A/N: In honor of Harry Potter/JK Rowling's birthday, I have a chapter update for you guys! This is a long one, with a fair bit of original content, so it was fun to write. I hope you enjoy! As always, I appreciate kudos/comments/reviews/messages/feedback in general. See you shortly for the next chapter (I hope)!

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," Ron speculates for the umpteenth time as he and Harry make their way down to breakfast in the Great Hall before class.

"Or both," Harry suggests, his curiosity at the mysterious hidden object tempering any boredom he might experience from having the same conversation over and over again. No matter how many times they went through it, he and Ron made no headway on the issue.

They plop down at the Gryffindor table, still conversing quietly about the three-headed dog, just in time for the mail delivery, not that either of them is expecting anything. Harry had sent a letter to his father the other day, but it would be surprising to hear back so quickly. Harry's thoughts are interrupted when one of the school's brown barn owls swoops low over his head, dropping a long, thin package on the table in front of him, sending the scrambled eggs, beans and sausage on his and Ron's plates flying every which way (including all over their robes). With an apologetic look at Ron, Harry picks up the note attached to one end of the parcel before tucking it under the table and slips his finger under the edge, sliding the parchment open.

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor McGonagall

Harry looks round at Ron in amazement. McGonagall had said she would looking into bending the rules so he could have his own broomstick now he was on the Quidditch team, but this – a Nimbus Two Thousand was far more than he had hoped for.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron hisses excitedly. "I've never even touched one."

Harry elbows him hard in the ribs, shaking his head almost imperceptibly and looking around at the other students.

"Come on, finish your breakfast," he said quietly, tucking in to the remnants of his scrambled eggs. "We'll have to go change before class."

The two boys wolf down their breakfast, and they each grabbed a slice of toast to go (Ron grabbed three), and they hurry out of the Great Hall.

"That's a broomstick," they hear Malfoy's drawl from behind them, and Harry and Ron spin around to face him. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

"It's not any old broomstick, it's a Nimbus Two Thousand," Ron bursts out before Harry can stop him. "What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy spits, scowling. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" Professor Flitwick interrupts, just as Harry grabs the back of Ron's robes to stop him from lunging at Draco.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Malfoy tattles hurriedly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," Professor Flitwick responds, and Harry has to try not to laugh at the look of dismay on Malfoy's face. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," Harry answers with glee. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he adds, eyes glinting with delight at Malfoy's horror.

"Ooh, that'll do nicely," Flitwick replies, clapping his hands a little. "Well, off you go boys, don't want to be late for class."

Malfoy stalks off into the Great Hall while Harry and Ron turn on their heals and run up to the Gryffindor Common Room, low on time after their little chat. They reach the dormitory and strip off their robes as fast as possible, pulling clean ones from their trunks.

"What was with that comment about the Nimbus being thanks to Malfoy?" Ron asks with a confused glance at Harry as he tugs a fresh sweater over his head, red hair sticking up at odd angles.

"Well it's true," Harry answers with a shrug as the two of them hurry back down to the Common Room, pulling their robes on as they walk. "If he hadn't stolen Neville's remembrall I wouldn't be on the team…"

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking the rules?" a bossy voice drifts across the room, and both boys turn to see Hermione standing with her arms crossed, glaring at them.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" Harry scoffs, feeling more than a little bit prickly toward Hermione at the moment.

"Yes, don't stop now," Ron adds tersely, "it's doing us so much good."

Hermione stalks straight past them, nose held high in the air as she walks through the portrait hole, and Harry and Ron follow a few paces back, eager to let her get far ahead of them, even if it meant being a minute or two late for class. Ron, personally, would much rather a detention from McGonagall than a long walk with Hermione.

"It's a wonder she doesn't walk into walls, with her nose so high in the air," Ron says snarkily, and Harry laughs a little. He doesn't much like Hermione either, but Ron seems to loathe her almost as much as Draco Malfoy, and Harry doesn't think she's quite that bad, not that he would ever say it to Ron.

Classes pass unbearably slowly that day; time seems to have a nasty habit of slowing down when you want it to speed up. Transfiguration is as frustratingly challenging as usual, but History of Magic is the worst, with boring old Professor Binns droning on and on about things people stopped caring about centuries ago, if they ever had. At last, the final bell of the day chimes magically throughout the halls, and Harry and Ron nearly sprint down to dinner, eager to eat as quickly as possible and get down to the pitch for practice. When they're done eating, the two boys race up to Gryffindor tower, where Harry exchanges his school uniform for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. They march down to the pitch together, chattering happily as Harry swings the Nimbus Two Thousand back and forth, adjusting his grip nervously and testing out the best way to hold it. When they arrive on the green field, Oliver Wood casts Ron a wary glance, but the Weasley name gives him enough clout that he nods toward the bleachers and Ron scurries off to have a seat with a huge grin at Harry.

"Right, everyone," Oliver says importantly, standing as tall as he can, which is no small thing for the 6 foot 2 captain, "meet our new Seeker, Harry Potter."

For the first time in his exposure to the wizarding world, Harry is eyed with sceptical looks, everyone seeming to think that this scrawny little eleven year old cannot possibly be good enough to warrant all the special attention he's received.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet our Chasers, Angelina Johnson –" he points to a tall girl, Harry would have guessed in her third or fourth year, with light brown skin, deep brown eyes, and long, braided brown hair – "Alicia Spinnet –" a shorter, tough looking, more heavyset girl with deep brown skin, a round face, and brown hair pulled back in a pony tail waves to Harry and offers him a warm smile – "and Katie Bell –" Oliver gestures to a shy looking girl with long blonde hair that Harry recognizes as a second-year, and she smiles timidly.

"Nice to meet you," Harry whispers, his voice sounding much squeakier than he would like.

"And of course you know Fred and George Weasley, our Beaters," Oliver continues, determined to get through his introductions as quickly as possible. The twins clap Harry on the back simultaneously, nearly sending him sprawling into the three Chasers. "And I'm Keeper, and you're Seeker, so that's all seven of us."

They all look around, assessing one another, but mostly Harry, who is the newest member, and the wildcard as far as they were aware. Angelina and Alicia exchange highly sceptical looks, but turned their attention back to Oliver as he starts speaking again.

"Right, let's see what we can do as a team. We'll do a few flying manoeuvres to warm up, then we'll start running drills, and hopefully we'll get to some game simulation drills at the end. I want to see everyone give it their best – no slacking!" Harry glances around nervously, only to find that Katie Bell seems to feel just as intimidated as he does. "Oh, and Harry, there's a set of practice and game robes in your locker, starting next practice, you'll wear those, got it?"

"Yeah," he replies, looking toward the locker Oliver indicated.

The seven players walk out together, mounting their brooms and kicking off into the air, circling the pitch in increasingly complicated ways as Oliver calls out different moves, his voice magically magnified. They practice a Hawkshead attacking formation, a Porskoff Ploy, Sloth Grip rolls, a Woollongong Shimmy, both the Chelmundiston Charge and a Dionysus Dive, and Fred and George attempt Bludger Backbeats and the very tricky Dopplebeater Defence. They run drills that mostly involve the others attempting various plays while Harry flies overhead, attempting to catch several charmed tennis balls. When it's completely dark and none of them can see a thing anymore, Oliver declares the practice both finished and a success. Ron had gone back to the Common Room halfway through to work on his homework with a cheerful wave to Harry, so he returns with They walk back to Gryffindor Tower feeling very good about their prospects for the season, and Oliver repeats several times that he thinks this will be the year that they finally do it, that they finally win the Cup.

"You're actually quite a good flier, you know," Katie Bell says quietly to Harry, sounding as though she was unsure whether or not to speak to him.

"Thank you," Harry answers her with a smile. "You're a brilliant Chaser. I don't think I'd be half as good as you." She blushes rose colored with his compliment.

"I'm new to the team too," she replies, warming up to him the more they talk. "It wasn't my first practice, like for you, but I only started a week and a half ago."

"You look like you've been playing with Angelina and Alicia for years." Katie turns an even deeper shade of pink.

"Thanks," she says as they arrive back in the Gryffindor Common Room, and Harry excuses himself to go sit with Ron and finish his homework, which was starting to pile up.

The next few weeks passed in a haze of intensely difficult classes, more and more challenging Quidditch practices, and homework that had Harry staying up later and later each night. It was becoming quite difficult to manage, and Harry woke on Halloween morning feeling thoroughly exhausted. As Ron raved in anticipation of that night's feast at breakfast, Harry could only nod along sleepily. They make their way to that day's lessons – Herbology in the morning, in which Harry receives a nasty prick from a Spiky Bush (which Professor Sprout dabs at with a premade ointment), and double Charms in the afternoon.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing! Swish and flick," Professor Flitwick instructs, "remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio," he cautions, "who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a water buffalo on his chest."

A chorus of attempted spells sounds throughout the room as the entire class attempts to levitate the feathers sitting on the desks in front of them.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron exclaims, stabbing at the feather with his wand.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione interrupts. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," he challenges.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" she says, and her feather floats up in the air obediently.

"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick exclaims. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Hermione plasters a smug look on her face as the class looks on, several students throwing her unpleasant looks that she either doesn't notice or doesn't care about. When the bell rings, Harry and Ron shove their wands back in their bags and take off, Ron muttering unhappily.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her, she's a nightmare, honestly," he says loudly, and the two of them receive sharp blows to the shoulders as a particularly bushy-haired girl pushes her way in between them, racing off with her head bowed.

"I think she heard you," Harry whispers, suddenly feeling very small.

"So? She must've noticed she's got no friends," Ron counters, and Harry hears Seamus and Dean snicker behind them.

They all make their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, well, almost all of them. Hermione Granger is nowhere to be seen and as the feast continues, she makes no appearance at the Gryffindor table. As Harry digs into a pumpkin pasty, he hears Lavender Brown mention to Parvati Patil that she had seen Hermione crying in the girls' bathroom, and his stomach drops, losing all appetite. Instead, he watches as Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville enjoy the rest of the feast, loading their plates with mashed potatoes, and turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pasties. When they think they're as full as the possibly could be, the dinner dishes are cleared away, replaced with desserts. Just as Ron bites into a candied apple, a slight commotion fills the Hall, and Professor Quirrell bursts through the great double doors, running down the aisle between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables.

"Troll…" he shouts without stammering, halfway up the aisle, "in the dungeons… thought you ought to know."

Professor Quirrell sways on his feet for a moment before losing consciousness completely and falling to the side, crashing into the Ravenclaw table and sliding down to the floor.

"Prefects," Dumbledore bellows in his commanding voice as he rises to his feet, "lead your houses back to their dormitories immediately!"

Chaos ensues as students scramble for the door, eager to make their way to safety, and the Prefects and Professors try to maintain some semblance of order.

"Follow me!" Percy hollers over the din, completely in his element. "Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders!" He begins backing toward the door, eyes scanning the crowd to make sure all his precious little responsibilities are doing as they're told and following him. "Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a Prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asks Ron in a whisper as they climb the stairs out in the corridor.

"Don't ask me," Ron shrugs, "they're supposed to be really stupid. Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

"I've just thought –" Harry stops suddenly, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling him to a halt as well, and several students glare at them as they try to push their way past. "Hermione."

"What about her?" Ron asks, clearly confused.

"She doesn't know about the troll," Harry explains, and a look of comprehension and horror clouds Ron's face.

"Oh, all right," he gives in after a moment's deliberation. "But Percy better not see us."

They both glance at Ron's older brother, and duck down when he looks away, crouching along the ground as they move through the hallway until they can round a bend. The two boys run quickly through the halls, turn after turn, down staircases and up, making their way back toward the Entrance Hall so they can go to the dungeons. In a second floor corridor, they hear a noise, the sound of someone approaching.

"Percy!" Ron whispers in panic, pulling Harry back into the shadows of a suit of armour. It's Snape, however, not Percy, who runs past the intersection, causing Harry to narrow his eyes in suspicion.

"What's he doing?" Harry hissed to Ron. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me," Ron answered, pushing Harry forward to keep going.

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry says, a little to loudly, and Ron pushes him back against the wall, clapping a hand over his mouth. They wait for the sound of Snape's footsteps to fade into silence before Ron releases his friend.

"Can you smell something?" he asks, looking at Harry in alarm, and Harry wrinkles his nose at the foul odour that had started to permeate the corridor.

"It smells like…"

"Troll," Ron finishes, and they look around wildly.

Sure enough, they see a shadow lumbering across the floor in the intersection ahead of them, and seconds later a massive, hulking figure follows, grunting with every step. It walks straight into a room on the other side of the hall, a room with a very solid looking door…

"The key's in the lock," Ron points out. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," Harry says, and they run over to the room, swiftly twisting the key in the lock and backing away.

"Yes!" they cry together with a high five.

Harry and Ron are just backing away, about ten feet down the hall, when a shrill scream emanates from the room with the troll.

"Oh, no," Harry says, exchanging a dread filled look with Ron.

"It's the girls' bathroom!" the other boy confirms, sharing Harry's dismay.

"Hermione!" Harry cries out, already taking off toward the girls' bathroom, no plan formed in his mind beyond GET HER OUT OF THERE.

They burst through the door to find the troll, which was even more massive up close, towering over Hermione, crouched under the farthest sink, with its club raised over its head. She lets out another shriek and Harry turns to Ron, desperate to do something, anything, to help.

"Confuse it!" Harry shouts, and he manoeuvres himself into a better position to communicate with Hermione.

"Oy, pea brain!" Harry hears Ron yell, and he uses the opportunity to try to get Hermione's attention.

"Come on, run, run!" he tells her, but she is resolutely crouched under the sink, staring up at the troll in horror.

Harry glances around the bathroom, forced to consider a new plan of action, but when the troll raises his club to swing at Ron, who had thrown a piece of dislodged sink at it, Harry panics, and runs at it, thrusting his wand forward to cast a spell that never comes to mind, and it catches on the troll's nostril, implanting itself deep into its nose. Angered, the troll grabs Harry with one massive hand and slams him into the wall, knocking the wind out of him.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry hears Ron yell as he splutters and gasps for air, desperate to get some oxygen to his brain. He barely sees as the troll's club rises higher and higher into the air before falling with a thump onto it's head, knocking it out and sending the troll sprawling backwards onto the floor, and Harry with it.

"Is it… dead?" Hermione asks timidly from the corner.

"I don't think so, I think it's just been knocked out," Harry replies as he crawls out from the troll's hand and over to its head, extracting his wand from its nose. "Urgh, troll bogeys."

Just as Harry stands and looks around, taking in the situation, the door to the bathroom bursts open, and in charge half a dozen staff members, McGonagall in the lead. She gapes at the three of them as she gazes around the room, from Hermione, who was in the process of crawling out from under the sink, to Harry, who was wiping his wand on his robes, to Ron, who had caught the troll's club and was holding it as far away from him as possible with a look of disgust on his face, to the troll, lying completely unconscious on the floor.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" she finally manages to burst out, sounding torn between scolding them and being impressed. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"Please, Professor McGonagall, they were looking for me," Hermione says in a small voice.

"Miss Granger!" she replies, thoroughly shocked.

"I went looking for the troll because I… I thought I could deal with it on my own… you know, because I've read all about them," Hermione lies easily, to Harry and Ron's surprise. "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

"Well… in that case…" Professor McGonagall looks torn again, her favourite student the source of such ludicrous action. "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione has the good sense, or perhaps it is a genuine feeling, to look deeply ashamed, her head falling as she studies her shoes intently.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

"Yes Professor McGonagall," Hermione answers obediently, and she walks out of the room without a backward glance, her eyes still trained on the floor.

Once she's gone, Professor McGonagall turns her attention to Harry and Ron, who were both still standing in the same position, unable to believe Hermione's admission.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll," McGonagall admits. "You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurry from the room as quickly as possible, eager to get away from the troll (and the troll stench) and practically run back to Gryffindor Tower.

"We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron sulks as they near the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Five, you mean," Harry corrects him, "once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron says, adding, "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry points out, and Ron's ears turn a light pink.

"Pig snout," they say in unison to the Fat Lady, and she swings forward to allow them into the Common Room.

Hermione stands in a far corner of the room, waiting anxiously for the two boys to return, and when they see her, they walk over awkwardly.

"Thanks," all three of them burst out suddenly after a few moments of rather uncomfortable silence, and Hermione lets out a small nervous laugh.

Harry smiles at her and even Ron seems to deflate a bit, and the three of them sit down at a nearby table together. They don't talk about what happened, just pull out their textbooks and set to work on their homework, Hermione offering her help and Ron providing the occasional sarcastic comment to lighten the mood. It becomes a habit for them, to return to the Common Room after dinner, sit at what becomes their table, and finish their homework together. It's an odd start to a friendship, perhaps, but it works for them, and Harry and Ron quickly embrace Hermione, bossiness and all.

Some material borrowed from Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, pp ...