The Road Not Taken: Chapter Twelve
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Chapter Eleven
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Twelve
Halloween morning dawned cold and clear. Harry had been up for over an hour, curled next to the window with a blanket over his shoulders.
The troll attack is today, he blew out a long breath. How in Merlin’s name am I supposed to stop the thing, now? Should I even try? He worried at his lower lip. The troll attack was why we became friends with Hermione. She won’t be in the bathroom crying this time, so there will be no reason to go after her. So maybe I should just let the professors handle it? The decision lay like a stone in his gut. He couldn’t - I can’t just let the lumbering creature wander about, he sighed. He still felt the need to be the responsible Auror from time to time. It was what he had trained for, his entire life.
The scent of baking pumpkins wafted through the corridors as Harry and his friends made their way down to the Great Hall. Harry found he had an appetite for once and ate all of his breakfast, much to Hermione’s great surprise.
Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly. The class cheered. They were paired up by the teacher - Harry got Neville, but fate seemed to strike Hermione - her partner was Ron.
“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” Flitwick beamed at them from on top of his pile of books. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick! And remember, incant the words properly.”
Harry let Neville go first. Harry had mastered most of the first semester charms, using his late night hours as practice time behind the curtains of his bed. It made handling his magic easier, mastering the feel and flow of it as he ran through the spells until he could do them correctly.
He held back in class, trying to stay a little behind Hermione in the standings. That also left him behind a knot of competitive Ravenclaws, but he didn’t mind. To his surprise, Draco had shown up in the top percentage, along with Nott. Neville still struggled in the middle of the lists, but it was still better than he’d done the previous time.
Neville was having trouble with his wrist movements. Harry helped him correct the flick, and their feather moved a few inches on the table.
“Keep trying, Mr. Longbottom, you almost have it!” Flitwick called.
Ron, at the next table, wasn’t having as much luck.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” he shouted, waving his arms like a windmill.
“You’re saying it wrong,” Harry heard Hermione snap. “It’s Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”
“You do it then, if you’re so clever,” Ron snarled back.
Harry turned to see Hermione roll up her sleeves, flick her wand and say, “Wingardium Leviosa!”
Her feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.
“Oh, well done!” Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!”
Ron’s face was scarlet as everyone admired Hermione’s work. Neville even got his feather to hover an inch off the desk. Harry flicked his up, attention more on Ron’s frustrated casting than on his own feather.
“Very well done, Mr. Potter,” Flitwich said. “You take after your mother.”
Harry felt his eyes go wide and let his feather drop. No one had ever said that to him, before. Harry bit his lower lip. It was - it felt nice, to have someone say that he took after his mother for once, instead of just his father. It felt right.
“The pair of them are nightmares,” Harry heard Ron gripe at Dean as they left the Charms classroom. “Especially that hag. It’s no wonder the girls can’t stand her in their dormitory.”
Harry bit back a string of curses. Next to him, he heard Hermione’s quick intake of breath. He spun to face Ron.
Harry had had it. “Now see here, you -”
“Harry,” Hermione caught his arm. “Don’t, please. Just let it go.”
“What, standing up for your pet bookworm, Potter? No wonder you’re doing so well. She’s your cheat sheet!”
“I would never!” Hermione bit out, eyes bright.
“You’re a bloody coward,” Harry snarled. His rage must have bled into his expression, because Ron took a step back. “A rotten, no good coward!” His grip was so tight on his wand he could feel the ridges dig into his palms.
“Let’s go, mate,” Neville said, stepping in front of Harry. “It’s not worth it. Come on.”
“Harry,” Hermione tugged at his arm. “Please.”
How have things gone so wrong? Harry wondered as he let his friends pull him away. If I lose Ron, then I lose Ginny - and by losing Ginny, I lose my children. Don't I? He had to close his eyes for a long, heartbreaking moment. How have things gone so wrong?
~*~
Ron didn’t turn up for Herbology, but Harry didn’t worry about it. Ron wasn’t the type to go running to the bathroom for a cry. Hermione and Neville kept giving him concerned looks, but Harry kept his head down and tried to shrug off his sour mood.
I have to fix this, he rubbed at his head as they tromped down to supper. Somehow, I have to fix this.
The Great Hall was decorated for the holiday. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The food appeared by magic, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.
Harry was picking apart his baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Harry felt his hands curl into fists as Quirrell reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table and gasped, “Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know.”
Then he sunk to the floor in a dead faint.
The students panicked. The shouting and screaming shot adrenaline straight to Harry’s heart. It’s a blitz, a faint memory tried to scream, but it seemed as though the fog around his memories was good for something after all.
Several purple firecrackers exploded from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand. Silence fell over the Great Hall. “Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately.”
Percy stood and started directing the House to the doors. Hermione had latched a hand in Harry’s robe, not scared at all. “How could a troll get in? I read that they aren’t intelligent in the least. D’you think he was let in?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. He glanced up at the Head Table. Snape was issuing orders to his House - the Slytherin dorm is in the dungeons, Harry realized with a blink. Draco and Nott were lost in the rush of first years. Merlin, the Hufflepuff dorms are down there, too.
Then Neville said, “Where’s Ron?”
Harry froze. Neville crashed into his back. “What’s that?”
“Ron’s been missing since lunch,” Neville shrugged. “Dean and Seamus haven’t seen him all afternoon.”
“Then he won’t know about the troll,” Hermione’s eyes grew big.
“Shit,” Harry swore, causing Hermione to gasp and sputter. “Come on. Don’t let Percy see you.” He ducked down, joining the flow of Hufflepuff students. He heard Hermione’s hiss, but didn’t look back. Harry slid through the crowd, glad for his small frame for once. It’ll be a pain when I get older, he rolled his eyes at the thought. He slipped down a deserted corridor, turning to see Hermione and Neville at his heels.
“Where would he be?” Hermione hissed at him. “The castle is huge. We’ll never be able to find him.”
“He’s at the small courtyard,” Harry shook his head. “Fred and George showed me once after practice. Ron was there.”
“They did?”
“Yeah,” just not in this timeline, he added. He had seen Ron there a few times that year, coming back from practice, true, but the twins hadn’t showed him the spot. That had been in his other life, before.
The courtyard was also near the girl’s restroom Hermione had been hiding in the first time around. Fate does like to play its tricks, Harry made a face. Strange how despite things change, I keep coming back to the same places.
Harry was in the lead. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them
“It’s Percy!” Neville squeaked. Harry herded them behind a large stone griffin. He crouched down, making sure the others were tucked safe behind him. Hermione was crowded against his back, peering over his shoulder.
“It’s Snape,” she breathed as the Potions Master crossed the corridor and disappeared from view. “What’s he doing here?”
“Patrolling, probably,” Harry shrugged.
“But here?”
“Who knows where the troll’s gotten to?”
He heard her gulp.
“Come on, let’s hurry,” Harry crept out of their hiding place, following the echo of Snape’s fading footsteps.
“He’s headed for the third floor,” Hermione hissed.
“Can you smell something?” Neville’s voice quavered.
Harry made a face at the stench. Trolls, Merlin but he hated the creatures. Hermione let out a squeak and then pointed - at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving away from them.
“It’s headed for the courtyard,” Harry growled and took off after it.
It was as ugly as he remembered it. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut.
“Bloody hell!” They heard Ron’s shriek.
Harry rounded the corner to see Ron forced back against the courtyard edge. It was one of the balcony spaces, with a small garden full of benches and sunlight during the spring. It was also four floors off the ground, and Ron had nowhere to go but down.
“Oi!” Harry shouted at the creature. He dodged to the side, flinging a few stinging hexes at it. “This way, pea brain, come on!”
“Leave off!” Ron had the nerve to shout. “I can handle it -,” then he screamed as the troll let out a roar.
“Go on, run, run,” Harry yelled at Ron. “Hermione, try to confuse it if it turns to you. Then run if you can!”
“But -”
“Just - go,” Harry ducked under the swing of the club. He was showered by broken stone. He felt a sharp piece slice open his cheek. The edge of the club clipped his side as Harry rolled away; he was trying to force the creature’s back to the open arches that led to the edge of the balcony.
He heard Ron and Hermione shouting at each other, but everything had become fuzzy, indistinct. Harry was focused on the moment, on the limited number of spells his magic could handle and on the enemy in front of him. His entire repertoire of deadlier spells were off limits until he could re-master them - there were times when he cursed his eleven-year-old magic and its unpredictability.
I’ll have to work at it, he skidded as the troll finally - finally - fell into place. If I try anything now it’ll like as not backfire on me.
The troll let out an enraged yell. They could be quick, in short spurts, Harry remembered. He had a second to get his wand up. The blasting curse fell out of his mouth by accident. He hadn’t practiced it - he hadn’t practiced it, he could hurt his friends, he - he could…
The troll slammed back against a pillar, its head connecting with a dull, wet smack. It slumped down, face first into the stone pavement.
Harry sank to his knees, head buzzing with adrenaline and pain. It worked. Oh, thank Merlin, it worked. I didn’t hurt them, I didn’t hurt them, I…
A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made Harry twist around. Ron, Hermione and Neville were still behind him, Ron looking as furious as Harry had ever seen him and Hermione near tears.
A moment later Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell came charging up to the courtyard. Quirrell took one look at the troll and fell over in a faint. Again.
Snape stalked past Harry to check on the troll. Professor McGonagall was staring at the Gryffindors. Harry was sure that if she’d had a tail at the moment, it would be lashing.
“What on earth were you thinking? You’re lucky you weren’t killed! Why aren’t you all in your dormitory?”
“I was fine,” Ron shouted. Harry snorted, wincing as his bruised body began to register. He flinched away from Snape’s swift, piercing look, trying to dredge up his mental defenses.
“You weren’t fine,” Hermione shouted back at Ron. “You were all alone up here, and you couldn’t have known about the troll so we came to get you!”
“Yeah, right. And I was fine! I had it covered! I didn’t need your help!”
“You were about to be squished!”
“Was not!”
“Was too!”
“Was not!”
“Was too.”
“Enough!” McGonagall barked. “Ronald Weasley, you foolish boy, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”
“He did it,” Ron flung out a hand. “How come I’m in trouble?”
“Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. I’m very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses.”
“But -”
“March, Mr. Weasley.”
Ron turned a murderous glare at Harry and stormed off. Harry slumped. This had solidified their friendship with Hermione, before. Harry let out a sigh. What had he done wrong, now?
“Going for glory, Mr. Potter?” Snape said as he stood. “How very telling.”
“I was trying to save him,” Harry said, voice flat. He wasn’t going to fall for Snape’s baiting. “All we meant to do was find him and get back to the dormitory.”
“And you did not think to tell a teacher?” The edge of Snape’s robes entered Harry’s vision.
“Tell who?” Harry twisted a look up at the man. What professor, what adult ever helped me? They never listened and they always, always let me down. Harry blinked and looked away. Except you, he amended. Yeah, he had to admit, as backhanded as it was, Snape had tried to protect him.
“He’s killed it, Minerva,” Snape’s voice was brisk. “Blasting curse, I bet.”
“Blasting curse?”
“I didn’t really say a charm,” Harry cut in, panic spearing through him. He saw Hermione’s eyes go round. “I think I was lucky. Really lucky and really stupid. I should have found a teacher. You’re right, Professor Snape. I’m sorry.”
McGonagall’s expression was a mix of wonder and worry. “Accidental magic, perhaps.”
But Snape’s expression had drawn down into a scowl. “A blasting curse, I say.”
McGonagall shot the man a sharp look and turned to them. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I dare say you were lucky. Still, it is commendable that you went to go warn a housemate about the danger, even if you should have alerted an adult first,” McGonagall paused. “Five points to Gryffindor. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You two may go,” she told Hermione and Neville. “Severus, if you could escort Mr. Potter to the Infirmary? I should go find Albus.”
Harry sucked in an alarmed breath. “I’m fine, Professor, really…”
“Nonsense. I’ll take Quirrell with me,” Professor McGonagall flicked a spell over the comatose man. “March!” She told the two Gryffindors next to her. Hermione shot Harry one last concerned look before taking Neville’s arm and leading McGonagall down the hall.
Harry tried to control his flinch when Snape took a step closer to him. “I’m fine,” he scrambled to his feet. The world swayed around him. Magical shock, he guessed. He’d had it a few times during skirmishes with Hammerstein’s army.
“You are an irritating, reckless, foolish boy,” Snape growled, grabbing Harry by the collar and pushing him along. Harry flailed, trying to untangle the man’s hand. He hated it when Vernon did this, almost dragging him, like he was dragged when Hammerstein’s agents had pinned him down, weak and helpless against their hexes and -
“Let me go!” Harry twisted. “Please.”
Snape’s hold vanished. Harry stumbled, one hand connecting with the wall to keep his balance.
“Is the boy hero too proud? Does he want to stand tall and pretend that the shining knight is untouchable?” Snape mocked.
Harry snorted. “I’m not a hero,” he spat out. “And shining knights are fairy tales. They don’t exist and never will.” Harry huffed out a laugh that held no humor. “I’m just some kid. What’s so heroic about that?” He shook his head and wished he hadn’t. He must have smacked his skull when he rolled away from the troll.
The world started to spin. Harry blinked a few times, trying to shake it off.
“Potter? You’re dripping blood all over the floor.”
“You get used to it,” he heard himself say, as if he was talking down a long hall. “The hard part is cleaning the dried stuff out of the grout. Aunt Petunia hates blood in the grout.”
Then his vision twisted down, as if he were falling into a well, and the world went dark.
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Eleven
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Twelve
Halloween morning dawned cold and clear. Harry had been up for over an hour, curled next to the window with a blanket over his shoulders.
The troll attack is today, he blew out a long breath. How in Merlin’s name am I supposed to stop the thing, now? Should I even try? He worried at his lower lip. The troll attack was why we became friends with Hermione. She won’t be in the bathroom crying this time, so there will be no reason to go after her. So maybe I should just let the professors handle it? The decision lay like a stone in his gut. He couldn’t - I can’t just let the lumbering creature wander about, he sighed. He still felt the need to be the responsible Auror from time to time. It was what he had trained for, his entire life.
The scent of baking pumpkins wafted through the corridors as Harry and his friends made their way down to the Great Hall. Harry found he had an appetite for once and ate all of his breakfast, much to Hermione’s great surprise.
Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly. The class cheered. They were paired up by the teacher - Harry got Neville, but fate seemed to strike Hermione - her partner was Ron.
“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” Flitwick beamed at them from on top of his pile of books. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick! And remember, incant the words properly.”
Harry let Neville go first. Harry had mastered most of the first semester charms, using his late night hours as practice time behind the curtains of his bed. It made handling his magic easier, mastering the feel and flow of it as he ran through the spells until he could do them correctly.
He held back in class, trying to stay a little behind Hermione in the standings. That also left him behind a knot of competitive Ravenclaws, but he didn’t mind. To his surprise, Draco had shown up in the top percentage, along with Nott. Neville still struggled in the middle of the lists, but it was still better than he’d done the previous time.
Neville was having trouble with his wrist movements. Harry helped him correct the flick, and their feather moved a few inches on the table.
“Keep trying, Mr. Longbottom, you almost have it!” Flitwick called.
Ron, at the next table, wasn’t having as much luck.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” he shouted, waving his arms like a windmill.
“You’re saying it wrong,” Harry heard Hermione snap. “It’s Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”
“You do it then, if you’re so clever,” Ron snarled back.
Harry turned to see Hermione roll up her sleeves, flick her wand and say, “Wingardium Leviosa!”
Her feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.
“Oh, well done!” Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!”
Ron’s face was scarlet as everyone admired Hermione’s work. Neville even got his feather to hover an inch off the desk. Harry flicked his up, attention more on Ron’s frustrated casting than on his own feather.
“Very well done, Mr. Potter,” Flitwich said. “You take after your mother.”
Harry felt his eyes go wide and let his feather drop. No one had ever said that to him, before. Harry bit his lower lip. It was - it felt nice, to have someone say that he took after his mother for once, instead of just his father. It felt right.
“The pair of them are nightmares,” Harry heard Ron gripe at Dean as they left the Charms classroom. “Especially that hag. It’s no wonder the girls can’t stand her in their dormitory.”
Harry bit back a string of curses. Next to him, he heard Hermione’s quick intake of breath. He spun to face Ron.
Harry had had it. “Now see here, you -”
“Harry,” Hermione caught his arm. “Don’t, please. Just let it go.”
“What, standing up for your pet bookworm, Potter? No wonder you’re doing so well. She’s your cheat sheet!”
“I would never!” Hermione bit out, eyes bright.
“You’re a bloody coward,” Harry snarled. His rage must have bled into his expression, because Ron took a step back. “A rotten, no good coward!” His grip was so tight on his wand he could feel the ridges dig into his palms.
“Let’s go, mate,” Neville said, stepping in front of Harry. “It’s not worth it. Come on.”
“Harry,” Hermione tugged at his arm. “Please.”
How have things gone so wrong? Harry wondered as he let his friends pull him away. If I lose Ron, then I lose Ginny - and by losing Ginny, I lose my children. Don't I? He had to close his eyes for a long, heartbreaking moment. How have things gone so wrong?
~*~
Ron didn’t turn up for Herbology, but Harry didn’t worry about it. Ron wasn’t the type to go running to the bathroom for a cry. Hermione and Neville kept giving him concerned looks, but Harry kept his head down and tried to shrug off his sour mood.
I have to fix this, he rubbed at his head as they tromped down to supper. Somehow, I have to fix this.
The Great Hall was decorated for the holiday. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The food appeared by magic, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.
Harry was picking apart his baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Harry felt his hands curl into fists as Quirrell reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table and gasped, “Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know.”
Then he sunk to the floor in a dead faint.
The students panicked. The shouting and screaming shot adrenaline straight to Harry’s heart. It’s a blitz, a faint memory tried to scream, but it seemed as though the fog around his memories was good for something after all.
Several purple firecrackers exploded from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand. Silence fell over the Great Hall. “Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately.”
Percy stood and started directing the House to the doors. Hermione had latched a hand in Harry’s robe, not scared at all. “How could a troll get in? I read that they aren’t intelligent in the least. D’you think he was let in?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. He glanced up at the Head Table. Snape was issuing orders to his House - the Slytherin dorm is in the dungeons, Harry realized with a blink. Draco and Nott were lost in the rush of first years. Merlin, the Hufflepuff dorms are down there, too.
Then Neville said, “Where’s Ron?”
Harry froze. Neville crashed into his back. “What’s that?”
“Ron’s been missing since lunch,” Neville shrugged. “Dean and Seamus haven’t seen him all afternoon.”
“Then he won’t know about the troll,” Hermione’s eyes grew big.
“Shit,” Harry swore, causing Hermione to gasp and sputter. “Come on. Don’t let Percy see you.” He ducked down, joining the flow of Hufflepuff students. He heard Hermione’s hiss, but didn’t look back. Harry slid through the crowd, glad for his small frame for once. It’ll be a pain when I get older, he rolled his eyes at the thought. He slipped down a deserted corridor, turning to see Hermione and Neville at his heels.
“Where would he be?” Hermione hissed at him. “The castle is huge. We’ll never be able to find him.”
“He’s at the small courtyard,” Harry shook his head. “Fred and George showed me once after practice. Ron was there.”
“They did?”
“Yeah,” just not in this timeline, he added. He had seen Ron there a few times that year, coming back from practice, true, but the twins hadn’t showed him the spot. That had been in his other life, before.
The courtyard was also near the girl’s restroom Hermione had been hiding in the first time around. Fate does like to play its tricks, Harry made a face. Strange how despite things change, I keep coming back to the same places.
Harry was in the lead. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them
“It’s Percy!” Neville squeaked. Harry herded them behind a large stone griffin. He crouched down, making sure the others were tucked safe behind him. Hermione was crowded against his back, peering over his shoulder.
“It’s Snape,” she breathed as the Potions Master crossed the corridor and disappeared from view. “What’s he doing here?”
“Patrolling, probably,” Harry shrugged.
“But here?”
“Who knows where the troll’s gotten to?”
He heard her gulp.
“Come on, let’s hurry,” Harry crept out of their hiding place, following the echo of Snape’s fading footsteps.
“He’s headed for the third floor,” Hermione hissed.
“Can you smell something?” Neville’s voice quavered.
Harry made a face at the stench. Trolls, Merlin but he hated the creatures. Hermione let out a squeak and then pointed - at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving away from them.
“It’s headed for the courtyard,” Harry growled and took off after it.
It was as ugly as he remembered it. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut.
“Bloody hell!” They heard Ron’s shriek.
Harry rounded the corner to see Ron forced back against the courtyard edge. It was one of the balcony spaces, with a small garden full of benches and sunlight during the spring. It was also four floors off the ground, and Ron had nowhere to go but down.
“Oi!” Harry shouted at the creature. He dodged to the side, flinging a few stinging hexes at it. “This way, pea brain, come on!”
“Leave off!” Ron had the nerve to shout. “I can handle it -,” then he screamed as the troll let out a roar.
“Go on, run, run,” Harry yelled at Ron. “Hermione, try to confuse it if it turns to you. Then run if you can!”
“But -”
“Just - go,” Harry ducked under the swing of the club. He was showered by broken stone. He felt a sharp piece slice open his cheek. The edge of the club clipped his side as Harry rolled away; he was trying to force the creature’s back to the open arches that led to the edge of the balcony.
He heard Ron and Hermione shouting at each other, but everything had become fuzzy, indistinct. Harry was focused on the moment, on the limited number of spells his magic could handle and on the enemy in front of him. His entire repertoire of deadlier spells were off limits until he could re-master them - there were times when he cursed his eleven-year-old magic and its unpredictability.
I’ll have to work at it, he skidded as the troll finally - finally - fell into place. If I try anything now it’ll like as not backfire on me.
The troll let out an enraged yell. They could be quick, in short spurts, Harry remembered. He had a second to get his wand up. The blasting curse fell out of his mouth by accident. He hadn’t practiced it - he hadn’t practiced it, he could hurt his friends, he - he could…
The troll slammed back against a pillar, its head connecting with a dull, wet smack. It slumped down, face first into the stone pavement.
Harry sank to his knees, head buzzing with adrenaline and pain. It worked. Oh, thank Merlin, it worked. I didn’t hurt them, I didn’t hurt them, I…
A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made Harry twist around. Ron, Hermione and Neville were still behind him, Ron looking as furious as Harry had ever seen him and Hermione near tears.
A moment later Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell came charging up to the courtyard. Quirrell took one look at the troll and fell over in a faint. Again.
Snape stalked past Harry to check on the troll. Professor McGonagall was staring at the Gryffindors. Harry was sure that if she’d had a tail at the moment, it would be lashing.
“What on earth were you thinking? You’re lucky you weren’t killed! Why aren’t you all in your dormitory?”
“I was fine,” Ron shouted. Harry snorted, wincing as his bruised body began to register. He flinched away from Snape’s swift, piercing look, trying to dredge up his mental defenses.
“You weren’t fine,” Hermione shouted back at Ron. “You were all alone up here, and you couldn’t have known about the troll so we came to get you!”
“Yeah, right. And I was fine! I had it covered! I didn’t need your help!”
“You were about to be squished!”
“Was not!”
“Was too!”
“Was not!”
“Was too.”
“Enough!” McGonagall barked. “Ronald Weasley, you foolish boy, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”
“He did it,” Ron flung out a hand. “How come I’m in trouble?”
“Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. I’m very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses.”
“But -”
“March, Mr. Weasley.”
Ron turned a murderous glare at Harry and stormed off. Harry slumped. This had solidified their friendship with Hermione, before. Harry let out a sigh. What had he done wrong, now?
“Going for glory, Mr. Potter?” Snape said as he stood. “How very telling.”
“I was trying to save him,” Harry said, voice flat. He wasn’t going to fall for Snape’s baiting. “All we meant to do was find him and get back to the dormitory.”
“And you did not think to tell a teacher?” The edge of Snape’s robes entered Harry’s vision.
“Tell who?” Harry twisted a look up at the man. What professor, what adult ever helped me? They never listened and they always, always let me down. Harry blinked and looked away. Except you, he amended. Yeah, he had to admit, as backhanded as it was, Snape had tried to protect him.
“He’s killed it, Minerva,” Snape’s voice was brisk. “Blasting curse, I bet.”
“Blasting curse?”
“I didn’t really say a charm,” Harry cut in, panic spearing through him. He saw Hermione’s eyes go round. “I think I was lucky. Really lucky and really stupid. I should have found a teacher. You’re right, Professor Snape. I’m sorry.”
McGonagall’s expression was a mix of wonder and worry. “Accidental magic, perhaps.”
But Snape’s expression had drawn down into a scowl. “A blasting curse, I say.”
McGonagall shot the man a sharp look and turned to them. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I dare say you were lucky. Still, it is commendable that you went to go warn a housemate about the danger, even if you should have alerted an adult first,” McGonagall paused. “Five points to Gryffindor. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You two may go,” she told Hermione and Neville. “Severus, if you could escort Mr. Potter to the Infirmary? I should go find Albus.”
Harry sucked in an alarmed breath. “I’m fine, Professor, really…”
“Nonsense. I’ll take Quirrell with me,” Professor McGonagall flicked a spell over the comatose man. “March!” She told the two Gryffindors next to her. Hermione shot Harry one last concerned look before taking Neville’s arm and leading McGonagall down the hall.
Harry tried to control his flinch when Snape took a step closer to him. “I’m fine,” he scrambled to his feet. The world swayed around him. Magical shock, he guessed. He’d had it a few times during skirmishes with Hammerstein’s army.
“You are an irritating, reckless, foolish boy,” Snape growled, grabbing Harry by the collar and pushing him along. Harry flailed, trying to untangle the man’s hand. He hated it when Vernon did this, almost dragging him, like he was dragged when Hammerstein’s agents had pinned him down, weak and helpless against their hexes and -
“Let me go!” Harry twisted. “Please.”
Snape’s hold vanished. Harry stumbled, one hand connecting with the wall to keep his balance.
“Is the boy hero too proud? Does he want to stand tall and pretend that the shining knight is untouchable?” Snape mocked.
Harry snorted. “I’m not a hero,” he spat out. “And shining knights are fairy tales. They don’t exist and never will.” Harry huffed out a laugh that held no humor. “I’m just some kid. What’s so heroic about that?” He shook his head and wished he hadn’t. He must have smacked his skull when he rolled away from the troll.
The world started to spin. Harry blinked a few times, trying to shake it off.
“Potter? You’re dripping blood all over the floor.”
“You get used to it,” he heard himself say, as if he was talking down a long hall. “The hard part is cleaning the dried stuff out of the grout. Aunt Petunia hates blood in the grout.”
Then his vision twisted down, as if he were falling into a well, and the world went dark.
Chapter Thirteen