“Wha—” Ron sputtered, backing away.
He tripped over his own robes and landed hard on the floor.
“Harry—”
“Shut up, Ronald. I don’t like bullies, and that’s all you are. You’re just like Dudley. Stay away from us.”
Harry turned on his heel and scanned the small crowd that had gathered to watch the unfolding drama.
“Lavender—did you see where she went?”
The girl’s eyes widened in sudden fear at being addressed.
She shook her head quickly.
“Um, no—but she usually goes to the second-floor bathroom to cry. She should be out by the end of the feast…”
“If you see her before I do, tell her to stay away from Ron and that I want to talk to her.” Harry’s voice had dropped back to a normal volume; the heavy breathing had eased.
Lavender nodded.
The spectators began to drift toward the Great Hall, the spectacle apparently over.
“You coming, Neville?” Harry asked as he walked away.
Neville started, then hurried after him.
“Yeah. Coming.” He cast one last baleful glare at Ron, who was still sitting on the floor, before following his friend.
Harry spent the entire feast watching the doors of the Great Hall.
Halloween was rapidly becoming one of the worst days he could remember.
Flitwick kept glancing toward him from the staff table.
The whole school was cheerfully celebrating the anniversary of his parents’ deaths.
He had just severed one of the few friendships he possessed.
Hermione had still not appeared.
What else, he wondered grimly, could the day possibly throw at him?
“Troll! There’s dungeons!”
a troll in the
Professor Quirrell burst into the Hall, barely reaching the centre of the room before collapsing in a dead faint.
She clearly despises me, or at the very least enjoys toying with me while cackling in the background.
Chaos erupted.
Professors ordered the Houses to follow their prefects back to the dormitories.
As the crowd began to move, Harry deliberately drifted toward the rear.
Neville noticed the change in pace and leaned close.
“Harry, what’s going on?”
“Hermione doesn’t know about the troll. What if she’s still in the bathroom?”
“Shouldn’t we tell the prefects?” Neville’s voice held a faint quaver.
“They’re busy herding everyone else. It’s only a few corridors away—we’ll get there faster ourselves. The troll isn’t even supposed to be on this floor. I don’t want Hermione punished for something Ron caused.”
Neville’s face drained of colour.
Harry offered a small, apologetic smile.
“It’s all right, Nev. I’ll fetch her and we’ll meet you in the common room.” He turned to leave, but Neville’s hand closed around his arm.
“No. I’m coming too. I may not be much use, but I’m not letting you go alone—and I don’t want Hermione in trouble either.”
Harry’s estimation of Neville rose several notches.
The two of them sprinted away from the staircase.
As they neared the bathroom an appalling stench rolled toward them.
“Neville… do trolls smell?” Harry tried to keep his voice steady, but a tremor slipped through.
“Yeah…” Neville’s nearly pure white.
face had gone “Maybe we should prefect after all…”
have found a
They rounded the final corner just in time to see a twelve-foot troll lumber through the doorway of the girls’ bathroom, a club the size of a small tree dragging behind it.
“That’s the girls’ bathroom—”
A scream cut through the air from inside.
“Hermione!” both boys shouted, and charged straight through the open door.
The troll stood in the centre of the wreckage, club already raised.
Hermione crouched among shattered toilets and splintered stall doors.
Harry did not think.
He simply leapt onto the creature’s back, seized its head, and tried to wrench it away from Hermione toward the exit.
“Neville—distract it! Hermione, run!”
Hermione did not run.
She remained frozen, whimpering in the corner.
Neville stood transfixed for a heartbeat, then snapped into motion.
He raised his wand and shouted a spell; only a weak red jet spat from the tip and bounced harmlessly off the troll’s hide.
The club swung.
Neville leapt back, avoiding the blow, but his wand was not so fortunate.
The edge of the club caught it and snapped the wood cleanly in two.
The distraction had been enough.
One of Harry’s hands still locked around the troll’s neck; the other plunged into his bag and emerged clutching the incomplete Extravagance Rune Show.
He forced the stone into the troll’s open mouth, activated it, and dropped clear, rolling away just as a dull detonation shook the bathroom.
Something warm and foul splattered across him.
A moment later the troll crashed to the floor, its filthy loincloth brushing Harry’s arm on the way down.
Slowly Harry lowered his arms and took stock.
Neville sat on the tiles staring blankly.
Hermione remained crouched in the corner, mouth open.
Beside Harry lay the troll—most of the top of its head missing.
Steaming chunks of meat slid down the walls and dripped from the ceiling.
Without the Extinguisher and Soften runes, the Extravagance Rune Show was still decidedly explosive.
“Umm…”