The corner of the library felt as though someone had cast a Slowing Charm over it—quiet and viscous.
Harry finally finished Professor Binns' essay on the Fourteenth-Century Goblin Rebellion, thanks largely to the "inspiration" provided by Draco's version. As he rolled up his parchment, Draco snapped shut the advanced Magical Script book he'd been reading.
Draco stood, stuffing the book into his bag. "Come on, let's head to the Great Hall. I hope they've got Yorkshire pudding tonight. If the house-elves make it as hard as last time—"
His complaining was promptly cut off by Madam Pince's sharp "Shh!" Draco shot a glare in her direction but held his tongue.
They stepped out of the library, letting the cold air replace the smell of parchment and dust. Torches flickered along the corridor, casting restless shadows; the portraits on the walls whispered among themselves.
The next two days passed uneventfully. Quirrell's garlic stench and stammer were as omnipresent as ever.
Occasionally, they ran into Hermione Granger in Potions or the library.
Her gaze toward Harry had grown complicated—part gratitude, part curiosity, part wary distance after the way Draco's group mocked her, and a stubborn refusal to admit defeat.
She didn't initiate conversation again, but Harry noticed her quietly mimicking certain techniques he used when preparing ingredients. And once, during Potions, she even managed to brew something noticeably clearer—though Snape still deducted one point from Gryffindor because "the evidence of over-stirring is still obvious—clearly lacking talent."
And then came the night before Halloween.
The castle was thick with the syrupy smell of pumpkin; bats drifted above the corridors, and the armor had been polished to a shine. Even the Slytherin common room now featured a few jack-o'-lanterns carved with eerie grins.
"A tacky holiday," Draco declared, poking disdainfully at the ghost-face hash browns the house-elves had prepared. "So very Gryffindor."
Harry said nothing. He ate quietly.
Suddenly, Professor Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, turban askew, face pale with terror. He staggered to Dumbledore's side and shrieked loudly enough for everyone to hear:
"TROLL—IN THE DUNGEONS—thought you ought to know!"
And then he promptly fainted.
The Great Hall exploded into chaos.
Panic surged like a tidal wave; first-years screamed, benches overturned.
"Silence!"
Dumbledore's voice rang out like a bell, quashing the noise instantly. He rose, calm and commanding:
"Prefects, lead your Houses back to their dormitories at once. Teachers—follow me!"
Students began to push and shove toward the doors, prefects shouting orders.
Draco grabbed Harry's arm, keeping him from being swept along by the panic.
"A troll?" he leaned in, voice low and warm against Harry's ear through the noise. "How utterly unoriginal a decoy."
Quirrell had made his move. The target was the fourth-floor corridor—the Stone.
The Slytherin prefects were shouting for their House to form a line, but Draco pulled Harry into the shadow of one of the huge stone pillars near the doors, slipping away unnoticed in the confusion.
"What now?" Draco asked, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Shall we 'happen' to alert a professor? Or—"
His gaze swept the chaotic hall. Over in the Gryffindor crowd, Percy Weasley was frantically counting heads.
Harry followed his line of sight and understood instantly.
Hermione Granger was missing.
He remembered her in the previous life—crying in the girls' bathroom after Ron's cruel words.
A plan crystallized in his mind. A plan that would keep his "Savior" image intact, draw Hermione closer, and ensure events stayed roughly on track.
"The girls' bathroom," Harry said crisply.
Draco understood at once. His lips curved. "Oh? Our noble saviour is off to rescue the weeping young witch?" His tone was full of mocking amusement, but he was already moving. Together they slipped out of the Great Hall against the flow of panicked students.
The corridor outside was empty. Only the torches crackled, stretching their shadows across the cold stone walls.
They moved quickly, footsteps echoing in the open space.
The closer they came to the bathroom, the stronger the smell—an indescribable stench of rotten socks mixed with public latrine.
Even from down the hall, they heard the chaos inside—heavy footsteps, smashing doors, and a terrified girl's scream.
Harry and Draco exchanged a look and broke into a run.
The scene at the entrance was horrifying.
A troll—twelve feet tall, skin like lumpy granite—stomped awkwardly around the bathroom, dragging a massive wooden club. Confused by water reflections or its own echo, it growled irritably and smashed a sink with a single swing, sending stone and water flying.
Hermione Granger crouched under the farthest stall door, white as chalk, trembling so badly she couldn't even scream—her hands clamped over her mouth.
"Perfect," Draco muttered under his breath—whether judging the troll's destruction or the conveniently dramatic scene was unclear.
Harry had already drawn his wand.
"Sonorus!" He cast the charm on himself, ensuring his voice would carry. Then he shouted toward the corridor, loud and clear but tinged with "panic":
"Professors! In the dungeon! There's a troll in the girls' bathroom!"
He canceled the charm immediately, turning his focus back to the troll.
The troll heard the shout, lumbering clumsily toward the door. Its bleary little eyes fixed on the two new intruders. It growled and hefted its club.
"Hey! You idiot!"
Draco drew his wand too, shouting at the troll in the most provoking tone imaginable. He flicked his wand—Wingardium Leviosa—sending a broken sink fragment flying straight at the troll's head.
The damage was negligible. The insult was immense.
The troll roared in outrage, forgetting Hermione entirely, and charged toward them. The floor trembled.
"Split!" Harry barked, leaping left as the troll swung. The club smashed into the floor where he had stood.
Draco dodged right with smooth precision, even taking a moment to fix his wind-tossed collar. "Merlin, the smell! Did this thing crawl out of a sewer?"
The troll, missing again, grew even more frenzied. Apparently deciding Draco was more annoying, it turned and lumbered toward him.
Harry didn't hesitate. He raised his wand and aimed at the club.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The huge club jerked upward, suddenly weightless, drifting out of the troll's grip. The troll blinked stupidly at its empty hand.
Harry flicked his wand downward.
The floating club obeyed gravity—and plummeted.
THUD!
The massive club slammed straight into the troll's bald skull.
The troll grunted, swayed twice, confusion in its tiny eyes—and then collapsed like a felled mountain, shaking the entire bathroom as it crashed unconscious to the floor.
Dust rose. The stench was overwhelming.
Water gushed from broken pipes. Hermione's sobs echoed weakly in the wreckage.
Harry lowered his wand, confirming the troll was properly incapacitated.
Draco stepped closer and nudged the troll's arm with the tip of his shoe, disgusted. "Handled? Nicely done."
Just then, footsteps thundered in the corridor. Professor McGonagall burst inside first, followed by Snape and Quirrell.
They froze.
The smashed stalls, the shattered sinks, the unconscious troll—and two Slytherin first-years standing amid the destruction, plus a Gryffindor girl pale as death in the corner.
"Good heavens!" McGonagall exclaimed, face drained of color. "What on earth—Mr. Potter? Mr. Malfoy? Miss Granger?"
Snape's black eyes swept the scene, lingering for a fraction of a second on Harry and Draco. Something flickered briefly in those eyes before vanishing.
His gaze especially paused on the club lying atop the troll's head.
Quirrell stammered behind them, "Oh—M-Merlin—horr—horrifying—"
Hermione finally found her breath. She looked from the professors to Harry and Draco, tears spilling anew—this time with raw relief. She couldn't speak.
Draco spoke up first—alarm mixed with pride:
"Professor! We heard the noise and came to check—Granger was trapped! And this stupid creature tried to attack us!"
McGonagall's stern gaze shifted to Harry, seeking confirmation.
Harry nodded. His voice was calm, adding the critical detail:
"We tried to draw it away, then shouted for the professors."
McGonagall looked furious, terrified, and grudgingly impressed all at once. "That was extremely reckless! Trolls are incredibly dangerous! You should have gone for a teacher immediately!" Her voice shook from the scare.
"We did," Draco said quickly, sounding innocent and a little wronged. "Harry yelled really loudly. You probably didn't hear."
Snape spoke, voice smooth and cold as a snake sliding across stone.
"Regardless… you are fortunate. No disaster occurred."
His gaze swept Harry again—probing, calculating—before he turned away.
McGonagall exhaled sharply, regaining control. She turned to Hermione.
"Miss Granger, are you hurt? And why were you in a bathroom alone after curfew? Five points from Gryffindor."
Hermione wilted, pale and trembling.
Snape snorted softly, already sweeping out of the room as if staying longer might poison him.
Quirrell scuttled after him.
McGonagall barked instructions about the troll and cleanup.
Harry and Draco exchanged a glance and quietly slipped out during the commotion.
Walking the empty corridor back toward the dungeons, Draco finally burst into soft laughter.
"McGonagall's face looked like she swallowed a whole lemon!"
Harry didn't laugh. He was thinking about the last look Snape had given him. There had been something there beyond scrutiny—perhaps suspicion.
"Hey," Draco nudged him with an elbow, "you 'rescued' the know-it-all, got points, and now she owes you her life. Perfect outcome."
Harry hummed in agreement.
The plan had worked.
And yet—
He frowned slightly.
Quirrell had begun to move.
~~------------------------
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