The weeks went slowly by, as Harry slowly fell into the rhythm of his second time at Hogwarts. The leaves began to turn from green to red, marking the deepening of autumn as he threw himself into his work. By the weeks leading up to Halloween, he had finished his pile of books about Hogwarts, and spent much of his free time roaming the halls, searching for the Chamber. However, his free time was limited, constrained as he was by the demands of Quidditch, study, and magic practice as he tried to recover the power he'd once had. So, as the leaves piled up around the grounds in great drifts, he had found himself spending time with Ron and Neville, occasionally joined by Lavender and Parvarti.
His grades, naturally, remained high, with O's and EE's in most classes save potions, where all his effort went into keeping Neville from killing them both. As a result, he was on a healthy A standard, with an EE every so often.
He and Hermione still had not spoken since the stairway incident, an arrangement that suited him well enough, although he did feel a little guilty from time to time about the situation. Still, maybe if she had found it in herself to be a little less uptight, she would have some friends. Instead, she walked to and from classes alone. In Harry's eyes, she had made her bed, and she had to lie in it.
Far more vexing was the issue of Malfoy, who had proven resistant to any forms of communication that did not involve an insult or a snide sneer, an attitude that seemed to be adopted by the rest of his cohort. Tracey and Daphne had been the most polite in their refusal, but it seemed none of them wanted to associate with any Gryffindors, let alone a Potter.
Despite it all, Harry found to his surprise that he was genuinely enjoying his time in the Lion's Den. It was an odd experience, not having to watch his words of his actions, nor having to relentlessly gauge whoever he was speaking to. If it weren't for the sense of impending doom that hung over his head most hours of the day he could have been described as 'happy'. But alas, happy was not a word that often applied to Harry James Potter, so as the branches became ever barer, he feverishly threw himself into planning his coup against Quirrell and his parasite, preparing for what could prove to be the day of reckoning. Halloween.
The night before Halloween, Harry was studying his notes intently, searching for cracks in his plan. This late at night, everybody else had retired to their rooms leaving Harry alone with naught but the scratching of his quill for company. He'd considered retiring with them, but his frantic mind would not sit still for a moment, nor would the anxious fluttering of his stomach cease. No, sleep would not come to him tonight, so he'd decided to make the most of it. Despite his best efforts, however, he'd not managed to find a single problem with his plan, which suggested either it was foolproof or it was so fundamentally flawed that it worked only in his mind. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, before running through the plan one more time in his head.
He had to unmask Quirrell, and the best way to do it seemed to be through catching him in the act of bringing the troll in. As long as Harry saw him do it, he could use Dumbledore's pensieve to prove his allegations, and then Quirrell would be apprehended! All Harry had to do was follow him for the hour before and possibly during the feast (the troll wouldn't have eluded detection for any longer), then get back to the Great Hall, preferably before the Dark Lord's puppet did. If he succeeded, he'd be free to search for the Chamber without interference, with the added bonus of being rid of a stuttering moron as a Defence teacher. If he failed…well, he was hoping to avoid fighting a troll with the powers of an eleven year old boy. Of course, had he known just how wrong his plan would go, he would have gladly taken that opportunity.
The sun dawned on Hogwarts castle, the gentle rays of light shimmering off of the lake as the pungent odour of baked pumpkin wafted through the halls. Harry found himself waking up on the couch in the Common Room, curled up in front of the fire clutching his now crinkled parchment. After wiping the drool that had collected around his mouth, he straightened the parchment with a quick charm he'd learnt after falling asleep on his Charms essay, and looked around. The Common Room was almost completely empty, save for a few Seventh Years who were looking through a N.E.W.T textbook. He cast a quick Tempus charm (6:37), before getting up, his body creaking and cracking in protest at the move. A few impatient stretches later, and he was headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Most days he would have waited for Ron and Neville, or at least somebody from the Quidditch team, but today his anxiety was getting the better of him. After a quick meal of pancakes with ice cream (he'd decided to treat himself), Harry got to work.
Professor Quirrell's office, on the second floor, was a somewhat spartan affair, unhindered by the personal trappings that one unpossessed by a powerful wizard would have set up. Knowing the truth behind the bare furnishings, Harry couldn't help but shudder in pity at Quirrell's plight, even if he had brought it upon himself. As he finished his wandwork, he glanced nervously to his left and right, praying that nobody would turn the corner into the corridor and see him. A few seconds passed, and he put his wand back into his cloak, nodding in satisfaction at the invisible ward placed on the cusp of the office. The basic intruder ward, whilst complicated, wasn't terribly hard to make. An older wizard would not even notice the small drain on their magic required to keep it operational. For Harry, it was only an annoyance, like a small itch that wouldn't quite go away. He knew it would impact his magical ability for the day, but he only needed to keep it operational until Quirrell left his office after 5PM. Then, he could safely dispel it. The intruder charm would alert him when anybody who wasn't named Harry Potter crossed it by ringing alarm bells in in his head. Of course, this would mean that he would be surprised by the ringing of alarm bells in his head at random intervals around the day, but he considered it a worthy trade. He cast another Tempus charm, ignoring the slightly delayed reaction of magic to his command. It was 8:43. Nodding to himself, he walked to Charms.
The apple flew about the room, unnaturally compelled by the power of magic. The muggleborn students gasped at the sight, even Hermione seemingly flummoxed by the spell. Flitwick looked in his element, somehow contriving a face of pure glee despite performing one the of the simplest spells in a wizard's repertoire. Harry did his best to look enthused, but the anxiety of having bells go off in his head at random intervals made it difficult. They had rung twice already in the hour since he put the ward up, and he was not looking forward to goin the rest of the day in fear that at any moment he could be subject to painfully loud ringing bouncing around the inside of his skull.
Quickly, the class was split into pairs and set to practicing. Harry had partnered with Neville for the day leaving Ron stuck with Hermione. Judging by the venomous looks he was shooting both of them in between the girl's mini-lectures, it was an arrangement he was none too pleased with. Harry just stared at the feather on his desk that Neville was prodding gloomily. If he was at his best the spell would have been as simple as breathing. Unfortunately, he was tired, maintaining a ward and trying not to draw undue attention. Ignoring Flitwick's obnoxiously exuberant instructions (Swish and Flick!) he halfheartedly cast at the obstinate feather, coaching Neville with his technique. Strangely, however, the boy's technique, whilst far from flawless, was tolerable. A few minutes in, and Harry was somewhat confused as to why the feather wasn't floating in the air. He mentally shrugged. Children's power cores were unusual. They relied heavily on confidence that an older person would always have, and were often mercurial. Judging by Neville's character, overconfidence was certainly not a vice he would have any time soon. Averting his eyes from his housemate's failures, he was drawn to the admittedly amusing sight of Ron angrily trying to cast. The boy reminded Harry of a helicopter, his long arms flailing untidily. It was a stark contrast to Hermione's sharp, neat flourishes she was practising in between eyeing her partner beadily. Another failed casting attempt later, and she had clearly had enough.
"You're saying it wrong." She snapped, ignoring the frustrated redhead's face. "It's Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. Make the 'gar' nice and long." She explained, in a somewhat more tolerable tone.
"You do it then, if you're so clever."
Hermione daintily rolled up the sleeves of her robe, setting Harry's eyes rolling. Could she be any more intolerable if she tried?
With a swish and a flick of her wand, Hermione said the magic words. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Just like that, the feather rose gently into the air, hovering above a rapidly reddening Ron Weasley.
"Oh, well done!" Squeaked Flitwick excitedly, clapping his hands a little. "Everyone look here, Miss Granger's done it!"
Hermione beamed as the rest of the class stared daggers at her, before returning to their own work.
"Five points to Gryffindor!"
"Bloody hell, did you see her?" Ron demanded angrily after class as the pushed their way through the crowded corridor. "Make the gar nice and long" He mimicked, pulling a face. "She's intolerable!"
Harry and Neville exchanged looks. It was rare Ron got into moods like this, but on the occasion he did it was best to just let him vent. Besides, Harry could imagine how mortifying it would be to be shown up by that girl, especially after challenging her to do it in the first place. Add to the fact that Ron's frustration had kept him from achieving any semblance of success in casting the spell, and it was the perfect storm.
"It's no wonder no one can stand her! She's a nightmare, honestly!"
A body knocked Harry as it hurried by. He was half a second from telling the knuckedragger to watch where they were going when he saw the person's face.
It was Hermione's and they were full of tears.
"Smooth move, genius." Harry remarked drily as the trio watched the bushy-haired girl fade into the crowd. "I bet you feel better about yourself now."
Ron shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his feet as Neville stared at him. If the chubby boy was a little less timid, he may have seemed accusing or intimidating. Instead, he just looked apprehensive.
"Well..it's not my fault she's got no friends." Ron mumbled, more to himself than anybody else.
Harry just rolled his eyes. Getting embroiled in a pre-teen drama session was not something he cared to go in on, and he cared even less for teaching Ron how to properly talk behind somebody's back. Still, as the gnawing in his stomach could attest, he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that he had just been party to something that felt all too similar to the afternoon in second year that had ended one life, and changed his forever.
That gnawing feeling did not go away as the day went on. His nerves, jumpy as they were with the ringing in his head, were shot even further when Hermione didn't come to Herbology. If he wasn't stressed enough already, with having to stalk the Dark Lord and all, now he had to feel guilty as well. "Why?" He said to nobody in particular. "Why couldn't this have happened literally any other day?"
"What's that Harry?" Neville said absentmindedly as he stared at the Dittany leaf they were meant to be studying.
"Nothing, Neville. Nothing important, at any rate."
Neville just nodded, his attention absorbed by the springy green plant.
A few hours later, and Harry was really starting to get worried. The twin issues of Hermione and the Dark Lord were weighing on his mind, making it hard to concentrate. Apparently, Hermione hadn't been seen all afternoon, and by now it was nearing time for the feast. Harry anxiously glanced at the mechanical clock in the dormitory, which showed the position of the stars, the phase of the moon, and the current position of the sun. As far as he could tell, it was about 5:30. He started tapping his foot anxiously, ignoring the concerned looks Hedwig, Neville and Ron were giving him.
It was the waiting, the insufferable waiting that was the worst. Harry had been in more than his fair share of danger over the years, and always it was the waiting. The knowledge that confrontation and danger was inevitable, and that no matter what he did now, there was no avoiding it. He could do nothing but stare longingly at the clock, watching its interminable ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick. In action, things were simple. Things were clear. Cast a spell. Dodge. Block. Run. Cast. Everything moved slowly, and in those rare moments, there was nothing but him, the opposition, and what lay in between. But now, he had nothing but the occasional inane comment to mark the passing the time. Another minute passed. Ron and Neville were talking to each other, but Harry couldn't be bothered to listen in. An eternity passed. Another minute. Bugger. This.
Abruptly, Harry stood up. "I'm taking a walk. I'll see you at the Feast." He said by way of explanation as he stormed out of the room, leaving his two confused friends behind. He stalked up the stairs and into the common room, which was irritatingly full of happy, excited students. How obnoxious. He was moments away from leaving through the Fat Lady when Lavender and Parvarti walked in.
"Harry!" They cried in unison.
"Harry, did something happen with Hermione?" Lavender asked.
"Because we were just in the girls bathroom, and we heard her crying." Parvarti elaborated.
"And this was the second time today." Lavender finished limply, her expression somewhat sad.
"Ron was talking about her after Charms.." Harry said tightly, hoping they would get the hint and leave.
They searched his thunderous expression for a moment, finally registering the metaphorical stormclouds over his head.
"Well…we'll go talk to the boys about it, I guess." Lavender said before slinking off, Parvarti not far behind.
Harry walked through the portrait, heading straight for the first floor. If he had his alarm bell count correct, Quirrell was in his office, presumably preparing a portkey to teleport the troll in. Harry was unsure of the exact mechanics of the troll's infiltration, but he assumed that it was teleported to the first floor, at which time Quirrell claimed it was in the dungeons to buy more time for his heist. The teachers had escorted the Slytherins down to the dungeons and tried to find the thing, only to find that it had migrated up to the first floor. A plausible, if unlikely, sequence of events that Quirrell had made up. Really, if it wasn't for Severus heading his former master off at the corridor then Harry's time at Hogwarts may have been far shorter. As he descended down the Grand Staircase he considered the possibility of a disillusionment charm on the troll, but it seemed unlikely given the noise and unpredictability fo the creature.
Unfortunately, his ruminations were ruined when a dozen or so bats Harry had dismissed as another dumb enchantment began flying towards him! He whipped his wand out, and immediately began casting at the winged rodents, which were closing on him with every second.
"Immobulus!" He shouted as they got within a few feet of him.
A small blue orb shot out of his wand and detonated on a bat right in the centre of the group. It froze, beginning to float in midair. Harry cursed. Fully powered, that spell would have taken out the whole group! Instead…Harry threw his arms over his head protectively, hoping that these out-of-control bats wouldn't sting too much. He felt nothing. Peeping out from his makeshift protection, the bats seemed to be flying away. He breathed a sigh of relief, and lowered his guard. Then, his stomach began to turn as the squadron of bats began flying back his way!
He shot another immobulus at the cloud. It had even less effect than the first, barely slowing the bat it hit. Harry shrieked as he put his arms over his head again as the bats began their second swoop. Again, nothing. Harry glared balefully at the cloud of what he now suspected were entirely illusioned bats.
He flushed as he noticed the stares that others on the staircase were giving him. Partly piteous, partly amused. He scowled.
"Well, well, well, brother mine, I think that went very well." An obnoxiously smug voice said.
"Indeed, I can't imagine it going better myself." Another, identical voice came from behind him.
Harry whirled around in fury to see the faces of the Weasley twins, who were proudly guiding their bat hit squad. The smiled at him winningly, probably trying to show it was a joke. Harry didn't care.
In a cold fury, he mentally dispelled his ward, feeling the magic rush back to him like a water soothing a parched throat.
"Nasas Protero!" Harry cried, shooting a spell at one of the twins.
He fell backwards, his nose crunching unpleasantly.
The other twin looked at him in a mix of shock and anger, going for his wand. He wasn't fast enough.
"Petrificus Totalus." Harry flicked his wand in the appropriate manner.
The second twin seized up as the spell hit him, his arms snapping to his sides as he fell down next to his brother.
"Wha' 'ell 'Arry." The one with the crunched nose cried.
"Potter. Duelling in the halls, are we?" A silky voice said unpleasantly from behind Harry, making him freeze immediately. "I think we had best go to my office."