A Painful Death

"Thank you. You didn't have to stay with me," Harry told Hermione as they left his quarters.

The corridors were very dark as they walked down them, illuminated only slightly by the pale, full moon. The chilly air bit at their bare skin angrily as they continued on their path to the Common Room.

"I wanted to."

Everyone else was at the Halloween feast, enjoying the spectacular displays and munching on the grand banquet. Harry, however, didn't think it would be right to celebrate this day.

"Also, I much prefer training with you."

"You're improving quite a bit," Harry said supportively.

"But I'm nowhere near as good as you," Hermione replied. Harry had a knack for getting spells on the first try, and had already started working through the second year curriculum.

"If you just joined me on my morning runs, you'd find tiring out to be a much smaller problem."

Hermione shook her head. "It's really not my thing… I've always been terrible at exercise. Books are my strength."

"At least think about it. I'd appreciate the company."

They left the abandoned area of the castle, comforted by the warmth and light they found themselves in.

Thud.

"Harry, what was that?"

Thud.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, looking around curiously.

THUD.

It was getting louder.

THUD.

Which meant something was getting closer.

THUD.

A knight ran into one of the portraits, looking very distressed.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Run! Just run!" the knight yelled, very panicked. "It's a troll!"

THUD.

From behind them came a tremendous roar, causing the pair to spin around. The troll was huge and hairy, with large splodges of saliva hanging from its mouth grossly, and a deadly-looking club sitting in its hands.

They looked at each other, a look that said 'We should run'. But the troll was too quick, hurdling forwards with menace.

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione shouted. The troll stopped for a moment, a confused look upon its face.

It roared in displeasure as it charged towards them, swinging its club wildly. Harry and Hermione dived to the side, just avoiding the weapon's reach.

Harry jumped up and sent an array of hexes towards the monster, causing it to stumble slightly, however the effect was minimal.

"This isn't good Harry!" Hermione said.

"We have to keep trying!" Harry replied. He continued sending attacks in an attempt to immobilise the troll, but was frustrated at the lack of results. He wasn't strong enough.

The troll was approaching dangerously now, and Harry was running out of stamina quickly.

"We have to go!" Hermione said. "We can get a teacher to help!"

Irate with his lack of proficiency, Harry put his wand down. He turned to grab Hermione's hand and run, but when he went to do so he found something already occupying his palm: a shabby, pointed hat.

"Gentry?" he asked.

"Harry Potter," the hat replied. "Allow me to assist you."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"With a weapon, of course."

Harry looked at Gentry in confusion, but then noticed something poking out from the hat's opening. It was a blood-red ruby encrusted in gold to form a pommel, attached to a gilded grip carved with intricate runes and symbols. With bated breath, Harry pulled the rest of the sword out, staring in awe at the magnificent blade.

"It was Godric's most prized possession," Gentry said. "And now it belongs to you."

"Thank you Gentry."

"There is no time for thanking me. That troll is looking at you very menacingly, and if I were you I would put that sword to good use." With a pop, Gentry vanished from Harry's grip.

"Right," Harry said. He had become distracted by the steel he was holding. He rolled the sword in his hands, surprised by how nimble it felt.

"Harry, look out!" Hermione cried, signalling Harry to dodge the incoming blow.

As the club smashed into the floor, Harry swung his sword at the troll's hand. The blade sliced right through as if it were splitting butter. Howling in agony, the troll collapsed onto the floor, clutching the bleeding gash where its hand used to be.

Harry turned to Hermione, who was staring at the lifeless hand disbelievingly.

"Stupefy!" The troll lost consciousness, the screams ceasing to a halt. It was Dumbledore, followed by Snape and McGonagall. Their eyes darted over Harry and Hermione, then the sword that was in his clutch, dripping with blood.

"Potter!" McGonagall said in shock. "This was your doing?"

Harry nodded. "I hadn't meant to cut it off like that. It just sort of - happened."

"And that sword, wherever did you get it from?"

"I believe that is the sword of Gryffindor," Dumbledore said, a sparkle in his eyes. "It is said that it would appear to any worthy Gryffindor, in a time of great peril."

"Oh, well in that case… Were you harmed at all?" McGonagall asked, a flash of concern crossing her face.

"No, Professor," Hermione replied. "We were quite lucky."

"And may I ask what you were doing exploring the corridors, when you should have been following your prefect to the Common Room?"

"We didn't go to the feast." Harry said.

"Why ever not?"

"I wasn't particularly in the mood. It's the anniversary of my parents' deaths."

Both Snape and McGonagall's faces fell, and even Dumbledore showed a hint of sadness behind his glasses.

"50 points to Gryffindor each, for outstanding bravery," Dumbledore said, giving the two a small smile. "I suggest you get back to the Common Room – you have had a troubling night."

"I will take them to my office first - they will need a Calming Draught after such an ordeal," Snape said.

McGonagall looked ready to oppose this, but was halted by Harry. "It's okay, Professor." He trusted Snape.

"Also, I'm sure you'll understand that I cannot leave such a formidable weapon in your possession," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, of course," Harry said. He went to hand the sword over, but moments before it was in Dumbledore's clasp, the sword vanished into thin air.

Dumbledore just smiled. "Now that matter has been resolved, I will attend to the poor creature slumped on the floor next to us. Despite the outstanding power behind my stunning spell, I fear it could awake at any moment."

The aged wizard moved over to the troll and Snape walked the opposite direction, indicating to Harry and Hermione to follow. They were led to the dungeons, though Snape was walking slowly and with a slight limp. As soon as they reached his office, Snape collapsed onto a chair and pulled back his robe, showing his leg which was bloody and mangled.

"Professor! What happened?" Hermione asked.

"An unfortunate accident. Now get me the Essence of Dittany – it's the clear bottle on that shelf," Snape hissed.

Hermione scampered to collect the potion and handed it to the teacher, who poured it all over his wound. A thick, green smoke billowed upwards as the skin stretched to close the opening.

Meanwhile, Harry's mind was racing. How could Snape have gotten such a severe injury? He didn't think it was the troll, as the wound looked more like a bite than a blow from a club. And it definitely was no accident, but he could not think of anything in Hogwarts that could be so lethal. Maybe it was a plant in one of the greenhouses, or a creature from the Forbidden Forest? Whatever it was, it was clearly dangerous – capable of causing a painful death… A painful death! Like Dumbledore had said in his speech at the beginning of the year! But that would mean…

"The third floor corridor."

"What?" Snape barked.

"On the right-hand side. That's where this happened."

Snape's gritting of his teeth gave Harry the confirmation he needed.

"What were you doing there?"

"That is of no concern to mere students." Snape's focus returned to his leg, a signal that the conversation was not to be continued.

"Is there anything else you need, Professor?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"No, but I wasn't lying about that Calming Draught. Drink." He summoned two vials from behind his desk, filling them with another clear liquid.

Harry and Hermione took them as they floated over, downing them in one shot. The taste was strangely pleasant – a mixture of dark chocolate and pumpkin juice, and the effect was instant, as they felt the lingering distress from fighting the troll wash away.

"Will the troll be alright?" Harry asked, wiping his mouth.

"Yes," Snape said, the reddened scars on his leg fading as he waved his wand over them. "The Headmaster will have stopped the bleeding, and the creature will most likely be sent to the Ministry to be dealt with."

"And how did it get in?"

Snape did not reply, instead choosing to bandage his leg. After he had decided his patchwork was satisfactory, he slowly rose from the seat and attempted to walk. His limp seemed less prominent, but his mask was not blank enough to disguise the pain.

"Return to your Common Room now," he finally said. "You will act as if you saw nothing. I will see you tomorrow for lessons as usual."

Preferably, Harry would have stayed and pestered the Professor until all his questions were answered, but he realised the attempt would probably be futile.

"You're right, he's much nicer than he puts on," Hermione said as they walked up from the dungeons.

Harry hummed his agreement, though his mind was still on the third floor corridor and what could be lurking there. Yes, he could leave it alone and focus on his training, but that didn't sit right with him. There was a monster sitting in the castle, waiting to seize an unsuspecting victim and he was meant to just ignore it? This was his castle, and he would not have anyone getting hurt – not when he could prevent it. Surely Godric would agree that Harry would have to explore.

The next morning, Harry decided to skip his morning run. He had chosen not to consult Godric, as he was fearful that he would dissuade Harry from what he was about to do.

Harry felt cold as he landed after crawling out from the Fat Lady's portrait. Around him was the familiar pitch black of these early hours, but the usual warmth he felt from his bond with Hogwarts seemed weak, as if the castle was scared for him.

"I'm a Gryffindor," Harry muttered. "Have some faith. Lumos."

The tip of his wand lit up, allowing Harry to see where he was walking. Warily, he took the route down to the third floor; there would be trouble if Filch or Mrs Norris were to see him.

Harry narrowly managed to avoid the Bloody Baron, and there had been a moment where he had almost forgotten to skip the missing step on one of the staircases. Nevertheless, with his nerves digging into the stability of his legs, Harry stood outside the corridor on the right-hand side of the third floor. He took a deep breath before walking towards his supposedly painful death.

The corridor seemed like all the others in the castle, though there was a sense of eeriness as Harry waded in the darkness.

Suddenly, a low growl pierced the silence and the floor trembled slightly. That seemed like the threatening monster he was looking for.

He walked over to where the rumble had come from, stopping at a door sealed by a rusted padlock.

"Alohamora," Harry whispered half-heartedly, astonished when the spell actually worked.

Another growl came from behind the door as Harry slowly pushed it open. He peeked his head through the opening, gripping his wand tightly.

Sitting above a trapdoor, with a ferocious look upon its faces, was a three-headed dog large enough to swallow him whole. Without making the faintest noise, Harry retreated from his compromised position and closed the door, relocking it firmly. He walked out of the corridor and straight to Godric's quarters, his insides twisting and churning.

Behind that door was a creature powerful enough to seriously harm a teacher, and all it had taken was a simple first year spell to unlock it? What on earth was Dumbledore thinking? He marched on through the castle, his head fuzzing with confusion. He had known there would be something dangerous in that corridor, but seeing it in person had suddenly made him aware of the sickening reality of it. Godric was sure to be furious.

He thrust open the door, which signalled Beemy to pop out in front of him and give him a low bow.

"Harry is here earlier than usual. Will he be wanting refreshments?" the Elf asked with a yawn, her enthusiasm unwavering despite having just been disrupted from her sleep.

"No thank you Beemy," Harry replied. "I just need to speak with Godric. You can go back to bed."

He walked over to the book and opened it, transporting in.

"Mr Gryffindor," Harry said.

"Harold," the wise wizard replied. "You're looking a little shaken up, my boy."

"There's something else we have to talk about."

Godric paused. "Speak your mind."

"You remember the third-floor corridor I mentioned, when I first got here?"

"Yes, you told me it wasn't to be troublesome."

"Well, I was wrong. Last night, Professor Snape was attacked by a dangerous creature from that corridor."

"A dangerous creature… Do you know what it was?"

"Yes, I went down there to explore just now. It's a three-headed dog, and it's very big."

Godric stood upright, his warmth put out. "You went to explore?"

"I couldn't just leave it."

"You're eleven years of age. What were you thinking?"

"If it were you, you would have stormed in there without a second thought! Why shouldn't I do the same?" Harry retorted.

"Because I have magical power most wizards can only dream of – that's the difference! Bravery without the force to back it up is not bravery at all; it is foolishness!" Godric was looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him, and his state of menace made Harry suddenly realise that this was one of the greatest duellers to have ever lived that he was having an argument with.

Godric took a breath, his shoulders sinking back. "I am sorry for losing my temper, but you must understand — so much I have placed on your young shoulders — so much — you are not a simple pawn to be sacrificed."

Harry nodded glumly.

"Now back onto the topic of your three-headed dog – a cerberus, I believe."

"What should I do about it?"

"Do you know the reason why such a creature is lounging in this castle's walls?"

"No. It could be protecting something though. I saw a trapdoor below it."

Godric stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Keep an eye out, and inform me of any developments. For now, I suggest you do nothing."

"Do nothing?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Yes."

"But the cerberus! It could attack anyone!"

"The students have been warned of the dangers in the area."

"But surely you must understand! I can't have anyone getting hurt, not in my castle-"

"-in which you are only a student. A first year, no less. I am sure your Headmaster is more than capable of handling the situation, if he is as brilliant as you say."

Harry nodded. "The only one Voldemort was scared of."

"Then you have nothing to fear, Harold. You concern yourself with perilous monsters, when you should be focusing on your training. Your studies will become increasingly difficult as you move through the course."

"They're tough enough as it is," Harry admitted. The difficulty of the second year was far above the first.

Godric gave a smile to show his understanding. "Was there anything else you wished to speak about?"

"No," Harry said.

"Stay sharp, my Heir."

Harry closed the book, letting out a deep sigh. He regretted snapping at his mentor like that, especially when he had been in the wrong. Godric really knew how to make Harry feel stupid.

Stifling a yawn, he got up and walked to the library. There was a rather large theory session on memory charms waiting for him, and he wasn't particularly looking forward to tackling it.

The next week seemed to whiz by. Harry had taken Godric's advice and left the mystery of the third-floor corridor alone, though in all truth it hadn't been too difficult; he had spent all week training vigorously for the upcoming quidditch match.

The finger-biting cold of November marked the beginning of quidditch season, and the first game was against the Slytherins. Every evening, Oliver would relentlessly batter them with instructions and tactics, all of which seemed unimportant to Harry's numb ears. His main focus was making sure he could keep hold of his broom.

His broom. A Nimbus Two Thousand to be exact. It was the best present he had ever received. McGonagall had gifted it to him due to 'special circumstances', though Malfoy was resolute on labelling it favouritism. Ron didn't seem to mind, finding every excuse to ogle at the state of the art broomstick.

But the week had passed far too quickly for Harry's liking, and now he sat feeling unprepared in the Great Hall, with everyone around him buzzing with excitement for the first quidditch match of the year.

"You should eat something Harry," Neville said, though he looked just as pale as Harry was.

"Yeah mate," Ron added. "Fred and George have always said the Slytherins play dirty. And look at Flint over there, he could have been that troll that you fought."

Hermione gave Ron a scolding look. "How about a bit of toast Harry? Like Ron said, the Slytherins are probably going to be quite… physical. You'll need all the energy you can get."

To appease the worried looks on his friends, Harry picked up some toast and bit into it, though it felt like he was munching on sand. How could the Heir of Gryffindor feel so… scared?

"It's okay to be nervous Harry," Hermione said. "It happens to everyone."

"But I'm not just anyone," Harry said bitterly, dropping his toast.

Hermione shook her head in protest. "That's not what makes you who you are, Harry. There's so much more to you than that."

Harry looked up at this, puzzled, but the determination on Hermione's face cleared him of all doubt, filling him with a new boldness. How could he not feel confident when she looked at him like that?

"You're right," he said, standing up. He picked the toast back up and practically swallowed it in one gulp. "I'm going down to the stadium," he said, feeling rejuvenated.

"But I haven't finished," Ron grumbled, shoving as much food as he could into his mouth.

They walked down the grounds, Harry now with a spring in his step. The school was livelier than Harry had ever seen it, with all the students holding banners and marching down to the stadium in confidence. Most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had sided with the Gryffindors, so there was a lot of red and gold being worn in comparison to dark green.

"Good luck today, Harry!" It was Hagrid, who was holding what looked like a bathtub full to the brim with bloody meat.

"Thanks Hagrid," he replied, as his friends looked at the tub with odd expressions.

"Oh, don' worry 'bout this," Hagrid said. "It just needs dropping off, an' then I'll be down to cheer yeh on." He walked away merrily, disappearing behind the castle doors.

"What's he feeding with all of that?" Ron asked dubiously.

"I don't want to know," Neville said, though Harry thought he had a rather good idea.

Once they had reached the stadium, Harry left his friends in the stands to make his way into the changing rooms. Oliver was already in his kit, pacing up and down anxiously.

"Loosen up, Oliver," said Fred.

"It's only a game," added George.

Oliver rounded on them angrily. "You're not taking this seriously! This match sets the precedent for the entire season — we have to win this convincingly!"

"That's the spirit," Fred replied, patting Oliver on the back. "You've been slacking all week," George said as they began to swing their beater bats in practice.

Oliver threw some Quaffles at them.

Harry got changed as quickly as he could, the nerves slowly returning. Walking to the stadium had been the easiest part of the morning, but now the pressure was really starting to mount.

A little while later, they were joined by the three Chasers of the team: Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Angelina Johnson.

"Okay team," Oliver began. "You all know the tactics, don't try to match them for physicality because we know how they play. We'll win this by out-flying them, because we have the better players."

Everyone nodded their agreement.

"Right then. This is it."

"The big one," said Fred.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry.

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it. Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

They walked out onto the pitch, greeted by a large eruption from the stands. There were banners of slogans and lions, and there were even some with Harry's name on it.

Madame Hooch stood in the middle, looking as firm as ever in her referee uniform.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. From the way Oliver and Flint were looking at each other though, that seemed like an impossibility.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

Harry immediately flew higher than the rest of the players, as he had practised beforehand. He could just about hear the commentary from Lee Jordan, a friend of Fred and George. It would be the only way he would really know about what the score was, as Oliver had told him to focus solely on finding the Snitch, and to always catch it if it would result in a win.

He scanned the pitch with scrutinising care, hoping for the slightest glimpse of gold. The Slytherin Seeker, Terrence Higgs, was imitating him on the other side of the pitch, although Harry was sure the skinny fourth year would get frustrated soon enough. Higgs didn't exactly seem the patient type.

"…come on, now, Angelina - Keeper Bletchley dives - misses - GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Harry circled the goalposts a couple times in celebration, but was soon back on task.

The match was tense and dogged, with lots of unnecessary shoving and barging. Katie had nearly been knocked off her broom by a hefty challenge from one of the Slytherin Chasers, to which Fred and George had responded to with a series of furious swears.

Meanwhile, Harry was having a relatively quiet game. Higgs had attempted to tail him, but was far too slow on his standard Cleansweep, and Harry only had to dodge a Bludger once.

But he knew it would be best if he could catch the Snitch as soon as possible; the Gryffindor team was getting bullied, despite their superior skill.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the - wait a moment - was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it, diving down immediately. Higgs was right beside him, and for a moment they were neck and neck, both focused on the same goal. However, Harry had the better broom, allowing him to pull away with ease. He was so close to the Snitch now, his fingers only inches away from victory-

WHAM. It was Flint, colliding into Harry to send him spinning away. The Gryffindors roared in outrage, and Flint was reprimanded by Hooch, who gave Gryffindor a free shot on goal.

Harry was now very angry, squinting crossly to relocate the fluttering ball that had escaped his grasp. His broom gave a small lurch, to which Harry redirected his broom forwards. A few moments later, the broom lurched again, this one larger and causing Harry to nearly fall off completely. Something was not right.

Twitching and turning, Harry's Nimbus directed Harry away from the game, completely out of his control. Many of the crowd below were now pointing and shouting, having noticed Harry's trouble.

Harry was holding on as tightly as possible, but with another violent jerk he was sent rolling forwards. Instinctively, he managed to grab the broom with a trailing hand, his body dangling dangerously as he held on for dear life.

"We're coming, Harry!" yelled Fred and George, though Harry wasn't sure they would be able to catch him soon enough. If his broom were to give another jolt, Harry would most definitely be forced off.

But it never came. With his other arm, Harry latched on and pulled himself back up. He moved forwards with uncertainty, but then suddenly plummeted downwards. Everyone watched on in horror, certain that Harry was about to smack into an untimely death, but metres off of the ground, he pulled up cleanly.

With a smile on his face, he waved his hand to show off the Snitch, no longer zooming around sporadically.

"GRYFFINDORS WIN!" shouted an ecstatic Lee Jordan, and soon Harry was surrounded by the entire team, getting clapped on the back and having his hair ruffled in celebration.

The festivities continued in the Gryffindor Common Room, where Harry's miraculous recovery was becoming hailed as legendary.

Harry laughed with the rest of the Gryffindors as Fred and George started Irish dancing on a table, with Katie and Alicia singing a jingle. Seamus and Dean were shamelessly attempting to flirt with Lavender and Parvati, Ron and Neville were enjoying the treats the twins had managed to smuggle in from the kitchens, and Hermione was… reading.

Harry managed to wriggle out of the clasp of Oliver and walked over to his friend, whose eyebrows were knitted together in thought.

"Hermione," he said, dropping himself on the armchair opposite her.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, jumping a little. She looked concerned.

"I thought you would be celebrating with the rest of us. Is something wrong?"

She bit her lip, as if she were holding something back.

"Hermione?"

"Well, the thing is… it's your broom – when it was acting all out of control."

"Oh that. Yeah, I'll get it checked out."

Hermione scooted forwards. "No, you don't understand. I know why it happened - your broom was being cursed."

"Cursed?" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes, cursed. By Professor Quirrell."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I had to set his robes on fire to stop him."

Harry sat open-mouthed, his mind on all of his previous experiences with the jittery teacher. Quirrell had always seemed scared of curses and jinxes; he didn't seem the type to do something like that.

"I have to thank you, then. You saved my life," Harry said, looking Hermione in the eyes. "I won't forget that."

Hermione blushed. "You would have done the same."

"Yes, I would have."

Harry stood again. "Well, I'll talk to Mr Gryffindor about it. For now, we should enjoy ourselves. I don't want you worrying for my sake."

He offered her his hand, which she took with a shy smile.

He looked at her wryly. "Have you ever Irish danced?"

Her eyes widened with fear.