October thirty-first dawned grey and overcast – almost as if the day was there as a physical manifestation of Harry's glum mood.
He went about the castle with the same straight back and impeccable appearance, but there was something about him that caused those in his classes to avoid him – with the exception of Neville, Daphne and Tracey of course.
Neville and Daphne immediately knew the cause of his despondency, it happened every year, and no amount of cajoling, distracting or joking could lift his spirits.
Today was the anniversary of his parent's murder.
On each Halloween, or Samhain as the traditionalists called it, the day seemed a little duller, smells weren't as nice, and colours seemed saturated. He would go through his daily routine almost as if someone were controlling his actions and he was merely an observer.
It had gotten a little easier following the trip to the Capitol – his grief was a little easier to manage, but only just.
As it was, he found himself in the Charms classroom with Professor Flitwick atop a small stool as he instructed the class in the proper way to perform Wingardium Leviosa – a simple levitation for inanimate objects.
Normally, he would be writing copious amounts of notes and enunciating his words clearly as instructed, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.
Merlin, even when he thought about making it onto the Quidditch team, he couldn't even crack a smile! He hated Halloween, Samhain, whatever the bloody holiday was called.
The class had been partnered in pairs for today's lesson, with the idea being to help and support each other in the learning process. He had yet to speak to his Hufflepuff partner on the bench next to him and hadn't even picked up his wand from where he had almost thrown it onto the desk.
"You alright, mate?" Ron asked from the pew in front of him.
Harry tried not to frown at the wording. He was well aware that Ronald Weasley had made it his mission in the last two months to get close to The-Boy-Who-Lived and not Harry Potter. He was easy enough to get on with, that was for sure, but his general attitude often rubbed Harry the wrong way.
He was often impolite, lazy, and usually only wanted to talk about two subjects: Wizards Chess and Quidditch. Harry was a fan of both, but how anyone could talk about only those things was completely beyond him. Harry wanted to discuss spells, wand-work, applications of magic and a dozen other subjects!
The way Ron practically ignored Neville grated on his nerves immeasurably, too.
Neville was a little further down the bench, partnered with a Ravenclaw girl with brown hair – he couldn't recall her name. Both were muttering to one another in between attempting to cast the spell.
"I'm fine." Harry sighed as he rubbed at his face with his hands. He offered a polite smile before Ron's partner, Hermione tried to get the ginger boy to focus.
Hermione was a whole other headache. The girl was lovely, and he enjoyed seeing someone who enjoyed learning as much as he did, but for the last two weeks she had given him the cold shoulder whenever he had attempted a friendly conversation.
In Hermione, he saw a study partner that could push him to be better, to write that extra paragraph in his essays, even though he was already almost double the required length of parchment. He had spotted her a number of times, huddled away behind a mountain of books in the Library, in a nook by a window – even Daphne didn't read that much.
She had impressed him.
It had all started in Introduction To Magic, when he had made a break-through on harnessing his magic. It had been halfway through a Monday morning lesson two weeks ago, when he had felt his magic conform to his desires. There had been a small pop in the back of his mind, and suddenly the world had felt so much fuller, so much more alive.
He could sense the others in the classroom, he could feel the Professor as she walked around slowly and offered soft, gentle words of encouragement. He could even feel the location of the small fly that was buzzing around in the ceiling before it escaped out an open window.
He had opened his eyes to see the world through that familiar blue-haze that he recalled experiencing at Arpton Keep. His eyebrows tickled as wisps of smoke filtered through the small, dark hairs.
Professor Selket had turned to look at him and gasped in astonishment, drawing the attention of every pair of eyes in the room. He had felt Neville's congratulatory pat on the shoulder and had grinned at Daphne's knowing smirk before closing his eyes and relaxing. The film on his vision had disappeared and the world had returned to normal, though he could still feel everything. Even his eyesight felt a little clearer.
Hermione had caught his eye, her brown eyes looking at him with such a stubborn determination that he had been momentarily taken aback. By the time he had recovered, she had resumed her meditation with such a ferocity, he thought she might combust on the spot.
It hadn't been until the following week that she had experienced something similar, quickly followed by Daphne, Neville, Terry Boot and Draco Malfoy.
He had thought that was the end of it, and things would return to normal. Oh, how wrong he had been.
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had decided to perform a mock-test, to see how well the students in her class had been performing. It was a combination of basic theory and turning a matchstick into a needle. Magic had become much easier ever since his breakthrough in I.T.M.
He had taken to the test with such a ferocity, Neville had been making jokes for the next few days. Daphne had been proud, and when they received their results, he had been swept up in a hug between his three friends – there had been a moment where he had genuinely thought he would suffocate.
The following day had been tense, as Hermione had glared at him from her spot further down the breakfast table. He had looked at Neville, completely baffled. He didn't remember doing or saying anything – in fact, he had been perfectly polite in the few words they had shared. Neville had simply shrugged and returned to his bacon.
The icy glares and the cold shoulder had continued even into this lesson. Before whatever it was that happened, there would be the occasional polite, shy smile between the two of them. They were far from friends, but he thought he wouldn't mind the chance.
His dark hair hung limply on either side of his head as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. The Hufflepuff at his side made a noise of annoyance, but he paid them no mind. He did feel a little bad about ignoring the boy, but really – he just couldn't concentrate, damn it!
A little of his frustration must have seeped out into his magic, because the next thing he knew, his feather had gone up in a small burst of flame without so much as a twitch.
"Mr. Potter, would you like me to get you another feather?" Professor Flitwick asked, his voice kind and patient.
Harry sighed again – it seemed to be all he was doing today. "I'm sorry, Professor – it's not a good day for me, is all."
There was a moment of quiet thought on the half-Goblin's face as he turned Harry's words over in his head before his eyes widened and he nodded understandingly. "That's perfectly acceptable and understandable, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you, Professor." Harry nodded as his shoulders slumped. He leaned back against the hardwood and turned his eyes to the rest of the class.
He watched as students waved their wands back and forth – barely a swish and a flick between them. He caught Weasley beneath him waving his wand back and forth frantically, as if that would do anything other than take someone's eye out if he lost his grip.
"Look, stop, stop, stop!" Hermione finally snapped at Ron as she held out a hand, stopping him from hitting her with his wand. Harry folded his arms across his chest and prepared himself for the oncoming show.
"You're going to take someone's eye out. Besides, you're saying it wrong. It's Win-gar-dium Levi-o -sar, not Levio-sar."
"You do it then, if you're so bloody clever. Go on, go on!" Ron snarled, the tips of his ears visibly red from where Harry was sat.
Hermione rolled her eyes before she turned away to look at her feather, her wand delicately held in her fingers. Harry noticed she sat a little taller and held her chin a little higher as she incanted the spell and gave the correct swish and flick of her wand.
The feather rose from the desk steadily and moved inch by inch up into the air under Hermione's direction. When it came to a halt, about four feet above their heads, the entire class was silent until Professor Flitwick commended her efforts – Gryffindor got a whole five points.
He stuck his tongue out at Daphne across the room as he caught her eye. She rolled her eyes and went back to her work.
Terry Boot was the next successful student to levitate their feather, followed shortly by Draco Malfoy. Fourth was a Hufflepuff by the name of Patricia Mallard, a willowy girl with a heavy Scottish brogue and dark hair. Seamus caused his feather to explode in a flash of magic, covering his face in a black soot and singing his eyebrows almost all the way to the skin.
The rest of the lesson went on with little to note, besides Daphne, Neville and Tracey levitating their feathers. He remained the only one in the room that hadn't levitated anything.
"Mr. Potter, can you wait a moment, please?" Professor Flitwick called as the bell sounded. The students in the room filtered out slowly. He noted a still angry Ron shuffling off with Dean and Seamus out of the door. Neville, Daphne and Tracey hovered by the doorway and Hermione was muttering to herself as she packed away her books methodically.
"Professor?" Harry asked, his satchel slung over his shoulder and his wand firmly tucked away in its holster.
"I understand today is a difficult day for you, Mr. Potter, but I was hoping you could show me your own attempt at the spell? I require evidence of your understanding for your grade, I'm afraid."
Harry nodded sullenly at that, watching as Flitwick placed a large white feather on the desk between them. It was white in colour and frayed at the edges a little. With a flick of his wrist, his wand leapt into his hand.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry grumbled, his wand movement quick and tight. He levitated the feather a foot above the desk before allowing it to drop. "May I be excused, Professor?"
The Professor nodded, a sad smile on his face as Harry stowed his wand once more and made a move to the door, his three friends following silently in his wake.
He appreciated that they kept him from any conversation as they went down the stairs and into the small courtyard. They passed Hermione on the way down, who had her satchel slung over a shoulder and three books clutched to her chest. She seemed deep in thought and didn't even so much as react as they passed.
He came upon Ron a few seconds later, grumbling something to the boys around him. He passed them too, his boots clacking against the stone cobbles.
"It's Levi-o-sa!" He heard Ron say, his voice high and mocking. "She's a nightmare, honestly! It isn't any wonder she hasn't got any friends! No one can bloody stand her!"
Harry came to a halt, his left eye twitching slightly. His nerves and patience were strained enough today, just as they were every year. He felt Daphne and Neville place their hands on his shoulders.
"Leave it Harry, I doubt he means anything by it – he's just sore about getting shown up in class." Neville murmured in his ear.
He nodded slowly as he prepared to carry on to lunch in the Great Hall. He'd bring it up with Ron later in private.
A bushy, brown head of hair brushed past him roughly. He recognised Hermione's hair in an instant – her head was down, and he caught a brief glimpse of tears sliding down her cheeks as she ran into the castle.
"Shit." Daphne muttered, massaging at her temples as Harry spun on his heel.
"What in Avalon was that, Weasley?" Harry snapped, dropping his bag to the floor. He took two long strides to the red-headed boy and jabbed a finger in his chest.
"What was what?" Ron asked, confused. Dean and Seamus took a step back.
"Don't you two even think of going anywhere." Harry growled, darting his eyes at the two other boys. The two of them nodded awkwardly. "You all just reduced a girl to tears – how does that make you feel? Feeling pretty good about yourselves right now?"
The three boys shook their heads simultaneously – Ron in particular looked quite pale.
"The first chance you get, you are all to get on your knees and apologise."
"To a Mugg-" Ron began, though his words were cut short when Harry took a step closer – his eyes blazing.
"On the anniversary of my parent's death – one of which was Muggle-born, tell me why you object to such a thing."
Ron clamped his mouth shut and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
"I'll apologise the next time I see her, I swear." Ron paused for a moment before he frowned, "Is that why you've been acting odd all day?"
Harry barely kept his anger in check as he spun on his heel and snatched at his bag. He didn't bother waiting for anyone else – Merlin, he wasn't even hungry anymore.
He sighed as he stormed into the castle. His magic felt wild and barely under his own control, despite the breakthroughs in recent weeks. He wanted to punch something, kick something over – anything!
"Clara!" He called as he stepped into an empty classroom.
The bird appeared immediately, gently lowering herself onto a nearby table. She looked at Harry with those dark eyes and Harry felt his shoulders sag. He stepped up to her and wrapped her in a gentle hug. "Take me away from here, Clara. I just want to be by myself and think."
There was a brief rush of heat, and suddenly he found himself atop of one of the many cliffs that overlooked the school. He could see Hogwarts on the far side of the lake, and even spotted a brief flash of the Giant Squid as it moved about in the water.
They had appeared next to a large boulder. It was smooth and, thankfully, clean of any dirt. The spot seemed to be quite peaceful and they were far enough away from the school that he couldn't even make out any students moving about the grounds.
"Thank you." He whispered to the Phoenix as he stroked her feathers.
She made a small noise and playfully nipped at his fingertips. He smiled a little despite himself. Sighing, he looked up at the boulder before hoisting himself atop it. The day was as good as written off – he wouldn't be able to concentrate with his thoughts running amok.
He stretched his legs out before him, his feet just slightly hanging over the smooth edge – he kicked them a little, watching as they hung limp in the air.
Clara jumped up on the rock next to him. He leaned back on his hands as he looked over at her. "You can go and hunt if you'd like. You don't have to stay on my account."
His familiar peered at him, and if it were possible, he could have sworn she had rolled her eyes. Harry scoffed as the Phoenix sidled a little closer into his side as she made herself comfortable. It seemed she planned to remain out here for as long as Harry did.
How long would he stay out here? Neville and Daphne he knew would not be worried about him. They knew it was a difficult day for him – Merlin, Neville was scheduled to go through something similar in just a few weeks' time himself.
He sat top his boulder – it would forever be known as Potter Rock – and stared out at the sight before him.
The sky was still overcast, colouring everything a dull grey. There were even some dark, angry clouds on the horizon, but with the wind blowing behind him, he had no reason to fear any rain. His hair danced about the sides of his face in the gentle breeze, and Clara's constant heat warded off any chill.
What would life be like, if his parents had lived?
It was a thought that often wormed its way into his mind this time of year. How would his father treat him? He knew the mischievous and playful side of James Potter, thanks to the stories from Sirius and Remus, but how would he be in private, surrounded by his family?
Would they go hiking in Wales? He had inherited vast swathes of land around Rosestone – including Snowden, of all things. That had taken him by surprise when he had heard of it, then of course he had burst out laughing, thinking it surely had to be a joke of some kind.
Then he had heard how much revenue it generated him – of course there were various intermediaries between himself and the group that ran and maintained the tourist destination, but it still generated a little over one-hundred million pounds a year, which was mostly then directed to the running of Rosestone.
He enjoyed being outdoors, and to a degree, he liked to think it was a trait that had been passed on from father to son.
Given what little he knew of his mother, he knew that she was a determined witch, who was lauded as the brightest of her generation at Hogwarts. His parents hadn't always been close – Sirius and Remus had told him plenty of his father's attempts to gain the then Lily Evans's attention.
She had been utterly brilliant, by all accounts, with a real knack for Charms and Potions – reportedly even had a desire to earn a Mastery in the former to return to Hogwarts as a teacher. He liked to think she also liked to bake.
It was an image that had appeared in his head early on in his life. He had stumbled across Lispy in the kitchen of Blackwall while she baked him a treat. While he loved Lispy dearly, there had been a moment when it hadn't been the small, kindly Elf who had taken on the role of his mother.
No, it had been a slim woman of average height with red hair and green eyes that had stood before the counter. She had been whisking a cake mixture in a porcelain bowl – if he closed his eyes, he could smell the mixture of flour, eggs and sugar.
She had turned to him, her brilliant white teeth set in a loving grin as she turned and held her arms out for a hug, dropping to a knee before him. Before he could set off towards her, he blinked, and she disappeared.
His family had tried to fill the void, but nothing ever really replaced his parents, now lost. He had learned to manage the pain, for the most part – but Halloween was always the most difficult. In years previous, he would hide himself away in the library in Blackwall, or sit in his room with Clara.
He didn't have that luxury this year. The castle was full to bursting with students that were excited to eat sweets and chocolate, who were ready to celebrate the fall of the darkest wizard since Grindelwald. It made him sick.
His thoughts returned to the family he couldn't remember.
They would sit around the table and share stories of their day while they ate their meals. His father would crack cheesy jokes, while his mother would roll her eyes and get him while trying to get his brother and sister to eat their vegetables.
He had always wanted a sibling – two at least. He would fly his broom with his brother, weaving their way across the sky as they threw a Quaffle to one another before his father would race up between them and steal it, laughing as he did so.
He would look at his brother, and his brother would look at him and they would grin at one another before tearing off through the sky after him. His brother would grow up to be a fine wizard and go on to play Quidditch professionally, and Harry would be at each and every game – his loudest supporter, no matter the outcome of the match.
They would remain thick as thieves all throughout their lives, with their children being just as close. Harry would go on to inherit the Potter lands and titles, allowing his brother the freedom to enjoy life and marry whomever he chose.
Should he have a sister instead, she would be the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts when it was her turn. She would be kind and smart, more like their mother in appearance and temperament. Harry and his brother would make it their mission to safeguard her against those who looked in her direction. His sister would be brilliant when it came to magic and go on to study whatever she wanted – he would support her whole-heartedly. At some point, she would meet a wizard, or a witch, whichever made her happy, and she would be married.
He could picture her now, in a flowing white gown, her wild red hair, tamed for once, in a beautiful braid that hung over her shoulder. The light dusting of freckles on her face would be hidden by the adorable blush his sister had whenever she was the centre of attention, as she walked down the aisle with her arm hooked with their father's. Her green eyes would be shiny with unshed tears, while she practically radiated happiness.
She would grow old and enjoy the company of her grandchildren – to whom she would dote on tremendously and show him picture after picture of them.
He sniffed as he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. It was a pretty dream – easy to get lost in.
But as he sat there, he could see them before him, smiling at him as they stood with his parents on the edge of the cliff. They were dressed casually and didn't seem bothered by the gusts of wind and the creeping chill. They just looked… proud.
They stood there, closer enough to touch. He shifted a little as his mother beamed at him – she was just like he had always imagined, always smiling. He sat up a little, and Clara shifted beside him, her head darting between himself and where he began reaching towards. He was so close to them; he could almost feel the heat from their bodies on the tips of his fingers.
There was a sharp tug on the back of his coat, and the next thing he knew, he was looking up at the much darker sky. How long had he been out here?
He shook his head slowly and looked at a clearly disgruntled and stressed Phoenix.
"Clara?" He asked after a moment, blinking as he tried to get his vision to focus.
Clara squawked and nuzzled his cheek. He smiled a little and patted her neck. "It's okay, girl. I'm here."
There was a quiet moment between the two of them. He didn't know how long it lasted – it could have been seconds, or even hours – time had stopped meaning anything to him on Halloween a long time ago.
"I saw them, Clara. I saw them." He whispered, feeling the sharp prick of her talons as she clambered onto his chest. She sat down – not an easy feat for a Phoenix, what with their long tails – and he watched as small tears formed in her black eyes. They would take a second to form, before trailing down the dark skin and dripping into his doublet, right on the Potter sigil on his breast.
For the first time in a long time, he wept. The cliff was silent but for the sounds of a boy wishing for a family he would never know and a Phoenix that wept for her wizard. There were no words murmured from wizard to bird – just the gut wrenching sobs that had been held in for far too long.
His arms were wrapped around Clara's body – at some point he had sat up, and she had settled herself in his lap. Her large wings were spread wide and similarly wrapped around himself. He rocked side to side as his body shook, his tears leaving slick tracks along his cheeks.
Eventually, he managed to gather himself somewhat and he pulled back and wiped at his cheeks and eyes with the heels of his hands. He gave a mighty sniff and made a show of pulling himself back together. No doubt when Hedwig returned tomorrow, he would write to Sirius, Remus and Arcturus and tell them about today – perhaps Sirius and Remus would have a good idea as to what a brother and a sister of his would have been called.
"Come on, girl. I suppose we should get back."
There was another flash of light, and a feeling of heat before he found himself sat on the floor of the abandoned classroom he had ducked into earlier. His bag was still where he left it, and the light from the moon cast its cool light through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He scrambled to his feet and brushed off his coat and hands. Clara hopped twice on the spot before he knelt and kissed the crown of feathers atop her head.
"Thank you. Now, go and hunt. I'm going for a walk." He whispered, giving her one last scratch under her chin before she was engulfed in flame – just the slight smell of burning ozone to ever hint at her passing.
Harry scooped up the bag from the floor and threw it over a shoulder. He flicked his wand into his hand and muttered, "Tempus."
A small dial made of bright orange light fizzled into existence before him. There were three hands, one of them ticking steadily. It was half six – the feast was already half complete. He didn't particularly feel like eating in any case.
He swiped his wand through the dial, watching as the magical time-piece fizzled away into nothingness.
He stepped from the classroom, instead choosing the head towards the nearest staircase. He had no intention of dealing with anything right now, let alone the rest of the student body. He trusted Neville, Daphne and Tracey to have made sure Weasley, Thomas and Finnegan had apologised to Hermione in his absence.
He really did hope that it was all sorted by the time he returned to the tower. He would be sharing a living space with the three boys for the next six and a half years – he had no desire for any drama or animosity between them, but he would not apologise for his actions.
They had been mocking a girl who, even he had noticed, didn't appear to have any friends at Hogwarts. He couldn't stand bullies at the best of times, and he wasn't about to go making any exceptions.
His boots clicked and clacked against the marble steps, and he found himself wandering along a second-floor corridor before long.
He stopped and looked out of one of the many windows along the corridor. He hadn't noticed it before, but the sky had cleared remarkably while he had been lost in his thoughts.
The stars were bright, and the moon was almost full – Remus would be feeling the effects of that on top of everything else, and the air felt crisp and cool. Rejuvenating, almost.
He watched as a familiar bright silhouette pirouetted above the lake, the song of his familiar sad and mournful on the slight breeze that tickled at his cheeks from the slightly ajar window. He watched as Clara was joined by another similar shape, though this was noticeably smaller in size, though no less bright against the black sky.
It seemed Clara at least had Fawkes for company on her hunt tonight – he wouldn't begrudge her that. He remained there, watching them, and somehow he knew Clara was aware of his eyes on her. Harry smiled a little before he saw them fly towards the mountains on the far side of the lake.
Harry turned from the window and continued walking, his pace lazy and his hands clasped at the small of his back. He had no particular destination in mind, so he resolved to simply bask in the quiet and think – though, he wasn't sure if he could emotionally take much more of his thinking today. What he really needed was a good sleep – ideally of exhaustion. Merlin forbid he wake up in a cold sweat tonight of all nights.
He grunted a little as he felt his lip curl at the thought. No, tonight he would remain awake until the last possible second, before allowing himself to fall into that dreamless sleep. He would suffer for it tomorrow, no doubt, but he refused to suffer more than he had to today.
He let out a sigh before a booming thud shook the end of the corridor. Harry stumbled to the left a little, catching himself on a nearby stone pillar covered in intricate carvings of Badgers.
Another thud followed it, accompanied by a grunt from around the corner. Harry ducked behind the pillar as a large shadow came into view.
The smell assaulted his nose before the sight of it assaulted his eyesight. Never had he wished for poor vision more than he did in that moment. He quietly cursed Arcturus for getting a Healer to correct his vision all those years ago.
There, passing the end of the hallway, was a twelve-foot Mountain Troll. Its body was lumpy and made of a thick, dull granite-grey hide. Atop its shoulders was a small head with large ears and a tiny eyes beneath a heavy brow. Tusks jutted up from its lower jaw, stretching almost all the way up to its nose.
Its legs were thick as tree trunks, but short and stubby in comparison to the rest of its body. The feet, which were the cause for its not-so-quiet steps, were flat and covered in small horn-like protrusions.
Its arms were long as they were thick – the knuckles barely brushing the floor on either side of it. It dragged a heavy looking club that resembled an up-ended tree-trunk more than anything.
The smell was as foul as its appearance, reeking of rotten eggs and manure.
He edged himself out from behind the pillar slowly as the Troll continued on its way. With a morbid curiosity, he approached the end of the corridor. He had read about Mountain Trolls in the various books in Blackwall's library but the opportunity to see one in the flesh was too good to pass up – even with the smell!
Mountain Trolls were the largest of their species, and often the most foul-tempered. They usually roamed the lands around Hungary and Ukraine. What was remarkable about them was their diet – many assumed, that, due to the tusks that Trolls were carnivores, when in actual fact they ate stone! The tusks were there to entice females – he scrunched his nose at the thought of a female Mountain Troll and shuddered.
So, what in Merlin's Saggy Balls was a Mountain Troll, a creature that usually roamed the lands of the Eastern-European countries, doing on the second floor of Hogwarts in Scotland? They were notoriously foul-tempered, and many a witch and wizard had met their end by the creatures – who knew what chaos and destruction a displaced and confused Troll could cause in the castle filled with children.
The Troll stopped suddenly and sniffed curiously at a nearby door. What could it smell?
There was a beat of silence before he heard the quiet sniffling of someone crying. Harry's eyes widened – he wasn't the only one in the corridor! Who else could it be? He edged a little closer – maybe he could distract it long enough for whoever it was to make a break for it?
The Troll shouldered its way through the door, knocking the large piece of wood clean off of its hinges. There was an almighty bang as it collided with the floor.
"Who's there?" Came the voice of Hermione, her voice still clogged with tears.
Harry felt his heart stop. What was Hermione doing up here at this time? More importantly, how was he going to get the Troll away from her? He mentally ran through the floorplan of Hogwarts. Hermione must have been in the girls bathroom.
He groaned as he shrugged the bag from his shoulder as he took a few steadying breaths. He paced back and forth on the spot a little as he shrugged his shoulders.
"Come on, Potter. You can do this, it's just a Mountain Troll. Just run in there, call it a wanker and run off." He muttered to himself. "Ah, Hell." He muttered as he shrugged his coat off and dropped it atop his bag.
There was the quiet click of a door from within the room followed by a heavy silence. He crept forward and crouched low – he needed to startle the twelve-foot idiot if it was going to have any hope of working. Shock and… well, Shock and Run.
He heard the Troll grunt angrily before the tremors of it plodding on its feet shook the stone beneath him. He winced.
"I swear, Hermione… if you've gotten out of that bloody toilet…"
There was an echoing crash and a piercing scream. He sprinted the rest of the way, the sound of gushing water from broken pipes and the clattering of splintered wood making him fear the worst.
He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the Troll pulling its arm back for another swing at the row of cubicles. He spotted a shuffling mass of black robes beneath a small pile of splintered wooden debris.
"Hermione, move!" He yelled, pulling his dagger from his boot with his right hand. He watched her shuffle forwards before the Troll annihilated more stalls.
He sprinted forward; the blade held in a reverse grip. Already water gushed about his feet in increasingly large puddles – a small part of him in the back of his mind was relieved to see it all clear.
He leapt in the air and planted his right foot on the obliterated stump of wood a few feet behind the Troll. He pushed with all his might, willing himself to be high enough for it to work. He arced through the air; the Troll still bent forward from the momentum of its club. He brought his blade down with as much strength as he could and grinned as it sank to the hilt into the thick flesh.
The blade had lodged firmly into a spot just above the right shoulder-blade and right below the crook of its neck. Troll-hide was notoriously thick – his little toothpick wouldn't do anything against the behemoth. He wrapped his free arm around the creature's neck and held on for dear life.
If there was ever a flaw with his plan – this had been it. The Troll reared up sharply and dropped its club as it attempted to reach over its shoulders to dislodge him. He noted absently that Granger had crawled across the floor to hide beneath the row of sinks.
The beast bucked this way and that, and Harry's legs felt like they were going to fly off as they whipped back and forth. "Granger!" He yelled above the grunts and growls of the Troll.
"Hermione!" He yelled once again as he was almost thrown in her direction. If there was ever a time to develop a firm grip, it was now. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt his hold on the hilt of the blade slip a little. "Fucking run!" He screamed.
She seemed rooted to the spot in utter terror. He didn't blame her. He'd likely be in the same position if it weren't for the fact he was holding on for dear life.
"Hermione!" He tried again, cursing as she remained where she was.
Time seemed to slow as he felt the Troll latch on to his feet. "Oh, shit!" He cursed, letting go of both the dagger and the beast's neck lest he be ripped in half.
The Troll held him before its furious face for a moment as Harry felt the blood begin to rush to his head. It smelt even worse up close and he fought the urge to vomit. Its bloodshot eyes seemed crazed as the eyelids twitched. He hadn't thought this far ahead.
He winced, taking an educated guess at what was going to happen next. One moment he was hanging upside down and staring into a Troll's eyes, and the next he was careening through the air towards the far wall. In a panic, he drew his magic into himself and attempted to cushion the impact a little.
The back of his head impacted the marble tile with a sickening crack, and for a moment he couldn't see. He blinked, attempting to clear away the never-ending blackness in his vision. It took a moment, but slowly the world around him returned, though it was blurry and out of focus. He could feel something running down the back of his neck – was he bleeding?
He lurched to his left and threw up what little was in his stomach. Everything hurt, and he wanted to go to sleep.
Harry looked up and took in the approaching form of the Troll. Pure fear flooded his system. He was going to die, and there was nobody around to save him this time. It was the ambush on the road all over again, and this time, there was no Sirius, Remus or Clara around to save him. He couldn't even work his jaw to call for her.
Merlin, he was tired. No, he couldn't sleep yet – Hermione was still trapped. He'd buy her enough time to get out of the bathroom, at least.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he listened to the steady drip-drip of the water leaking from ruptured pipes.
The fear was still there, as well as the panic – he felt like he was drowning. Was this what his parents had died for? For him to be crushed underfoot by a Mountain Troll in a girl's bathroom? At the very least, he would be able to be with them soon.
His right hand twitched, and he felt the smooth handle of his wand in his hand. When had that gotten there? It must have been knocked loose when he hit the wall. Gods everything hurt, and he still felt sick. He raised his wand as best he could – his arms felt as heavy as the Troll before him must have been, and it trembled something fierce in front of his face – or perhaps that was his blurry vision? It was hard to tell.
He didn't know any defensive spells, but he just wanted it away from him. Through the panic and the fear, his magic answered.
A huge burst of angry red magic erupted from the tip of his wand, similar in colour to the feather Clara had gifted him for its core. It impacted the Troll in the chest and carried it bodily into the far wall, even that didn't hold up under the force of the impact.
The Troll slumped to the floor as the magic dissipated in the air, its purpose complete. Trolls were made of sterner stuff, however, and it began pushing itself to its feet, shaking its head roughly. Harry's gaze locked on the club and he pointed his wand at it, though this time he didn't have the strength to lift it. He was so tired.
All he wanted was for it to hit the Troll on the head hard enough to knock it out until Hermione could find a teacher. Perhaps he could have a nap while she went looking for one.
Instead, the familiar burst of magic impacted the club and sent it whistling like an arrow through the air at the Troll's face. The club embedded itself in the stone, while the head of the creature simply disappeared in a spray of red, white and grey. It slumped to the floor in a heap.
Had he stunned it? Was it knocked out? What was that spray?
"H'nie…" He groaned weakly. He felt something leak from his mouth. He blinked slowly.
"Harry!" He heard her panicked voice as a black blur with a brown brushy blur on top rushed towards him.
"'ired…" He whispered, his head lolling to the side a little – he couldn't see anything but blurs of colour now.
"Harry, you have to stay awake!" Came the distant, frantic voice.
The pain in his head didn't hurt any more when his vision faded to black. No more pain felt like a wonderful idea.
He blinked his eyes open slowly as he stared up at a high-vaulted ceiling. It took a moment for his vision to focus as he blinked rapidly, frowning a little as what little light filtered through the high windows burned the back of his eyes.
There was a distinct buzz of activity that seemed muffled for a moment before it snapped into focus. A woman, Madame Pomfrey by the sounds of it, was directing people to place things in certain areas and how to label correctly.
"-attended Hogwarts in the years fourteen-oh-seven and fourteen-fourteen. She went on to-"
He started at the voice, listening as it rattled off information as it continued to read in a clear and concise manner. He felt something resting on his thigh.
He looked down and saw a familiar mane of brown bushy hair buried in Hogwarts: A History. He smiled a little, though he thought it might appear more a grimace as the rest of his body caught up to his heightened state of awareness.
A traitorous groan escaped his lips, and he felt himself shifting a little in the bed. He had barely stilled when what could only be described as a brown missile collided with his chest. His arms were pinned to his sides as he was engulfed in a hug.
"You're awake! I thought for sure you'd be asleep for another week! I'm so glad you're okay – I'll bet Neville, Daphne and Tracey will be here as soon as I tell them!" The words were spoken so quickly he had no idea if he'd actually heard them or if they were just his imagination.
The mane of bushy brown hair pulled back a little and the girl before him began worrying at her bottom lip as a pink tint covered her cheeks. "I didn't hurt you did I? I'm sorry, I was just so happy and excited-"
Harry held a hand up and tried not to chuckle – it hurt too much to do that right now. Merlin, his entire body felt like it had gone six rounds with a Dragon. "I'm alright Hermione. I'm glad you're safe and unhurt. What happened? Where is everyone? Did they get the Troll?"
There was a heavy pause as Hermione moved her chair closer to the head of the bed. He noticed she wasn't wearing her cloak – instead just opting to wear the uniform underneath it. She fiddled with the hem of her cardigan.
"Harry, you took care of the Troll all by yourself."
He blinked. He did? When? He'd just stunned it.
"I thought I knocked it out?"
Hermione shook her head slowly and her eyes travelled along his body, hidden by the sheets of the bed. "I don't know what happened, Harry – it was all so fast. The Troll threw you against the wall – it should have killed you on impact!"
Harry noticed her eyes had started to get quite shiny. She sniffed a little and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. He remembered being thrown and trying to use his magic to cushion the blow. After that, everything was rather fuzzy and out of focus – like a distant dream.
"It didn't kill you though, and you pointed your wand at it, and the spell you used blasted the Troll through the wall, Harry. You used the same spell on its club – it was dead instantly."
Harry swallowed and realised then just how dry his throat felt. "Water." He gasped. Hermione was on her feet instantly, lifting a glass carefully to his lips.
The water felt cool and fresh against his throat, and when the glass was moved, he couldn't help the soft exhale that ghosted its way over his lips.
He turned Hermione's words over in his head. Had he really killed that Troll? He hadn't meant to, but in that moment when the Troll had grabbed his legs, he could remember the very real feeling of pure fear. He shivered involuntarily.
"Are you cold? I can get a blanket from Madame Pomfrey if you'd like?"
He shook his head slowly, and the room was quiet for a moment. He was thankful Madame Pomfrey hadn't noticed him waking just yet.
"Why are you here?" He asked after a moment, his eyes sweeping to the pair of chocolate brown ones at his bedside.
Hermione was quiet for a moment as she blushed a little – he also noticed she shrank in on herself a little too. "You saved my life, Harry… I wanted to say thank you. I can go, if you'd like?" She began to stand, reaching for her book that was still propped against his thigh.
"No, no it's okay." Harry sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I was just wondering why – you've made it seem like you hated me for the last two weeks."
"The last two…?" Hermione muttered, frowning. "Oh!" She gasped, returning to her seat. "I'm sorry, I got confused for a moment – you see, you've been in here for two weeks." She replied, waving her hand absently at the room. Harry frowned at that.
He'd been in the Medical Wing for two weeks? Oh Merlin, he'd missed so many classes! Sirius would have his hide – that wasn't even taking into account Arcturus! Suddenly another Mountain Troll didn't seem like such a bad idea.
"As for your question, well, it's a little embarrassing, really." Hermione muttered, looking down at her lap. She murmured something that he didn't quite hear.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that."
"I said I was jealous." She replied, a little louder but still barely audible.
"You were jealous?" He asked dumbly, "What in Merlin about?"
"You! Your magic and how easy it is for you!" She answered, waving a hand at him. "I've always been top of my classes, and it… it wasn't easy for me not to be."
"You realise I only beat you on the practical side of that Transfiguration test because of my breakthrough in I.T.M, right? Once you manage it yourself, you'll smash me out of the running, easily." Harry scoffed, wincing as a lance of pain struck his chest.
This time it was Hermione that snorted, "Please, you're a brilliant student – not to mention you've lived in this world your whole life. I'm sure you were just taking your rightful place."
Harry rolled his eyes at that. "I grew up keeping my magic firmly under lock-and-key. I'd use a little to activate a rune to wash, but that was it. I'm just as new to using magic as you are – though I might know one or two more things than you." He said cheekily. He grinned when she reached out to swat him on the arm, only to halt mid-swipe with her eyes wide as she remembered his injuries.
"You're an arse." She sniffed, placing both her hands in her lap before sitting a little straighter and lifting her chin a little.
"That might be Sirius Black's fault." He shrugged, chuckling a little despite the pain.
There was silence between them for a while, and Hermione's posture relaxed some. He didn't know how much time had passed, but it was pleasant enough.
"Have I missed any homework?" He asked after a time.
"Three essays. Charms, Alchemy and Potions." Hermione answered immediately. Harry fought the urge to groan.
"Snape's going to skin me alive."
"Professor Snape."
"What?"
"Professor Snape." Hermione corrected him, her voice disapproving.
Harry blinked dumbly for a moment, before he realised what Hermione was saying. He scoffed a little – the Potions Professor had taken an immediate disliking to him in his first class. Harry could take an educated guess at the reason behind it.
He shrugged, "Sorry, Professor Snape is going to skin me alive."
"No, he won't." Hermione answered him. He was about to offer a rebuttal when she placed a small stack of parchment on his legs and separated it into three smaller piles. "I, uh, I made notes for you – I thought it the least I could do, after everything."
She was worrying the hem of her cardigan between her fingers again.
He opened his mouth to thank her when Madame Pomfrey rushed over, her voice shrill. Both he and Hermione winced. "Harry Potter! In all my years as a Healer, never did I think I'd be as worried over a student as I have been over you, young man!"
He squirmed under her furious gaze. "Sorry Madame Pomfrey."
She sniffed, "Well, you're lucky that I have a history of having to wipe the drool from your face."
Harry cringed, though he noticed Hermione's eyes had gotten a little wider.
"Would it help if I said I'll try my best to avoid Mountain Trolls from now on?"
"Indeed, it may, though just what you were doing in that corridor is beyond me."
Harry squirmed once again under her piercing stare as she waved her wand over his body. Tendrils of orange light spread themselves evenly across his body and slowly sank through his skin. There was no sharp pain – not even a mark, as he looked down at himself. He had expected a little blood to seep through into the nightshirt he was wearing.
There was a moment of nothingness, and then in a small orange flash, a representation of his body floated above him. He moved his right arm to reach up and touch the shoulder of the image above him and watched in fascination as the image mimicked his movement. From where he lay, he could see his skeleton – that looked like it had seen better days, his muscles and even his internal organs!
"I love magic." He grinned; his eyes wide. He looked over at Hermione to see her equally wide-eyed as she looked upon the spell.
"You seem to be healing nicely, Mr. Potter. Much better than I expected, all things considered. If you behave, I may just allow you to return to Gryffindor tonight."
"Better than expected?" Hermione asked.
Madame Pomfrey turned to look at the girl at his bedside with a raised brow and pursed lips. "Indeed. When he was first brought in here, he was almost dead. It is… unusual for someone to recover from such severe injuries in a mere fortnight."
Harry gulped, and in the silence, he could have sworn it echoed throughout the room.
"I almost died?" He whispered, his eyes losing focus as he stared directly ahead.
How would Sirius have reacted if he had? Remus? Arcturus? Neville and Daphne? He missed his parents immensely, but he wished to meet them as an old man, with tales of his life and the knowledge that he had made them proud. What would have happened to those sworn to his family? To those protected by Arpton Keep? He would never know the magic of that place again. What about Hedwig? Clara?
A hand gripped his, and his vision snapped back into focus with a blink. His breath was shaky, and he gulped in what he could. With wild eyes, he looked at Hermione – his hand clasped between both of hers.
"You're okay, Harry – everything's okay." Hermione said, her voice soothing.
"Indeed, you've shown you're nothing short of remarkable, Mr. Potter. Just like when you were a boy." Madame Pomfrey said, giving him a small smile. She swiped her wand through the magic above him, and he watched as it dissipated into nothing. Once her wand was tucked away, he leant down and clasped his free hand. "Do try not to scare me like that again, Harry. I became very fond of you when Minerva and I looked after you."
She patted him gently on the cheek before hastily moving away from the bed to go about her other duties. He blinked slowly as his jaw worked – though no sound came out.
"What was that?" He asked eventually.
Hermione grinned before replying. "I do believe she admitted to having a favourite."
"Is that what just happened?"
Hermione nodded once before she looked down at his hand still held in her own. She blushed a little as she let go and slid her hands under her legs.
"It was really brave, you know… What you did, I mean." Hermione said after a moment, her voice quiet.
Harry shrugged, "I would say it was stupid to jump on the back of a Troll." He chuckled, rolling his eyes.
Hermione rolled her eyes at his words, "What I'm trying to say, is that there aren't many who would do what you did. I've said it before, Harry – but I'm fully aware that you saved my life that night."
"It was nothing, really." Harry mumbled uncomfortably.
"It isn't nothing. Especially after I treated you so terribly beforehand." She frowned, sniffing a little. "Besides, if neither of us were in that bathroom, it could have stumbled onto someone else."
"Hang on, why were you in that bathroom? I thought you'd have been at the feast."
Hermione's eyes dropped to the bed and she shifted uncomfortably. "I had been in there ever since I overheard Ronald." She murmured.
He sat up fully at that, wincing as he put weight on his arms. "You were in there all afternoon? Did he not apologise?"
"Oh, he did – the next day in the common room. It was really strange, actually. He, Seamus and Dean all did it on their knees – it was sort of embarrassing, really." Hermione answered him, her face turning into a slight frown as her mouth moved a little in silent words. "Wait, you were the reason they did that?"
Harry cringed a little as he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. "You, uh, you weren't supposed to have been able to work that one out."
"Why would you do that?" She asked quietly – her eyes looked shiny again.
"I heard what he said, and after you raced off, I tore into him. He was supposed to have gone looking for you immediately, but I didn't stick around to make sure."
She collided with his chest again, and just as he thought he could see the edge of his vision start to darken, she released him, and he gulped in as much air as he could. "Thank you." She sniffed as she returned to her seat, dabbing at her eyes.
"You don't have many friends, do you?" He asked quietly after a moment. She flinched and shook her head sadly. "Well, in that case Hermione Granger, I would be honoured if you would be my friend."
The beaming smile he received was the only warning he got before he found himself tackled once again.
