't you do anything right?"
"Well do it yourself then, Granger." He snarled angrily. Normally, he was calm. But this girl had the talent of getting under anyone's skin.
"Temper, Potter. One more point from Slytherin."
Harry clenched his fists under the table and held himself back from throwing a non-verbal curse at the obnoxious teacher.
History of magic, which was the class just after, was much better for his nerves. So much better, actually, that he fell asleep in it, waking up to find out he had dozed off on his notes. When class was over, he told Blaise and Draco to start eating without him and headed toward the boys' bathroom to clean the ink – and the embarrassing words it formed – up.
"Stupid." He chided himself, wiping the final letter of "Hargug the Hideous" off his cheek. When it was done, he walked out of the bathroom, only to be nearly rammed into by a familiar bushy-haired girl, dashing toward the girls' bathroom. Before he could snap at her, he noticed she was crying. A stall door slammed from inside and louder sobs could be heard.
"Hey, you ok there, Granger?" He asked from outside.
When he received no answer, he shrugged, seeing as the two other Gryffindor girls were coming in fast. It wasn't his problem anymore.
'Probably got on the nerves of someone more… vocal than me.' He mused.
The rest of the day passed quickly. Charms was easy; levitation charms was something the first year Slytherins had mostly all tried and managed (against the rules of course). Except Goyle who, despite an unusual skill for plants, was totally inept at wand-waving. As for Defense against the dark arts… well… no comments there. Another entire lesson wasted on a silly vampire story out of which Quirrell was the hero, defeating the creature through some brave and rather crazy and unbelievable act, and saving an entire village from it. Not that any vampire can drink that much. Plus, with the stuttering… well, I'll stop here. You get the idea, dear reader.
The great hall that afternoon was, in one word, impressive. Pumpkins floated over the tables, which were full of every kind of food imaginable. Ghosts floated merrily overhead. The Gryffindor ghost was scaring a bunch of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws with a silly ghost story, pardon the pun. He quickly found Draco, who was talking to Crabbe and Goyle, and Blaise, who was filling her plate with more strawberry-flavored things than anyone should be allowed to.
He gave a glance at the Gryffindor table. He easily spotted Weasley – red hair and all – talking to Finnigan and Thomas. The two Gryffindor girls from earlier weren't very far, either, but no sign of Granger.
'Shame, she'll miss the feast.' He thought, sitting down in front of Blaise and filling his plate. Thoughts of the bushy, bossy-haired… erm, I mean… bossy, bushy-haired girl left his head as food entered his stomach.
Everything was going nicely, when suddenly the doors burst open and a very terrorized Quirrell – more than usual, I mean – ran in, yelling loud enough for all to hear:
"TROLL!!! TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!!!"
He stopped, took a deep breath and continued.
"Thought you'd want to know…"
…and he collapsed.
Ever wonder what a huge, 15 feet-tall dragon breathing fire hot enough to melt a car in pieces landing into a feast could do? Not me, I got better things to do. My theory is wide-spread panic, like the one that happened at that moment in the great hall, as everyone stumbled and ran for the exit, Draco probably first in line.
Dumbledore got up, took out his wand and shot azure sparks out of it, bellowing a single word.
"SILENCE!!"
To which no one had an answer to. Causing a, you guessed it, silence.
"Prefects, guide the students back to the common rooms. The feast will continue there. Teachers, follow me."
In a much more organized manner, the students evacuated. A red head Gryffindor prefect who probably was Weasley's brother (or one of them) guided the first years of his house away. However, Harry noticed one of them going away from the fray.
'Well, well, Weasley. Disobeying orders from the headmaster?' He wondered, intentionally staying as far back as he could from the other Slytherins. Then, at the first occasion, he swiftly ducked away from view, hoping the prefect didn't see him.
When he was assured he was safe, he quickly headed back, easily finding Weasley walking toward where he remembered the bathrooms being.
"You know, unless Gryffindor has really low standards and doesn't even have a bathroom in their common room, I don't think you can't wait that much."
Weasley whirled around at his voice, a look a surprise on his face.
"Potter! What on earth…"
"Could ask you the same question, Weasley."
The red-haired boy gave him a cold glare. He was about to reply when they heard a high-pitched, definitely girly scream come from some distance away.
"Hermione!" Weasley gasped in horror. Harry understood.
"Granger's still in the bathrooms?!" He asked.
"Why should you care? Oh yeah, she's your potion—"
Harry gave him an annoyed glare. While he didn't actually consider her a friend, he wasn't heartless enough to ignore the risk of her being seriously hurt. "We'll talk later. Let's go save her. Truce?"
Ron gave a look at his outstretched hand in disgust, before shaking it quickly – and dropping it like it's favorite past time was spreading the plague – answering
"Only temporarily."
"Deal." Harry agreed.
A crashing noise was heard, along with another scream. Both boys came to their senses and ran to help the girl.
Standing nearly three meters tall, wielding a club a third that long and apparently solid enough to turn toilets into objects that would make a junkyard jealous, smelling like it had taken a 400 miles marathon through dirty sewer waters without deodorant, without taking a shower before nor after and not bathed once in his life, the troll was slowly advancing toward Hermione, it's dumb eyes locked on the terrorized girl hiding under a sink.
"Oi, pea-brain!" Weasley shouted, throwing a toilet piece at the troll, which impacted with an oddly hollow sound that could have come from either the sad remains of a 'throne of souls' or the monster's empty cranium commonly known as 'head'.
[A/N: Sorry, a little Evangelion omake riff here… *snicker*]
The troll, while it may not have felt the hit, definitely heard the insult. If it registered it or not remained a mystery only to the dumbest of all. Like a troll can register a complicated insult like pea-brain. *clears throat* Back to the story. Sorry peeps.
It slowly turned around, stopping to look at the mirror, where it saw Weasley's reflection. With a snarl, the troll smashed his club against the mirror, shattering it in pieces. Harry heard a gulp coming from Weasley's throat as the black-haired boy sneaked silently behind the troll, intent on helping Granger, who was staring, terrified and frozen under the sink, at the troll. He managed to reach her and grab her shoulder, but she wouldn't move.
"C'mon, move, Granger!" He hissed, pulling harder. "I don't think you want to become a monument to Picasso anymore than me!"
A shrill gasp came from her, making him whirl around. It's attention taken by the noise, the troll had turned around and looking at Harry, something akin to surprise in it's eyes, a surprise that faded quickly, in troll standards. Slowly, it took a step toward them, lifting the club over it's head. And it would bring it down on them if he didn't do something.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" He shouted the first thing that came to his mind, pointing his wand at the club.
The club hand of the troll went down. Had Harry not acted, the sound would probably have been akin to a dozen of bones breaking at the same time. Instead, to the creature's great surprise, it's hand now held nothing. It looked around it, as if expecting his club to be tap-dancing on some unfortunate toilet's remains, before looking up, only to find the club hovering above him.
"Cut the spell!" Weasley shouted.
Harry let go and the club started an unstoppable fall. The troll let out a grunt that could almost have been a whine as the massive object smashed against it's head, then fell down on the bathroom floor, making a hole in it and narrowly missing it's feet. The troll wavered dangerously, blinking once or twice, before falling down on it's back, unconscious.
"Are you ok, Granger?" Harry asked, worried.
"Yeah… I'm fine." She replied unsteadily.
He helped her up and turned to Weasley.
"Here. Take her back to Gryffi—" Before he could continue, the door burst open and McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell burst in.
"What in the world?!" The woman asked, looking at the scene. A trashed bathroom, two Gryffindors and a Slytherin in the same room as an unconscious troll, a broken mirror and more stink than a bodybuilding gym changing room after a 40-hour session.
…hmm.. would there be anyone left in there after a 40 hour session though…? *gets pulled back to the story* Ack! Fine…
"What in the world happened here?!" McGonagall asked, shooting her Super-McGonagall-glare(R)(TM) across the room.
"Erm… well…" Weasley began. Harry was about to step in with a hopefully believable story, to which we would have all liked to see if he would manage to trick three teachers at the same time, when Granger spoke up.
"It was my fault, professor. I… I read about trolls and I thought I could manage to defeat it."
Harry tried his best not to gawk at her, while Weasley didn't even bother trying to hide his astonishment. Had Granger just lied to a teacher??!
"That was a very stupid thing to do, miss Granger." McGonagall snapped.
"I know… I realized it a bit too late… if it wasn't for Ron and Potter…"
Snape took that moment to notice him. His face contracted into a sneer.
"Potter, follow me." He barked, walking out of the office.
Harry gulped and followed the dark-haired teacher down to the dungeons.
"Two months, potter. Two, little, insignificant months in a seven year stay at Hogwarts, if you miraculously manage to stay that long. And you already managed to risk your life not once but twice!" He snapped as they strode at a quick pace, a bit too fast for the small legs of the eleven years old boy who had to jog.
"While the first time, you managed to get a place in the Quidditch team, this time, you will certainly not get any kind of favor for your apparently hereditary dare-devil genes."
Snape pushed the door of the potion class open. Harry gawked in horror.
The place was a mess. Everything was broken, torn, smashed and any other word you can associate with destruction and mayhem. One of the walls looked like it had exploded; it was completely missing, with only rubble leading to an equally messy hall, toward some stairs heading up.
"Our friend the troll passed through here, as you can probably see." Snape snapped, a hint of bitterness evident in his voice. "You will help me make this mess viable again. And as it is impossible to do so without magic, you may use your wand for this."
Harry let out a sigh of relief, a mental picture of himself trying to glue a vial back together with super-glue vanishing. Then, another thought came to him.
"Erm… sir, I don't know any spell to repair things."
Snape shot him a glare, as if berating him for his lack of knowledge, or for having dared to speak in his mighty presence. Visibly annoyed, Snape took out his wand. For a second, Harry was afraid he was gonna get cursed, but the wand's target was the smashed-in-half desk beside him.
"Reparo." Snape muttered. Dark green sparks floated out, circled the table and mended it perfectly together, like new. Harry let out an impressed "whoa", before being roughly shoved into his work by the teacher's order, to be obeyed immediately under the threat of "Getting enough detentions to be here until you're twenty".
The spell was easy enough and soon, Harry found himself with no more broken things to fix. To his horror, however, Snape conjured a mop, a rag and anything else needed to do clean, along with orders to clean the floor up, without magic.
'This isn't as fun', Harry mused with an annoyed grumble. Bad enough that the stones of the floor weren't equal and that squeezing too hard made the rag risk tearing, some of the unidentifiable stains on the floor were quite resilient. However, near the front door, Harry noticed something odd. A perfectly round, red spot, still wet and easily washed off.
"Blood?" He whispered, low enough so that Snape wouldn't hear him. He gave a look at the teacher, and only now noticed he was limping. A quick scan back in his memories made him mentally slap himself for not noticing the odd pace the teacher had been walking at. His left leg's steps had always been quicker than the right.
"Potter, get back to work." Snape hissed.
And Harry did so, his mind heavy with thoughts.
What on earth was happening here?!
FINALLY!!! Sorry for the wait again, chapter 7 takes 17 pages… *sigh* I'm obsessed. Just re-read the whole thing and… *cracks up* LOL! The troll scene… THE TROLL SCENE!! Lol!
Click that little thingy just down here… Pwetty Pweeze?