The days leading up to Halloween saw an increase in excitement around the castle as decorations went up and rumours about a magnificent feast began to circulate amongst the students. The Gryffindors in particular were in fine form; still riding the high of a shock win over Slytherin during the previous weekend, it was not an uncommon sight to find one or more members of that house loudly and publicly retelling the story of Nathaniel Parkinson's fall from his broom anytime a Slytherin walked past them in the corridors. This escalated to the point where eventually half a dozen Slytherin fifth years ended up with a weeks worth of detention after Professor Sprout had to rescue two Gryffindor third years from suits of armour that they had mysteriously ended up inside of and which had been charmed to prevent them from making any movement or sound.
Harry, by contrast, could not feel any less like joining in the celebrations. Even as the bell rang and his classmates got up to head towards lunch, happily discussing the upcoming feast that night, Harry remained stubbornly seated. Waving Ernie off to go on ahead without him, Harry focused his attention on the source of his bad mood as it sat tauntingly on the desk in front of him; a slightly silver, slightly pointed object that was unmistakably still a match stick.
It had now been a full week since the class had officially finished transfiguring their match stick into a needle, and now the practical classes were focused on reversing the change. For Harry, who had not achieved the transfiguration in the first place this had meant he was unable to progress to the next step. Professor Prewett, unwilling to wait, had given Harry and three others additional homework on top of instructions to practise the transfiguration outside of classes.
In the week since then he had gotten no closer to a successful transfiguration and now was the sole remaining student who had to spend the time in class working on something that should already have been achieved.
Harry sighed and reached his hands up to rub his temple. He might have been able to rationalise his struggles as a 'once of' if they had been limited to only Transfiguration. Unfortunately for Harry, that was not the case, and his struggle with practical magic had carried over to both of his other wand based subjects; Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms.
Just this Monday, his charms class had - as a special treat on the lead up to Halloween - been allowed to stop focusing on foundational magic for a few days to attempt their first piece of charm work; 'lumos', the wand lighting charm. Harry, who could only occasionally make sparks on command and whose control over them was erratic at best, was allowed three attempts before Professor Flitwick asked him - not unkindly - to stop. Not wanting the poor boy to feel left out, Flitwick provided Harry with a remedial course book. Upon opening it, Harry found that it contained a number of different exercises designed to assist students who were struggling to consistently wield their magic.
After spending every charms lesson this week engrossed in the book, Harry could honestly say that most of the exercises that were outlined made absolutely no sense to him at all, and if anything, only served to confuse him further. The only shining light had been a section on cognitive techniques for magical focus and which delved into mind-body connection as a means of linking spellcasting with visualisation.
From what Harry could understand, it was a system of aligning what your body achieved with the outcome that your mind desired. This was in stark contrast to the standard explanation taught to students at Hogwarts, which likened magic to an extra muscle that required training for use, and encouraged aligning mindset and expectations with achieved results.
Harry felt that this new approach, although being the complete opposite to what he had been previously taught, had at least put him a step closer than where he had been previously. He was sure he could feel a difference now in how his attempts felt when they failed. Unfortunately, it had not yet yielded any real results. That didn't stop Harry from continuing to pursue it, reading and re-reading the relevant passages and doing his best to dissect the text and extract every last shred of information from it.
Noticing that Harry was beginning to obsess over this method and that it was fueling his frustrations, Professor Flitwick had kept him back after their last lesson. Once the last student had left the classroom the diminutive professor gently scolded him and explained what he referred to as the paralysis of analysis - the idea that by overthinking things, Harry might in fact be hampering his own progress. At Harry's despondent look, Fltiwick gave him an encouraging smile and simply requested that moving forward he focus more of his energy on believing in his own ability to achieve the desired outcome, and far less of it on trying to memorise obscure theoretical processes word for word.
Hoping that a second opinion might help, he confessed to Professor Prewett the changes that he had made to his approach to spellcasting. Upon hearing that he was attempting to apply such a mindset to his match stick, she tersely recommended that he spend more time focusing on what he was told to do, and less on whatever it was that he was trying to do.
It wasn't as though he was a bad student, Harry thought morosely as he picked himself up from his desk and exited the now empty classroom. His frustration at his inability to cast magic had provided him with an almost zealous drive to improve, and as a result his grades in Potions, Herbology, History and Astronomy were borderline perfect.
"I'm not stupid, I'm just pants at actual magic," Harry thought bitterly to himself as he turned a corner and made his way slowly towards the Great Hall for lunch. He knew that lunch would be halfway over, and as he crossed into the Middle Courtyard and weaved his way around a group of happily gossiping Sixth-Year Ravenclaws and a solitary young, chubby Gryffindor boy who was sat alone making a house of cards, he idly wondered if the Hufflepuff table would still hold a full stock of all the foods he liked to eat.
His mind focused on a toasted ham, cheese and egg sandwich, he didn't immediately register the voices he was hearing, but once he did, their words quickly pulled him up short.
"...hard to believe that out of them all, he was the one that survived all those years ago."
"Maybe the Boy Who Lived is a Squib. Do you think Witch Weekly would pay for the inside scoop?"
"I doubt he's a Squib - he's top of the class in Potions and History, but I don't think I've seen him cast a proper spell yet. Maybe he's some kind of idiot savant?"
A strangled choking noise escaped Harry as Stephen Cornfoot's voice was drowned out by the laughter of Hannah Abott and her friends. Oblivious to his presence, Harry watched as the group of first year Hufflepuffs rounded the edge of the courtyard, walking along the transfiguration garden path before disappearing from sight.
Harry remained frozen in place; stranded two thirds of the way across the courtyard, his mind was replaying the word 'Squib' over and over again in his head.
Harry had heard the term used before; it wasn't uncommon for some of the older students to use it as an insult or to tease friends who had done particularly poorly on a piece of homework. Initially not knowing what it was, Ernie had explained to him the concept of children who were born into a magical family but who never showed any signs of being capable of magic themselves.
At the time Harry had thought it sounded like a cruel trick of nature to be born into something so amazing as magic yet never able to truly experience it. But now, with his most recent magical failure so fresh in his mind, this one simple word gave birth to a fear he'd never even thought of before.
'What if I'm not magical enough?'
Harry turned and fled; trampling the house of cards and barrelling through the Sixth Years, headless of their indignantly squawking. Harry's feet led him further and further into the castle until eventually he found himself in the First Floor Boys Bathroom. Being unfortunately familiar with hiding himself away in a toilet block, Harry walked quickly into one of the cubicles before locking it and sitting down. Only then did he allow himself to cry.
Harry had no idea how much time had passed, only that it must have been hours. After crying himself into exhaustion, he lapsed into silence and eventually fell asleep. Upon waking, bloodshot eyes, cottonmouth and a tension headache all served as a stark reminder of exactly why he was currently sitting on a toilet instead of attending the feast with his friends.
Harry scowled. What kind of friends talk like that about you behind your back? Admittedly, he wasn't particularly close with Hannah or her group, but he and Stephen shared a dorm and even regularly worked together in Potions.
The small comfort he took from it was that Ernie hadn't been among the group. A treacherous part of his mind, however, couldn't help but wonder if Ernie privately felt that way too and was just too polite to say anything.
Squashing those thoughts, Harry shook his head; in the time since he'd known him, Ernie had been nothing but loyal. Besides, he was feeling terrible enough without allowing his imagination to pile on too.
Sitting up, Harry rubbed at his eyes and let out a tired sigh as he contemplated what to do next. He could always confront the group; approach them in the common room about what they'd said and embarrass them in front of the other first years. If he was honest with himself though, he didn't have the energy or the interest to do that. If they wanted to be like that, then so be it. There was no guarantee that confronting them wouldn't backfire on him anyway, nor that they'd even care. No, he decided; calling them out on their behaviour would only make the situation worse. It was far better to focus on the friendships he did have.
"Heh," Harry chuckled softly to himself; maybe Flitwick was right about not over complicating things after all.
The sound of a door opening caught Harry's attention; the noise followed by the slow shuffling gait of another occupant entering the bathroom. Based on the sound of their footsteps, they had to be one of the teaching staff, or at the very least a rather large sixth year. Sniffing, he gave his eyes another quick rub to remove any lingering traces of tears and willed himself on to his feet; it was time to stop feeling sorry for himself.
Harry reached for the deadbolt inside the toilet cubicle, a distinct 'click' echoed around the bathroom as he pulled the lock back. Harry turned his head in confusion; the slide of the bolt had almost sounded like a key in a lock.
Shaking his head again to clear the stray thought, Harry took a deep breath to collect himself and opened the cubicle door. Upon doing so, he found himself staring up at the towering visage of a Mountain Troll.
Harry froze. Every single thought fled from his mind as he stared, transfixed by the enormous being that was currently sharing the mens room with him. Easily twelve feet in height, the troll leered down at Harry as it brought a wooden club of mammoth proportions level with his chest and nudged him in the shoulder with it. Seeing no response from the near catatonic boy, the Troll bent down to bring its face level with Harry's and bellowed out a terrifying challenge.
Assaulted by foetid, hot breath, and with enormous globules of saliva raining down onto his face, Harry screamed. Incensed by the sound, the Troll raised its club back before bringing it hurtling down with tremendous force towards the boy who had enraged it.
Harry dived out of the way not a second too late; the troll's club skimming the bulge of his ankle as it continued on its path, obliterating the toilet cubicles in a shower of wooden splinters and porcelain debris.
Landing heavily on his hands, the edges of Harry's vision flared white as his brain registered the hit to his ankle; the pain was enough to make him vomit where he lay. Harry writhed uncontrollably as he bent in on himself to clutch at the injured appendage; his hands grasping at it to assess for issues beyond the immediate swelling and pain. Calming slightly upon realising the damage to his ankle wasn't as bad as he had feared, Harry looked around wildly for the troll, only to have to roll out of the way of a rapidly descending wooden club.
The troll's club embedded itself deeply in the bathroom floor, blanketing Harry in dust as shards of tile stung exposed skin, further battering Harry's already bruised physique. Harry pulled himself out of the way, but when he attempted to stand he found himself crashing back to the ground, his injured ankle unable to take the weight. It was then, as the troll pried its club from the cratered spider web of cracks and recesses it had wrought in the bathroom floor, the door to the bathroom burst open to expose a clearly terrified Neville Longbottom.
The troll, startled by the unexpected noise, turned and stared at the quivering new arrival. Neville, who had seemed to lose whatever bravado had brought him to the toilet block, shrieked and fled immediately to the left side of the bathroom. Driven into a frenzy by the arrival of a second person, the troll hurled its club at the scarparing Gryffindor. Its aim slightly off, the club barreled into a structural column a mere metre ahead of Neville, the bricks exploding out with enough force that the Gryffindor was thrown sideways into the mirrors, his head hitting a sink on the way down as he fell bonelessly to the floor.
Harry's head spun as he struggled to process the rapidly evolving chain of events; mere moments ago, he had been wallowing in self-pity on a toilet seat. Now, as he noticed that Neville remained motionless on the ground, a dark liquid slowly pooled around the boy's head, escalating the urgency of the situation. The shallow rise and fall of Neville's chest offered little hope, serving instead as a grim testament to the severity of his injuries.
Scrambling into a one legged crouch, Harry focused on the pain in his ankle to keep him aware, acutely aware that freezing up again would get both he and Neville killed. Limited in options, and unwiling to simply leave the Gryffindor First Year to his fate, a now upright and limping Harry clawed at the pockets of his robe for his wand.
Sufficiently satisfied that the interloper had been dealt with, the troll returned its attention to the sole remaining conscious human. It watched as it pulled a stick from its clothes, brandishing it at him like a knife. Snorting, it left its club where it lay and advanced on the boy, only to flinch, squinting in annoyance as the human shot coloured sparks, dazing its vision and causing its eyes to water.
Harry, emboldened by the visible reaction of the troll to the bright colours, continued with the onslaught only to be brought to a halt by a guttural roar as the troll stopped focusing on the sparks and charged directly at him.
Caught like a deer in headlights as twelve feet of furious mountain troll sprinted towards him, Harry, acting more on instinct than insight, aimed his wand up at the face of the creature, jabbed it forward and screamed "LUMOS!"
The beam of light, overpowered by the heightened emotions of its caster, collided with the troll's face - and, having already covered much of the space between it and Harry, caused the creature to howl in anguish as the blinding light assaulted its eyes at close range. Its momentum too great to simply stop, the troll crashed past Harry, clipping him and knocking him to the side as it continued on its path until its pace was slowed by a wall.
Groaning and clutching at his side, Harry picked himself up off the floor for the third time. After shooting a furtive glance at the troll - which was clawing madly at its eyes - he located Neville and hobbled over to the downed Gryffindor as quick as his ankle would allow him. With the troll still not having regained its vision, Harry gingerly bent down, lifting Neville just enough to allow him to bury a shoulder into Gryffindor's armpit and place an arm around his waist as he heaved the unconscious boy to his feet. Covered in dust, plaster and blood, and with only one good ankle and possibly fractured ribs, Harry began the herculean effort of dragging the pair of them out of the bathroom and away from the troll as quickly as possible.
They had made it out into the corridor and were halfway up the hallway when the heavy bathroom door exploded outwards, colliding with the stone wall opposite in a deafening bang. Harry looked back frantically, stumbling slightly as he split his attention for a moment. The troll emerged from the ruined bathroom with a scream of primal fury. Immediately, it locked onto the two boys and started charging towards them at an impossible pace.
Out of options and with only one direction to go, Harry, terrified, continued to drag the pair of them forwards at an agonisingly slow pace. He could sense the creature effortlessly hauling in the gap between them, and just as he was sure it would seize them, spellfire flew over his head.
Daring to look up, Harry could have cried in relief as an elderly professor with a long silver beard strode past him with the energy of a man a quarter of his age. The hook-nosed Professor Snape followed shortly after, stopping momentarily to spare Harry a glance before limping quickly after the 'senior' professor.
Unable to take the strain any longer Harry collapsed to the ground, bringing Neville down with him in a tangle of limbs. He was immediately set upon by Professor's McGonagall, Sprout and Prewett; the women quickly separated the two boys and attended to their injuries.
A final bellow filled the air and the sound of a great weight hitting the floor was heard; the shock of it was felt through the stones and rattled every window in the corridor. As Harry lay prone on the floor, Professor McGonagall's face filled his vision; her mouth was moving but he was unable to make out the words. Blinking slowly up at the Headmistress, Harry's strength failed him and his vision faded to black.
"…could it possibly have gotten in?"
"...do not know, Minerva. Severus is looking…"
"...unacceptable level of risk. This is a school, Albus! You promised me when I agreed to take over the position that…"
"I believe that one of our young charges has awoken. We can continue this conversation in your office later, if you would like, but for now I shall notify madam Pomfrey on my way out."
Harry groggily registered the sound of footsteps heading away, but before he could do more than wonder as to his whereabouts, Professor McGonagall once again filled his vision.
"Potter, thank goodness you're awake. What on earth were the two of you doing in that bathroom when there was a troll on the loose? I can't believe that two of my students would so willingly disregard instructions and at such blatant risk to their own health!"
"On the… what do you mean, on the loose, professor?" Harry replied, uncertainly.
"What do I mean?" The headmistress's expression darkened considerably. "Did you or did you not listen to the same warning as the rest of the student body during the feast?"
Harry swallowed stiffly. "I wasn't at the feast Ma'am" he admitted in a small voice.
"What possible reason could you have for missing the feast?" Professor McGonagall said, her features showing her surprise.
"I… ah, had a bad day" Harry finished somewhat lamely. A raised eyebrow from the Headmistress was all the encouragement Harry needed to try again.
"I just… I've been struggling so much in class ever since I got here; it's like I can't do any magic at all" he added despondently. "And then the other Hufflepuffs… well, I overheard… it doesn't matter. I just couldn't take it any more, you know? So…"
"So you hid in the bathroom" Professor McGonagall finished gently.
"I wasn't hiding!" Harry exclaimed angrily. "I wasn't… I just needed to get away" he deflated, casting his eyes down at the bed he lay on.
"Well, I can't fault you for what you didn't know about - even if it has landed you in the Hospital Wing. What I don't understand" she said, her gaze shifting to the bed next to Harry's, "is where Mr Longbottom fits into all of this. Fortunately for you, I can hear Madam Pomfrey making her way over to us now so I'll leave you in her care for the moment. When I return shortly, it will be with both your's and Mr Longbottom's heads of house. With any luck, he too will be awake by then and the two of you can explain precisely what occurred this evening."
As she stepped away without a backwards glance, her position at Harry's bed was quickly filled by the frowning Hogwarts Matron who immediately set to work. Clicking her tongue in annoyance as she ran her wand over his ankle and administered several different salves to take care of his ribs, Harry couldn't help but be less than enthused with her bedside manor as she force fed him a potion that he'd had the audacity to ask about.
"Badly sprained ankle, extreme swelling, several bruised ribs, one fractured, skinned knees and hands, countless cuts and abrasions including a rather nasty one above your eyebrow… not to mention that you came into my Hospital Wing covered in blood… Honestly Mr Potter, given what you've been through tonight it's a wonder it's not any worse."
His memory jogged by her wording, he quickly enquired about Neville.
"Mr Longbottom will be just fine" she replied tersely, continuing her work. At Harry's disbelieving stare she stopped for a moment and sighed before smiling kindly. "He's taken a bit of a knock to the head; a minor concussion and he's lost a little bit of blood, but nothing that I can't handle with a few potions and a good night's rest. Head wounds do tend to bleed a bit, but it would have appeared far worse than it was."
With that, she continued on her work until sounds from the bed next to Harry's alerted her to the waking of her other patient. Leaving Harry with strict instructions to rest and not sit up any further, she left Harry to attend to Neville.
After running through several sets of diagnostic spells, Madam Pomfrey left Neville's bedside, presumably to fetch the necessary potions and salves. Twisting around as much as he felt he realistically could without incurring the Matron's wrath, Harry peaked over the rails of his hospital bed at the boy occupying the cot next to him.
Whereas Harry found much of his chest still wrapped in gauze, Neville similarly sported bandages that covered the top half of his head. Countless small cuts littered his face and neck, evidence of the damage that close proximity brick shrapnel could cause. When he looked past the bandages and cuts and observed the rest of the boy's face, Harry was surprised to find the boy quietly staring back, meeting his gaze.
Not quite sure what to do next, Harry offered a small smile, and received one in return. Just as he felt the silence stretch beyond the point where one of them needed to say something, several things happened at once; Harry's ribs flared with pain, Madam Pomfrey returned with her potions and the Headmistress came through the infirmary doors with Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch in tow.
Madam Pomfrey reached them first and set about administering Neville's potions and changing his bandages. Noticing the grimace on Harry's face nearby, she simply clicked her tongue and offered a brief smile through pursed lips.
"It's not quite Skele-Gro, but you'll feel it nonetheless."
Her words offered absolutely no explanation to Harry, and he was about to say as much before the sound of a throat clearing made it clear that they were no longer alone. Professor McGonagall, having waited patiently for the last minute, was clearly ready for a more detailed version of events then Harry had provided her with earlier.
Expecting the Matron to busy herself with packing away the vials back in her office, he was therefore surprised when she simply stood back between Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch, merely raising an eyebrow when Harry stared at Professor McGonagall, who offered nothing more in return than a silent request to get on with it.
Sighing, Harry sat up as high in the bed as the pain in his ribs allowed, and recounted the entire story from when he left the Transfiguration classroom, up until he woke up in the Infirmary. The four women took the explanation mostly in stride, although he noticed that Professor Sprout's face in particular ran the gamut of emotions as his story progressed, although given how prominently members of her house had featured in his accounting of events that was only to be expected, he supposed.
"You've been awfully quiet throughout this Longbottom" Madam Hooch chimed in once it was clear Harry had nothing further to add. "Feel free to remedy that for us at any time."
His face flushing with embarrassment, Neville looked down, scrunching the bed sheets in his hands, he scanned the quilt as though it might contain the words he couldn't find.
"Neville," his head of house said again, this time with a gentler tone but still carrying an undercurrent of firmness. "There's no rush; you can take your time, lad, but we do need to know."
Breathing deeply and sounding uncertain of his own words, Neville began to speak. It turned out that he'd been in the courtyard at lunch playing with a deck of cards; he'd overheard the group of Hufflepuff's talking and watched Harry run off. During the feast he had overheard a couple of Gryffindor third years laughing about how someone had holed up in the first floor boys toilets to cry. His mind forming the beginning of a theory, he'd looked over at the Hufflepuff table and eventually noticed Ernie Macmillon saving an empty seat next to himself. Unfortunately, he could tell from his body language and frequent glances at the doors that he too had not seen Harry.
When Professor Quirrell had come sweeping into the Great Hall to alert the Professor's of the presence of a troll in the dungeons, he found himself with a dilemma; did he follow the Gryffindor prefects back to the Common Room, or, did he go searching for Harry who, not being in attendance at the feast, wouldn't be aware of the danger.
Believing he would be able to stick his head into the bathroom quickly and alert Harry of the threat in the lower reaches of the castle, he snuck away from the group as the prefects led them back to Gryffindor tower. Quickly back tracking a few landings to get to the first floor boy's bathroom, he was stunned to find himself running around a blind corner only to witness the back of a huge troll ducked under the frame of a large open doorway.
Unable to believe such a stroke of luck, he'd immediately run to the doorway, yanked it shut and turned the key in the lock. As he quickly turned away and headed up the corridor with a new objective of finding the closest faculty member, he heard a scream coming from the door he had just locked.
Quickly arriving at the horrifying realisation that this was the very room that he had been searching for and that he'd just inadvertedly locked the troll in with Harry, he sprinted back, unlocked the door and ran into the bathroom.
"I don't remember much after that" Neville abashedly confessed. "It just sort of looked at me, and then I think I ran and then… well I was here."
"You'll have to forgive me for being blunt Longbottom, but what on earth possessed you to run after Potter in the first place?" Questioned Madam Hooch, apparently bewildered by the actions of her student. "I'm not questioning your courage - you've certainly shown more of that than you have brains tonight - but I wasn't aware the two of you even knew each other."
Harry, who had been wondering the same thing himself, lent forward, curious to hear what the boy had to say.
In a quiet voice that none the less carried in the quiet Hospital Ward, Neville spoke.
"He stood up for me when…" at this he trailed off. Taking a deep breath, he looked over at Harry and continued.
"You aren't even in my house, but you still stood up to Seamus even though you didn't have to. I just wanted to help you like you helped me. I know how it feels to hear people talking about you like you don't matter, and… I know what it's like to wonder if maybe you aren't good enough to be here - aren't magical enough to be here."
His final statement was met with silence. Harry, who had been staring at Neville as he made such a candid admission, was startled back into awareness by the sound of a clearing throat. Chancing a look at the gathered members of staff, he quickly assessed their features to see if Neville's brutal honesty had affected them as much as it had affected him. However, with the exception of Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout whose demeanour had softened considerably, there was little reassurance to be found reflected in the faces of the faculty. In particular, Professor McGonagall's mouth appeared to have pursed into such a fine line that you could be forgiven for assuming she had no lips at all.
"I believe that we have heard more than enough to provide us with a clear picture of tonight's events" Professor Mcgonagal began in a slow and controlled manner that made it abundantly clear she was anything but impressed.
"Whilst you did by no means seek out the troll, Mr Potter, I must impress upon you the importance of ensuring that at the very least, your head of house is always kept abreast of your whereabouts during a school-wide event, for precisely such a worst case scenario. We, as your teachers, are ultimately responsible for your well being. We have a duty of care that your Aunt and Uncle fully expect us to uphold."
"Please know that you can come to either Professor Sprout or myself with any problem you have - yes - even those with your classmates. Far better that we find the need to write home to your guardians to inform them of petty arguments and teasing, then the letter that I may otherwise have needed to have drafted tonight" she finished with a stern look.
"As for you, Mr Longbottom" at this she turned fully to face the bed ridden gryffindor. "In all my time as an educator, I have never seen a student display such utter disregard for their own wellbeing. There were a dozen different options you could have acted upon rather than to sneak away from those who were charged with guiding you, and then to actively follow a fully grown mountain troll into a confined environment. Of all the ill-considered, foolhardy, impetuous bordering on the insane choices that you could have made tonight, Your decision will be remembered as one of the worst examples of reckless endangerment in recent Hogwarts history."
After the Headmistresses finished, you could have heard a pin drop. The silence was eventually broken by repeated sniffing from Neville, who was evidently doing his best to hold back tears. Not to be deterred by a crying child, Madam Hooch took the opportunity to make her own position clear.
"Discretion, Mr Longbottom, is the better part of valour. One hundred points from Gryffindor, and you'll serve a week's worth of detentions with me."
Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch, feeling that Neville was suitably chastised, stood back, allowing Professor Sprout to have a final word with Harry.
"I want you to know, Mr Potter" she began, "that my door is always open to you. No matter how big or small the issue is; if it's important to you, it's important to me."
"I can't tell you how big a shock tonight has been for all of us; I doubt any of us want to go through something like this ever again. Please, in the future, always come and find me. I've yet to find a problem that can't be talked out over a strong cup of tea and maybe a couple of nice bickies" she finished with a small smile."
Clearing her throat, Professor McGonagall looked pointedly at Professor Sprout, making it clear that it was time to wrap things up for the evening.
As she stood back from Harry's bed, Professor McGonagall stared long and hard at both of the boys before sighing, apparently coming to a decision.
"Mr Longbottom, I hope that this has suitably impressed upon you just how irresponsible your actions were this evening."
Neville, who was already holding back tears, only lowered his head further in shame.
"However," and here she paused again. "You also put the safety of another student ahead of your own tonight, and did so despite being clearly terrified. Somehow, despite the odds being so overwhelmingly against you, the two of you are lying here, alive, and will make a full recovery within a day or two. For that, I award Gryffindor, one hundred and five points - for sheer dumb luck!"
And with that she and the two heads of house stepped away from the beds, and headed towards the exit.
Neville, unable to believe his ears, snapped his head up so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash. As he stared dumbly after the Headmistress, he caught a slight movement from her as she paused at the infirmary door and looked over her shoulder.
"Oh, and Mr Longbottom? I will be writing to your Grandmother."
With that she departed the infirmary, and Neville, who had just begun to regain some of his colour, went as white as a ghost.
Eleven year olds defeating a troll didn't seem overly realistic to me. Fortunately, medical medicine is one of the wonders of the wizarding world. As you can see though, Harry won't just roll over every oponent because he's the protaganist. Let me know in the reviews what you thought!
