Hogwarts was abuzz with the preparations for the Halloween Feast. Pumpkins and other harvest decorations appeared throughout the halls of Hogwarts and the Great Hall constantly smelled of pumpkin and cinnamon. The castle was preparing for the Halloween feast, and Aria heard nothing except talk about the feast for days.
"Why are we having a feast for Halloween?" she asked the fifth-year prefect, Tracey. Tracey was helping her, Harry, Daphne, and Tracey Davis with their Transfiguration and she seemed like the right person to ask. "I mean, Muggles celebrate it, but not to the extent we seem to be going to."
"It's a two-fold holiday," Tracey explained. "It's Samhain, but it's also the night You-Know-Who was defeated so we set time aside to celebrate that." Harry's head popped up from behind a stack of library books.
"Defeated?" Aria questioned. "By Harry?" Tracey nodded.
"Halloween," Harry repeated. "Halloween is when I defeated Voldemort?" Several students in the common room gasped. One girl dropped her book. Several made hand motions over their hearts. Everyone swung their heads around to stare at Harry.
"Yes," Tracey replied. "Didn't you know that?"
"No," Harry bit out. "I didn't. I didn't even know I was famous until Hagrid took me shopping. My Muggle relatives told me my parents died in a car crash because my dad was drunk." He straightened, his emerald eyes widening behind his glasses while his face lost its color.
"Wait . . . ." he breathed. "If Halloween is when I defeated Voldemort—," there were more gasps and Aria thought one seventh year might faint, "then that means Halloween is when . . . they died." He fell back against his chair with a faraway look, his quill dropping to the floor, splattering ink. The students in the common room began to whisper.
"Are you telling me," Prudence, one of the fifth years, said, "that you didn't know the date that your parents died?" Harry nodded, his jaw clenching. Sitting beside him, Aria could see he was trying not to cry. She glanced around the table, saw Daphne's eyes widen and both Traceys dropped their jaws.
"Who the hell doesn't tell a kid the date his parents died?" someone asked.
"Who lies to a kid about how his parents died?" another person demanded.
"My relatives," Harry snapped.
"That's it!" Prudence cried, jumping to her feet, her large curly hair bouncing about as she moved. "We are doing Samhain properly this year. No dancing around the headmaster and whatnot. We're doing it. Bonfire, extra plates, the altar. Everything."
"What's Samhain?" Aria asked Daphne.
"It's when the earth changes from harvest to winter," Daphne replied. "The veil between the worlds is at its thinnest. It's one of the five Old Religion festivals still practiced here in the UK and Ireland. Most families celebrate it and the others privately."
"Not this year!" Prudence cried, scribbling away at a piece of parchment, apparently making a list. "Professor Dumbledore, like so many, would like to see the oldest of our traditions just die but we can't let that happen! All right, so, we are going to need to have the bonfire and an altar for the ancestors and we're going to have to set extra places at dinner."
"We don't have to set the extra places or the bonfire," Marcus Flint argued. "The altar should suffice."
"Yes, but the bonfire is more in your face," Prudence pointed out. While she and Marcus began to squabble over her list Aria turned her attention back to her friends.
"What goes on an altar?" she asked.
"Depends on how traditional you want to be," Tracey, the prefect, replied. "My grandmum puts out offerings for the fairies like acorns or other nuts and dried fruit. But me and my family just set up a little altar with favorite mementos of people we want to remember. That's mostly what you'll find on people's altars nowadays."
"Oh, so like a little shrine," Aria commented.
"I suppose so, yeah."
"Well I don't have any mementos of my parents," Harry said.
"You've got nothing of your parents'?" Tracey, the first year, cried. Harry shook his head.
"It doesn't have to be something they owned," the older Tracey said. "It can be a picture or something. Mum always puts up her favorite photo of my Uncle David. He died in the first war."
"You don't seem to understand," Harry argued, his voice tight, "I don't own anything that has to do with my parents, except the money they left me for school."
"No pictures?" Daphne asked. Harry shook his head.
"Harry . . . ." Aria said after a minute, "do you even know what your parents look like?"
Another shake of his head.
Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott suddenly appeared at their table, having abandoned their chess game from the table next to them.
"I'm sorry, you don't have any pictures of your parents?" Blaise questioned.
"Your relatives are beasts," Theo stated. "I wouldn't expect anything less from Muggles."
"My dad's not a beast," Aria snapped. "Don't go judging all Muggles just because Harry got stuck with the worse kind!" Theo looked skeptical.
"Aunt Petunia and my Mum didn't get on," Harry explained. "Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon don't like magic."
"Absolutely insane," Tracey muttered. "Pru and Marcus, stop your fighting right now, you're giving me a headache!" The two fifth years lowered their voices while the rest of the common room filled with titters.
"Someone's got to have a photo of your parents," Tracey said to Harry, turning away from her year mates. "I'd go speak to Professor Snape and see if he would know where you can find pictures."
"Didn't my dad say in Ollivander's that your mum grew up with him and Professor Snape?" Aria asked. "Maybe my dad has primary school pictures. I can ask."
"Maybe Professor Snape will know if any of my parents' friends have pictures," Harry agreed. He and Aria began packing up their things.
"What about Professor McGonagall?" Theo asked.
"What about her?" Harry wanted to know.
"Well, your parents were Gryffindors weren't they?"
Aria and Harry left the common room. Unfortunately, Snape was in the middle of office hours and had a very panicked fourth year with him, so Aria and Harry decided to trek up to Professor McGonagall's office. Her office hours had already ended, much to their disappointment.
"Think that fourth year's gone?" Aria asked. Harry shrugged, his fists gripping and releasing his pants in obvious agitation.
"What are you two up to?" Aria and Harry turned to see Ron's older brother, Percy, standing with his arms crossed, Prefect badge shining in the torchlight.
"We're looking for Professor McGonagall," Aria said.
"Can it wait?" Percy asked. Harry sighed.
"I suppose," he muttered.
"No!" Aria insisted, grabbing Harry's sleeve as he made to walk away. "It can't."
"I've waited this long—,"
"Which is exactly why you shouldn't have to wait any longer! We're looking for Professor McGonagall because Harry's parents were in Gryffindor and we were hoping she might have some pictures of them. Harry's never seen what his parents look like." Percy's blue eyes widened.
"You . . . you've never seen your parents?"
"No."
Percy stared at them for a moment before motioning them to follow him. He brought them to a corridor that was leading up towards one of the towers and bowed politely to a large painting where a Victorian woman with red hair stood before a chalkboard while a group of children sat in desks. The woman and the children looked at Percy.
"Could you please fetch Professor McGonagall?" Percy asked. "Tell her Percy Weasley is asking for her." The Victorian Teacher nodded to one of the children and the child disappeared out of the frame, reappearing a moment later just before the portrait swung open and Professor McGonagall stepped out.
"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Weasley?" she asked. "You have brought me two Slytherins. Perhaps you need a reminder of whose house I am the head of?"
"Harry and Aria were hoping to speak with you," Percy said. "It sounded very important." McGonagall nodded, dismissing the prefect and inviting the two through the portrait hole into her sitting room.
"Now, what can I do for you?" she asked.
"We were talking to Tracey Paddington about setting up an altar for Samhain," Aria said when she realized Harry wasn't about to start the conversation. "She suggested that we use a memento or a picture of the ancestor we want to remember. Harry, however, doesn't have anything that belonged to his parents. Not even a picture."
"Nothing?" McGonagall cried. "But I am certain salvageable items were sent to your aunt. You should've had a few things."
"I've got nothing, Professor," Harry said. "Not even a picture."
"No pictures? You . . . are you telling me, Mr. Potter, that you have never seen your parents?" Harry nodded. Professor McGonagall cursed, her Scottish brogue becoming more pronounced as she stalked into the next room and returned a few minutes later with a photo album.
"Those are the worst sort of Muggles," she muttered, "I said so myself to Professor Dumbledore. He was put in charge of finding you a home as Chief Warlock. So much chaos during that time, Wizarding Child Services hadn't even been created yet." She set the album on the coffee table in front of the fire. The front of the album was labelled: 1971-1980.
"Your parents attended from '71 to '78," McGonagall said. Harry flipped open the album. Smiling Gryffindors waved at them from the pictures. Aria laughed in delight seeing them move. McGonagall flipped through towards the back where there were older children. She picked up one photo.
"Both of your parents were Head Boy and Head Girl their seventh year," she said, handing the photo to Harry. Aria looked over his shoulder.
A man, who looked like Harry with the same hair and same glasses waved while a smiling red-haired beauty blew a kiss to the camera.
"You look like your dad," Aria said. "But you've got your Mum's eyes."
"And her temperament," McGonagall added. "James was always the more . . . outgoing of the two though Lily had a temper and was as stubborn as a mule. Your father and his friends were very much like the Weasley twins. Pranksters."
She pulled out another photo, this one a large group of people.
"These are all the seventh years," she said. "There's your parents." Aria peeked at the other side of the photo where a list of names written.
"Why did I go to my Muggle relatives?" Harry asked. "Aunt Petunia doesn't like magic, I . . . would have thought my parents would have wanted me somewhere else. Or did they not think about it?"
"The only one who can answer that is Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall replied. "Like I said, he was given the responsibility if placing you in all that chaos."
"Who are these guys with Mr. Potter?" Aria asked, pointing to another photo where James Potter was with three other boys. The four made faces at the camera before slinging their arms around each other. Aria flipped it over and found it labeled: "The Marauders: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew. April 1977".
"They were James' closes friends," McGonagall said. Aria noted the sadness that crept into her voice. "They . . . well . . . I don't know what ever happened to Remus. But the others . . . they didn't survive the war. Many of my students didn't."
She took out of her wand and began duplicating the photos until Harry had about ten photos that had one or both of his parents in them.
"You might also wish to speak with your head of house," McGonagall said. "He and Lily grew up and were quite good friends until their fifth year or so."
"Thank you," Harry said, voice all but gushing in excitement. He clutched the photos to his chest like they were a lifeline. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall. You don't know how much this means to me!"
Professor McGonagall smiled and set a hand on his shoulder.
"Your parents were good students," she said, "and after Hogwarts I counted them as good friends."
Harry scrubbed at tears he seemed determined to ignore.
Aria could not imagine what it must have been like never knowing what one's parents looked like. She had dozens of photos of her mum and dad, especially during the last few months of her mum's life, she didn't know what she would do if she couldn't go back and look at them. She even had one on her nightstand!
"They look so happy," Harry muttered, his voice thick with emotion. McGonagall found a picture of Lily and James' graduation class in their graduation robes, duplicating that for Harry as well.
"They had their ups and downs," she told him, "just like every other couple. But they were happy; and they were also very brave. They wanted you to live in a place where war and blood supremacy were a thing of the past."
"Maybe they should've moved," Harry said. "Then they'd still be alive."
"It may seem as if they died for nothing, Harry," McGonagall answered, lapsing from her usual formality. "But as you grow and begin to understand the complexities of this world and the past war, you'll come to understand why your parents stayed. I cannot guarantee you'll agree with their decision, but they made it with nothing but you on their minds and hearts. This was their home, you are their son, and they were going to fight for both."
A lone tear rolled down McGonagall's face as she gathered up the photo album and disappeared into her bedroom. She returned, no tears showing, though her eyes were a little red and wet.
"I'm glad I've been able to help you," she said as Harry carefully gathered the photos. "Though, if you weren't aware, Professor Snape was in the same year as your parents. See?" She pointed to the top photo, the Class of 1978's graduation photo, and Aria found their Head of House, only seventeen years old, up in the top corner. "He might have some pictures from when Lily was a child. It's my understanding they grew up near each other and they were best friends until their fifth year."
"He doesn't look happy," Aria commented. McGonagall sighed.
"The war was unkind to many people," she told them. "Even at Hogwarts children were drawing lines, choosing sides. Severus was a Slytherin. He-Who-Must-Be-Named recruited heavily from that house as many of his followers had children in there."
A sudden memory of Snape and her dad came to the forefront of Aria's mind; about gangs and Snape saying he too had joined a gang and then left it.
"He joined Voldemort's gang," Aria said. McGonagall flinched at the name and Harry stared with open mouth at Aria. "Professor Snape and Lily Potter grew up with my dad, Professor. When Professor Snape brought me my letter he and my dad got talking. Snape said Hogwarts was the school he and Lily attended and, after my dad asked after her, said that they had parted ways and that he had 'gone the stereotypical path of Spinner's End.' Which usually means a person joins a gang. But then he left the gang."
McGonagall gathered herself.
"Yes . . . a gang is one way of putting it. He did, as you say, leave the gang. I don't know the full story. Professor Snape is a very private person."
"We'll go talk to Professor Snape," Harry said. He and Aria left the professor's quarters, quietly making their way back towards the dungeons.
"Do you want to talk to Professor Snape now?" Aria asked.
"No," Harry answered. "I'll do it later."
October 31st arrived with a calm morning and sun though storm clouds gathered in the distance over the mountains on the far side of the Black Lake. There would definitely be rain that night. Still, Prudence was determined to try and have the Samhain bonfire after the Halloween feast as she and Marcus spent their free period getting it prepared. Aria and her friends saw them through the windows on the way to Charms.
"The Old Religion's dodgy stuff," Ron said when Aria and Harry explained to him and Hermione what the Slytherins were doing. "It's all spirit stuff and it's half the reason the Muggles went after us in the first place. Their Christian God and our gods really aren't friendly with each other. We celebrate Yule still, though most people call it Christmas . . . dunno why. That's a Percy question."
In Charms class they were learning the Levitation Charm which used a swish and flick movement. Once everyone got the movement right Professor Flitwick gave each student a feather.
"Now, the charm is Wingardium Leviosa," the tiny professor said. "Please repeat it to me."
"Wingardium Leviosa," Aria enunciated with the rest of the class.
"Excellent. Now, when you say it, swish and flick your wands so that your wand is flicked down at the feather when you finish. Observe." He levitated the feather in front of himself before releasing the children to attempt it on their own.
Aria peered at her feather, looking all innocent on her desk. Hopefully this would be easier than McGonagall's lesson on changing a matchstick into a needle.
"Wingardium Leviosa," she said, swishing and flicking her wand. Her feather did not move. She tried it again. Did her feather move that time? It might have moved a little. She leaned down closer to the feather to inspect it. She wanted to be the first person to get the spell!
"Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried. This time her feather flipped over. So close! Beside her she heard Ron growl as he shook his wand after a failed attempt at levitating his feather.
"Stop!" Hermione cried from his other side, grabbing his wrist when it swung too close to her head. "You're going to poke someone's eye out. Probably mine at this rate. Besides, you're saying it wrong. It's leviOsa, no leviosA."
"Well then you do if you're so clever," Ron snapped, dropping his wand and folding his arms, his temper flaring. Aria almost whacked him across the back of the head. He was just asking for his temper to get worse.
Hermione straightened her spine and primly swished and flicked her wand, speaking the incantation. Immediately her feather levitated above their heads and Aria groaned at not being the first.
"Well done, Miss Granger!" Flitwick cried. "Ten points to Gryffindor!" Ron scowled, turning away from Hermione to Aria who, now annoyed that magic seemed to come more easily for Hermione, turned back to her own feather.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Aria snapped. Her feather shot up to the ceiling before fluttering back towards the desk. Several students laughed.
"Excellent work," Flitwick said, "I applaud your determination, Miss Bourne, but perhaps save such zeal and enthusiasm for larger and heavier objects. Five points to Slytherin."
When class ended the rest of the classmates hurried out while Ron lagged behind to argue with Hermione, something the two of them did on a regular basis.
"You're a nightmare sometimes, Hermione," Ron snapped as they finally exited the classroom.
"I'm a what?" she cried.
"A nightmare," Ron repeated. "Why the bloody hell does it matter how I pronounce something?"
"I was only trying to help," Hermione insisted. Aria could see the beginning of tears well up in her friend's eyes.
"Well could you not be a Little Miss Know-It-All when you do? Merlin, Hermione, have you ever wondered why you only have three friends?"
"Ron!" Aria cried. Hermione raced away, bushy hair flying out behind her. Several other students snickered, especially Pansy and Millicent and Lavender and Parvati. "Ron, you're such an arse!" She ran after Hermione, following her into a bathroom. Hermione tried to lock herself in a stall, but one swift hand from Aria stopped her from closing the stall door.
"Go away, Aria," Hermione wailed. "I want to be alone."
"Probably why you shouldn't be alone," Aria said. "Ron's being an idiot. You know how short his temper is. Not that that excuses him. If I left you alone, you'd stay here crying until the feast and you'd miss all the fun, and why should you miss the fun just because Ron's an idiot?"
Hermione slid down to the ground. Aria sat beside her, digging into her backpack and pulling out a tissue, handing it to Hermione.
"Thanks," Hermione muttered. "Am I really a nightmare?"
"Well . . . you are a bit of a know-it-all," Aria admitted.
"I just want people to know that I'm smart. That I belong here."
"We belong here," Aria stated, making sure her voice was firm. "Nobody is going to change that, no matter how much they want to." She thought of Draco and Pansy and Millicent and Crabbe and Goyle. She thought of some of the seventh year Slytherins who gave her nasty side-eyes in the common room. "But, Hermione, there's other ways to showing that you belong here. Doing well on tests and quizzes and turning in your homework on time, that'll show the professors that you're serious as a witch. Dad told me back in primary that the best way to prove your intelligence was to be responsible with your grades but not necessarily push people's faces in it. I had the habit of answering all the questions and not letting others do it. Mum and Dad said that if I answered all the questions no one else would do the work to learn because they'd just cheat off me, and that wouldn't help anyone."
Hermione sniffed.
"I guess that makes sense," she said. "I mean, you don't go about waving your hand on all the questions like I do, and everyone in our year knows you're super smart. I heard people talking in the common room. Neville thinks you're pretty. Seamus thinks you're hot."
"He would," Aria sneered, thinking about how the Irish boy had managed to blow up his cauldron twice, disappearing his eyebrows in the process. "I will not be looking at him anytime soon, though I suppose looking at Seamus can't be as bad as say . . . Draco Malfoy. And Neville thinks I'm pretty?"
"Frankly I think he's latched onto you because you're so nice to him," Hermione replied. "He doesn't really have any friends. I mean, he sits with Ron, but I think Dean and Seamus are better friends with each other, and Ron's with us all the time so I think Neville gets kind of left out. Or else he ends up hanging out with Susan Bones or Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff."
"Guess we'll have to invite him to study with us," Aria said. "I hear he's really good in Herbology."
"Oh, my goodness, you'd think the plants loved him or something!"
The girls giggled and Aria pulled Hermione to her feet.
"You should come to the Samhain bonfire after the feast," Aria said, "if it doesn't rain. It'll look good to the others if you take an interest in wizarding tradition."
"Think they'll let me?" Hermione asked. "Won't most of the people there be Slytherins?"
"Well I'll be there, and what's one more Muggleborn?"
They exited the bathroom only to find Ron and Harry sitting against the opposite wall eating Chocolate Frogs. The two scrambled to their feet when the girls appeared, Ron's face as red as ever with obvious embarrassment.
"Hermione," he began, "I would like to say that I am sorry for calling you a nightmare earlier. It was . . . rude of me." Aria almost laughed at how proud Harry looked at Ron's apology. Obviously, Harry had a part in Ron's apology.
"Thank you," Hermione replied with a sniff. "You're forgiven."
Apparently, Prudence had gotten her way and somehow there were stacks of empty plates and goblets at one end of the Slytherin table when Aria and Harry arrived at the feast with Ron and Hermione.
"What are the extra plates for?" Hermione asked.
"You put them out for your ancestors," Ron explained, "those that have passed onto the Next Life. The Veil's thin tonight, so it's a matter of curtesy if anyone shows up, even though as ghosts they wouldn't be able to eat anything."
"Oh. I guess I never really thought of the wizarding world being religious."
Ron shrugged and he and Hermione split off to the Gryffindor table. Aria and Harry went over to the Slytherin table where they joined the other Slytherins in preparing plates for the deceased then writing the names of the deceased on place-setting cards and putting them at the top of each plate. Only then did the Slytherins sit down to enjoy the feast, squishing together on the remaining two-thirds of the long table. Aria ended up between Harry and Theo Nott. She wasn't sure who was more surprised, herself or Theo.
Their actions drew more than one look from the other three houses as well as the professors. Professor Snape looked oddly proud, though Aria supposed the look could be construed as a grimace. He did have a peculiar way of showing his emotions. The other Heads of House and professors had a mixture of looks ranging from impressed to amused. Dumbledore did not look either when she caught him glancing towards the Slytherin table. But she supposed that was normal. According to the upper years Professor Dumbledore didn't care much for Slytherin, most of the school didn't, but Slytherins went out of their way to avoid catching the headmaster's attention than any other professor.
Halfway through the feast the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Professor Quirrell came racing down the center aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables, his robes flying out behind him.
"TROLL!" he yelled. "IN THE DUNGEONS!" He skidded to a halt in front of the Head Table before falling to the ground in a dead faint. Several people guffawed and she heard Adrian Pucey say to Cassius Warrington,
"Some Defense professor he turned out to be."
Several students at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables screamed. Dumbledore rose, bringing the tip of his wand to his throat.
"Calm yourselves!" Dumbledore said, his voice reverberating throughout the hall. "I and the Heads of House will look into the situation. If the prefects could please escort their houses back to the dormitories—,"
"But we're in the dungeons!" Marcus Flint cried.
"As are the Hufflepuffs," Professor Sprout pointed out.
"All students will remain in the Great Hall," Dumbledore amended, "while the professors deal with the situation." He, the four Heads of House, and several other professors left the Great Hall, closing the large doors behind them. Professors Vector and Sinistra, the Ancient Runes and Astronomy professors stayed behind and called the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl up to the Head Table.
The students began to mingle amongst themselves, a nervous chatter filling the room. Hermione and Ron came over and sat at the Slytherin table, surprising everyone.
"Do you really think a troll got in?" Ron asked.
"I'm guessing this isn't like the troll dolls," Aria said to Hermione.
"I'm guessing more like the trolls under bridges," she replied.
"Trolls under bridges?" Daphne cried.
"Lots of Muggle fairy tales have trolls," Hermione explained. "The stories say they like to live under bridges."
"That's just weird," Pansy sneered.
"I would have thought it would have been impossible for trolls to get by the wards of Hogwarts," Theo said, a bit hesitant, as if he were unsure about speaking to Aria and Hermione and Ron. "Hogwarts, A History says that Hogwarts is one of the most fortified places in Britain, and certainly Western Europe."
There was a sudden shaking and a terrible smell drifted into the Great Hall, making several students gag. The doors shook and students screamed, scrambling towards the front of the Great Hall where Vector and Sinistra put all the students behind them and had the prefects and Head Boy and Girl form the first line of defense behind them.
"Go through the Professor's Entrance!" Sinistra ordered. The students stormed to the side door, only to find it would not open. Not even an unlocking charm could convince the door to budge. As the door to the Great Hall shuddered, the two professors gathered the students behind the Head Table while they stood in front of the table at the edge of the platform.
"Draw your wands!" Vector barked, steading herself next to Sinistra. The two witches looked formidable, Aria thought, as she drew her wand. Were they going to have to fight the troll? "If the troll enters, we will send every Stunning Spell we've got at it!"
Aria glanced at Hermione.
"What's the Stunning Spell?" she asked.
"How should I know?"
"You're the smart one!"
"So are you!"
"It's Stupefy," Fred, or maybe George, said as the twins appeared by their side, stepping predominately in front of Ron. "You just point and shout."
"Stupefy," Aria repeated, "got it."
She didn't feel like she "got it" but at this point, with the doors caving in, there wasn't much else she could do.
The doors crashed open. The full smell of the giant creature almost overwhelmed everyone. Pansy and Daphne vomited at the smell, and Millicent looked pretty close to doing so too.
"Fire!" Vector shouted.
"Stupefy!" the students screamed, pointing their wands at the troll. Red bolts of magic shot out of wands of dozens of students, mostly older, hitting the troll and forcing it back several steps, though it did not fall over or appear stunned. Immediately the two professors and students began recasting the spell.
"Trolls must be resistant to magic," Aria heard Draco say to Blaise after she threw her third stunner, but with little success. She doubted her spell was even strong enough to reach the troll which now advanced on them.
Fear filled her stomach. It filled her, she could feel her magic tingle within her, reacting to her strong emotion, like it always had when she was little and about to do accidental magic. It had frightened her then, but now she knew what was happening, and this time, she grabbed onto the feeling of magic within her; magic that filled her and weaved through her; magic that was a part of her and knew that something was wrong.
Focusing on her magic, even as the troll continued to advance, even as the mass of students pressed back against the wall, Aria suddenly felt a jolt within her as her heart and head connected together with her magic, the very center of her being. Fear wrapped around this connection, not a paralyzing fear, but an adrenaline rush. Her flight or fight kicked in and it was fueling her magic to do one thing and one thing alone.
Fight.
She pushed past Fred and George, raising her wand.
"STUPEFY!" she screamed. Her magic shot out from her core, up her arm, and through her wand; her magic was like a fire racing and raging within her, heating her wand until the wood was almost too hot to touch, and with a loud burst of red light shot from the tip of her wand with a deafening BANG! Students ducked for cover, screaming, as they covered their ears and as the red bolt hit the troll squarely in the forehead, snapping its neck back and toppling it over. The troll fell to the stones of the Great Hall, creating a crater around its body.
Aria dropped her wand, the heat too much for her.
Silence and dust fell over the Great Hall as everyone turned to stare at her.
"Aria?"
Turning at Harry's voice was a bad idea, Aria realized, only too late. Exhaustion swooped over her as the room spun, and she felt her legs give out second before she was overwhelmed by darkness.