Disclaimer – Everything you recognise belongs to JKR. All the rest is simply me playing in her sandbox.

-oOoOo-

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Chapter 7

The next weeks passed by nearly in a blur for Harry. Between all of his classes, homework and now Quidditch practise three nights a weeks, he was busier than he'd ever been in his whole life.

But there wasn't any way that he'd change a thing (except for Malfoy's endless taunts and that Ron still managed to keep his 'I'm better than everyone else' attitude even in the face of the success that Hermione was in all of their classes). He loved learning magic. He still found it amazing that all of the weird things that he'd ever done was actually because of magic. And learning Quidditch and flying on an actually broom was heaven for Harry. Finally, a sport that he was not just good at, but allowed to be good at.

There were spells to learn, books to read and constant practise to put a smile on his face. He was certainly glad that his new cupboard had walls of stone and a strong thick wooden door when his practices went wrong to keep the sound contained. His locomotor spell especially had a tendency to somehow get away from him after his initial success. His quills or the bits of rope that he sent whizzing from one end of the cupboard to the other had an annoying habit of crashing into the walls.

His teachers, too, gave him a lot to think about.

Professor McGonagall had once turned herself into a cat. Harry had no idea how she did it, but the very idea of being able to turn into an animal filled him with awe.

Professor Flitwick puzzled him somewhat. There was just something about the diminutive teacher that screamed 'not quite human', but he had no idea what it was. Maybe something to do with his teeth.

Professor Snape's hatred for him seemed to grow with every lesson. Harry had no idea why he hated him just that he did. And that was a massive disappointment to Harry – potions was one subject that he'd been looking forward to, simply because he thought that it'd be like cooking, and he was good at cooking.

And then there was Professor Quirrell. Defence Against the Dark Arts was absolutely fascinating – when Harry read the text book. But listening to it expounded upon by Professor Quirrell was just the opposite. The subject seemed to terrify the teacher and anything that he was trying to teach, Harry simply lost in Professor Quirrell's stutter.

It was after one such lesson, when Harry was lost in thought as he was trying to decipher Professor Quirrell's latest teaching, that Harry thought that he may have actually come across something that could be found in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Somehow or other, probably because one of the staircases had decided that it needed a sudden change while he was still on it, Harry'd gotten lost. The corridor that he'd found himself in wasn't one that he recognised, but, when the choice is continuing on or facing the moving staircases again and ending up who knows where, the choice was easy.

Unfortunately for Harry, his wandering led him straight to a locked door. A locked door with something growling menacingly on the other side of it. His hand shot away from the handle faster than thought and before he knew it, he was racing back the way he came. There was no way that he was going to even attempt to find out what animal was locked up in the castle. Or why.

-oOoOo-

As the last days of October dawned, a change came over the castle. A holiday, a big, important holiday in the magical world, fast approached: Halloween.

Hermione's excitement exploded when she walked into the Great Hall on the morning of October Thirty-one. The entire hall had been transformed.

Thousands of bats lined the ceiling and walls, while thousands more swooped from one side to the other. Candles floated in mid-air, much like they did at the Welcoming Feast. Thick ropes of spider web were suspended in a net above the teacher's table with 'Happy Halloween' spelled out in sparkling letters.

Dozens of gigantic pumpkins were also scattered about. Hermione gasped as she saw them. Most were bigger than she was and the largest was easily big enough to fit Hagrid inside. And with the way that Professor Flitwick was directing a group of fifth years, it looked like that was actually going to happen. Every pumpkin had at least two students intently waving their wands to either carve a design into a pumpkin or to completely remove its middle so that a person could stand inside it.

Unconsciously, Hermione's wand was mimicking the actions of the pumpkin carvers as her narrowed eyes took in and tried to learn the complex charm.

"Look at her! What's she think she's doing?" Ron's voice snapped her back to table laid for breakfast.

"Looks to me as those she's trying to learn something new, Ron," Harry replied in a tone that seemed to stop Ron flat.

But as Hermione looked across at the group of first year Gryffindor boys, she wasn't sure if it really was Harry's reply or just the pile of bacon on Ron's plate that stopped him from once again making fun of her.

Unfortunately, if it was the food, breakfast soon came to an end and they were off to classes.

The instant that Professor Flitwick announced that they were now ready to learn the levitation charm, wingardium leviosa, Hermione tuned everyone else out. She'd been looking forward to this for weeks. Unfortunately, Professor Flitwick had decided to wait until everyone had mastered the locomotor spell before he was ready to move on, which meant that Hermione had had to wait.

Once again, she was the first to succeed. Her feather rose the instant that she incanted the spell.

Professor Flitwick's excited cry of, "Oh, well done! See here, everyone, Miss Granger's done it!" was music to her ears.

As she looked proudly around, she noticed that Ron was having difficulty. Only wanting to help, she tried to show him how it was done and even went so far as to correct his pronunciation.

And that's when it all went horribly wrong.

Hermione watched Ron jerked away from her, a scowl on his face and fire dancing in his eyes.

But I was only trying to help, she thought morosely.

Shutting her eyes against the pain of impending tears, she turned the other way, but Lavender didn't seem to want her help either.

Quietly, she once again faced the front of the classroom and tried to content herself with working on making her feather float up and down. But her heart just wasn't in it. Every time that she tried to help someone, she'd been rebuffed.

She'd thought that being here at Hogwarts would be different. But it wasn't. It was exactly like it was back at her old school. No one ever wanted her help. No one ever wanted to be her friend. She'd always known that she was different. And when Professor McGonagall had come to her home and told her that she was magical, she'd thought that that explained everything. Obviously, she'd been wrong.

By the time the lesson ended, she was feeling so miserable that, for once in her life, she'd dawdled. She was actually the last to leave the classroom.

But as it turned out, she hadn't dawdled enough. Just down the corridor, but still well in hearing range, Ron, Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati were heading towards their next class.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," Ron stated loudly, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Suddenly, there was no stopping the tears. They cascaded down her cheeks. She knew he was right. She had no friends here. No one cared or simply talked to her. No one wanted to study with her or spend time with her. Not even her own dorm mates.

Knowing that no one would even care or probably even notice, Hermione barged through her classmates, headed for the nearest toilets. For the first time in her life, Hermione had zero interest or intention of going to her next class.

-oOoOo-

Hermione didn't show up for History of Magic. She'd been in Charms class, but, as Neville had forgotten his book and needed a quick detour up to Gryffindor Tower before class, he and Harry had raced off before anyone else had even begun packing up.

Something had happened. Harry was sure of it. It just wasn't like Hermione to skive off a class. Not even History of Magic where the ghost of Professor Binns could drone on for hours without actually imparting any interesting information.

This was something that always disappointed Harry. He'd read the textbook. He'd forced himself to stay awake and be attentive, or at least as attentive as possible, in every lesson. He'd even taken some notes – admittedly not as many or as diligently as Hermione, but some at least. Everything that he'd heard told him that History of Magic could be one of the most fascinating subjects taught at Hogwarts. If it'd been taught by almost anyone else.

"Hey, Lavender, Parvati, wait up!" Harry called after class when they were all on their way back to the tower to drop off their bags.

The two girls paused and turned back to watch him running to catch up to them.

"What's up, Harry?" Lavender asked.

"Have you seen Hermione?" he asked. "She didn't come to History."

Parvati shared a nervous looking glance with her best friend before answering. "Um, I think she's in the toilets still."

"For all of class? Is she sick?" Harry asked.

"Um, no, I think she's still a little upset," Lavender replied.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why is Hermione upset?"

Lavender's eyes moved off to the side and tracked Ron as he walked past. "I think she might have overheard something."

With a quick lunge, Harry's hand fell on Ron's shoulder.

"Alright, there, Harry?" Ron asked nervously as he turned around.

"What'd you say to Hermione?"

Ron's eyes darted around the corridor. For some reason he couldn't seem to meet Harry's eyes. "Nothing really. At least nothing that everyone else wasn't thinking."

Harry let his hand drop. He'd been on the end of more taunts, comments and snide remarks in his life than he could remember. Often they were the ones that hurt worse than the physical blows that he'd taken.

Instantly he whirled back to Lavender and Parvati. "Which toilet?"

"The girl's toilet on the second floor near the Charms corridor," Parvati replied.

Without a second thought, Harry was racing back the way that they'd come.

"But what about the feast?" Ron yelled after him.

-oOoOo-

"Hermione?"

Her head came up at the sound of the voice. It was faint and through the stone walls and thick wooden door, not to mention also having to travel as far as the last cubicle, it was almost impossible to identify.

"Hermione? Are you alright? Are you still in there?"

This time she took more notice. She thought that it was a boy's voice. And one that sounded familiar. She had no idea how long she'd been ignoring it. It could have been minutes. Possibly hours.

Her grief and sobs had blocked out everything outside of the stall that she'd barricaded herself in. Ron's words and the looks of agreement on the faces of everyone around him still haunted her.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

Every time she replayed the scene, she broke down again. Her sobs echoed around the toilet. Others had come and gone and not one had asked if she was alright. Not one had even tried to find out who was crying in the end cubicle.

She knew it now more than ever before. No one cared about her. No one would even miss her if she wasn't there. It was just like her old school all over again. There were only two people in the whole world who'd ever cared about her: her parents.

She'd been miserable for weeks now. The first day on the train, she'd thought that Harry and Neville would be just the first of many friends that she'd make. But that hadn't happened. Neither of the two boys had become her friend. Sometimes she thought that there was the beginning of something, but …

Even her own dorm mates hated her. Lavender and Parvati were always talking and giggling together, forever leaving her out of whatever gossip had attracted their attention and shooting glances at her.

And she was expected to stay here for ten months of the year with only a brief two week reprieve at Christmas? She couldn't do it. There was no way that she'd survive seven years of such utter misery and isolation.

Scrubbing her hands across her face, she resolved to do the only thing that she could do. She simply had to leave. To go home to her parents. To go back to the only place where she knew that she was loved.

"Hermione?"

There was that voice again. Someone, it seemed, had actually come to find her. Her curiosity quickly got the better of her and she decided to find out who it was.

After drying her eyes and wiping her nose once more, Hermione hesitantly crept towards the door. Quietly she opened it and looked out. And then down.

There, sitting hunched against the wall was Harry. His bag was tucked in beside him and his head was down on his knees. She had no idea how long he'd been there, but judging by the dim light in the corridor, she knew that classes must have finished long before.

"Harry?" she asked quietly.

His head snapped up and she gasped at the concern clear in his piercing green eyes.

"Ungk"

The grunt combined with the sudden revolting stench caused Hermione to turn her head to the left. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

A troll. It could only be a troll. Twelve feet tall with bulging chest and muscles. Head the size of a melon. Skin a sickly grey. Clothed only in a raggedy loincloth. Oh, and carrying a club the size of a small tree. Her mind processed it all and came to the right conclusion, but right at that moment, her brain wasn't in control of her body.

"Ahhhhh!" she screamed, backing away.

Her terrified screech echoed around her as she sought refuge in the same cubicle that she'd been crying in before.

The heavy pounding of half-tonne footsteps followed her and she curled into the smallest ball that she could.

A terrific smashing directly over her head announced the stall being obliterated by a single swing of the troll's club. Wooden shrapnel clattered all around her as she peeked up at the menace towering above her.

With a growl, the club swung up and Hermione knew exactly where it was aimed – right for her head and she squeezed her eyes shut.

But the blow never came.

When next she dared to peek up, it was to see the troll spinning around, a small dark cloaked figure clinging desperately to its back.

"Hermione! Get out of here!" Harry grunted as his legs were flung this way and that as the troll continued to spin, its massive hands pawing to rid itself of the nuisance that was Harry.

But there was no way that Hermione had any intention of moving. She was petrified with fear.

She shrieked again as the troll finally caught something and threw it to the floor. Her heart restarted as she realised that it was only Harry's bag and not the boy himself.

Books, quills and ink bottles scattered across the floor as the bag tore. Bright swathes of ink splashed in puddles and Hermione found her eyes fixated on the brilliant shades mixing together.

A large grey foot came down on one of the many ink patches and slipped out. Two sinks were obliterated as the troll unsuccessfully tried to catch itself before face planting on the solid tiles, smashing them into tiny pieces.

One of Harry's hands came out from around the troll's neck and his wand pointed out.

"Locomotor quill!"

Hermione watched in fascination as a quill shot across the room and straight up the troll's nose.

The troll's bellow of pain snapped Hermione's hands to her ears in a desperate attempt to shield them from the noise. A hand grabbed her elbow and she shied away. Snapping her eyes open, she saw a very dishevelled Harry in front of her.

"Come on!" he rasped urgently.

Scrambling to her feet, Hermione grabbed his hand and together they bolted for the door.