Chapter 9: Mountain Troll
Chapter Text
Hermione Granger loved Hogwarts.
From the moment she first set foot inside its towering walls, it felt as though she had walked straight into one of her favorite novels. A grand castle with hidden secrets and magical corridors—it was more than she could have ever hoped for. But unlike the helpless damsels in her books, here, she wasn't waiting to be rescued. No, she was a witch—powerful, capable, and filled with curiosity that never seemed to end.
But there was one thing she despised about Hogwarts: it was an absolute maze. The stairs had a mind of their own, shifting unpredictably. One wrong step, and you could end up miles from your intended destination, winding through corridors that led you nowhere.
She had even asked Professor McGonagall for a map once, feeling desperate after being late to class twice in the same week. But McGonagall had simply raised an eyebrow, as if such a request was beyond reason. "No such thing, Miss Granger," she'd replied, her lips twitching at the corners as though amused by Hermione's frustration.
"Well, of course not," Hermione muttered to herself, now wandering aimlessly through another corridor. "Why make it easy for anyone?"
Tonight, though, she wasn't just trying to navigate the castle for a class. She was looking for Harry. After everything that had happened recently, she wasn't about to let him vanish. Not today, of all days.
But where could he be? Hermione found herself biting her lip, her thoughts racing as her feet carried her almost automatically through the shadowy halls. The light of the Halloween Feast still spilled out from the Great Hall, and she could hear the distant echo of laughter and conversation, but her mind was elsewhere.
Then, without realizing it, she stopped dead in her tracks. The familiar, eerie sight of the forbidden third-floor corridor loomed ahead. She swallowed, the memory of their first encounter with the three-headed dog sending a shiver down her spine. That monstrous thing, standing guard over something none of them understood, yet.
"Surely Harry wouldn't be that reckless..." she whispered to herself, but even as the words left her mouth, doubt crept in. Of course, Harry would. Especially now, when the rest of the school was preoccupied with the feast, and no one would notice him sneaking off.
"Of all the... bloody boys!" Hermione clenched her fists, her earlier worry morphing into frustration. Of course, if Harry had gone there, she was going to wring his neck for it. She started toward the cursed door, her steps sharp and determined. For all the times Harry had infuriated her, this would be the one time she'd actually follow through with her threats.
"I'm going to hit him," she muttered under her breath. "For Merlin's sake, I've never hit anyone in my life, but Harry will be the first."
Before she could take another step, a voice broke through the silence. "There she is!"
Hermione spun on her heel, her wand drawn faster than she thought possible. It wasn't much of a comfort, though. She only really knew how to cast Petrificus Totalus at this point, and while it might save her skin, she wasn't exactly feeling confident.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, their wands glowing faintly with the Lumos charm. Relief washed over her when she recognized them as Ron and Draco.
"I told you she'd come this way," Draco said, his voice dripping with amusement, though his expression was tense.
Ron, however, was anything but amused. His face was serious, his brow furrowed in deep worry. "Hermione, we need to get out of here. Now!" he said urgently, grabbing her arm like a lifeline, already trying to pull her away from the cursed corridor.
"Wait, what about Harry?" Hermione protested, her heart beating fast. If Harry was in danger, she wasn't about to abandon him, no matter what they said.
"He's not here, and he's not daft enough to face that thing alone," Draco interjected, casting a wary glance at the castle walls as if expecting something monstrous to emerge from the darkness.
Hermione hesitated, looking around, trying to make sense of the sudden panic in their faces. She could hear faint yelling and murmurs now, echoing from the lower levels of the castle. The students seemed to be moving en masse, directed by prefects toward their common rooms. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.
"What's happening?" she asked, her stomach twisting with dread.
Ron didn't waste time. "A troll! A mountain troll got into the castle!"
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. A mountain troll? Her brain flashed with the image of a hulking, stupid, but deadly creature. She had read enough about them to know just how dangerous they could be.
"Wait! What about Harry?" Her voice rose in panic as she glanced at the corridors, imagining the worst possible scenarios.
Draco and Ron exchanged a look, one that made her heart drop. Concern was clear on their faces, and for a moment, they looked as if they were about to crumble under the weight of it.
"He… he can handle himself," Draco said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. "But we need to get out of here before we run into that thing. Proudfoot and Quirrell are already leading the charge to find it."
"Quirrell?" Hermione blurted out. "The fidgety Muggle Studies professor? He's in charge of… trolls?"
Ron nodded grimly. "Apparently, he's an expert in trolls. Or so they say."
The trio came to a halt, and for a split second, silence enveloped them. Ron let out a long, tired sigh, his hand rubbing his face as if trying to rid himself of a headache. "I know what you're going to say, Hermione. And I hate that I know it."
Hermione felt the rush of determination flare inside her. "We need to find Harry!" she exclaimed, her voice rising. "If that thing finds him first, who knows what could happen!"
"And what the bloody hell do you expect us to do if we run into it before we find Harry?" Draco snapped, his frustration finally boiling over. "You do realize we're a bunch of first-years, right? First-year wizards, Hermione!"
Hermione glared at him, unwilling to back down. "Act now, plan later," she declared with a stubborn huff before turning and sprinting down the nearest corridor.
Draco's eyes widened in disbelief, and he cursed under his breath as he ran after her. "How very Gryffindor of you!" he called out, his tone biting but laced with admiration.
Ron, meanwhile, groaned audibly, putting his wand away and pulling out another from his robes—a spare wand, just in case. "Well?" Draco called back, glancing over his shoulder at him. "Are you coming, Weasley?"
Ron grimaced but started running, muttering as he caught up, "I can only cast Flipendo at best. If we're planning on attacking a troll, we're doomed."
Draco smirked. "Body-Bind Curse for me. And if worse comes to worst, I'll use it on Hermione and drag her back."
As they rounded a corner, they found Hermione standing still, looking lost as she scanned the hallways for any sign of Harry.
"Regretting not training with Sirius and Harry yet?" Ron asked Draco, his voice low and tense.
Draco sighed. "You and me both."
xxxxx
It didn't take even half an hour for the trio to find Harry Potter. But when they did, it was the last thing they expected.
Only he wasn't alone.
"Bloody Merlin, is he trying to fight that mountain troll?!" Ron's voice cut through the corridor, his face pale with shock and anger.
True enough, there was Harry, smack in the middle of the corridor, facing off against the massive creature like it was some kind of game. His wand flashed as spell after spell ricocheted off the troll's thick hide, spells that were far too weak to stop its hulking advance. The troll's club smashed into the walls, sending chunks of stone flying, while Harry ducked and dodged, rolling to the side and firing off another spell with the kind of precision that seemed impossible for an eleven-year-old.
"That arsehole! He's actually enjoying this!" Draco groaned in disbelief, his face scrunched up with frustration and the barest hint of admiration.
Hermione stood frozen, her heart racing as she watched the scene unfold. There was no fear on Harry's face, no panic or hesitation—just a wild grin that spread from ear to ear, his green eyes gleaming with excitement. He looked... happy. No, not just happy. He was thrilled, almost giddy as if facing down a mountain troll alone was the most fun he'd had all week.
"Go for its eyes, Harry!" Hermione yelled, her voice sharp and trembling with a mix of fear and exasperation.
Her sudden shout startled everyone, including the troll. The massive creature paused for a second, its ugly, misshapen head turning slowly toward the source of the voice.
"Brilliant," Draco muttered, grabbing Hermione's arm and yanking her backward. "Fucking good job, Granger!"
The troll let out an enraged roar, its club swinging wildly, and the trio barely had time to react. With a deafening crash, the troll's club slammed into the wall of the corridor they had just come from, sending chunks of debris and dust flying through the air. The hallway behind them was now completely blocked by rubble.
Hermione shrieked as the troll started stomping toward them, the ground trembling beneath its weight. It was furious now, its beady eyes glaring at them with pure, primal rage. And they were trapped.
"What now?!" Ron yelled, panicking as he fired off Flipendo after Flipendo, but the weak jinxes barely made the troll flinch. In fact, it only seemed to make it more furious.
Draco stepped forward, raising his wand. "Petrificus Totalus!" he shouted, sending the Body-Bind curse straight at the troll.
It bounced off the troll like a light breeze.
"That won't work on a troll, you idiot!" Hermione snapped, her voice strained with panic.
Draco glared back at her, his face a mixture of fear and frustration. "What the bloody hell do you want me to do, then? This is your fault!"
Before Hermione could retort, Draco's eyes suddenly widened in alarm. Without warning, he grabbed her shoulders and clamped his hands over her ears. His face was mere inches from hers, and for a split second, Hermione felt a strange flutter in her chest—despite the chaos around them.
"Ron, cover your ears! Now!" Draco barked, his voice muffled through Hermione's half-covered hearing.
Hermione barely had time to process what was happening before it hit.
The sound that followed was unlike anything she had ever heard—like a sonic boom, powerful enough to rattle her bones. The force of it knocked her off her feet, sending her crashing to the floor. Her legs trembled uncontrollably as she tried to get up, her vision blurred and ears ringing.
Ron groaned next to her, staggering to his feet with a dazed look on his face. Draco wasn't moving. He lay crumpled on the ground, blood trickling from his nose and ears.
"Draco!" Hermione wailed, her heart pounding in her chest as she crawled over to him. Panic surged through her. "What happened?!"
Ron, still shaky, pointed weakly toward the troll. Hermione followed his gaze—and froze.
Harry stood at the end of the corridor, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, his face twisted in an expression she had never seen before. Gone was the wild grin from earlier. In its place was something darker, more dangerous—rage.
"Sectumsempra!" Harry's voice echoed through the hall as he slashed his wand through the air.
To Hermione's astonishment, the spell sliced through the troll's thick skin, leaving a jagged, bloody gash across its arm. The troll let out an earsplitting roar, stumbling back in pain. But it wasn't done. It roared again, louder this time, and charged straight at Harry, its beady eyes filled with murderous intent.
"No!" Hermione screamed, her voice hoarse, but it was too late—the troll was almost on top of him.
Just then, the rubble behind them shifted, and the distant sounds of shouting grew louder. Professors burst through the debris, their wands raised and eyes wide with shock.
But it didn't matter. The troll was already in motion, bearing down on Harry.
And then, with a ferocious yell, Harry pointed his wand directly at the troll's head.
"Bombarda!"
The explosion that followed was deafening. The troll's head erupted in a shower of blood and bone, and its massive body toppled to the ground with a sickening thud. The force of the blast sent Harry flying backward, slamming into the wall with a hard crack. His body crumpled to the floor, unmoving.
"HARRY!" Hermione and Ron yelled in unison, rushing toward him.
Hermione's heart was in her throat as she dropped to her knees beside Harry, her hands trembling as she reached for him. His glasses were askew, his face pale, but he was breathing—thank Merlin, he was breathing.
"Harry, wake up!" Hermione's voice wavered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Ron knelt beside her, his face pale with fear. "Is he—"
"He's fine," Hermione said quickly, brushing back a strand of Harry's messy black hair, her voice steadier than she felt. "He has to be fine."
But as she sat there, her heart pounding in her chest, she couldn't shake the image of that wild, reckless grin on Harry's face as he faced the troll alone. He had been thrilled by the danger, almost invincible. And now... now he looked so fragile, lying there unconscious, completely vulnerable.
"I'm going to kill him when he wakes up," she muttered, though her voice cracked slightly.
"That makes two of us," Ron said, his own voice shaky as he glanced at Draco, who was starting to stir, groaning in pain.
xxxxx
Word had spread like wildfire through the castle—faster than a rogue Bludger. The moment the professors, accompanied by a few prefects, stumbled upon Harry and his friends standing over the lifeless troll, it was inevitable that rumors would swirl.
They saw it. The spell that ended the troll's life. The sheer power of it had been enough to make even the most seasoned professor's jaw drop.
Troll Slayer.
It had become a legendary nickname, whispered in the corridors and shouted across the Great Hall. Draco and Ron seemed to revel in it, as if they had been the ones to slay the creature themselves. Hermione, however, loathed it. The name grated on her nerves more than she cared to admit. Every time someone uttered it, a sharp pang of discomfort twisted in her stomach. She hated how it had become a symbol of Harry's recklessness, of the danger they had all been in that night.
But she hated it even more because it reminded her of the truth. The professors had been furious, not only because of the troll but because Hermione and her friends had 'actively' sought it out. They had charged into danger without a second thought. Hermione knew they were in serious trouble once Harry and Draco had been taken to the infirmary. And Ron, kind-hearted but terrible at lying, had spilled everything under the professors' intense questioning. A few pointed questions had been all it took to make him unravel.
Hermione, on the other hand, had twisted the truth, weaving it carefully so they wouldn't all get expelled. She had insisted that Harry hadn't been with them when they first heard about the troll. She claimed that they had tried to find him to pull him away from danger, only to get swept into the chaos of his actions.
It wasn't entirely false. But it wasn't the full story, either.
She clenched her jaw at the memory. She didn't like throwing Harry under the bus, but she knew with his status as the Boy-Who-Lived, and Sirius's influence, he would be safe from any lasting punishment. The professors would be more lenient on him. At least, that was what she told herself.
Of course, Sirius Black was furious.
Not with Harry—he would never be angry with his godson for doing something so brave, even reckless. He had applauded Harry for defeating the troll, the pride in his eyes unmistakable as he bragged about it to anyone who would listen. But his fury was directed at whoever had let a mountain troll enter Hogwarts, the supposedly safest place in the country. Sirius had stormed into the headmaster's office, robes billowing like a thundercloud, demanding answers that no one seemed to have.
Professor Proudfoot, who had trained under Sirius, looked as though he had seen a ghost. His hands trembled every time the subject was mentioned, knowing that not only had he failed to locate the troll first, but it had been Harry—Sirius's godson—who found it and defeated it. The professor had worn a look of visible terror for days, haunted by Sirius's wrath and the gravity of the situation.
No one truly knew how the troll had breached the castle's defenses. Professor Quirrell, the supposed expert on trolls, had speculated that it might have been under someone's control, but with the creature dead, there was no way to confirm it. The professors were left with two possible conclusions: someone had lured the troll from the Forbidden Forest, or worse, someone had allowed it into the castle intentionally.
xxxxx
A week had passed since the chaos, and now, they were gathered in the infirmary once again, surrounding Harry's bed. The sterile, white sheets were tucked neatly around his small, motionless frame. His face was pale against the pillow, stark against the deep shadows under his eyes. Harry's black hair, as unruly as ever, stuck up in all directions, refusing to be tamed even in sleep, lending him an oddly peaceful look despite the events that had left him in this magic-induced slumber.
Ron fidgeted at the foot of the bed, his knee bouncing nervously. His eyes kept darting to Harry's face, concern etched in his features. "When do you reckon he's going to wake up?" His voice was a mixture of hope and anxiety, barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb Harry.
Draco, leaning casually against the bedpost, arms crossed and looking far less concerned, shot Ron an exasperated glance. "Probably today or tomorrow," he said, his tone betraying his impatience. "They said it was magic depletion, remember?"
Ron's gaze flickered to Draco, the furrow in his brow deepening. "Yeah, but… still. He's been out for a week, mate."
From her spot near the window, where the soft afternoon light filtered through, casting a golden glow across her face, Hermione spoke up, her voice calm but threaded with worry. "They said the last three spells he cast were too much for his body. He's lucky it wasn't worse." Her fingers nervously twisted the edge of her sleeve as she spoke, her gaze shifting from the window to Harry, her concern barely masked.
Draco gave a nod of agreement, though his attention shifted back to Harry as well. "Lucky is right," he muttered, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—an unspoken worry that he wouldn't dare admit aloud.
Hermione, curiosity getting the better of her, tilted her head slightly, her brow creasing. "What was that spell anyway? The one that burst your ears? You seemed to know what it was, Draco."
Draco straightened, a smirk pulling at his lips as if he were about to unveil some grand secret. "It was a Black family spell," he explained with an air of superiority. "A sort of sound explosion. I've seen my mum use it a few times, so I knew it was coming before it hit."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly in recognition. "A family spell?" she echoed, processing the implications. Draco's expression, however, was anything but serious as he reached over and flicked her lightly on the forehead.
"Don't get too excited, Granger," Draco teased, rolling his eyes as Hermione frowned at him. "It's family magic—you can't learn it unless, of course…" His voice took on a mischievous lilt. "You marry Harry." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, then added with a smirk, "Or me, if you're into that sort of thing."
Hermione's face flushed crimson, her cheeks burning under Draco's teasing gaze. She glared at him, her frustration palpable as Ron's chuckle filled the room. Ron, who had been quiet, suddenly found this very amusing. "Yeah, Hermione," he added, grinning from ear to ear. "Fancy being part of the Black family?"
"Shut it, Ron," Hermione snapped, though her voice was more flustered than angry. She quickly stepped away from the two boys, moving closer to Harry's bedside, as if the closer proximity would shield her from their teasing.
Harry, of course, remained oblivious, lost in the deep, dreamless sleep that had held him captive for nearly a week. Her mind wandered back to the scene—the professors rushing Harry to the infirmary, wands drawn, their faces grim with urgency.
Professor Proudfoot had been the one to perform the spell that revealed the last few castings from Harry's wand. The list of spells that appeared left the room in stunned silence.
Professor Snape had been there, his expression a mixture of pride and anger, his dark eyes narrowing as they read the magical signatures. Hermione remembered how his lips had twitched, like he couldn't quite decide whether to be furious with Harry or impressed by his audacity. Dumbledore had simply looked at the list and shook his head, his eyes filled with quiet understanding and perhaps a touch of sadness. McGonagall, on the other hand, had been livid—though Hermione couldn't tell whether her anger was directed at Harry, Sirius, or perhaps the entire situation.
Sirius had visited the infirmary the following day, his face lined with worry, his usual cocky demeanor subdued. He explained to them that one of the spells Harry had used, Bombarda, was a Dark Art. The force of it was strong enough to knock Harry off his feet, and in certain cases, could kill the caster if they were too close to the blast. It was dangerous, Sirius had said, and Harry had been foolish to use it in such a situation. But Hermione could see the pride beneath Sirius's frustration—Harry had not only known the spell but had the nerve to cast it.
But the Black family spell… That had truly taken Sirius by surprise. He had no idea how Harry learned it. The most likely theory was that Harry had snuck into the restricted section of the family library. Typical, Hermione thought with a slight frown. Leave it to Harry to be reckless even when he was trying to be careful.
And then there was Sectumsempra.
Even the professors hadn't known that spell, nor had Proudfoot or Sirius. Whatever it was, it was dangerous enough to slice through a fully-grown mountain troll.
Hermione clenched her fists at her sides, her jaw tight with worry and frustration. When Harry woke up, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. He had scared them all, and now here they were, left with more questions than answers.
She glanced down at Harry's pale face, the rise and fall of his chest so faint it was almost imperceptible. Her heart ached with a mixture of relief and anger.
"When he wakes up," she muttered under her breath, her voice filled with determination, "he's going to get a punch from me."
Ron and Draco exchanged amused glances, but neither said a word. They both knew that once Harry woke up, there was no avoiding Hermione's wrath—and, honestly, they couldn't wait to watch.
xxxxx
Harry woke with a groan, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the soft, afternoon light streaming through the infirmary windows. His body felt heavy, as if every muscle had taken a long rest, though his back ached from lying still for so long. He stretched gingerly, surprised that the pain wasn't worse. For a moment, everything felt peaceful—until he noticed two grinning faces looming above him.
Draco was the first to speak, his smirk widening as Harry blinked at him. "Ah, the princess is finally awake," he drawled, crossing his arms. "We were this close to telling Granger that you might need her to wake you with a kiss."
Ron let out a snort of laughter, clearly delighted with the idea. "Yeah, mate, like one of those Muggle fairy tales. A good ol' smooch might've done the trick."
Harry chuckled, though his voice came out rough from disuse. "Maybe I should go back to sleep, then."
"Or better yet," came an unexpected voice, cutting through the banter, "how about you go back to sleep forever?"
Harry turned his head toward the voice, his laughter dying in his throat when he met Hermione's eyes. She stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, her cheeks flushed with both anger and relief. Her fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white, and though she tried to look fierce, Harry noticed the tears welling up in her eyes. His stomach dropped. He was in trouble.
Before he could say anything, before he could even try to explain himself, Hermione marched over, her steps quick and purposeful. Harry closed his eyes, bracing himself for the punch he was sure was coming. 'I deserve it,' he thought grimly. But instead of a fist to the face, he felt a sudden, tight squeeze as Hermione threw her arms around him, enveloping him in a hug so fierce it knocked the breath right out of him.
"Can't… breathe…" Harry wheezed, trying to laugh but only managing a weak groan.
"Get over it," Hermione muttered through her sobs, her voice thick with emotion. Her hold tightened, making Harry wince, but he could hear the relief in her tone.
Despite the situation, Harry managed a weak chuckle, lightly patting Hermione's back in an attempt to calm her. "Missed you too, Hermione," he whispered, before gently pushing her back enough so he could catch his breath.
Hermione stepped away, furiously wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Hello," Harry greeted softly, offering a weak smile.
Her face softened for a moment before her expression hardened again. Without warning, she raised her fist. Harry flinched, eyes squeezing shut in preparation for the blow, but all he received was a light punch on his chest.
He opened his eyes, letting out a long sigh of relief. "I thought that was going to hurt a lot more."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It will, Harry Potter," she muttered darkly. "Once you're better, I'll give you a proper punch. Consider yourself lucky."
"Lucky is definitely the word," Harry said, still smiling. He glanced over at Draco and Ron, who were both watching the exchange with thinly-veiled amusement. Draco was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Ron stood up, stretching his arms above his head. "Well, now that the lovebirds are reunited," he teased, earning a glare from Hermione, "we should probably go tell the professors you're awake."
"I'll send an owl to Sirius," Draco added, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "He's been dying to know when you'd wake up."
Harry waved them off, nodding. "Yeah, go on. I'll be here, trying to survive whatever Hermione has planned for me next."
As Ron and Draco started heading toward the door, Ron smirked, pointing at Hermione before shooting Harry a cheeky thumbs-up. "Good luck, mate," he mouthed, clearly entertained by the whole situation.
Harry rolled his eyes, flipping Ron off with a half-hearted gesture, but even he couldn't suppress the grin that tugged at his lips.
Once they were gone, the infirmary suddenly felt quieter, more intimate. Hermione let out a long breath, her earlier anger fading into something softer. She climbed up onto the edge of his bed, sitting cross-legged next to him, her expression now filled with concern.
"Are you alright, Harry? You look... better. But are you really okay?"
Harry leaned back against the pillows, his muscles still stiff but his heart lighter. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, smiling up at her. "Actually, I feel great."
Hermione tilted her head, studying him for a moment. "Must be all those potions Madam Pomfrey's been stuffing you with. You were out for nearly a week."
"Yeah, probably," Harry agreed, though his back gave a protesting ache as he shifted. "The only thing that hurts is my back. I think I've been lying down for too long."
"Do you want a massage?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing in genuine concern.
Harry's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly shook his head, laughing. "No, thanks. I think it'll work itself out. But I appreciate the offer."
Hermione frowned, clearly still worried. "You're sure?"
"I'm fine, really," Harry reassured her, before his expression turned serious. "What about you, though? You okay?"
At his question, Hermione sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the bed sheets. "I'm fine now, I guess. But, Harry... what were you thinking? Going after that troll on your own?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I didn't exactly choose to fight the troll, Hermione. I was cornered. Had no choice but to defend myself."
"But with those spells, Harry!" Hermione's voice was tight, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "You could've seriously hurt yourself. You should've—"
"Wait, hold on," Harry interrupted, his eyes widening as a sudden thought hit him. "Who else but us knew about the spells I used? How did you—"
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms again. "The whole faculty knows, Harry. Sirius does too."
"Oh no…" Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm in so much trouble."
Hermione couldn't help but smile a little at his reaction. At least he knew he'd done something reckless. "You're not in that much trouble," she assured him. "Sirius was... well, he didn't know how you pulled off the Black family spell, but he was actually quite proud of how you handled the troll. You're not in as much trouble as you think."
"I'm not worried about that," Harry muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair. "I'm more worried about that other spell—Sectumsempra. If that person finds out I used it, I'm doomed."
Hermione was about to ask what he meant when the infirmary curtain was pulled aside, and Professor Snape stepped in, his dark gaze immediately settling on Harry. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—anger, yes, but something else too.
"Miss Granger," Snape said coldly, "I need a moment of privacy with Mr. Potter."
Hermione glanced at Harry, unsure. Harry, however, grabbed her arm, pulling her closer in an almost protective gesture. "Hermione can stay," he said quickly, his voice slightly panicked.
Snape's eye twitched, his annoyance clear. But after a tense moment, Hermione gently pried herself from Harry's grasp and stood up. "I'll wait outside," she said, offering him a reassuring smile. "Good luck, Harry."
She turned to leave, but not before noticing the faintest flicker of a smirk on Snape's face—a dangerous kind of amusement. As she stepped out, she heard the familiar hum of magic behind her, followed by Harry's muffled protests.
A privacy spell.
Hermione frowned, her curiosity piqued. What exactly were Snape and Harry discussing behind that enchanted curtain?
xxxxx
Whatever it was that Professor Snape and Harry had discussed left Harry visibly annoyed, exhausted, and pale. The usually bright green of his eyes appeared dulled, his normally unruly black hair hung in limp strands, framing his face in a way that made him look more vulnerable than usual. It was quite obvious that Snape had scolded him for whatever escapade had led to his current state, but, in a rare moment of grudging care, the Potions Master had left him a small vial of shimmering blue liquid on the bedside table—a Potion that would help with his body aches from having slept for so long.
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, her brow furrowed with concern as she watched Harry absently twist a corner of the blanket between his fingers. "What was it, Harry?" she asked gently, her voice soft but firm. "What did Snape say to you?"
Harry turned his gaze towards her, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "I can't say, Hermione," he replied, his tone clipped, almost defensive. He didn't want to burden her with the specifics of his conversations with Snape, especially not when he was still processing it all himself. "It's… complicated."
The rest of the day drifted by slowly, each hour dragging on as Sirius and various professors filtered in and out of the infirmary. Each visitor bore an inquisitive look, and Harry could feel their unspoken questions hovering in the air like specters.
When evening came, Madam Pomfrey bustled in, her brisk demeanor a stark contrast to the gentle atmosphere of the infirmary. "Alright, Ms. Granger, that's enough chatter for one day. Mr. Potter needs rest," she announced, a knowing glance directed at Harry that seemed to suggest she was well aware of his propensity for overexertion.
"But I want to stay," Hermione insisted, her voice rising slightly in protest. "He needs someone here."
"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey replied with a kind but firm smile, "I assure you that Mr. Potter will be just fine. He needs to sleep, and you have classes in the morning. I'll have him ready for breakfast tomorrow, and you can come right back in here, alright?"
Harry nodded, though he could feel the disappointment flickering in Hermione's eyes. "I'll be okay, Hermione. I promise," he said, trying to reassure her. "Just… get some rest yourself."
When Madam Pomfrey finally shooed everyone away, Hermione lingered at the door, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "I'll be back first thing," she promised, her voice almost a whisper. "We'll grab breakfast together, alright?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, feeling a warmth spread through him at the thought of spending more time with her.
As she turned to leave, a sudden surge of impulse swept over Hermione. In a moment of boldness, she stepped back toward Harry and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. The gesture was fleeting, yet it hung in the air between them, charged with a playful tension.
Harry froze for a moment, surprise etched on his features. His heart raced, and he blinked, trying to process what had just happened. "Wha—what was that for?" he stammered, his cheeks heating up.
"I suppose that's one way to say goodbye," she teased, a playful glint dancing in her eyes, her cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. "Just thought you could use a little cheer."
"Cheer?" Harry echoed, still caught off guard. "Yeah, I guess it's better than a get well soon card, right?"
Hermione laughed softly, her smile widening as she leaned in closer for a moment, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'd say it's a lot more fun," she said, a hint of mischief in her tone.
"Are you always this bold?" Harry asked, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face.
"Only when I'm around you," she replied with a wink, stepping back toward the door. "See you in the morning, Harry. Don't sleep too long, or I might just have to come back in and wake you up myself!"
As she left the infirmary, her laughter echoed in his ears like a sweet melody.
With the door clicking shut behind her, Harry sat there, bewildered yet elated, a smile breaking across his face despite the lingering weariness in his body. He couldn't quite understand what had just happened, but one thing was clear: tomorrow would be a much more interesting day.
xxxxx
Hermione hated that she kissed Harry.
No, that wasn't right.
She didn't hate that she kissed him. In fact, she knew exactly what she was doing at that moment. It was just a simple, friendly kiss between friends—nothing more, nothing less. Or so she kept telling herself. But what she truly hated was the fact that now Harry would have something to tease her about. He would be insufferable, smug, and undoubtedly boast about it in that mischievous way that always got under her skin.
She kicked the side of her bed in frustration, the impact muffled by her blankets. Her mind raced, knowing full well she would spend the rest of the week battling the urge to bite back at the inevitable teasing that Harry would unleash. She could already picture that smug grin, the way his eyes would glint with amusement.
"Why did I even do that?" she muttered, rubbing her temples as if that would somehow erase the memory of the impulsive kiss.
She knew better. She knew exactly how much Harry loved to rile her up, to test her patience. And now, she'd handed him the perfect weapon—a kiss. A kiss! Of all the things to give him, it had to be that. Hermione groaned, flopping back onto her bed, her pillow smothering her face.
"I'm so stupid!" she shrieked, her voice muffled but still loud enough to echo in the dorm room.
For a few moments, she wrestled with her bedsheets, twisting and turning, as if trying to fight the very thoughts invading her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape the flutter of emotions swirling in her chest. Her fingers brushed the spot on her cheek where Harry's surprised expression had been just moments before she'd turned and walked away. The memory only made her heart race faster.
With a frustrated huff, Hermione sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair. "I should just miss breakfast tomorrow," she whispered to herself, eyes darting to the clock. The thought was tempting, incredibly so. She could skip it, avoid the entire mess altogether, and spare herself from the humiliation of seeing Harry's smug face first thing in the morning.
But of course, that wouldn't work.
No matter how much she wanted to hide, she had made a promise. Harry would be out of the infirmary tomorrow, and she had told him—promised him—that she'd return so they could grab breakfast together. And even if she did try to hide, he would likely track her down. It wasn't as if Hogwarts was that big of a place, and knowing Harry, he'd come find her just to make a point of teasing her further.
"Ugh!" Hermione groaned again, flopping back onto her bed dramatically.
But that wasn't the worst of it. She had to talk to Harry tomorrow for another reason, too—she needed to whack him on the head and make him swear not to say anything to Ron or Draco. The last thing she needed was those two hearing about this. They'd never let her live it down, and Draco would probably twist it into some kind of ridiculous story.
Her mind spun with wild ideas. Maybe she could distract Harry. Maybe she could kiss him again, just to throw him off his game—maybe that would shut him up for a while.
Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt.
She shrieked into her pillow once more, her cheeks burning at the mere thought of kissing Harry again. What was she even thinking? This was Harry Potter—her friend, her best friend. How could she possibly have kissed him in the first place, let alone be considering it again?
She let out one final groan, burying her face in her hands as embarrassment consumed her. The last thing she needed was to get wrapped up in these strange feelings, especially over something so silly. She was overthinking it, surely.
But even as she tried to convince herself, her heart wouldn't quite settle. There was a part of her that enjoyed it—that momentary rush of doing something bold, something unexpected. And even though she dreaded the teasing that would inevitably come, there was a thrill in knowing that she had been the one to surprise Harry for once. It wasn't often she caught him off guard.
Hermione sighed, the weight of her thoughts finally exhausting her. She rolled over, pulling her blankets tightly around her, and closed her eyes.
She wouldn't want to be late tomorrow—not for Harry, not for breakfast, and certainly not for whatever chaos was sure to come.
Chapter 10: Quidditch
Chapter Text
Hermione Granger arrived at the infirmary, slowing her pace as she reached the door. The early morning light filtered through the castle windows, casting long shadows on the stone floor, and her mind was still a haze of frustration from the night before. As she stepped inside, she stopped abruptly, her eyes locking onto Harry Potter. He was already up, dressed in his school robes, and sporting a wide grin as if the last week in bed hadn't happened.
It was too early for him to be this annoyingly cheerful.
Of course, he'd be grinning like that. He always seemed to bounce back faster than anyone else, but this was just infuriating. Hermione's eyebrows knit together in annoyance, already bracing herself for the smug comments that were surely about to spill from his mouth. She had been preparing all night to endure his teasing, even rehearsing a few retorts in her head, but seeing him so bright and chipper this early made her want to smack him already.
"Hey, Hermione," Harry greeted, his eyes twinkling with mischief as they always did when he was up to something. He tilted his head and gave her a look that made her want to hex him on the spot. "Breakfast?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to maintain her composure. "Breakfast," she muttered in response, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered—not this early, at least.
Harry's grin only widened, and with a quick wink, he sauntered over to her, his steps light and casual as if he hadn't just spent a week bedridden. They left the infirmary together, walking through the quiet corridors toward the Great Hall. Hermione clenched her fists, her thoughts racing as she tried to anticipate when he'd start teasing her. She was prepared—ready to punch him if he even so much as hinted at what happened the night before.
But to her confusion, Harry said nothing.
Not a word. Not a smirk about the kiss. Not a single teasing comment. He just hummed quietly to himself, walking beside her with that infuriatingly calm demeanor, as if nothing unusual had happened. Hermione kept glancing at him, waiting for the inevitable moment he'd bring it up, but he remained annoyingly silent.
This was worse. Far worse.
She would have preferred him teasing her—at least then she'd know what was going on in that ridiculous head of his. But this? This quiet, smug confidence? It was driving her mad. What was his plan? Was he saving it for later? Would he drop the bomb in front of Ron and Draco, letting them witness her mortifying reaction firsthand?
She groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Why am I so stupid?" she muttered under her breath, regretting every second of the impulsive kiss. She cursed herself for giving him any ammunition at all.
"Hermione?" Harry's voice broke through her thoughts. His brow furrowed in concern as he glanced sideways at her. "You okay?"
Hermione glared at him, her annoyance bubbling over. "I'm fine, Harry," she mumbled, her voice clipped.
But that smug, knowing smirk crept back onto his face, and it took everything in her not to punch him right then and there. He was enjoying this way too much.
"You sure?" Harry asked again, his tone dripping with fake concern as he leaned in closer. He raised an eyebrow, clearly testing her limits, and Hermione could feel her patience wearing dangerously thin.
Just as she opened her mouth to give a sharp retort, Harry stopped walking. He turned toward her, and without warning, leaned in further. The sudden movement caught her off guard, and her breath hitched. Of all the stupid things she could've done, she had no idea why she did what she did next—but she stopped. She froze in place, eyes wide, heart racing.
And she closed her eyes.
Hermione didn't know what she was expecting. Maybe he was going to tease her by mimicking what happened the night before. Maybe he was planning to kiss her cheek, just to throw her off balance. Either way, her mind swirled with possibilities. But when nothing happened, when the silence stretched on for a moment too long, she opened her eyes slowly—only to be greeted by Harry's smirking face inches from hers.
Her heart stuttered in her chest as she realized what she had done. He was standing there, eyebrow raised, his expression torn between amusement and smug satisfaction.
"Hermione," Harry began, the teasing lilt to his voice making her want to throttle him. "Are y—"
But he never finished his sentence. Before he could say another word, Hermione's body moved on instinct. She pulled back her arm and punched him—hard—right in the stomach.
Harry doubled over with a surprised grunt, clutching his midsection as he staggered back. "Oi!" he gasped, looking up at her with wide eyes, more shocked than hurt. "What was that for?"
Hermione crossed her arms, feeling a rush of satisfaction as she stared him down. "That was for whatever you were about to say," she snapped, her cheeks burning, though she refused to let him see just how flustered she really was.
Harry straightened up slowly, still rubbing his stomach. "I wasn't going to say anything," he protested, but the smirk on his face betrayed him.
"Yeah, right," Hermione muttered, turning on her heel and walking toward the Great Hall with renewed purpose. She wasn't about to let him win, not today.
Behind her, Harry chuckled, the sound light and carefree. "You know, if you keep punching me like that, people are going to think we have some sort of weird relationship," he called after her, his voice filled with laughter.
Hermione rolled her eyes again but couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. She refused to look back at him, determined not to give him the satisfaction, but deep down, she knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
As they made their way to breakfast, she could feel the playful tension simmering between them, and despite her best efforts, a part of her was almost looking forward to whatever game they were playing. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Harry Potter was far too good at getting under her skin—and somehow, she didn't mind it as much as she thought she would.
xxxxx
The rest of November rushed in with an icy chill, blanketing Hogwarts in early winter frost. The sky was often overcast, and students bundled up in scarves and cloaks as the wind howled across the grounds. But even the cold couldn't dampen Harry's excitement. Quidditch season had officially begun, and that meant something extra special for him this year.
Sirius Black, ever the indulgent godfather, had surprised him with an early Christmas gift.
"A Nimbus 2000?!" Ron gawked at the sleek, polished broomstick that Harry held out proudly in front of them, the broom's handle gleaming in the weak November sunlight. "It's the fastest broomstick in the market!"
Ron's eyes practically sparkled with envy, and he looked like he was torn between hugging Harry out of joy and pouting because he didn't have one of his own. His voice was filled with awe, as if he were gazing at some kind of treasure.
Draco, standing beside him, crossed his arms but couldn't hide his admiration either. He let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Damn it! I wish I could've gotten the Seeker position on my team!" he grumbled, running his hand down the length of the broom as if the mere touch would grant him some of its magic. "Imagine flying that beauty around the pitch..."
Hermione, who had been flipping through a book, glanced at the broom and didn't even give it a second look before turning her attention back to the boys. She frowned in disapproval, her practical nature rising to the surface. "I thought first-years aren't allowed to have their own broomsticks," she pointed out, her tone sharp and matter-of-fact.
Harry, clearly expecting this, nodded but didn't seem bothered by her disapproval. "Yes, well, I was granted an exemption when I made the team," he replied with a shrug, a little too casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hermione's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't get it," she said, shaking her head in confusion. "How could you even try out without your own broom? That seems... unfair, doesn't it?"
Harry chuckled, clearly amused by her persistent questioning. "Everyone can try out for the team, Hermione. It's just that first-years aren't allowed to bring their own brooms. The idea is that we all start from the same place—using the school brooms for flying lessons," he explained, his voice carrying a playful lilt as if he enjoyed explaining things she didn't know.
Hermione folded her arms, still unconvinced. "And then?"
"When I made the team, they had no choice but to give me the exemption," Harry continued, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "After all, can you imagine me playing Quidditch on one of those rubbish school brooms they have lying around? I'd probably crash into the stands before catching the Snitch."
Ron and Draco both nodded in agreement, their expressions solemn as if Harry's hypothetical crash were a tragedy they'd narrowly avoided.
Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling like she was outnumbered by the boys. "I still think it's ridiculous," she muttered, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. She couldn't help but admire Harry's confidence. As irritating as he could be, there was something about the way he handled himself that always managed to get under her skin.
A small, sly smile tugged at her lips. "So... how fast is it?" she asked, pretending to be curious, though her tone was tinged with skepticism.
Harry looked up at her, and for a moment, their eyes locked. His smirk grew, and without breaking eye contact, he glanced sideways at Ron and Draco. All three boys exchanged a knowing look—a wicked, conspiratorial smile spreading across their faces.
It made Hermione instantly suspicious.
"What?" she asked, her heart quickening as she shifted her weight. "What's with that look?"
"Oh, you'll see," Harry said, his voice dropping into a teasing tone. He twirled the broomstick effortlessly in his hand before resting it on his shoulder like some sort of casual weapon. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and that infuriating smirk deepened. "Maybe you'll get a little... demonstration later. But only if you ask nicely."
Ron let out a snicker, and Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the moment.
Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly. She could feel the heat rising in her face, though whether it was from irritation or something else entirely, she wasn't sure. "Ask nicely?" she scoffed, folding her arms and glaring at Harry. "What makes you think I even care enough to ask?"
Harry leaned in just a little, enough to make her breath hitch ever so slightly. "Because, Hermione," he said, his voice dropping lower, "you're just a little bit curious, aren't you?"
Hermione's lips parted slightly, and she opened her mouth to respond, but found herself momentarily at a loss for words. That smug look of his—it was maddening! And the worst part was, he was right. She was curious. But she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
"Maybe," she said after a pause, lifting her chin in defiance. "But I won't beg for it."
Harry chuckled, straightening up and stepping back, his grin never faltering. "I wouldn't expect you to."
Draco snorted, nudging Ron in the ribs. "She's a tough one, isn't she?"
Ron nodded sagely. "Always is," he agreed, trying to stifle his grin as Hermione shot him a warning look.
xxxxx
Hermione was quick to note that there were rarely a few things she truly disliked about the magical world. It had been a whirlwind since she'd received her letter to Hogwarts, and every moment here felt like uncovering the secrets of a world she had longed to be part of without even knowing it. She relished in everything that made her a witch—the spellwork, the potions, the hidden knowledge—and she loved learning every single moment.
But there was one thing she had absolutely no fondness for.
"GET ME DOWN! I DON'T WANT TO FLY ANYMORE! THIS STUPID BROOM IS TOO FAST!"
Flying. More specifically, flying on a broomstick.
Unfortunately, the magic of brooms didn't erase her deeply ingrained fear of heights. It wasn't that Hermione didn't like a thrill—she had loved rollercoasters when she was younger. The adrenaline, the twists and turns, the rush of air as they sped through the tracks. But rollercoasters were on tracks, bound to the earth, their motions controlled and predictable. Brooms, on the other hand, offered none of that reassuring stability.
Hovering too far above solid ground? No, thank you. It was bad enough when Madam Hooch had tried to get her to practice flying with the other first-years. Hermione had quickly told the professor about her fear, and while Madam Hooch allowed her to keep her broom close to the ground, Hermione had found a clever workaround. She compensated by writing multiple rolls of parchment on the theory of flying, discussing the magical runes etched into broomsticks to enhance their speed and stability. It was her way of showing that, even if she couldn't excel at the practical part, she was still determined to contribute.
But right now, Hermione was perched in front of Harry on his brand-new Nimbus 2000—her hands clenched so tightly around the broomstick that her knuckles had turned white—and he was doing his absolute best to show her just how fast his broom could go.
She was not impressed.
"I SAID GET ME DOWN, HARRY!" Hermione's voice was shrill with panic, and her heart raced as the wind whipped through her hair, tugging strands of it loose from her usual neat ponytail. "I MEAN IT!"
"But we've only been flying for a few minutes!" Harry protested from behind her, his voice carrying over the rush of the wind as he leaned forward, trying to coax her into enjoying the experience. He wasn't even pushing the broom to its full speed yet, and the idea of Hermione not enjoying this—even in the slightest—baffled him.
Hermione twisted around slightly to glare at him, her face a mix of fear and frustration. "GET ME DOWN NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD I'LL BREAK YOUR BROOMSTICK IN HALF WHEN WE LAND!"
Harry's eyes widened in alarm, the playful smirk on his face fading instantly. "O-Okay, okay!" he stammered, not daring to test whether she meant it or not. The last thing he wanted was for Sirius's generous gift to meet an untimely demise.
From the ground below, Ron and Draco watched the scene unfold with wide grins, neither of them even attempting to stifle their laughter.
"She's going to hex him when they land, isn't she?" Ron asked, his face splitting into a mischievous grin.
Draco nodded, barely containing his own laughter. "Oh, definitely. She looks furious!"
Harry guided the broomstick into a steep dive, the wind howling in their ears as they plummeted toward the Quidditch pitch. Hermione's shrieks echoed around them, loud enough that the students on the stands were starting to notice, their heads turning toward the two speeding figures. For a brief moment, the broom moved so quickly that Hermione's voice was swallowed by the wind, leaving only the rush of air and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.
The ground approached at an alarming rate, and for a moment, Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. But Harry, ever the natural on a broom, pulled up just in time, bringing them to a smooth, albeit sudden, landing.
As soon as her feet touched the grass, Hermione scrambled off the broomstick, her legs trembling so badly that she nearly collapsed on the spot. Ron and Draco rushed forward, catching her just before she could fall.
"B-Bloody bastards," Hermione muttered under her breath, clutching Ron's arm for support as she steadied herself. Her entire body felt like it was vibrating from the adrenaline, and her heart was still hammering in her chest. "All of you."
Harry landed gracefully beside her, his broom in hand, and had the audacity to grin. He opened his mouth to say something—probably something smug, judging by the look in his eyes—but one glance at Hermione's expression and he quickly thought better of it.
Ron, though, had no such reservations. "You alright there, Hermione?" he asked, grinning down at her as she shot him a glare. "That was quite the scream. I think people heard you all the way over at Hogsmeade."
"Shut up, Ron," Hermione muttered, though there was no real malice in her voice. She was too shaken to be angry—well, properly angry, anyway.
Draco smirked, folding his arms across his chest as he looked at Harry. "Reckon she'll ever get on a broomstick with you again?"
Harry finally let out a laugh, but it was a little nervous, his eyes flicking back to Hermione. "I'm not sure," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe after she stops threatening to break my broomstick?"
Hermione shot him a withering look, still too rattled to come up with a proper retort. "You're lucky I don't hex you right now," she muttered, though she wobbled on her feet as she said it, making the threat significantly less intimidating. "Or your precious broom."
Harry couldn't help but grin again, this time more cautiously. "Come on, Hermione. It wasn't that bad, was it?"
She straightened up, still glaring at him. "It was terrifying!" she shot back, though her voice lacked the usual sharpness. The truth was, now that her feet were back on solid ground, a part of her couldn't deny the thrill she'd felt during those brief moments in the air. Not that she'd ever admit it to him.
"Next time, I'll go slower," Harry offered, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggested he'd do no such thing.
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. "There won't be a next time," she insisted, though even she wasn't sure if she believed that.
Ron and Draco exchanged amused glances, their grins widening as Hermione turned and started walking toward the castle, her legs still slightly shaky. They followed, casting knowing looks at Harry, who trailed behind with his broom in hand, a smirk still playing at his lips.
As they made their way back, Hermione couldn't help but glance over her shoulder at Harry, catching his eye for just a moment. He winked, causing her to flush and turn away quickly, her heart still racing—though this time, it had little to do with the fear of flying.
xxxxx
"GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR!"
The chants around the Quidditch pitch grew deafening as the Gryffindor team streaked through the air, a blur of scarlet and gold. The crowd roared in approval, fists pumping in unison. It was a crisp autumn afternoon, but the electricity in the air made the chill nearly imperceptible.
Lee Jordan's voice crackled with excitement as he spoke into the enchanted microphone, clearly unable to hide his bias. "This is the Gryffindor dream team everyone's been waiting for! We've got Oliver Wood, the rock-solid Keeper, holding the fort! The fiery Chasers making it impossible for Slytherin to breathe! And, of course, the Weasley twins, wreaking havoc as Beaters. But let's not forget—" his voice rose even higher, "—the youngest Seeker Hogwarts has ever seen! The Boy Who Lived himself—Harry Potter!"
"GO, HARRY!" Hermione shouted, her voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. Her eyes tracked him as he zipped by, dodging Bludgers with reflexes too sharp for an 11-year-old. The wind tousled his messy black hair, and his green eyes were fierce with focus.
Beside her, Ron was far less composed. "PULL THEIR BROOMS! HIT THEIR FACES!" he bellowed, jumping up and down, fists clenched with adrenaline.
"Ronald!" Hermione gasped, glaring at him. "You can't just yell things like that!"
"What?!" Ron shot her an annoyed look. His freckled face was flushed with excitement, completely unfazed by her disapproval.
"Not so loud on the cheating advice!" Hermione hissed, her eyes wide with scandal.
"Oh, right," Ron replied, his grin mischievous. He leaned forward and cupped his hands around his mouth. "FRED! GEORGE! USE YOUR BATS PROPERLY AND SMASH 'EM! WOOD, THROW THE QUAFFLE INTO THEIR BLOODY FACES!"
Hermione couldn't help but burst into laughter, her earlier dismay momentarily forgotten. "Well, that's slightly better!" she giggled, eyes twinkling as she joined in.
Up in the sky, Harry hovered high above the action, his sharp gaze sweeping the pitch. His task now wasn't to score or protect his teammates—Wood had ordered him to focus solely on catching the Snitch. They were leading, but just barely. And with the brute strength of the Slytherin team, endurance was becoming an issue for the Gryffindors. They needed to finish this match quickly, or risk losing their momentum.
Harry muttered to himself, brow furrowing. "Where the hell is that Snitch?"
He banked left, scanning the pitch as the crowd's cheers swirled around him. Just then, something gleamed at the corner of his vision. He jerked his broom to the side, barely ducking in time to avoid a Bludger speeding directly at him. Harry's head snapped downward toward the field, spotting a few Slytherins. Their smug expressions made his blood boil.
"Is that how they want to play it?" Harry narrowed his eyes. Fine. Two could play at that game.
Without a second thought, he angled his broom sharply downward, plummeting toward the group of Slytherins with terrifying speed.
From the stands, Lee Jordan's voice grew frantic. "What is Potter doing?! Is he actually trying to crash into the Slytherin team?!"
In the faculty box, Professor McGonagall's knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of her seat. "Potter!" she gasped, her voice barely more than a whisper, eyes wide in horror as she watched her Seeker dive like a missile.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed, her heart seizing in terror. Her hands flew to her mouth, and for a split second, the noise of the crowd faded away, leaving only the sound of her rapid heartbeat in her ears.
"N-No, that's just a feint," Ron said, trying to reassure her, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.
Hermione grabbed his arm, knuckles white. "Are you sure?"
Ron didn't answer. His eyes were glued to Harry, his face pale.
At the very last second, Harry pulled out of the dive, a hair's breadth away from colliding with the ground. The Slytherin players scrambled to get out of his way, one nearly toppling off his broom in the process. Panic spread through their ranks as they realized they'd been outplayed.
"What an impressive and nasty feint!" Lee Jordan shouted, voice full of awe.
Harry smirked to himself, glancing over his shoulder to see the Slytherins scatter like frightened birds. But his eyes immediately snapped forward again. There, darting just above the grass near the goalposts—the Snitch, its tiny golden wings a blur.
Without hesitation, Harry leaned forward on his broom, heart pounding in his chest as he accelerated, the wind whipping through his hair. The opposing Seeker was hot on his tail, but Harry knew he had the edge. The Snitch dipped and weaved, flying just out of reach, but Harry was determined.
Then, in an audacious move, Harry did something that made the entire stadium gasp. He stood up on his broom, balancing precariously as it hurtled forward. With a deep breath, he launched himself into the air, his fingers outstretched.
"HARRY!" Hermione shrieked, her heart lurching in her chest.
Time seemed to slow as Harry soared through the air. His fingers brushed the Snitch, the cold metal sending a jolt of triumph through his body. He closed his fist around it just as gravity took hold, and he tumbled to the ground with a hard thud.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, a roar erupted from the crowd.
"POTTER CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS THE GAME!" Lee's voice boomed through the pitch.
Harry raised his fist, the golden Snitch gleaming in his hand. His grin was triumphant as he lay sprawled on the grass, panting but victorious.
Hermione, heart still racing, let out a shaky laugh. "That... that lunatic..." she muttered, her cheeks flushed as she gazed down at the pitch, her admiration for Harry mixing with a cocktail of relief and exasperation.
Ron, on the other hand, was bouncing on his feet, practically bursting with excitement. "THAT WAS BLOODY BRILLIANT, HARRY!"
Up in the air, the Gryffindor team was already descending, their cheers mixing with the applause of the crowd. As Harry struggled to his feet, his teammates surrounded him, clapping him on the back.
Hermione looked at Ron, still laughing, before turning her gaze back to Harry. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she watched him bask in the victory, looking for all the world like a hero.
And in that moment, despite the terror of the last few minutes, she couldn't help but feel a thrill.
xxxxx
Harry was still basking in the rush of excitement as he stepped out of the locker room, fully dressed in his regular robes. His team had already gone ahead, eager to celebrate in the Gryffindor common room, no doubt preparing for a legendary party. The echo of cheers from the Quidditch pitch still rang in his ears, and his heart was pounding from the thrill of victory. But as he made his way toward the castle, something unexpected caught his eye.
Standing just ahead, waiting for him, was Hermione. Her face lit up with a smile as soon as she saw him, but there was more. Behind her stood a familiar, grinning Sirius Black, leaning casually against a stone pillar, his signature mischievous glint in his eyes. But next to him was a woman Harry didn't immediately recognize. There was something about her that seemed familiar, though he couldn't place it at first.
"Sirius!" Harry called out, laughter in his voice as he jogged over. He threw his arms around his godfather, hugging him tightly. "I can't believe you came!"
Sirius barked out his usual laugh, returning the hug with a tight squeeze. "Well, they owed me an explanation for... you know," he said, his voice dropping with a wink that Harry easily caught. "So I told them I had a good reason to come to Hogwarts for your first Quidditch match."
"Perks of the job, huh?" Harry chuckled, pulling back from the hug.
"Perks of the job," Sirius repeated with a smirk.
As Harry stepped away, his attention shifted to the woman beside Sirius. She was watching the interaction with a knowing smile, and there was something about her mannerisms that clicked in Harry's mind. He squinted, taking a closer look, and then it hit him.
"Wait..." he reached out to shake her hand, but out of habit from some of the lessons he'd received, he nearly kissed her knuckles before catching himself. "Mrs. Granger? Is that you?"
The woman laughed, and it was a warm, familiar sound. "You found me out!" she said with a smile.
"Mum?!" Hermione exclaimed, her shock evident as she stepped closer. "Mum, what are you doing here?"
Emma Granger's smile widened as she pulled her daughter into a hug. "Hello, dear," she said, kissing Hermione's forehead before turning to Harry again. "Sirius helped me out. He mentioned he was visiting Hogwarts, and I couldn't resist asking if I could tag along."
Hermione's eyes widened further. "But... how? You look so different!"
Emma glanced at Sirius, who winced slightly. "Well, your godfather here provided me with a potion that changes my appearance for a little while. Just enough to not stand out too much."
"Potions work on Muggles?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.
Sirius, still looking sheepish, nodded. "Even I didn't know that until Emma brought it up. She found some old references in one of the Potter Library's books," he said, glancing at Emma, who gave him a pointed look.
"I insisted on trying it," Emma added, her tone light but firm. "It was perfectly safe, I assure you."
Hermione looked between them, her astonishment clear. "Mum... you're... amazing," she said, her voice full of admiration, though it was clear she was still processing the whole thing. She turned back to Harry. "Can you believe this?"
Harry couldn't help but grin. "That's pretty brilliant, Mrs. Granger."
"So, how are you both?" Emma interjected, wrapping an arm around her daughter and pulling Harry into a warm hug as well. "Harry, that flying of yours was incredible! You nearly gave Sirius a heart attack when you dove toward the ground. I thought he was going to leap from the stands to catch you!"
"I did not!" Sirius hissed, his face scrunched in mock indignation. "She's exaggerating, Harry. Don't believe a word she says."
Harry and Hermione both burst into laughter, unable to help themselves. Sirius' playful grumbling only made it funnier.
After the laughter subsided, Harry stepped back slightly, watching as Hermione and her mother began an excited conversation about the potion and the wonders of the magical world. Hermione's eyes sparkled with curiosity, and Emma seemed just as engaged, talking about the strange, fascinating experience of using a magical potion.
It was strange, Harry thought, watching them. Here was Hermione's Muggle mother, teaching her things about magic. It was ironic, really—almost poetic. The Muggle was the one sharing knowledge about the wizarding world, and Hermione soaked it all in with the same enthusiasm she had for every new piece of magic she discovered.
As he turned away slightly, giving them space to talk, Sirius fell in beside him. They walked a few steps together in comfortable silence before Harry lowered his voice.
"Any updates on the troll?" he asked.
Sirius's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "Nothing concrete yet," he admitted. "But based on the traces we found, it looks like whatever spell was controlling it was obliterated when you... well, when you killed it. No trace left to analyze."
"You think it's connected to the Death Eaters?" Harry asked, a frown tugging at his lips.
Sirius shook his head. "I don't think so. The troll wasn't after you specifically. It seemed more focused on something else... maybe whatever Dumbledore's hiding in the castle."
Harry cursed under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "I almost forgot about that."
"Don't beat yourself up over it," Sirius said, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "You've done enough for now. Besides, if we can't figure out a way to get past that dog without... you know, resorting to drastic measures, it'll be out of our hands."
Harry paled, his eyes widening. "I'm not killing a dog!"
Sirius laughed heartily at Harry's horrified expression. "Of course not, kid. I'd never ask you to. And if you did, I'd consider it treason against every dog lover out there."
Despite himself, Harry chuckled, though the weight of their conversation still lingered. His mind was racing with thoughts about the troll and the mysterious danger looming over Hogwarts, but for now, he let himself relax a little. After all, he was still riding the high of the Quidditch victory, and the night was young.
As they approached the castle, Harry glanced back at Hermione and Emma. They were still deep in conversation, Emma gesturing animatedly while Hermione listened, completely captivated. It warmed Harry's heart to see Hermione so happy, especially after everything she'd been through.
"You've done good, Sirius," Harry said quietly, looking up at his godfather.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How so?"
"Bringing Mrs. Granger here. She looks happy... and Hermione really needed this."
Sirius smiled softly, a rare moment of sincerity crossing his face. "It wasn't just me, you know. Emma insisted on coming. And I'm glad she did. The girl's got her mother's fire, that's for sure."
Harry nodded, his eyes drifting back to Hermione. She was laughing now, her face glowing with joy. It was moments like this that made everything worth it—the danger, the mystery, the uncertainty. He would do anything to protect the people he cared about.
xxxxx
"How did you find out about Fluffy?"
Hagrid's booming voice filled the small, cozy hut as he set a massive, steaming kettle down on the table. The scent of earthy tea leaves wafted through the air, mixing with the warm glow of the fire crackling in the hearth. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco sat huddled around the oversized wooden table, their fingers wrapped around mugs almost as big as their hands, sipping tea as they exchanged uneasy glances.
The flickering firelight cast long shadows across Hagrid's face, his beetle-black eyes narrowing as he leaned in, his massive hands gripping the back of a chair. He looked both worried and curious, as if expecting them to give up some great secret.
Draco was the first to break the silence, his expression twisting in disbelief. His pale grey eyes went wide with shock. "Fluffy? You named that thing... Fluffy?" He looked like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or run screaming from the hut.
Hagrid grinned sheepishly, his large hands fiddling with his moleskin coat as if he were smoothing out invisible wrinkles. "O' course! Fluffy's mine! Raised him meself. Lend him to the Headmaster, I did, to guard the—"
"Guard the what?" Ron blurted out, his voice cutting through Hagrid's like a sharp knife. The curiosity burning in his eyes was palpable, and he leaned forward, almost knocking over his oversized mug in his eagerness to hear more.
Harry and Hermione both groaned audibly, their heads falling into their hands as they exchanged frustrated looks. They were so close, so maddeningly close to finding out something important—something dangerous—and Ron had gone and spoiled it.
"Ron," Hermione hissed under her breath, glaring at him. "You interrupted!"
Harry shook his head, his eyes flicking to Hagrid, who was now looking like he'd just swallowed something sour. The gamekeeper's grin had disappeared, replaced by a guilty, panicked look as he quickly turned his back on them to fiddle with the kettle. His broad shoulders tensed as he muttered something under his breath.
"F-Forget I said anything," Hagrid muttered, his voice low, almost as if he were talking to himself. He picked up the kettle again, pouring more tea into their mugs with shaky hands. "Just... er, forget about that."
The room was filled with the soft clinking of cups and the crackle of the fire, but it was clear none of the four friends had any intention of letting this slip. They watched him, their eyes practically boring holes into Hagrid's broad back, waiting for any other hint or slip-up.
Finally, Hagrid turned back to them, his large hands now gripping his own mug tightly as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes were full of a mix of worry and desperation, and he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to a near-whisper.
"Now listen to me, you four," he warned, his tone suddenly much more serious. "You're meddling in things you ought not to be meddlin' in. You shouldn't be visitin' the third-floor corridor, not unless you've got a death wish! It's forbidden. Dangerous!"
The room seemed to grow colder, the once cozy warmth of the hut giving way to a creeping chill that sent shivers down Harry's spine. Hermione's brows furrowed, and Ron's face had drained of color. Even Draco, usually quick with a snarky comment, was staring at Hagrid, eyes wide with unease.
Hagrid leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. "What that dog is guardin'," he said, his voice barely above a growl, "is between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel."
As soon as the name left his lips, the air in the room seemed to freeze. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco all exchanged quick glances, the same question running through their minds.
"Nicholas Flamel?"
They repeated the name in unison, the words echoing through the room like a challenge, as if they were daring the name to mean nothing.
Hagrid froze, his eyes wide with horror as if he had just realized the magnitude of his slip-up. His mug slipped from his grasp, nearly falling to the floor, and he muttered frantically, his face going pale. "I—I shouldn't have said that," he stammered, his voice shaking. "I shouldn't have said that..."
Harry, however, was already on his feet, his face breaking into a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear. His emerald eyes sparkled with excitement, and he threw his cloak over his shoulder with a flourish. "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid! This was... fun!" His voice was practically bursting with triumph, though he tried to play it off casually.
He made for the door with hurried steps, not even bothering to look back. His friends stared at him for a moment, stunned into silence by his sudden burst of energy. It was Hermione who first snapped out of her daze, standing quickly and grabbing her bag.
"Wait—Harry, hold on!" she called, rushing after him.
Ron, still pale and looking like he might faint, scrambled to his feet, dragging Draco along with him. Draco looked torn between amusement and exasperation as he muttered something under his breath about Harry's impulsiveness, but he followed nonetheless.
They burst out of Hagrid's hut into the cool, crisp air of the Hogwarts grounds, the sky a deep shade of blue as the sun began to set. The wind whipped through their hair, but it didn't slow Harry down one bit. He was already halfway across the field, running toward the castle with a determined gleam in his eyes.
"Where are we going?" Ron called out breathlessly, struggling to keep up with Harry's swift pace.
Harry glanced over his shoulder, laughing like he hadn't a care in the world. "Where else?" he shouted, his voice carrying over the wind. "To the library!"
With that, they raced toward the castle, their hearts pounding with anticipation and the thrill of the chase. The library awaited them, full of ancient books and untold secrets. And for the four of them, this was just the beginning.