Hallowed Halls and Halloween Hatred
Malfoy was bright red at breakfast the next morning, refusing to look at the Gryffindor table, where a shy Neville was uncharacteristically grinning at him. When Harry and Hermione sat across from him, Draco jumped, nearly knocking over the mostly empty bench and Ron in the process.
“Dearest Draco, what ever could make you so jumpy?” Ron asked as he helped the boy right himself, putting a hand on either shoulder and settling the blonde back in his seat.
“Nothing, Weasley. Just wasn’t expecting such… esteemed company.” An idle hand went to his signature hair, ensuring not a strand was free from his slicked back style.
Hermione leaned forward, brown eyes somehow conveying a dangerous heat as she watched him across the table. “We just want to be sure that our understanding from last night doesn’t just… disappear in the morning light, Draco.” Her right hand drummed the tabletop, showing that her wand was away, but drawing attention to how in motion she was willing to be. Ron settled a long arm around Draco’s shoulders as he sipped from a cup of tea with his free hand.
Like most of the Slytherins in their year, Malfoy looked to Harry to reign his friends in. Harry, however, was completely turned away from the conversation, chatting idly to the Ravenclaw Patil twin and Anthony Goldstein, sitting at the table right behind him. With a gulp, Draco turned back to the two sharply grinning faces still watching him.
“Perfectly understood still, Granger. I can assure you that I am not likely to change my mind about being… dog kibble, was it?” He nodded seriously.
Hermione’s grin turned innocent. “Great. So we’ll expect to hear that you’ve apologized to Neville by the end of the day. I do so enjoy getting to know my housemates, Draco. I look forward to our next conversation.” She stood, running her hands down her robe before attempting to step away, only to be pulled into the discussion at the Ravenclaw table with a few animated gestures.
Ron just clapped Malfoy’s shoulder. “She’s downright frightening, don’t you think? The things that girl reads gives her quite an imagination. You should hear some of the threats I get just for not working on our assignments.” He shivered, before winking at Malfoy and moving down the table to sit by Nott, who ignored him for his book until Ron said something that caused the book to snap shut, Theo narrowing his eyes before laughing.
Draco quickly shifted down to sit near Pansy, who had just settled a few seats away. Unfortunately for him, she took half a second to see what had happened, and began laughing at him, clueing in Blaise on her other side, who joined in her amusement with a wry smile.
Hermione ended up having to physically drag Harry away from Anthony Goldstein, who was telling them about his cousin in America, Rolf, who happened to be the grandson of none other than Newt Scamander, author of Fantastic Beasts. The only reason Harry walked away from the now-laughing Anthony was because the other boy promised to write a letter of introduction for Harry so he could start writing to Rolf, who had gained his grandfather’s love for animals.
She pulled him to sit by Ron and Theo, who was giving them all a derisive look, but who had tucked away his book to engage with them, much to the confusion of Draco, who had yet to break through to Theo, even with their fathers being old friends.
He could have sworn he heard something about hearth magic, but Pansy asked him something before he could lean in to listen.
Blaise, however, slid down with a mean smirk, interrupting Theo as he pressed their shoulders together.
“Don’t you think it’s odd how quickly you three bonded? I mean, we’re not even halfway through the year, and I don’t think we’ve ever seen the three of you apart for more than an hour.”
Hermione turned to stare him down, Ron ignoring him to scribble a book recommendation from Theo down on a notebook he pulled from Harry’s bag. Harry was tracing a rune over his cup of tea, one that Flick had shown him to increase energy of the consumer.
“I don’t know, Zabini. I just watched Seamus Finnegan blow up a jug of water trying to turn it into rum, and you think it’s odd that the three outsiders of Slytherin are banding together?” Hermione gave him a dramatic confused look.
Blaise put up his hands, his expression turning into innocence. “Fine, fine. Are you taking applications for your little group?”
“No. Only room for three. Have fun with Draco and Pansy, though.” Hermione’s grin was as sharp as Blaise’s was mean.
He laughed, but nodded. “Not surprising.”
The attention of Millicent Bulstrode, however, who was on Theo’s other side with a history book, was a surprise.
“Actually, there’s historical backing for people just… clicking, I guess. It’s a magic thing. If your magics recognize each other as compatible, it pulls you together and you bond for life. Some people even say that they can use each other’s wands without any trouble, which is rare outside of a bond.”
Harry turned to her. “Is it rare to bond so fast, so young?”
She gave a noncommittal hum as she flipped a page. “It’s not rare for that to happen, but I’d say it’s uncommon. But since the Boy-Who-Lived is in the mix, I’m not surprised it’s happened to him.”
“Thanks, Bulstrode.” Harry rolled his eyes and stole a piece of potato from Theo’s plate as he and Ron continued speaking in undertones.
Theo met his eyes with a mock glare, and then burst into laughter at the sight of Harry paused comically with the fork full halfway to his mouth, face the picture of innocence.
About ten minutes into breakfast, Marcus Flint stood and made his way towards the three of them. Giving a still-red Malfoy a mean grin, the older boy sat on Harry’s other side, close enough for Draco to hear, and not trying to keep his voice down.
“Alright then, Potter, looks like you’ll be coming to Quidditch practice tonight.” He held a letter up, giving the first years a nasty smile.
Harry’s head whipped towards him, eyes wide. Draco, similarly, had his jaw open, before an elbow from Pansy made him look down at his food, ears turning even more red.
“Wait, what? I thought Professor Snape said I couldn’t join the team until tryouts next year?” Harry snatched the letter from Marcus’s hand, scanning it quickly.
“Oh, you’re not on the team. But Terence doesn’t want to play next year, and we’re going to need a seeker, and I’ll be damned if you aren’t the absolute best you can be by tryouts.”
Harry was beaming. “This is awesome!”
Marcus’s grin widened. “Don’t get too happy, shortstack. I’m going to work you to the bone.”
“Sure, but if anything happens to me, your father will murder you, because as of last week I’m one of his highest paying clients.” Harry didn’t even bother looking up from the missive from Snape.
Laughing, Marcus stood, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Fair enough. I’ll get you at dinner and you’ll come to practice with us. Terry can’t wait to get your training going.”
Harry smacked his hand away. “Tell Terry that if he pushes me too hard, his sister will murder you both, and then bring you back to life just to do it again for the hassle of having to do it in the first place.”
Flint just kept walking, laughing. “You’re lucky you’ve got friends in high places, Hadrian.”
Harry was distracted from the letter when a tawny owl slammed into the table directly in front of him, spilling pumpkin juice and fresh fruit everywhere. He just blinked at the sight, not really taking in what he was seeing as the owl attempted to right itself, only to fall back over.
Ron just groaned. “Errol, what in the blazes?” He reached over and untied a lumpy package from his family’s owl. The old bird immediately tried to take off again, thwacking multiple students in the head on his way out.
“Blimey, what an idiot.” Ron scanned the note on the package. “For cold nights in the dungeons, should be big enough for you and your friends. Can’t wait to meet them.” He tore open the paper and gave a wide grin. “Wicked.” He pulled out a massive blanket, knitted in a patchwork of silver and green, a large black R in the bottom corner. “Mum must have really felt guilty about making me worry.”
Hermione leaned against him. “That’s so sweet of her. It’s so soft!”
“Common room to drop it off in the lounge before Herbology?” Harry smiled as he watched his friend gush over his new blanket.
“Yeah, cheers.”
They got up and headed back down to the dungeons, already imagining curling up with the blanket that night during Astronomy class.
Dinner that night was confusion on many parts. All of the houses were concerned when Draco Malfoy stood in the middle of the meal, face blank as he righted his robes, and strode across the hall confidently. Each table watched as he walked down to the end of the Slytherin table, past the Ravenclaws, then the Hufflepuffs, and finally to the Gryffindor table, stopping in front of a smug Neville. The Gryffindors were in shock, not only at a Malfoy willingly entering lion territory, but also that Neville could even be smug.
“Heir Longbottom, a word?” Draco was the picture of pureblood elegance, standing straight as he spoke with his usual charming drawl.
“Heir Malfoy. I suppose.” Neville may not have been comfortable with his status, but he was raised a pureblood just as much as Draco, and remembered his lessons well.
“It has been impressed upon me that my actions have caused you significant danger these past few days. That was not my intent, and I implore that you do not take my childish antics for anything more than that.” Draco gave a small bow.
Over at the Slytherin table, Harry and Ron were not even pretending not to watch, and both of them rolled their eyes. “Figures the ponce would be able to apologize without actually saying the words,” Ron muttered to Hermione, who was sitting with Theo, a book opened between them, watching much more subtly.
Neville had stood at this point, turning to face Draco, who was still in a half bow. “I appreciate the sentiment, Heir Malfoy. I will, however, hold my judgement against you until I see if this childish behavior against me improves.” He returned the bow, and held out a hand. “Until next time, then?”
Draco gave an amused grin. “Next time.” He shook Neville’s hand, and stalked back to the Slytherin table. Passing by the trio, he just muttered, “Happy?” and settled back down at his place between Pansy and Blaise.
Harry just gave him a nod before a hand fell heavily on his shoulder. A quick look to Hermione told him it wasn’t Snape, as she was still ignoring the proceedings, and she would have put her book away if a professor had approached. Relaxing, he tilted his head back to see Marcus Flint grinning down at him, Terry Higgs watching from a few feet away.
“C’mon, shortstack, practice time.” Marcus gently took Harry’s shoulder and pulled him away from the table, ignoring the scrambling from the first year.
“Marcus, no, my potatoes! I didn’t finish dinner!” Harry’s free arm was still reaching towards his half full plate, but stopped when Ron took the plate and scraped it onto his own.
“Traitor!” Harry gasped as he started walking with the Slytherin quidditch team, much to the outrage of the other teams.
Wood was the only one who wasn’t furious watching the first year, whose skill at quidditch class was a popular topic throughout the school, go to practice. Instead, Oliver just looked forlorn as he watched his boyfriend pulling Harry Potter along, and thought that with that first training session went any chance Gryffindor had of winning the cup next year.
It was hard to believe that they were already two months in to their first year at Hogwarts. October was filled with Quidditch practice, homework, studying, and extra lessons on the culture of the Wizarding World. Any spare time was spent in Hagrid’s hut or the Forest, learning about magical creatures. The morning of Halloween felt both devastating and exciting. Harry knew the importance of that night to the old traditions, as Samhain, but also its importance to him, as that was the day ten years ago that he had lost any chance he had at a normal childhood. At the same time, the wafting smell of baking pumpkin was waiting for the Slytherins as they emerged from their common room, only a few floors away from the kitchens. Everyone was chatting happily, eager to get through classes and to the feast planned for that evening. Even the professors seemed to be in a good mood, as Professor Flitwick decided that it was finally time to teach them the levitation spell.
Harry settled with Pansy Parkinson, who had warmed up to the trio over the past week or two. She gave him a nod, not engaging in her usual smirk and banter. Most of the Slytherins were being cautious around Harry today, realizing the significance of his subdued behavior and respecting it, at the very least to not be on the end of his or his friends’ tempers. Hermione nodded her thanks to the girl as she and Ron sat at the next table.
The four of them quickly mastered the spell, having spent the night before studying the theory. Many of the other Slytherins were also successful, getting a handful of points for their work.
The Gryffindors, however, were not so lucky.
The table behind Harry held Seamus Finnegan, who irritated Harry on his best day, even before he had left Neville alone to deal with Filch after the failed attempt of a duel. Sitting next to him with a soft scowl was Neville, who still hadn’t quite gotten the confidence of spellcasting most of their year had. Seamus imitated Neville’s hand shaking while he held his wand, laughing as Dean Thomas grinned from the next table. “C’mon, Nev, can’t even get past first year material?”
Harry’s very thin patience burned away, and he turned, upset. “Finnegan, you can’t cast a single spell without setting something, usually yourself, on fire. Shut up before I make you. Neville,” Harry took a breath and met the terrified boy’s eyes. “Magic believed in you enough for you to get a letter that ten-year-olds around the world wish they could get. Believe in magic and it will continue to believe in you. You’re here for a reason. No matter what anyone else is ignorant enough to think.” He turned back around with a glare towards Finnegan.
“Thanks, Harry. But you don’t have to help me. Seamus is right, I can’t do this.” Neville dropped his wand on the table and put his head in his hands.
Harry, gently, took one of the other boy’s hands in his own, causing the boy to look up at him across the table. “Neville, I know you can. And if that means I help you practice after every class just so can levitate a damn feather, I will. I do have to help you. Because in case the night of the duel didn’t make things abundantly clear, you’re my friend. And that’s what friends do.” Another glare at Finnegan left the boy flushed, eyes downcast.
Neville, similarly, was bright red, and just nodded as he took his hand back. Harry turned back to the front, where Pansy was watching him with her chin resting on her raised hand.
“You’re a bleeding heart, Potter. That won’t end well.” Her perfect eyebrow raised at him.
“That might be the only reason you and I are friends, Parkinson, so it must be working for some people. Why not the others, let alone the heir to a noble house?”
“Even Gryffindors? Lions have teeth, you know.”
“And we snakes have fangs and tend to be a lot more scrappy. Besides, are you saying that you don’t want to know what Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil gossip about? Lavender’s sister is a fifth year, and she apparently knows things that would make half the student body pay someone to obliviate her.”
Pansy’s eyes glinted sharply as she cut her gaze over to the other side of the room, where the mentioned girls had their heads together and were giggling. “Brown, you say? Interesting. All right, Potter. I’ll follow your lead for now.”
Harry just rolled his eyes as he turned back to his textbook.
He was so close to making it through. Charms had let out early, and Harry was being dragged to lunch by his friends, even though he had no appetite. He was too tired, too drained to notice the second-year Gryffindors filing down as well from the Transfiguration floor.
All it took was a forceful shove and a sneer from Cormac McLaggen to finally push Harry over the edge.
For weeks he could feel the pressure building under his heart, each small event sending just a bit more anxiety through his chest. The incident in Charms had spiked his adrenaline, and now he was beginning to crash, and not in a good way.
And as McLaggen, clad in Gryffindor red and arrogant ignorance, towered over him, leering down about the Boy-Who-Lived being a traitor, a disgrace, a useless evil snake, Harry felt that pressure finally push through the barrier he had shoved it under and cloud his brain.
If only it was any day other than Halloween.
It was like a switch turned on in his head. The sound of steps coming down the stone staircase turned to the thundering echo of wood in his ears, each step accompanied by a whisper of “boy, freak, useless”. He didn’t notice Ron pulling up to full height to get in between them. He didn’t even feel Hermione’s cautious hand on his shoulder as his world narrowed to the living memory of Number 4 and the shallow breathing rattling his still too-skinny frame. He pulled away, as fast as he could without drawing attention from the ghosts of his childhood, yearning for the one place he felt safe—the cramped but hidden away cupboard that only he could truly fit in.
Harry turned corner after corner, eyes never leaving the ground even as he rammed into shoulder after shoulder. Breathing heavily, he simply followed his instincts, not even realizing that his magic was intermingling with Hogwarts herself, guiding him to somewhere safe. Down another staircase, through a gap in between classrooms no one used, behind a tapestry of a griffin flying in front of a setting sun, he finally paused as the air grew heavy with dust and mildew. The hallway behind the tapestry was narrow and clearly unused, and Harry heaved a big sigh of relief.
Then immediately started coughing.
Twenty minutes later, when both his heart and his lungs had calmed, after the dual vision of past trauma and present life merged back into just what was, Harry finally noticed the small, animated statue of a snake carved from the stone wall, hissing comforting words right over his head.
Are you well now, young snake? The statue’s words curled through his mind, and the weirdness of the conversation, the language, helped cut through the fog.
I think so. Where are we?
Ah, you are a speaker. I had thought I recognized the magic in you. We are currently on the second floor of the castle. The Serpentine Corridor, to be exact.
Harry rubbed at his eyes. He must be near the History of Magic classroom, which explains why no one had seemed to use the area. Morgana knows no one wants to hang around with the risk of Professor Binns phasing through a wall. Thank you for your help. My name is Hadrian, do you have something I can call you?
It was of no concern to assist you as little as I could, snakeling. I used to be called many things, but my preferred title was always Ozmandius. That will do for the time being.
A pleasure. Harry looked around. Why you are placed here? Surely not just to represent Serpentine Hall.
The snake laughed. No. The room beyond me was a domicile for the professor of Ghoul Studies, the door down at the end of the hall. I do not believe the class has been offered in quite some time, and my purpose here has diminished.
Could you permit me to see it? Since it is no longer of use? My friends and I have been searching for an area to study, where House lines won’t affect us. Perhaps, if you are up to being purposeful once more, you could help us with that? Harry had to bite back his excitement at the idea of finally finding a place for his friends to meet that wasn’t the Library or one of the commonly-used lounges on the main floor.
Ozmandius watched him carefully. I suppose it would be nice to see some life in this hall once more. Enter, Hadrian, and if it is to your liking, you may assign a password to allow only those with its knowledge into the room beyond.
Harry grinned as he made a slight bow to the snake statue, and slipped inside the opening bricks. The room was clearly deserted, and had been for quite some time. But there was a large bay window Harry could already see himself claiming as his study spot, and a fireplace on the far wall for when the Highland chill begins to set in.
He could envision the space becoming everything they needed. There was space for couches, a few study tables, maybe even a small brewing table. He supposed he could share the window with Neville, who could grow some samples of plants in the natural light.
Only a few minutes later, Harry was back in front of Ozmandius. This will work wonderfully. You’re sure you don’t mind catering as a guard to a bunch of kids?
Once again, the snake laughed. On the contrary. It will be quite entertaining after all these decades, I’m sure.
I will bring my friends around to see it soon, so they can be introduced to you and we can start cleaning the area up. For now, let’s have the password simply be your name.
The statue nodded. Very well. I hope to see you soon, Hadrian.
And I, you, Ozmandius.
Harry cast a tempus charm, and immediately cursed, racing back through the hallway and down to the dungeons. He barely got through the door to the Potions lab when Professor Snape walked in, and the door closed firmly behind him.
Ron and Hermione both shot him worried looks as he settled next to Neville, but he just shot them a dust-covered grin, even as the reality of the day set back in. “Tell you in a bit. Got some place to show you after History tomorrow.”
They glared, but turned to the front as Snape began his lecture.
The rest of the day went by as a school day normally did, even with Hermione and Ron keeping a little bit closer to Harry’s side, and their yearmates in their house circling around him a little more often.
His escapade to the History hall did wonders on Harry’s mentality, but the pitying looks from the majority of the school began to wear him down once more.
It wasn’t until they were standing at the doors of the Great Hall that Harry faltered. Ron didn’t notice, eyes locked on the floating pumpkins and fluttering live bats that flew around the ceiling, until Hermione grabbed his arm as she watched Harry softly. The scrawny boy’s eyes were flickering between all of the decorations, the students laughing and chatting happily, and the floor, where his scuffed shoes seemed to not want to move forward anymore.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Hermione said quietly, not even needing to look back at Ron to know he would be nodding along. “It seems far too boisterous to have a nice dinner in there.”
Harry looked up, eyes reserved like it was the first week all over again, like he couldn’t believe someone would be willing to give up a magnificent feast for him. “Yeah?”
Ron shifted, placing a hand on Hermione’s before pulling away. “Give me two ticks, and I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He disappeared into the Great Hall with a wink.
Hermione moved closer to Harry, looping an arm through his. “Ron was telling me that there’s a more… traditional version of this holiday that we could look into. It’s less sweets and tricks, more about connecting to those who you’ve lost, remembering who you come from. I had meant to research it, I’m sorry I didn’t prioritize it over my other projects.”
She hadn’t even finished apologizing before Harry was shaking his head, smiling lightly. “I know you have plenty going on in that head of yours, Mione, I’m just grateful you thought of me anyways.”
“Well, we have plenty of time to figure it out for next year. Tonight, we’ll just do what we can to remember our ancestors without the official rituals.”
By this time, Ron had reappeared with a grin. “By next Samhain, I’ll have been able to get Bill and Charlie to tell me what they know about it. It’s said to be a family thing, the specific rituals, but I reckon there’s enough that carries over that we can figure something out, start our own traditions. Now, I’ve wanted to check out the Trophy Room ever since that night with Nev, never got a good chance to see it. Let’s go!” The redhead grabbed Harry’s open hand and started dragging him and Hermione, still attached to his other elbow, towards the stairs.
They wandered for a while, talking about everything and nothing, about The Burrow, about Christmas, and then about the differences between Christmas and Yule. By the time they had found their way to the Trophy Room, Hermione and Ron were in a fierce debate about the usefulness of Muggle Studies when there was so much muggle-raised wixen needed to know about the Wizarding World. Harry just followed along, tucked between the two of them, an indulgent smile on his face as he listened and absorbed.
Hermione stopped short in the doorway of the Trophy Room. “What is… How?”
Ron pulled them both into the room, a sheepish grin on his face. “Well, we didn’t want to miss dinner completely, did we? The twins still won’t tell me how to get into the kitchens, but they have a few friends down there who were apparently more than happy to send a little food up here for us to share, and a pitcher or two of pumpkin juice and water. They said if we needed anything else, we just needed to ask for an elf named Tweak.”
Harry walked forward with a grin, kneeling on the provided blanket to open cases of steaming food. Hermione looked at the blushing Ron fondly. She stepped into his side, wrapping an arm around his as she whispered, “Why the Trophy Room?”
Ron shifted guiltily and dropped his voice as well. “The twins did detention here a few weeks back, had to scrub all of the trophies by hand while Filch just watched. They found something they thought Harry might like to see, and when I mentioned why we needed the food, they made sure to tell me.” He walked forward. “Harry, come here.”
Harry turned from the food, a treacle tart half eaten in his hand. “Yeah?”
“Hadrian James, real food first!” Hermione chastised him as he joined them against one of the walls, sticking his tongue out at her as he did.
Ron shushed them both. “Harry, look.” He pointed through the glass at a badge set in the display, gleaming beneath a moving photograph.
Hermione inhaled sharply, nails digging into Ron’s arm.
Treacle tart fell to the ground as Harry moved forward, nose pressed to the glass. “Is that–?”
“James C. Potter, Gryffindor Chaser, 1977. Your dad. His team won the Quidditch Cup four years in a row, all four years he played for them.” Ron shifted closer, a hand on Harry’s shaking shoulder as he pointed to the photograph above the badge. “He’s that one, there, the one with the messy hair, shoving that poor bloke to the side so he could be front and center.”
Harry’s breath fogged the glass in front of him, and he quickly wiped the condensation away so he could watch the small figures move around. “He looks just like me.”
They let him stand there for a few minutes, before Hermione placed her hand on his other shoulder. “C’mon, Harry, let’s eat. He’ll still be there after dinner.”
He nodded distractedly, before shaking his head like a dog. “Right, food.” The smile he gave his friends was the biggest grin they’d seen from him since he performed his first successful spell.
Dinner was more animated than they’d been all day, Harry actually contributing to the conversation with soft smiles and fond glances between the two. It was like something had finally settled in his stomach, seeing his father’s face with the two people he trusted at either shoulder, set away from the rest of the school so they could share this with each other.
At some point, when Harry started to look back at the photo on the wall more often than not, they turned more somber. Ron drew his knees up to his chest as they sprawled on the blanket on the floor, before telling them about his uncles that he lost in the war before he was even old enough to know that they were gone, how his mom still got a haunted look in her eyes watching the twins who reminded her of her own brothers. By the end of his story, he set his head on Hermione’s shoulder as tears began to fall. Hermione takes over, telling stories of loving grandparents, who told her stories about magic and love and adventure, grandparents that she thinks were squibs that were sent to the muggle world, but were lost to her before she knew to ask. She wipes her own tears away as Harry tells them of dreams, of a hulking black dog, of laughter, of a flying motorcycle.
Neither of them asked about the family Harry wasn’t talking about.
They had settled into a comfortable silence, shifting to set their backs on the far wall as they looked up to the trophies telling stories of generations of students. Suddenly, a handful of professors spilled into the room, wands out, faces furious. Ron and Hermione instantly stood, Ron blocking the teachers from Hermione pulling Harry up from the floor.
McGonagall strode forward, her accent thick as she stood over the students. “Where have you three been? What was going through your heads that you thought you could just disappear from the feast without letting a professor know?”
Ron’s jaw clenched. “My brothers knew, all three of them. Ask Percy.”
“Prefect Weasley is the only reason we’re not sending all three of you to the Headmaster, which I am still not entirely convinced is the correct choice.” She stepped closer, but Hermione and Ron create a barrier between the steaming professor and Harry, who had his back to the wall and eyes wide.
“Professor, please. We didn’t know we weren’t allowed to miss the feast, and we didn’t feel like celebrating with the rest of the school.” Hermione had stepped forward, knowing that she was the more favored student of the three. “Harry had never even seen a photo of his father, and we thought that remembering a bit of his father here, today of all days, was a better idea than pretending to enjoy the chaos of the holiday, especially the one that affects Harry so strongly.”
Immediately, the Transfiguration professor softened. “Ah. I didn’t realize what today was. I apologize, Mr. Potter.” She looked between the two shielding students to see Harry nodding softly. “Perhaps next year, we could create alternative plans for you, one that includes letting the staff know where you run off to.” Her tone turned exasperated as she eyed Hermione, somewhat fondly.
Hermione demurred, nodding along. “I do hope that there wasn’t too much trouble looking for us, especially since the other Weasleys knew where we were. We really didn’t know we couldn’t miss the feast.”
McGonagall pursed her lips, eyeing the other two professors that had joined her, the Muggle Studies and the Arithmancy professors, neither of whom the trio knew well. Both of the women shrugged, causing McGonagall to sigh and turn back to the students. “I am only telling you this because I can only assume that your housemates will tell you when you join them in the Great Hall shortly. There was a breach in the school security just now, a wild troll has entered the lower floors of the castle. In counting students, your brother, Mr. Weasley, alerted us to your location. Professor Snape would have come to retrieve you, but we felt he was better suited to assist in ridding us of the troll, given his knowledge in defense.”
She moved to the side, gesturing towards the door. “For the sake of security, I will escort you three back to the Great Hall to join your House while the danger is removed.”
Harry was once again tucked between his two friends as they headed back to the main floor, teachers surrounding them.
As they hit the Grand Staircase, a strong odor met them. Hermione sighed forlornly, even as they all covered their noses with the hems of their robe sleeves. “Such a shame,” she whispered, so only the boys would hear. “Troll skin is immensely useful in potions, and so hard to get. If only we’d known and could have gotten a sample while one was so close.”
The boys snickered, even with the reality of how close they were to danger weighing on them just a few corners away down the hall.
The three sat with their year mates at their usual table, ignoring the subtle, questioning glances as they talked together, joking about what they would use the troll skin for. Their only interruption was an exasperated Flick, staring down at them with a raised eyebrow, only yielding when Harry gave her a sheepish grin. She ruffled his hair and walked away. That night, the trio parted, smiling softly as they each went into their rooms.
They might not have fought a twelve-foot mountain troll for its skin, but there’s something about spending hours of a night, bearing your souls to one another, mourning together, that makes lifelong friends. All three of the first years closed their eyes that night, feeling a little more settled, a little more welcomed, a little more like a family.