A/N: Because Halloween fell on a Thursday in 1991, the infamous Charms class has been replaced with a Transfiguration lesson.
Chapter Eight
September 19, 1991
I laid my cheek on the dusty table, far back in a forgotten corner of the library. Moisture pooled along the edge of my skin, and I noticed vaguely how the dust swirled around in my tears.
"Happy birthday to me."
As I sang the words in a hoarse whisper, dust puffed up in front of my face. Every little speck caught the light as they twirled and sank back down to the wooden surface.
"Happy birthday to m-me."
I almost sobbed as the last word left my mouth, and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut against the shudders making their way through my body. I was afraid of completely breaking down, but the tears wouldn't stop and I couldn't stop shaking.
"Happy birthday to Hermione."
My cheek had started to burn from the weight of my head, but I left it on the table. My eyes were nearly swollen shut and my hair was a tangled mess, but all I cared about was finishing the song.
"Happy birthday to me."
I took a few deep, stuttering breaths, ignoring the dust as it entered my wheezing lungs. I sniffled, but something from my nose managed to run onto the table anyway. I didn't care.
"Congratulations, Hermione," I told myself. "You've made it to your t-twelfth birthday. What are you going to do now?"
I brought my arms up and crossed them on the table in front of my face. My nostrils flared out against the violent burning just behind my eyes. My breath shortened.
"N-nothing…" I whispered, and then I buried my face in my arms. I sobbed uncontrollably, shaking and moaning and crying, for the friend I had lost and the others who were ignoring me.
---
Two Days Earlier…
The seventeenth of September dawned quite cold. Fall had officially come to the Highlands, and I wore an extra sweater under my robes to ward off the early morning chill. As usual, I was one of the first up and the halls were silent as I headed for the Great Hall. The echoes of my footfalls swept down the corridors and then back again, greeting me as they rushed past.
My thoughts were filled with the events of the past week, or the lack thereof, really. Ever since the night of the Cerberus, as I'd come to think of it, my contact with Harry and Neville had seemed to dwindle. At first, I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination, but then I saw that Neville was most definitely avoiding Harry, Ron, and I. When I tried to ask him about it, he just looked at me and said he would rather forget that night ever happened. Then he walked away.
It hurt to see him turn his back on me-he was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! He should have some backbone! Yes, we came face to face with literally something out of our worst nightmares, but none of us were harmed. The possibility that harm could have befallen us was not lost on me, but I wasn't going to be angry at Harry, Ron, or Neville about something I couldn't have controlled. And honestly, I had gotten myself into that situation in the first place, so I was even less worried about it.
But apparently Neville had been truly traumatized by those three fanged heads; he had not spoken to me for about a week and he went out of his way to avoid contact with Harry, Ron, and I. It was frustrating to me that he was distancing himself, but there was little I could do without confronting him, and I knew that would make things worse. Neville was the type of person who would deal very poorly with a direct confrontation.
The thing that bothered me the most, however, was how Harry and I had drifted apart since that night. I was not sure if it was conscious on his part, but our morning talks had dwindled to mere greetings and, although he was still a top student like me, he rarely contributed in class. We had done our homework together a few times, but he'd stopped asking me if I wanted to study with him.
One sure reason I knew for this was his involvement in Quidditch. His first practice was this evening, and he had been grilling Ron all week, from what I'd heard, about what to expect. They were able to talk for hours and hours each night, even while they were doing their homework, about what playing Quidditch was going to be like; and in the past few days, all that I'd heard Harry talk about was the upcoming practice.
I knew enough about Quidditch from what I'd read to understand what they were talking about, but overall I was not very interested in the sport. It seemed fast and dangerous and I wondered about the rivalry it caused between the houses, how healthy that type of thing was for the school in general. So I had nothing relevant to contribute to their conversations, and that excluded me from what they were doing, mostly. Ron still seemed to harbor a grudge against me, for some reason, and Harry was always around him, so it was hard for me to catch him alone.
All of those thoughts carried me into the Great Hall, and as I headed for the Gryffindor table I saw that no other first years had arrived. We always sat toward the entrance, on the far side of the Hall from the head table, and today that area was empty. Harry had broken our tradition of meeting each other in the morning for the first time, and I felt my heart clunk painfully in my chest as I sat down, quite alone. He of course did not have to be here first every morning, but the breaking of routine and the absence of our little time alone together bothered me all the same. I would just have to wait for Sally, I supposed, because she was really the only person that I'd had a meaningful conversation with in the past few days.
First years began to show up soon after that; Neville of course put quite the distance between us as he sat down, and I sighed resignedly. I tried to make eye contact with him, but he just ate his breakfast in silence, staring at his plate. I clenched my jaw against asking him exactly what his problem was-I had just been over that in my head, and I knew he would react negatively. I would just have to give him some time.
Harry and Ron strolled into the Great Hall a few minutes later, smiling and laughing about something. As usual, when they were within earshot, I heard them talking about Quidditch.
"…supposed to get a Nimbus from McGonagall?" Ron was asking him. They sat across from me and a little way down the bench. Neither of them looked at me as they loaded their plates.
"Well, only if Dumbledore approves, I guess," Harry answered Ron. I rolled my eyes at having to listen to this same tired discussion, yet again.
"But you have that practice tonight," Ron pointed out, talking with his mouth full. I was pretty sure I saw bits of biscuits fly onto the plate of bangers.
"Maybe I'll have to use a school broom for now," Harry shrugged. "I just can't believe that I get to play."
"Yeah, it's wicked."
And the conversation continued from there, not really moving in any direction yet somehow never really ending, either. I'd heard other girls talk endlessly about some silly things, but honestly!
I waited for Sally to show up through all of this, and when every first year except her had arrived, I began to wonder where she was.
"Was Sally awake when you left, Lavender?" I asked. She glanced up with an odd look on her face, as if surprised I had addressed her, and then shrugged.
"Dunno."
"Parvati?" I asked, turning to her.
"She wasn't there when I woke up," she told me, and then continued on with whatever conversation she'd been involved in with Lavender. Lily hadn't seen Sally, either. If she wasn't at breakfast and she wasn't in our dorm, then I had no idea where she could have been. Maybe she had gone to the library to get some extra studying in, or something along those lines.
Suddenly, there was a swell of noise in the Great Hall, and I looked around to find the source of the excitement. Everyone was looking up, and I saw that the post had arrived. What was unusual, though, was the long, thin package wheeled into the Hall on the wings of six owls. They headed for the Gryffindor table and I saw some expectant faces, but the student they stopped in front of seemed genuinely surprised. A seventh owl dropped an envelope in Harry Potter's lap, and then all of them took flight and sped away.
I thought I knew what was in the package, and I frowned. Yet another conversation piece for Harry and Ron, and surely this one would last for weeks, if it was what I thought it was. Harry just stared at the package and the envelope until Ron prodded him, and then he tore out the parchment. By the way his face lit up with boyish happiness, I knew that it was in fact his new broomstick. Ron grinned too after Harry had handed him the letter to read.
"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron breathed. I could clearly hear the envy dripping from his voice. "I've never even touched one!" It did not occur to me until much later in life, but Ron's words and the desire on his face resembled lust. That's right, Ron was lusting after a broomstick.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle must have had some kind of radar, because soon enough they had made their way to the Gryffindor table. They stood behind Harry and Ron for a few moments, sneering, and then Malfoy reached over Harry and grabbed the package off the table. I did not even think about warning him. Harry and Ron whipped around and glared at the three of them.
"That's a broomstick," Malfoy observed, dropping the package back onto the table quite contemptuously. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter. First years aren't allowed broomsticks."
I watched as ugly smirk settled on Ron's face. "It's not just any old broomstick," he said. "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" His voice was full of spite now. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."
Malfoy's pale face colored pink. "What would you know about it, Weasley? You couldn't afford half the handle! I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig," Malfoy retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but quite suddenly Flitwick was among us. It might have been because he was so short and we hadn't seen him coming, but it seemed like everyone was quite surprised to see the Charms professor.
"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" Flitwick wondered, in his characteristic high-pitched voice.
"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Malfoy told him, very fast. But Flitwick just grinned at them all.
"Yes, yes, that's right. Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances. And what model is it, Potter?"
"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," Harry told him, though I could see he was staring directly at Malfoy. The suppressed laughter in his voice was very evident. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it."
"Yeah, thanks Malfoy," Ron put in, and if anything, Flitwick smiled even more.
"Well you all better head back to the Slytherin table and finish your breakfast," Flitwick told Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. "Don't want to be late for class."
Scowling, and looking thoroughly put out, the Slytherins turned and trudged back toward their table. Flitwick watched them go for a moment and then excused himself. I looked to the head table and saw McGonagall staring in our direction, and I wondered if she'd sent Flitwick to head Malfoy off. If she had come, it would have looked like favoritism…not for the first time, and certainly not the last, I wondered at the complicated politics within the school. As far as Hogwarts was concerned, I was quickly learning things weren't always as simple as they appeared.
"It is true, you know," Harry said.
"What is?" Ron asked.
"If Malfoy hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, I wouldn't be on the team-"
Something inside of me snapped. Looking back on it, I wonder exactly what caused me to say what I did. It might have been the stress of the previous week, or just my angst at that time over Harry and how he was more or less ignoring me.
"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking the rules?" I asked.
Harry and Ron both looked at me. Ron of course looked unhappy that I had dared to speak and Harry's face was quite unreadable.
"Maybe it's a reward for saving his Remembrall," Harry said, after a moment.
"Or maybe you're just incredibly lucky you didn't kill yourself, or get expelled," I said, and stood up. I was fed up with this childish blindness because of Quidditch, and I really did not feel like sitting there listening to them talking about it anymore.
"I liked it better when you weren't speaking to us," Ron said.
"Oh, don't worry-"
"So don't stop now," Ron cut me off, and we glared at each other. I picked up my bag after several moments and stalked off, though I couldn't resist a look over my shoulder at Harry. He had been looking in my direction, and when he saw me looking, he quickly looked down at the package. Ron then asked him a question and they went into another conversation, probably about Quidditch.
After I left the Great Hall, I went to the library to see if Sally was there. I even checked way in the back behind some extra large bookshelves, but the only things back there were a few dusty tables. There were only a few students there, however, and they were all much older.
I looked at my watch and saw that Charms didn't start for another thirty minutes, so she couldn't have gone to class yet. The only other place I could think of to find her was back in the dorm, and even though the other girls had said she wasn't there, maybe she'd gone back after they'd left. So I headed for the Gryffindor tower, taking the now familiar route from the ground floor all the way up to the seventh.
The common room was empty but I hardly noticed as I mounted the stairs to my dormitory. I could see the door was partially open before I even got there, and I could hear some kind of low noise issuing from inside. I did not hesitate and burst into the room, already with a bad feeling about what was going on. It took a second for the scene to organize itself within my mind-Sally's things were strewn around her bed and on the floor by her armoire, and her trunk was open at the foot of her bed. She was curled up on my bed, of all places, sobbing violently.
"Sally?" I cried out, running over to her. I leapt onto my bed and curled up next to her, trying to lift her face out of her chest so that I could see what was wrong with her and get her to talk to me. When she saw me, though, she just started crying even harder and held onto me with all of her might.
I had absolutely no idea what to do-I'd never needed to comfort a friend before, and I had no idea what was going on-so I just let her hold me. I slowly stroked her dark brown curls, some of which were very wet from her tears. She was shaking she was crying so hard.
"What's the matter?" I asked, quietly, trying to ease her a bit.
Eventually, after what seemed like several minutes, she calmed down enough to formulate words. She let go of me and slowly sat up. She rubbed her eyes and her face thoroughly before looking at me. The whites of her eyes were unbelievably bloodshot.
"Sally?"
"Oh, Hermione…" Her lip trembled. I thought she was going to break down again, but she was able to control it.
"What is it?" I wondered, softly.
"It's m-my parents."
"What? Did something happen to them?"
"No, no…" she trailed off, and then she looked toward her bed, where all of her things were piled about. Even before my brain made me realize what was going on, it was putting the pieces together.
"Well then, what?"
"They're-they've withdrawn me from Hogwarts!" she finally exclaimed, and I just stared at her in shock for a few seconds. Sally's parents were taking her out of Hogwarts? But, but no! I needed Sally! Then I remembered what she'd told me that day we watched the other first years play tag: My parents, they weren't very supportive of my decision to come to Hogwarts…
"Why? Why are they doing this?" I asked. I heard some desperation in my own voice.
She shrugged, and it was a pitiable, helpless gesture. "They sent me a letter this morning, and McGonagall came for me after you left for breakfast. She showed me it in her office. All they said was they regretted their decision to allow me to attend and that they were withdrawing me, immediately."
I was speechless. There was nothing I could say to overcome the shock and sadness inside of me.
"I have to be on the 11 o'clock train back to London," Sally said, and silent tears started to drip from her eyes again. They rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto her blouse, their tracks shining in the light of the room.
"There's…there's nothing McGonagall can do? Or Dumbledore?" I wondered, still not sure how all of this was happening.
Sally shook her head miserably, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "I asked already. Since I'm considered a minor in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, my parents have complete control. McGonagall said she and Dumbledore have already tried to talk to my parents, but they wouldn't listen."
"Oh, Sally…" I said, and tried to force back my own tears. I was unsuccessful, however, because I felt a few leak down my face. She bit her lip and then we crashed together, hugging each other and crying. It lasted for a minute or two. As we calmed down and took stock of things, McGonagall walked into the room. She looked taken aback to see me.
"Miss Granger, what are you doing here?" she wondered. I saw her glance at Sally's unpacked things with some distaste.
"…saying good bye to a friend, I guess." Sally sniffed again, and I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. McGonagall's face might have softened, but it was only for a moment.
"Well, you need to be off to Charms. It starts in ten minutes," she told me, walking around my bed and pointing her wand at Sally's things. A few swishes and flicks later, her luggage was packed neatly into her trunk.
I looked at Sally. She was just staring at the trunk with an absolutely dead expression on her face.
"What will you do now?" I asked her, standing and smoothing my robes. I rubbed my face to try and rid the traces of crying.
"Go back to my other school, I suppose," she sighed. McGonagall was watching us with a blank look.
"I'll write you…" I trailed off, and I had her write her address down on a piece of paper.
"Not sure how my parents are going to handle owls, but it's worth a try," she said, and I thought I saw some life return to her eyes with the prospect of letters between us.
"Well, bye," I said, awkwardly, and leaned down to hug her. She was still on my bed. "Sorry Sally," I whispered in her ear. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too," she whispered back, and her voice was watery once again.
I stood straight and let go of her. Our eyes lingered on each other for a few more seconds, but eventually I turned away. As I passed McGonagall, she stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
"We will do everything we can to get her back, Miss Granger," she said, quietly, and there was no denying the emotion underlying her words. I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and left the dorm without another look toward Sally. I would have lost it if I had.
It was very hard keeping things together for all of Charms. I said nothing and attempted to answer no questions, and I received some strange because of it, but I didn't care. One of my friends was leaving and the other two were ignoring me. After class ended, I went down the lake and found a large flat rock to sit on. As I watched the giant squid wave its tentacles around, I cried. I just cried.
---
Weeks passed at an alarming rate after that; as autumn deepened into shorter days and longer, colder nights, so did my depression. I fell into my studies with a vengeance to take my mind off the bone-crushing loneliness that would assault me at night, when I was lying in bed listening to the other girls sleeping.
Neville continued to avoid me through September and into October, and after a few weeks I stopped trying to get him to talk to me. Harry and I never said anything directly about whatever had happened between us, but we continued to drift apart after he got the broom. He had Quidditch practice three nights a week for several hours, so between him finishing up his homework (he was still second only to me within Gryffindor as far as grades were concerned) and his nightly chats with Ron about how flying was going, we stopped talking.
I tried writing Sally once with news of what was going on at Hogwarts; she replied with a few short sentences about how her parents didn't want any of her "weird friends" writing her. She apologized but wrote that I shouldn't send her any more letters. I sat staring at those words for quite some time, and then in a fit of anger I ripped it into shreds and threw them into the fire. Why was everything going so terribly wrong for me? What had I done to deserve all the animosity, to deserve losing my three friends?
I was the top student in every class, but that was an integral part of my character. If other students were jealous of my achievements, perhaps they didn't realize how hard I worked, or how long I studied for? Or perhaps they did not understand that I had to do well, to please myself. The few letters I'd traded with my parents (they sent me a book and a Cashmere sweater for my birthday) seemed bland because I did not know how to tell them about my problems. I told them how well I did in my classes, and I even made up some things that I'd done with Neville or Sally or Harry, but I think some part of me was afraid they would react as strongly as Sally's parents had.
I'm not sure why I wanted to stay at Hogwarts. I was only very rarely happy about anything-even my academic achievements stopped giving me pleasure after awhile. But above everything else was a desire to stay at the school and immerse myself in the new magical world. The last thing I wanted to do was go home and go back to that other school, because things were no better there.
So my state of mind was frayed, at best, by the time Halloween rolled around. As it was a Thursday, we had Herbology and Transfiguration. Herbology was uneventful and passed quickly (it always seemed short because it was fifty minutes, rather than two hours like every other class). After lunch I headed for Transfiguration alone, as usual, and settled in to take notes and work on whatever McGonagall had for us.
"Good afternoon class," she said, magicking the door closed once everyone arrived. "Today we will be turning objects to stone, working our way from matches, to books, and even desks if any of you get that far."
We then proceeded through the note-taking period and afterward McGonagall announced she was pairing us up. Unfortunately, she paired me with Ron. He said nothing as he moved to sit near me, although he looked very unhappy. Harry was paired with Seamus and Lily was with Dean, and so on. McGonagall gave every pair several matches and two books, and told us to get working.
"Tenus calculus!" Ron said, immediately. I could have pointed out several things he'd done wrong, but the lack of success was obvious enough to him.
According to McGonagall, for the spell to work properly, one had to drag their wand away from the object, almost like spreading butter over a slice of bread. Ron had just pointed his wand at the match, with no movement. Also, the first syllable of each word was accented, or so Professor McGonagall said, but Ron had just shouted the two words.
"Tenus calculus!" he said again. Nothing happened.
"You're saying it wrong," I finally told him, hoping to help him. "It's TE-nus CAL-culus. Accent the first syllable of both words." I didn't even bother telling him about the wand motion.
Instead of taking my advice, he turned to me with a red, angry face. "Why don't you do it then, if you're so clever?"
"Fine," I snapped. I had only been trying to help him. "Tenus calculus," I incanted, dragging my wand away toward the left. Before our eyes, the wooden match morphed into stone.
McGonagall had been standing near us-I've often wondered if she was waiting for me to try the spell-and came over as soon as I had completed the transfiguration.
"Well done, Miss Granger. On your first try, too. That is one point to Gryffindor," she said, picking up the match and inspecting it. She set it back on the desk after a moment and turned to examine the work of other students.
"Finite incantantem," I said, and looked at Ron as the match changed back. He had clenched his jaw and his face was a darker red, but he said nothing.
The class went on from there. By the end, I had successfully changed a match, a book, and our desk into stone. Harry and Susan Bones of Hufflepuff were the only other students to change all three, though most others got the match and the book. Ron, on the other hand, never managed to change the match into stone. After awhile he started pronouncing the spell correctly, but his wand motion was still off. I tried to help him, but he told me to shut up.
After class ended, it took me a little longer to pack up than usual, so I was one of the last out of the room. As I passed through the doorway, I heard someone mutter in front of me:
"It's no wonder no one can stand Hermione," the person said, and I looked up, shocked. Of course it was Ron, and he was talking to Harry. I clenched my fists and tried to will away the pressure behind my eyes, but it was building quickly. "She's a nightmare, honestly," he continued, and my breath hitched as the first tears left my eyes. I was just trying to help him, and he insulted me!
I didn't want to give anyone the pleasure of seeing me cry, so I rushed forward to get clear of the mess of students. I bumped into Harry as I passed, by accident, and he met my eyes for an instant. They widened but I looked away quickly, not wanting his pity nor thinking he cared enough to give any.
As I pushed ahead, Harry said, "I think she heard you."
"So?" Ron wondered. His voice was fading. "She must've noticed she's got no friends…"
I broke into a run then as the tears really started coming, and I did not stop until I'd reached the girls bathroom somewhere on the third floor. It was kind of out of the way so there was no one in there, and that was fine with me. I leaned back against the door and tilted my head back. My eyes were blurry from the tears collecting on my lower lids, and my face contorted as the first sob left my burning lungs. I slowly slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, leaning over my knees and watching as tears and snot dripped to the floor. I couldn't stop the sobbing. I couldn't stop the tears. I couldn't stop the despair
Why did everyone hate me? Why?! What had I done that was so wrong, so miserable, that no one even wanted to talk to me? Was I that ugly that people couldn't even look at me? I double-fisted my bushy hair and pulled, hard; a primal cry of pain and anguish and rage left me.
Suddenly, I thought I was going throw up, so I crawled over to a stall, kicked the door shut behind me, and leaned over the toilet. My badly messed up hair fell onto the seat, but I did not notice as my stomach pushed out whatever I had eaten for breakfast and lunch. It hurt so much, to listen to Ron and everyone else talk about me like that. It hurt more than anything had ever hurt in my entire life, and as soon as my heaving stopped, I flushed the toilet and curled up around the bowl, on the floor.
Eventually, I gathered enough wits to lock the stall door and sit on the toilet. I was dirty and sweaty and smelled like puke, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go home. In that instant, I changed my mind about wanting to stay at Hogwarts. At least I had my parents at home, even if there were no friends waiting for me there. Here at Hogwarts, everyone hated me and it looked like that's how it would stay.
I heard someone come into the bathroom, and I held my breath to avoid detection. Whoever it was stood right outside of my stall, though.
"Hermione?" It was Parvati.
"Go away," I croaked, my throat still clogged and choked with the remnants of my lunch.
" Hermione, come out."
"GO AWAY!" I screamed with everything I had left, and ten seconds later I heard the bathroom door shut.
It took me awhile to collect myself enough to move; during that time I formulated what I would say to McGonagall and then probably to Dumbledore in order to leave Hogwarts. I knew McGonagall at least would be disappointed in my decision to leave, but I had never talked to Dumbledore. He rarely showed up at meals, so he was almost a non-issue as far I was concerned.
Hours passed; I knew there was to be a Halloween feast, but I did not want to go. I never wanted to see any of the other first years again. I eventually left the stall and saw that it was dark outside. My watch told the sad tale of seven thirty. I had been in the bathroom for four and a half hours.
I went to the mirror and cleaned myself up as best as I could. I rinsed my mouth out and wetted my face. I tried to comb some of the tangles out of my hair with my fingers, but that was a lost cause. My eyes were puffy and red, and my face looked gaunt and drawn. I smiled just to spite myself with the sight of my large front teeth. I hated myself in that instant.
I stared at my image for some time, gathering once again my thoughts on what I wanted to say to McGonagall. As I was about to turn to leave and find her, the stench hit my nostrils. My nose wrinkled by itself against the malodorous stink, and I wondered what exactly could have caused it. Had the toilets backed up?
A sort of huffing, grunting sound reached my eyes then, and I thought I could sense the footfalls of something large and heavy vibrating through the floor. No, it wasn't just my imagination, because the water in the sink was rippling.
Whatever it was, it was coming closer, and as my fear grew, I looked around for a place to hide. I ran to the last stall and crouched low, waiting for what was going to happen. The grunting grew louder and the stench grew more intense, and suddenly the bathroom door was wrenched open. Something huge and gray stood in the doorway, though I couldn't see what it was. It didn't look friendly, though.
Then it ducked into the bathroom, and my heart stopped as I recognized it as a mountain troll from one of my textbooks. It was as tall as the room and it wielded a massive wooden club, twice as tall as I was. I was nearly paralyzed with my fear, but two things were working with me: it had left the bathroom door open and it hadn't seen me yet. I just had to wait for it to look away and then I'd run for it.
Just as I was about to go, in fact I had already tensed all of my muscles and I could literally almost feel the adrenaline and endorphins pumping through my system, the door slammed shut! And I heard it lock! Someone had locked the troll inside with me-it didn't matter to me if it was on purpose…I was locked inside a small bathroom with a fifteen-foot beast!
"HEEEEEELLLPPP!!" I screamed, desperately trying to make someone aware of my presence, but at the same time drawing the attention of the troll. It swung its head and focused on me with its beady eyes. I watched with wide, terrified eyes as it hefted its club and shuffled toward me.
I was shaking and almost hyperventilating as I backed myself into the corner, trying to get as far away from it as possible, but there was nowhere to go. I was trapped and it had seen me. It was going to kill me. But I didn't want to die! There was so much I still wanted to do, so many things I hadn't even thought of yet. I could almost feel the stench now, it was so close. There was no escape. This was it. This was the end.
I love you, mum and dad.
I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for death to land on my head, but a lock clicking and then a slamming noise interrupted my final thoughts.
"GET AWAY FROM HER!" someone yelled, and I thought I recognized the voice, so I cracked an eye open. Harry and Ron stood in the doorway of the bathroom. They both had their wands out and were staring at the mountain troll (Ron from his vantage point a little behind Harry).
Harry was a sight. His robes were thrown open and his hair was wild; his eyes were blazing and his face set in stone. He pointed his wand at the troll.
"Distract it, Ron!" he commanded, and began to circle around the room toward me. He picked up a bowl and flung it at the troll. It bounced off the creature's thick hide, but it turned to Harry.
"Oy, pea-brain!" Ron yelled, throwing a pipe that had been lying around. It hit the troll on the shoulder and it turned the other way. By this time, Harry had reached me, and he wrapped his hands around one of my arms.
"Come on, Hermione, run!" he said, but for some reason I couldn't move. I wasn't able to believe this was happening. I was being saved?
"Run!" he yelled at me, putting his eyes right in front of mine, and for a moment my entire word was filled with green. It seemed to break me from my stupor, and I nodded to him. As we turned to leave, I saw that the troll was almost upon Ron.
"Ron!" I called out, just as the beast swung its club toward him. He managed to dodge the blow, but he landed awkwardly and looked very dazed. The troll was readying for another swing and this time Ron would not be able to dodge. Harry released my arm.
"HEY!" he shouted at it. He found a chunk of tile on the floor and whipped it at the troll, and amazingly it cut the thing across the abdomen. It roared, enraged, and turned toward us. It raised the club over its head and headed for us.
Then Harry did something I will never forget: he set himself, gripped his wand, and bellowed, "TENUS CALCULUS!" He whipped his wand off to the side as he did so, following the prescribed movement for the spell.
I could physically see the spell as it left his wand and headed for the club. When it struck the beast's weapon, there was an almost instantaneous transformation. For one confused second, the troll tried to hold up the stone club, but then its arm cracked under the weight and the rock crashed down onto its head. I'm fairly certain I heard its skull splinter.
As the dust settled, I watched Ron slowly get to his feet and stumble over to us. Harry finally lowered his wand. He glanced at me, and I thought his eyes might have burned me.
"Are you two alright?" he wondered.
"Yeah," I breathed, and Ron nodded. "Is it dead?" I wondered. It was a useless question, though, because all three of us could see the gray matter oozing out from beneath the club. Harry had finished it off.
"I think so," he said, quietly. We just stared at it for several seconds, but then approaching noise made us tense again. What could it possibly be now?
McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell sprinted into the room, but stopped dead at the sight of the troll sprawled out on the floor, clearly dead. Quirrell kind of sighed-moaned and then leaned against the sink with a hand over his heart. McGonagall and Snape stared at us with identical fury in their eyes.
"What is the meaning of this?" Snape asked.
"What were you thinking of?" McGonagall then asked, not waiting for us to answer Snape's question. "You're lucky you all weren't killed. Why aren't you in the Gryffindor tower?"
I saw Harry straighten himself to answer, but I could not let him. He had just saved my life-and so had Ron, more or less-so I owed them a certain debt of gratitude I did not even know how to express. I moved slightly away from his side.
"Please, Professor McGonagall," I addressed her. Her eyes latched on to me. "They were looking for me."
"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
"I-I've had a bad day," I said, glossing over everything. "I didn't feel much like a feast tonight…so they came looking for me."
I took a deep breath. "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. They didn't have time to get anyone-it was about to finish me off when they arrived."
"How exactly did you three incapacitate a mountain troll?" Snape wondered, voice full of disdain and disbelief.
"Ron distracted it while Harry worked his way to me and then when it raised its club over its head, Harry used that spell we learned today to turn it into stone," I explained, thinking of Harry's impressive magical feat. He had looked like a real wizard in that moment; ready to take on anything and everything.
McGonagall and Snape examined the troll quietly for a little while, muttering between themselves too low for me to hear. I stood by Harry and Ron, and when I glanced at them they were looking at me a little strangely. I wondered if it was because I had stood up for them. The professors rose and looked at us. Snape sneered.
"Of course Potter would kill it-"
"Oh hush, Severus," McGonagall cut him off, and I almost laughed at the look on his face. It was mutinous. "I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. I'm awarding Gryffindor five points for services to the school. Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go and finish the feast with the rest of your housemates in the common room."
Without another word, we turned to leave. I noticed Quirrell looking at Harry a little queerly, but soon we had left the bathroom and were on our way back to Gryffindor tower. Nothing was said the entire way back to the portrait, and the silence was nearly unbearable.
I stopped them before they could give the password: "Harry, Ron?" They both looked at me.
"Thanks."
"Thank you for explaining to McGonagall," Harry said, and I nodded.
"Look, Hermione…" Ron started. I waited for him to continue.
"I'msorrypigsnout," he said, all in a rush, and sped through the opening portrait hole. I stared after him. Harry chuckled briefly. I looked over at him with raised eyebrows.
"Something funny?" I wondered.
"His idea of an apology, yeah," Harry said, smiling and looking at me.
"Harry…thank you," I said, sincerely. I owed him my life.
He inclined his head. "And I'm sorry too, Hermione," he told me. "You don't deserve how you've been treated," he sighed.
I waved my hand and said, "It's what happens from here on that matters."
He stared intently at me for a second, and I was reminded of his scorching gaze in the bathroom. He then nodded and we went through the portrait hole, side by side.
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