Robert, there's a war in France;
Everywhere men bang and blunder,
Sweat and swear and worship Chance,
Creep and blink through cannon thunder.
Rifles crack and bullets flick,
Sing and hum like hornet-swarms.
Bones are smashed and buried quick.
Yet, through stunning battle storms,
All the while I watch the spark
Lit to guide me; for I know
Dreams will triumph, though the dark
Scowls above me where I go.
You can hear me; you can mingle
Radiant folly with my jingle.
War's a joke for me and you
While we know such dreams are true!
Siegfried Sassoon
Saturday morning found Harry walking alone to the library. His early-bird habits were not shared by his dorm mates—or many of his housemates, for that matter; the house table was practically deserted. He had downed a piece of toast and a cup of white coffee before he headed to his ultimate destination, the library.
The library, of course, had even less people in it than the breakfast table. That was fine. It wasn't as if people could talk freely there anyway. The old bookshelves made the age of the walls clearer to him than ever, and he felt himself transported to the world of fantasy castles he'd so often dreamt of escaping to during his childhood. But here he was. It still made him grin uncontrollably.
As he walked deep into the library's recesses, he realized he was not alone after all. That Gryffindor, Granger, was there too, poring over a huge tome. Harry would have made a snide remark, except he was going to do exactly the same thing, so that would've been a bit unfair.
As he penetrated further, he spotted someone whom he was much happier to see, his year mate Tracey Davis, who was reading from what appeared to beA Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, and jotting down notes with a frown on her face. It was true that the girl had gawked at him in the boat trip to the school, but she was after all a kid who had probably been raised with all sorts of Boy-Who-Lived tales, so in the interest of harmony, Harry would let it pass. It was the adults who didn't really have any excuse. He hadn't talked much to her, her outburst in Transfiguration notwithstanding, and he thought he might as well make up for that now. He headed towards her table.
"Hello Tracey," he said cheerfully. "Mind if I sit here?"
She looked up from her notes, surprised to see him there.
"Oh, hello Harry. What're you doing here this early?" she said as she smiled at him and pulled her stuff towards her, creating a space for Harry's own junk. Harry laid his backpack on the table and extracted his own copy of the Transfiguration textbook.
"The same as you, I think," he answered. "I was beginning to think I was the only one in our house who likes to do something with his morning."
Tracey smiled. "I've always had to get up pretty early back home," she informed him.
She paused, seeming to have an internal debate over what she was going to say, but eventually, under Harry's inquisitive look, she went on.
"You were really impressive in Transfiguration," she started, clearly embarrassed about what was coming next. "I've been trying to get my matchstick to change into a needle forever now, but I've only been able to make it slightly silver," she finished, biting her lip.
She frowned and seemed even more conflicted. Harry was pretty sure what she was getting at though, and went ahead to spare her the trouble of saying it.
"I've been working at it for a while now, and I think I got the gist of it down. I can try to help you if you want," he said, hoping he'd gotten her intentions right.
He probably did, for she beamed at him.
"Thank you, Harry! I don't really want to disturb your study, though," she said, pointing at his Transfiguration textbook.
"Oh, don't worry about it, I've already got all the stuff for next class done, I was just going to read ahead some. But that can wait," he said.
Tracey seemed impressed at that, but she just nodded.
Harry started from the basics. In truth, getting this opportunity to help someone—teach her, in fact, since she didn't seem to have gotten a lot from class at all—was sure to be beneficial for him too. If he could make her understand this, he would know he definitely had it figured out.
He found out he actually enjoyed it. He'd helped Ted with some things already, but with him it was mostly plugging holes than actually getting the basics down. McGonagall's teaching style was a bit oblique, so Harry wasn't that surprised that some people didn't get it. By the time they were finished, it was almost lunch time, but Tracey was grinning proudly at her newly transfigured needle, and he had hardly felt the time go by.
They were packing their bags, ready to meet up with the rest of the house for lunch in the Great Hall, when Harry noticed Tracey looking at him strangely, like she was itching to ask him something but didn't quite dare to. Harry frowned, thinking it was going to be some boy-who-lived fangirl business, but he was to his surprise found out it was something completely different.
"Harry," she started. She paused for a bit, hesitating, but then finally blurted out. "Have you gotten any trouble from being a half-blood, at all?" she asked, giving him a look like her life was hanging on his answer.
Harry blinked. He felt he probably would think this was worth the bombast if he knew what she was talking about.
"What's a half-blood?" he asked, conscious that this made him look rather ignorant. He just couldn't think of anything else to say.
If Tracey thought that, though, she didn't show it. Rather, she seemed to become even more embarrassed.
"Right, I keep forgetting you were raised by muggles," she bit her lip, as if searching for a way to explain.
"You know how some wizards don't like wizards whose parents are muggles?" she asked.
Harry nodded. That was one of the first things he learned about the wizarding world, after all, thanks to his dear housemate Draco Malfoy.
"Well, even if your parents aren't muggles, if your grandparents weren't all wizards, you're not a pureblood, like them. You're a half-blood."
Harry nodded again to show he was listening.
"That's us," she said, and now Harry was really paying attention. "Me because my mother is a muggle, you because your grandparents on your mother's side were." She hesitated before rushing on.
"And, well, they look down on us too, some of them. You know how Slytherin is about pure bloodlines..."
"Has anyone said anything to you?" Harry interrupted her. He wasn't sure there was anything in it, but some of the older students did give off some weird vibes.
"Well, no one has really said anything. But, sometimes I feel like they look down on me," she bit her lip. "Maybe I'm just imagining things…" she trailed.
"Until today, I didn't even know there was such a thing as a half-blood," Harry replied with a shrug, "but even then, I think being the Boy Who Lived probably would outweigh that for me. Some of the older students though seem to give me weird looks, so who knows." He looked at her. "But if someone gives you grief about it, they weren't worth your time in the first place. They're the ones with a problem, Tracey."
They talked for a little more about it; Harry knew a lot about idiotic prejudice after all. At the end, as they finally walked to the Great Hall, Tracey seemed much happier with herself than she had been when he found her. Despite not having gone exactly according to his plans, Harry couldn't help but think the morning had been put to a rather good use.
Soon there came a reason for much joy among the first years. A notice in the Slytherin common room announced that flying lessons were due to start next Thursday. Unfortunately, they were to be shared with Gryffindors, and Harry was sure something bad was going to happen. Years of living with the Dursleys had given him an almost instinctive sense of when things were about to go wrong. Besides, he did not much fancy the idea of getting his feet off the ground on something as fragile as a broom, magic or no magic.
If he was to believe his housemates, half of them were accomplished fliers. Draco Malfoy in particular was always complaining about how unfair it was that first years were not allowed on house Quidditch teams, and regaling them with tales of his airborne escapades that almost always ended up in collisions with what he called 'holocopters'. Harry didn't bother to correct him, and took all those stories with a whole salt shaker. If Dudley was anything to judge by, what people bragged about usually fell far short of their actual accomplishments.
Harry's feelings of dread only increased during Thursday morning's breakfast, when the post owls swooped down into the great hall to deliver their loads. Malfoy got a package of sweets, as usual, which he showed off like it was some huge deal. Harry never got anything, obviously, but he had enough perspective to realize a few chocolates were hardly an amazing show of status.
However, at the Gryffindor table, Neville Longbottom had also received something, and Malfoy just couldn't let him be. Harry was walking behind him with Ted, headed toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, when Malfoy stopped by the Gryffindor table and snatched a glass ball from Longbottom's hand. Finnegan and Weasley jumped to their feet, seemingly eager to fight Malfoy. The blond had apparently got into some altercation with them in the halls a couple of days ago; that was just typical Malfoy. As was this, come to think of it.
Further escalation was avoided when Professor McGonagall swooped in, addressing Malfoy. "Is there a problem here?" she asked curtly.
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," a rather overwhelmed Longbottom replied.
Malfoy, of course, immediately deflated, dropping the 'Remembrall' back on the table.
"Just looking," he said, scurrying off with Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry couldn't help but see the entire exchange as a dark omen. Despite that, the day was relatively uneventful until the Slytherin first years finally headed to the grounds for the flying lessons. The wind blew through Harry's hair, making it even more messy than usual, as he walked towards a flat lawn where several brooms were laying in the ground waiting for them.
Apparently, the Slytherins were the first to arrive, so they just loitered around waiting for the Gryffindors. Harry sat on a rock and looked around, not pleased with what awaited him.
"Say, Ted, am I the only one with a feeling of impending doom?" he asked the taller boy from his stony seat. He never got to hear the answer, because the Gryffindors came running into the lawn, distracting everyone. Harry stood up shortly thereafter, when the flying instructor, Madam Hooch, arrived. She watched them all with her piercing yellow eyes.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she yelled. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry did as instructed, despite the fact that his broomstick clearly had seen better days.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch was telling them, "and say 'UP'".
Harry delved deep into his stoicism reserves. He would have to get through this, and the sooner the better. As he yelled 'UP', he was one of the few whose broom had responded to the summons. The only others were, surprisingly, Crabbe and Goyle, perhaps because they were too dumb to feel apprehension. After a few more tries, however, everyone managed to hold their broomstick in their hands.
Madam Hooch then proceeded to show them all how to correctly mount their brooms, walking up and down correcting everyone's grips. She told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years. This prompted laughs from the Gryffindors, making Harry roll his eyes. Madam Hooch raised her whistle to her lips.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard," she said. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle: three, two…"
But Neville Longbottom's broom seemed too eager to get off the ground, and the Gryffindor was off before Madam Hooch could finish her count.
"Come back, boy," she shouted, but Neville was rising too fast, straight up, twenty feet into the air. The boy was holding tight, afraid the heavy wind would knock him down to the ground, but his grip wasn't strong enough, and the next moment he was falling. He landed with a heavy thud. Harry cringed as he heard the crack from the boy's breaking wrist. His broom was still ascending, losing itself in the skies above the Forbidden Forest. Madam Hooch rushed towards the fallen Gryffindor, her face blanching.
"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter, confirming what he'd just figured. "Come on, boy, it's all right, up you get."
She turned to the rest of the class.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear," she said to Neville in a much kinder voice, and then proceeded to lead the tearful boy towards the school.
Malfoy broke into laughter as soon as she was out of sight.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?" he said, to laughs from his usual gang. Harry, however, wasn't paying attention to him. He saw a glimmer in the grass, and bent down to investigate.
Sure enough, Longbottom's Remembrall, whatever that was, laid there on the soft lawn. Harry stretched forth and picked it up. Just as he had finished straightening himself and was ready to put it in his pocket, the Gryffindor Ronald Weasley took a step in Harry's direction, facing him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter?" the redhead yelled at him. Unfortunately, since the wind was blowing at Harry's back, much of the intended effect was lost on the Gryffindors standing at Weasley's back. Nevertheless, Harry was irked.
"I'm taking it for safe-keeping," he retorted with as much dignity as he could muster, dropping it in his pocket. Weasley was not impressed.
"Safe-keeping? Yeah, right, more like he'll never see it back, eh, Potter? Give me that now," he said, increasingly flustered, and punctuated his demand by pulling out his wand.
Harry instinctively went for his. This idiot thought that because he was in Slytherin, he was going to steal the dumb thing. He really couldn't care less what Weasley thought as long as he kept it to himself, but now he had to nip this thing in the bud. Harry could never stand up to Dudley effectively, because he was forced to live with him, but from watching other kids, he knew that was the key to make him leave you alone. Never let him get a foothold.
"Oh yeah? Or you'll do what?" Harry retorted. He had to buy time. He hadn't covered enough ground in Defence Against the Dark Arts to know any spells to use against the redhead, though he seriously doubted Weasley did either. However, he wanted to decisively end this before it began. As the redhead sputtered for an answer, confirming Harry's opinion that the wand drawing was just a bluff, Harry saw the sun's reflection on Weasley's robe buttons, and a great idea occurred to him.
He said a silent prayer for what he was about to do to work. He quickly raised his wand, and then brought it down in a straight line, with a few well practised waves here and there, and carefully enunciated the words under his breath. Providence must have been on his side, for just as he had finished, a massive gust of wind blew on his back and Weasleys face. Harry saw instantly that his transfiguration worked; where once were buttons, now were only balls of string. These couldn't possibly hold the robe in place, and the heavy wind blew it back, exposing Weasley's underpants for the world to see. The Slytherins on Harry's sides erupted with laughter, as Weasley tried desperately to get his robe to close again, but the wind wasn't making his job any easier. Harry had been kind enough to leave the top button intact, which kept the garment close around the other boy's neck, but somehow Harry didn't think he would appreciate the gesture.
Eventually, Weasley managed to get his robe in order, with a blushing Granger transfiguring back the now dangling pieces of string into buttons, at which, Harry noted with pleasure, she had quite a harder time at than she would have liked, judging from the frown on her face. The Gryffindors had been too busy helping the redhead to do anything, and they didn't want to provoke an all out rumble anyway. Weasley, however, was about to lunge back at Harry when Madam Hooch returned from the Castle.
"You're all still here, are you? I'm glad you knew better than to try any monkey business," she hollered at them as she approached. Weasley clearly made to say something, but Harry cut him off, extracting the Remembrall from his pocket.
"Madam Hooch, Longbottom dropped this when he fell off his broom," he said, holding the glass ball in front of him. Madam Hooch nodded and made for him to throw it back at her. He did, and she caught it with impressive dexterity.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Five points to Slytherin, for looking out for a fellow student's belongings," she said. The Gryffindors grumbled at this.
"But Madam Hooch…" Weasley tried to interject, but the flying instructor just cut him off.
"Not now, Mr. Weasley, we've wasted too much time already. We only have a few minutes left, but I want you all to try floating a few feet above the ground, gently now," they all mounted their brooms again as she finished this. "Three, two, one," she said, ending the sentence with a blow on her whistle.
They started floating, slowly rising above the ground, and Harry noted his fellow Slytherins were rather discreetly flying between him and the Gryffindors. Now that he was above the ground, flying wasn't nearly as bad as he expected. He liked feeling the wind on his face and the amazing freedom of being airborne. He ended up being admonished by Madam Hooch for trying to climb too high, but the lesson was over soon anyway. They disposed of their brooms and made their way back into the Castle. His fellow Slytherins were rather enthusiastic.
"That was brilliant, Harry. The look on his face when the wind blew his robe was just priceless," Daphne told him with a rather malicious grin on her face. "Not to mention, now we all know Weasley wears tighty-whities."
They all laughed at that. Even Malfoy patted him in the back. "Real smooth, Potter."
Harry wasn't exactly eager to get Malfoy's approval, and he thought the blonde had been just as much of an asshole as Weasley when he made fun of Longbottom's fall, but he would be lying to say it didn't give him an ego boost to see everyone congregating around him. It was the exact opposite of primary school.
"Where the hell did you get that idea, Harry?" Ted asked him as they reached the Castle and split off.
"Oh, I've been practising Transfiguration a lot," he said, "and I had a moment's inspiration when I saw his buttons glisten in the sun."
"Wow, youarereally good at Transfiguration, aren't you? I've barely managed to turn that damn matchstick into a needle," Ted grumbled.
"Don't worry. Here," he said, pulling open the door of an unused classroom, "I'll give you my best tips. I think I really figured this out this weekend."
"Oh, so that's what you were doing in the library all Saturday."
Harry nodded.
"That's right," he said as he sat down and produced his now rather over-used matchstick. He motioned for Ted to sit down beside him and opened the textbook in front of them. "But after this, I want us to work on some good hexes." Harry's voice hardened. "I don't want to have to depend on heat-of-the-moment inspiration if something like what went on with Weasley happens again."
Ted nodded, grinning. "We won't have to look far. I told you I read a lot these past years. I know exactly where to look."
Harry nodded, grinning back, and proceeded to explain the basis behind the simpler transfiguration wand movements. Maybe omens were just Providence's way of letting him know the golden ball of opportunity was about to fly his way.
Weasley never spoke to him again, thankfully. Days seemed to blur as Harry entered into the routine of magical classes. He never stopped being amazed at the new things he learned he could do with a wave of his wand, though. However, the magical world was not without its dangers.
One Friday night, as they lounged about in the common room, delaying going to bed, Ted approached him with a secretive look.
"There's something you've gotta see," he whispered, making sure no one could overhear.
Harry raised his eyebrow.
"What, right now?" Harry asked, glancing at the wall clock to see it was five past ten, and thus, well after curfew.
"Oh, come on, Harry, you're not afraid of Filch are you? I've done this loads of times, just do as I tell you and we'll be fine."
Harry wasn't really afraid of Filch, but he was appropriately leery of the consequences of being caught out-of-bounds by him. Still, Ted seemed so invested in this that he didn't have the heart to say no. He nodded slowly.
Ted's face split into a grin.
"Great, let's just wait until these guys go to bed," he said, pointing out the few remaining occupants of the common room.
They waited quite long for the room to vacate, though they used the time to finish the homework they'd been assigned for the weekend. Finally, the last of the occupants, a group of sixth years, left to their dormitory. Ted waited a couple of minutes to make sure they didn't return before he rose.
"Ready?" he asked with a grin. Harry got up with a sigh and followed him.
They left the common room and proceeded silently up the dark corridors. Ted kept checking his watch.
"Prefects are very predictable," he explained in a whisper. "They'll mostly do their rounds exactly the same every night."
Harry had to admit that the taller boy seemed to have crawled out from a spy movie. Not that Ted would be flattered by the comparison. But the way he was able to move without a sound in the dark silence of the night was very impressive.
Despite the darkness, Harry was sure they would be spotted climbing the various stairways they went through. However, they managed to get off them in the third floor with no one the wiser. They took a right turn, and then, as they were passing a rather elaborate tapestry of what looked like a Goblin fight, something clicked in Harry's brain.
"Hey, this isn'tthethird-floor corridor, is it?" Harry asked, wondering whether he'd misjudged his friend's mental stability.
Ted looked back over his shoulder and gave him what he thought was a rather self-satisfied smirk.
"The one and only. But don't worry, there is really no risk of death, painful or otherwise, as long as you're careful," he whispered back, and then after a thorough look around, gave a final lurching run towards a closed door at the end of the corridor.
"Somehow, that doesn't really reassure me," Harry muttered under his breath, though hewasa bit reassured. If Ted was saying that, it was because he'd already gone in and lived to tell the tale. Still, no point in telling him that.
Ted ignored Harry's words and stopped in front of the door. He whipped out his wand as Harry was closing in.
"Now, you're going to have to look fast. I'm just going to open the door a bit, so just stick your head in and pull back," Ted warned him.
Harry nodded, praying that Ted knew what he was doing.
"Alohomora," he heard the taller boy say, as he tapped the lock with his wand. Ted quickly pulled the handle, giving Harry a crack just wide enough to stick his head into, which Harry did reluctantly.
His reluctance was fully justified when he found himself staring into the yellow eyes of a very large dog. He also found six suspicious eyes glaring at him sideways, for the dog had not one head but three. It was all he could do not to scream, but he didn't want to alert anyone, so he just pulled his head back as far as he could. Ted had been ready for his reaction, and he quickly closed the door and tapped the lock with his wand again.
Harry looked at his friend, slackjawed. He was going to speak, but Ted raised a finger to his lips and whispered, "Let's get back first," and put his words into action by starting to move away from the door.
They managed to return to the common room fairly quickly, Harry remembering the way better than Ted himself. They would have been even faster if not for the need to avoid Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, who almost caught them. They only managed to escape by sprinting out of the way and taking a rather roundabout series of passages. Still, they'd made it.
"Desire the right," Harry said to the wall, something he always felt somewhat foolish doing. Still, it opened on command, letting them in.
Fortunately, the common room was still empty, so they wouldn't have to explain their arrival in the dead of night to anyone. They plopped down in the same chairs they were occupying right before they left.
"Explain," Harry sternly told Ted. He was fairly certain the other boy hadn't been trying to kill him, but still, he couldn't be sure.
Ted looked back at him with an impish grin. He didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed.
"Oh, come on, I just figured they wouldn't really keep anything in the school that would kill a student just for looking at it. The door wasn't even locked well, seeing a first year can open it."
Harry had to give him that. Itwasweird, now that he thought of it.
"And I myself did what you just did, you know, and I was alone at the time," Ted continued. "The big brute has a slow reaction time, anyway."
Harry grinned. The dog really didn't seem very bright. Maybe that was because the three heads fought each other for control. Regardless, only one question came to Harry's mind.
"Why would Dumbledore keep something like that in a school full of young, edible children?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised.
Ted laughed.
"Gallows humour, Harry? Anyway, your theory that he is insane would seem to explain it. Probably one of his friends asked Dumbledore to watch over it while they went on vacation, or something."
Ted stifled a yawn.
Harry wondered whether that was an attempt to forestall more discussion, but let it go, since he was almost asleep himself, now that the adrenaline rush had passed. He made his way towards the dorms with Ted, and punched his arm midway.
"That was for the scare, but," he grinned, "it was wicked."
Ted laughed softly, clutching his arm in exaggerated pain.
It seemed the school year had barely started when Halloween was upon them. His classes were getting progressively more challenging, but that was fine by Harry. He just wished he could skip History of Magic and Defence and just learn them on his own, but he had to take the good with the bad.
That afternoon, they started to learn to levitate objects in Charms. Everyone had been quite eager to try their hand at that after Flitwick's demonstration, when he sent an inkpot zooming around the classroom without spilling a single drop. Harry had to admit that Flitwick wasn't as bad as he'd seemed at first, and he was starting to forgive his outburst in that first class.
Flitwick split them into pairs to start practising the spell. He got paired with Daphne, for which he was quite thankful given he had found himself sitting next to Crabbe and was already dreading the possibility. Ted got partnered with Pansy Parkinson, which seemed to have Draco ticked off for some reason.
"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practising!" Flitwick squeaked from atop his pile of books. Harry wondered why he didn't just levitate himself. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest!"
Well, he didn't get very far. The feather could have weighed a hundred pounds for all the good his swishing and flicking did. No one else had much luck, until Ted managed to lift his feather five minutes before the end of class, which seemed to make Flitwick rather happy. Understandably, as having no one succeed would have been rather depressing for him. They filed out of class rather cheerful for the Halloween feast.
"The weird thing is, I don't know if I'd be able to do it again if he asked me," Ted confided as they were descending the stairs towards the Great Hall. Once they arrived, all thoughts of the Charms lesson were forgotten.
Thousands of bats were flying all over the great hall, swooping down over the tables, which made a great effect, but Harry also thought was rather unhygienic. He'd be sure to cover his food. As they were sitting down, Harry glanced along the other house tables and couldn't help but notice Weasley looked rather constipated. He shrugged. Who cared about him anyway?
Harry was about to take a bite from a delicious looking piece of turkey when Professor Quirrell came storming into the hall, looking like he'd just seen a ghost. He reached the high table, facing Professor Dumbledore, and slumped against a chair as he managed to gasp out words between heaving breaths.
"Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know," he managed to say, before collapsing on the floor in a faint.
The entire hall erupted in hysteria, and panic seemed about to set in until Professor Dumbledore blew a dozen of firecrackers from the tip of his wand, which managed to restrain the crowd.
"Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately," Dumbledore said, with an impressively loud voice for a man his age.
The Slytherin Prefect Heathcliff rounded up the younger years, clearly displeased with his task. They were practically pushed out of the great hall when Harry remembered something that made him sure the Headmaster was insane.
"Say Heathcliff," Harry began, "Professor Quirrell said the troll was in the dungeons, right?"
"Your point, Potter?" the Prefect rasped out.
"Aren'tour dormsin the dungeons too? You know, the ones we have to go back to?"
Everyone stopped dead in their tracks as Harry finished his sentence, as he had to talk rather loudly for his voice to reach Heathcliff. This time there was no shrieking, as the Slytherins were usually a more subdued lot anyway, but Harry could feel the tension caused by his words in the air. Everyone was alert, trying to listen for any sign of the troll approaching. Harry felt someone grab his arm, and looked to his side to see Tracey clinging to it. She quickly let it go once she noticed him looking at her, blushing profusely; Harry thought she must have done it reflexively, but she looked away from him, embarrassed anyway. Heathcliff, of course, was not paying attention to this.
"Well fuck," he exclaimed, prompting a few shocked murmurs from some of the more prudish younger years. "They're probably gonna have my head for this, but…"
He trailed off as he looked around, and finally saw their salvation. He rushed to a door at the end of the corridor, wand at the ready. As the troll still seemed to be nowhere near, he opened the door for them to enter.
"But that's a girls' bathroom," Harry heard someone object.
"Good, that means if anyone has to go we're covered. Now get in, this isn't a time to be worrying about that shit," Heathcliff replied rather menacingly.
Everyone complied after that. When the last of the younger years had come in, the older boy closed the door and waved his wand over it in a series of complicated motions, muttering under his breath all the time. Everyone watched his movements expectantly, and they only relaxed when he finally spoke, after a couple of minutes.
"Well, no troll's getting in after that," the Prefect announced, to their visible relief. Harry turned to Ted, who was leaning against a stall wall, and made to say something, but stopped after the taller boy raised his finger to his lips.
"There's someone in there," he whispered. Harry tried to listen closely, and indeed he seemed to hear something coming from within the stall. Daphne, who was just next to them, solved the mystery rather quickly.
"Whoever's there, I'm gonna open the door," she announced, and after giving whoever was in the stall a perfunctory time to get decent, she pushed the door open, to reveal a sniffing Hermione Granger.
She flinched back when she saw the crowd that had invaded the bathroom.
"What are you all doing here? This is the girls' bathroom," she said, managing not to burst into tears despite her obviously shaken state. Harry had to grudgingly admire her for that.
Heathcliff was on top of the issue in an instant.
"And why haven't you gone to your dormitories, girl? Don't you know there's a troll in the school?"
Granger blanched at this. Well, even more than was already the case.
"A troll? But how did it get in? And what are we going to do? Are we all going to die?" she fretted, talking faster with each sentence.
Heathcliff opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say anything, they heard the sound of what seemed like a battering ram knocking on the door. People started fidgeting, but their Prefect was quick to calm them down.
"Now, don't lose your head, kids. There's no way some dumb troll can get through the spells I put on that door."
That at least quieted them, but no one dared to speak as the knocks increased in frequency. Granger had stopped sniffing and was watching the door as raptly as any of them. After what seemed like an eternity, the knocks stopped, and after a brief moment of expectant silence, more noise was heard, as if the troll was fighting for its life, until finally they heard a huge thud.
They looked at each other, wondering if that meant a teacher had taken care of the troll. Their question was answered when they heard Professor McGonagall's voice.
"Why is this door locked? Is anyone in there?" she asked.
Their Prefect quickly undid all the spells and opened the door, to find Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell staring at him.
"Mr. Heathcliff, what are you doing here? Why haven't you led your class to the dormitories like Professor Dumbledore ordered?" McGonagall asked him, frowning in disapproval.
"Well, Professor, I was doing so, but Potter here - " he said, pointing at Harry with his thumb. Harry cringed and wished he could make himself invisible. The Prefect went on, oblivious, "-pointed out, that since our dorms are in the dungeons, it wasn't such a good idea to go there, seeing as the troll was supposed to be in the dungeons in the first place," he finished. Harry saw Snape giving him a strange, calculating look. Heathcliff went on.
"I ordered them all into this bathroom, and fortified the door with spells a troll wouldn't be able to counter. I thought it was safer this way. We also found the Gryffindor girl here, who probably was not in the Great Hall when Professor Quirrell sobravelywarned us of the troll," he said with barely restrained sarcasm.
Granger came forward when she heard this, her head down as she approached Professor McGonagall. She seemed to have composed herself a bit.
"He's right, Professor McGonagall. I missed dinner tonight." She seemed close to breaking down again, but held on. "If they didn't stop to use this bathroom to stay in, the troll would probably have killed me," she said, sounding like she thought that was an attractive option. Harry wondered what could have happened to leave her in such a state.
McGonagall seemed like she was going to say something, but Snape cut her off.
"Mr. Heathcliff, we will be having a talk about this later. For now, lead the students to their dormitory. As you no doubt have surmised, the troll has been…dealt with."
All their heads perked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the fallen troll, but they couldn't see anything from where they were. It didn't matter, for soon they were all up and filing out the door. Granger had left with Professor McGonagall, and now the Prefect was herding them out. As Harry crossed the door, he noticed the disgusting smell of the troll, and saw its unconscious form, lying on the floor beside its club. Harry was following the line when Snape laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry stopped in his tracks and left the line, facing the professor. He swallowed hard. He knew something like this was coming, but was expecting Snape to at least wait until the morning. He bit his lip and faced his head of house.
"Yes, Professor?" he said looking up into Snape's eyes, trying to keep his composure. When Harry made eye contact, Snape's guarded expression changed for a moment into a look Harry couldn't decipher. Harry felt a strange sensation in his mind, like odd thoughts were coming up to the surface uninvited. However, he held his gaze. The professor seemed to have lost his train of thought for a moment, then sighed and finally spoke.
"Potter, I'll have you know that it is the custom of this school for students to obey the orders of their teachers."
Harry swallowed, steeling himself for what was to come.
"However, you certainly had the safety of your housemates in mind, and Mr. Heathcliff did not have to go by anything you said." Snape's face seemed to contort in a great mental effort before he continued. "Not to mention, it showed more presence of mind than I believed you were capable of. Five points to Slytherin, Potter. Now go join your classmates before they leave you behind."
Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said simply, and turned back, hardly believing what had just happened. He looked back for a second, and saw Snape pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. Harry decided to run before the professor changed his mind. He quickly found his friends in the line of students.
"What was that about?" Daphne asked him, curiosity shining on her green eyes, which were a shade lighter than Harry's own. He'd never met anyone else with green eyes before, now that he thought of it. He shook his head and brought his thoughts back to the present, answering the girl's question.
"Five points to Slytherin," he said simply, and a smile crossed his face. Blaise patted him on the back. Their common room was rapidly approaching, and only then did he realize he hadn't actually eaten any dinner. As if on cue, he felt his stomach rumble.
"Say, do any of you have any snacks back in the dorm?"