OCTOBER 31ST, 1991
Perhaps it was the whirlwind of activity that engulfed him, with Quidditch practice consuming three evenings each week in addition to the relentless demands of homework, but Harry could scarcely fathom that two months had already slipped by since his arrival at Hogwarts. Even his lessons, once daunting in their novelty, were gradually evolving into captivating pursuits as he and his peers delved deeper into the intricacies of magic.
Ron had shared in Harry’s excitement over his Quidditch placement with an infectious enthusiasm that lit up his freckled face. Grinning from ear to ear, he eagerly divulged to Harry that his allegiance lay firmly with the Chudley Cannons, his favorite professional Quidditch team. With a twinkle in his blue eyes, Ron recounted legendary matches, heart-stopping maneuvers, and the awe-inspiring prowess of the Cannons' players, painting a vivid picture of his admiration for the team. As he spoke, his passion for the sport and unwavering loyalty to his team shone through, strengthening the bond between him and Harry, who couldn't help but share in his friend's fervor.
“Oh, I’ve got all their posters back home,” said Ron. “If they had roots here I’d be rooting for them in a heartbeat, but Derrick Watterson joined up from the Hufflepuff team…” Ron looked into the distance in awe.
Class-wise, Harry had already delved into a variety of magical spells, each offering its own unique utility and intrigue. Among his repertoire were incantations like the fire-making charm, a practical skill for any aspiring wizard to possess, particularly for lighting a cozy fire in the chill of the Hogwarts castle. The softening charm, with its potential to mitigate the impact of great falls, stood as a reassuring safeguard for adventurous souls like Harry, promising a softer landing in precarious situations.
Equipped with the mending charm, Harry had discovered the satisfaction of restoring broken objects to their former glory, albeit limited to those of common value. The box-blasting charm added a touch of excitement to his magical arsenal, offering the ability to open sealed containers with a burst of controlled explosive force. And then there was the dancing feet spell, a whimsical incantation that never failed to elicit laughter and mischief.
The last was an interestingly funny charm—Harry and Ron had practiced this spell on each other to cause their legs to flail wildly out of their control. Hermione seemed agitated at the very act of them showing no regard for the apparent danger that practicing the spell out of class could pose.
As the morning of Halloween dawned, the air in Hogwarts hummed with an anticipatory energy, infused with the tantalizing aroma of pumpkin treats wafting through the corridors. Professor Flitwick's announcement in Charms class only heightened the students' excitement, promising the prospect of making objects take flight—a feat they had all eagerly awaited since witnessing the professor's enchanting display with Neville's toad a week earlier. With a chirpy tone, Flitwick paired the students off for practice, a mix of anticipation and apprehension coursing through the room.
Harry observed the pairs forming across the classroom. He found himself paired with Seamus Finnegan, a fellow Gryffindor whose enthusiasm for magic often bordered on recklessness. Meanwhile, Asher was partnered with Wayne Hopkins, a Hufflepuff student whose clumsiness seemed to precede him wherever he went. Ron's scowl deepened as he realized he was paired with Hermione, a match-up that promised nothing but tension. On Hermione's other side sat Kevin Entwhistle, paired with Amanda Brockhurst, both Ravenclaws who often found themselves drawn into Hermione's orbit.
Perched atop his customary pile of books, Professor Flitwick stood with an air of authority as he introduced the new spell to the class. Harry listened intently, absorbing every word.
"You must ensure that you enunciate your spells very carefully," Flitwick began, his voice carrying across the room. "Correct movements and proper incantations are crucial. Imagine the misfortune of Wizard Baruffio, whose speech impediment led a coat-cleaning charm astray, resulting in a disastrous buffalo summoning charm instead. It was particularly unfortunate that he was wearing the coat he intended to clean at the time."
Harry had imagined the scenario playing out differently in his mind, wondering how a spell could veer off course so rapidly. Despite Flitwick's meticulous instructions, both Harry and Seamus found themselves grappling with the task of coaxing the feather into motion. While Harry felt confident in the incantation, mastering the intricate wand movement proved to be more challenging than he had anticipated. The subtle nuances of the curving line eluded him, leaving him frustrated and uncertain.
"Ah, blast it!" Seamus exclaimed in frustration, attempting the wand movement without mastering the incantation. To Harry's surprise, Seamus managed to freeze his feather solid—a feat that seemed improbable without a proper understanding of the spell. Reacting quickly, Harry searched his mind for a solution, calling out, "Incendio!" With a swift flick of his wand, a burst of red light engulfed the feather, thawing it out instantly.
Meanwhile, Ron's attempts at spellcasting across the room fared no better. His fervent shouts of "Wingardium Leviosa!" were met with Hermione's sharp correction, her voice cutting through the classroom with an air of authority. With sleeves rolled up and determination etched on her features, “No, no. You’re doing it wrong! It’s not Wingardium Leviosuh,” she sped through it as if to skip through the end of the word, “It’s lev-ee-oh-sah. If you don’t get the ending right then it won’t work, watch.”
As she chanted the incantation with precision, her wand cutting through the air with fluid grace, the feather responded to her command, rising gently into the air and hovering for a few tantalizing seconds before descending back to the desktop.
Ron's demeanor shifted noticeably, his mood souring as he grappled with feelings of frustration and inadequacy. With a scowl etched upon his features, he voiced his discontent to Harry amidst the bustling throng of students in the crowded corridor.
"It's beyond me how the Ravenclaws put up with her," he grumbled, his words dripping with bitterness as they navigated the sea of bodies. "She's a nightmare, honestly. I don't understand why she feels the need to stick her nose into everything."
Harry halted abruptly as a figure rushed past them, and upon closer inspection, he recognized Hermione, her demeanor downtrodden and her cheeks stained with tears. His heart twinged with empathy as he observed her distress, the weight of Ron's unkind words lingering heavily in the air.
"Oh... I think she heard you," Harry murmured, his voice tinged with concern.
"I don't believe that was very kind," Asher remarked, joining them from behind. "I caught her reaction to your words, and... well," they gestured towards Hermione, their expression reflecting a mixture of sympathy and disapproval.
Despite the lingering worry gnawing at Ron's conscience over Hermione's conspicuous absence from subsequent classes, compounded by the troubling reports from Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil about her seclusion in the girl's bathroom on the third floor, the irresistible allure of the Halloween feast beckoned him and Harry into the Great Hall. Stepping through the towering oak doors, they were immediately enveloped in a whirlwind of enchantment and festivity.
The Great Hall underwent a breathtaking transformation into a realm of enchantment and mystery. Above, bewitched candles floated serenely, casting a warm glow that danced across the vaulted ceiling. Festive decorations adorned every corner, with vibrant colors reflecting off polished stone floors. Mischievous grins adorned intricately carved pumpkins, while fluttering ghosts added an ethereal charm to the atmosphere.
As Harry and Ron navigated through the hall, they were entranced by the array of delights awaiting them. Golden plates overflowed with seasonal treats, emitting tantalizing aromas of roasted chestnuts, spiced pumpkin pies, and hearty stews. The air was alive with the anticipation of the feast that awaited, promising a culinary adventure like no other.
The Great Hall took on an eerie ambiance as live bats swooped and fluttered from every corner, casting haunting shadows. Their collective wings beat in unison, creating a ghostly melody that mingled with the whispers of enchanted candles. Amidst this spectacle, the feast materialized on golden plates, a magical display that mirrored the start-of-term banquet. Succulent roasts, steaming cauldrons of soup, and an array of delectable treats beckoned hungry students to indulge in the magical festivities.
As Harry reached for a steaming baked potato, the Great Hall buzzed with the jovial chatter of students relishing in the Halloween feast. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted as Professor Quirrell burst through the doors, his usually timid demeanor replaced by sheer panic. His turban was askew, and his eyes widened in terror, sending shockwaves through the room. All conversation ceased as every head turned to watch him stumble toward Professor Dumbledore's chair, his labored breaths echoing in the tense silence. "Trolls! In the dungeon!" he gasped, his voice quivering with fear. Then, with a pleading look at Dumbledore, he collapsed in a dead faint, leaving the students stunned and bewildered.
The sudden eruption of purple firecrackers from the tip of Professor Dumbledore's wand shattered the chaos, their explosive bursts echoing off the stone walls of the Great Hall until a hushed silence settled over the room. In the wake of the deafening noise, Professor Dumbledore's voice cut through the tension like a beacon of authority. Turning to his colleagues with a commanding presence, he issued clear instructions amidst the turmoil. "Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick," he began, his tone firm yet reassuring, "please guide your respective houses back to the safety of their dormitories. Professor Snape," he continued, his gaze steady as he addressed the stern Potions Master, "kindly escort the Slytherin students to my office until further instruction is given."
Percy, his prefect badge glinting in the flickering candlelight, stepped forward with an authoritative demeanor, his voice echoing across the hall with a command that demanded attention. "Follow me! Stick together, first years!" he declared, his tone carrying a reassuring confidence amidst the rising panic. "No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders!"
As they ascended the stairs, Harry's thoughts raced, his concern for Hermione weighing heavily on his mind. With a sudden jolt of realization, he grasped Ron's arm, urgency coloring his voice. "I've just thought—Hermione," he murmured, his words barely audible above the murmurs of apprehension echoing through the corridor.
Ron's furrowed brows mirrored the tension in the air, his expression etched with concern as he processed Harry's words. "What about her?" he inquired, his voice laced with apprehension, his eyes flickering with worry.
"She doesn't know about the troll," Harry replied urgently, his tone conveying the gravity of the situation as he glanced over his shoulder, ensuring they weren't being overheard.
A conflict of emotions played out on Ron's face. With a reluctant nod, he acquiesced, his resolve evident despite his apprehension. "Oh, all right," he conceded, his voice tight with anxiety. "But Percy'd better not see us."
With practiced stealth, Harry and Ron seamlessly melded into the throng of passing Hufflepuffs, their movements fluid and silent as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. The dim lighting cast elongated shadows along the walls, adding to the clandestine atmosphere as they hurried toward their destination, every footfall echoing in the oppressive stillness of the deserted passageway.
As they rounded the corner with cautious steps, Ron's sharp intake of breath cut through the tension, prompting Harry to freeze mid-stride. With a quick, urgent tug, Ron pulled him behind the formidable bulk of a stone griffin, their hearts pounding in unison as they sought cover from potential discovery. Peering anxiously around the statue's imposing form, they breathed a collective sigh of relief at the sight of Snape's retreating figure, his dark cloak billowing behind him like a shadow swallowed by the dimly lit corridor.
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind racing to decipher Snape's unexpected presence. "What's he doing? Why isn’t he with the Slytherins?" he whispered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
Ron's eyes narrowed in contemplation as he scanned their surroundings, his expression a mixture of suspicion and apprehension. "Wasn’t this where he was supposed to bring them?" he mused aloud, his gaze flicking to the imposing griffin statue that guarded the passage ahead. "I’m pretty sure this leads to Dumbledore’s office... not that I know the password to get in," he added with a frustrated shrug.
Harry shrugged helplessly, his attention still fixated on the spot where Snape had disappeared from view. "Search me," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the distant echoes of their own footsteps reverberating through the empty corridor.
Exchanging a wary glance, Harry and Ron shared a silent agreement to follow Snape's fading footsteps, their steps hesitant and cautious as they trailed behind. Anxiety knotted in their stomachs, their hearts hammering with apprehension at the unknown dangers lurking ahead. Harry's sharp eyes caught Snape veering towards the third floor, a foreboding sign that trouble loomed in the near distance.
Suddenly, a foul stench assaulted their senses, a putrid odor that permeated the air with its nauseating intensity. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust, the noxious smell evoking memories of neglected latrines and damp dungeons. The rank scent hung heavy around them, a tangible reminder of the looming threat that lay ahead.
As they pressed forward, the distant echoes of low grunting and the heavy shuffle of colossal feet reached their ears, the ominous sounds sending shivers down their spines. Ron's silent gesture pointed them towards the source of the disturbance, his expression grim as they caught sight of a towering silhouette emerging from the shadows into a patch of eerie moonlight.
The sight that met their eyes was nothing short of horrifying. Towering at twelve feet tall, the troll's grotesque form loomed menacingly before them, its dull gray skin resembling weathered stone, marred with grotesque protrusions and scaly patches. Its massive body, reminiscent of a misshapen boulder, was topped with a small bald head, giving it a grotesque, coconut-like appearance. Thick, stubby legs supported its bulk, ending in flat, horned feet that seemed more suited to crushing than walking. The foul odor emanating from its hulking frame was suffocating, filling the corridor with its noxious presence, a sickening blend of decay and filth. Its small, beady eyes gleamed with malevolence, darting around as if searching for prey to satisfy its primal instincts. Every movement sent tremors through the stone floor, the sheer weight of its monstrous form threatening to bring the entire corridor crashing down around them.
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With bated breath, they watched as the troll paused by a nearby doorway, its massive form looming ominously as it surveyed its surroundings with an unsettling intelligence. Sensing an opportunity, Harry whispered urgently, “I think that’s the bathroom Hermione went to hide in!”
The troll lumbered inside, its heavy footfalls echoing ominously against the stone walls, sending shivers down Harry's spine. Without hesitation, they rushed toward the door and heaved it open.
As the heavy door swung open with a creak, Harry and Ron burst into the room, their hearts pounding in their chests as they confronted the harrowing scene before them. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the chamber, intensifying the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air like a thick fog. The dank atmosphere seemed to swallow their voices as they surveyed the chaos within, their eyes widening in horror at the sight of Hermione, huddled against the wall, her eyes wide with terror as the troll loomed menacingly over her.
The troll, a monstrous silhouette in the dim light, lumbered toward her with deliberate steps, its heavy footfalls echoing ominously against the stone floor.
"Confuse it!" Harry's voice rang out, thick with desperation, as he seized a nearby tap and hurled it against the wall with all the force he could muster. The metal clanged loudly against the stone, momentarily distracting the troll from its intended prey.
For a brief moment, the creature halted in its tracks, its dull eyes scanning the room in confusion as it sought the source of the disturbance. Catching sight of Harry, it let out a guttural growl, its massive club raised menacingly as it prepared to strike.
"Oy, pea-brain!" Ron's voice pierced the tense silence as he launched a metal pipe at the troll, but the makeshift projectile seemed to have little effect on the enraged beast. Nevertheless, it bought Harry precious seconds as he darted around the creature, his heart pounding with adrenaline as he urged Hermione to flee to safety.
But Hermione remained rooted to the spot, her legs refusing to obey her commands as she stared transfixed at the advancing troll. The thunderous echoes of their shouts reverberated through the chamber, goading the creature into a frenzy as it roared with fury, its malevolent gaze fixed on Ron, who stood as the nearest target.
“I-If you can get that club away from it,” Hermione said amidst her shaking. “Maybe use it against itself?”
“Harry, if you can get its attention I can get the club,” said Ron. “Try from behind!”
In a reckless bid to protect his friends, Harry summoned every ounce of courage within him and lunged forward, throwing himself at the troll from behind. He wrapped his arms tightly around the creature's thick neck, his heart pounding in his ears as he clung to it desperately, his wand clenched tightly in his hand.
“It’s moving too much!” Ron said, trying to aim his wand carefully. “Is there anything you can do, Harry?”
He had an idea, but he hated it the minute it appeared in his head. He gathered up the energy and rammed his wand up the Troll’s nose. This got the beast to stop its pacing so Ron could focus.
With trembling hands, Ron brandished his wand, his voice shaking as he cried out the first spell that came to mind, the movement coming to him in a flash, but when he attempted the spell, it sputtered out little more than sparks. He grunted, then bit his lip before calling out, "Wingardium Leviosa!" The incantation hung heavy in the air as Ron willed the magic to obey his command, his breath catching in his throat as he prayed for success in the face of imminent danger.
With a flick of his wand, the club soared into the air, spinning end over end before plummeting back down with a sickening crack, striking the troll squarely on the head. The creature swayed on its feet for a moment before collapsing to the ground with a thunderous thud, the impact shaking the very foundations of the room.
Breathless and trembling, Harry struggled to his feet, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion. Ron stood nearby, his wand still raised, his eyes wide with shock as they surveyed the scene before them.
The chamber seemed to hold its breath as Hermione's voice pierced the stunned silence, her words barely audible over the echoes of their recent struggle. Her voice trembled with fear as she dared to voice the question that hung heavy in the air.
"Is it—dead?"
Harry, his heart still racing from the adrenaline-fueled encounter, glanced at Hermione, his own voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. "I don't think so," he murmured, his words barely louder than a whisper. "I think it's just been knocked out."
“I...how did you know to come? What is a troll doing here?” Hermione asked.
“Professor Quirrell came and interrupted the Halloween feast—the whole school had been evacuated to safety,” Harry said.
“And we thought...well...I thought...you didn’t know on account of uh...the things I said earlier,” Ron was scratching the back of his head. “And I’ve come to realize they were pretty mean to say, so I wanted to come and find you to apologize.”
As the gravity of their situation settled upon them, Harry's gaze fell upon his wand, its tip coated in a thick layer of gray mucus from its brief sojourn up the troll's nostril. With a grimace of disgust, he retrieved it, the sticky residue clinging stubbornly to the wood.
"Urgh—troll boogers," he muttered under his breath, his expression twisting with revulsion as he wiped the unpleasant substance on the troll's trousers, leaving a streak of slime in its wake.
“We’re both sorry, Hermione,” Harry said. “For dragging you into our mess with Draco, and for letting this get this far. I don’t like knowing anyone’s upset with me.”
“That doesn’t deserve it,” Ron added.
Harry looked at him, confused, then he added, “Well, Draco’s probably still upset, but we’re fine with that.”
“I understand,” Hermione said. “And—”
Suddenly, the heavy silence was shattered by a loud slamming noise, followed by the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps echoing from the corridor outside. The realization dawned upon them that their tumultuous encounter had not gone unnoticed, and someone was now approaching to investigate the commotion.
With a collective sense of apprehension, the trio looked up, their eyes widening as the door burst open to reveal Professor McGonagall, her features etched with concern. She was closely followed by Snape, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Quirrell, who stumbled into the room with a faint whimper, clutching his chest in distress.
Quirrell's eyes widened in terror as they fell upon the unconscious troll, and with a feeble whimper, he sank down onto a nearby toilet, his trembling hands clutching at his heart in a futile attempt to calm his rapidly beating pulse.
Snape, his expression a mixture of disdain and curiosity, bent over the fallen troll, his black robes billowing around him like a cloak of shadows. His thin, pale fingers reached out to touch the troll's massive form, his touch light yet filled with an air of clinical detachment.
Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall stood rigidly before Harry and Ron, her usually stern countenance twisted into a mask of cold fury. Her piercing gaze bore into them like a pair of icy daggers, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. Her lips, normally pressed into a thin line of disapproval, were now a stark shade of white, a testament to her seething anger.
As Professor McGonagall's accusatory words rang out in the chamber, Harry's hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor vanished like mist in the morning sun. His gaze flickered to Ron, who stood beside him with his wand still raised defiantly, his face a mask of apprehension and guilt.
"You're lucky you weren't killed," Professor McGonagall continued, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a sharp blade. "Why aren't you in your dormitory?"
Harry felt a surge of frustration and regret wash over him as Snape's piercing gaze bore into him with an intensity that made him squirm uncomfortably. That terrible feeling washed over him as Snape’s stare invaded his very soul. Desperately, he wished that Ron would lower his wand, the tension in the room palpable as they awaited Professor McGonagall's verdict.
But then, from the shadows, a small voice emerged, its tone trembling yet filled with quiet determination. "Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me."
The sudden interruption caused all heads to turn toward the source of the voice, revealing Hermione standing there, her figure bathed in the dim light filtering through the chamber. Despite the fear etched upon her features, there was a steely resolve in her eyes as she bravely stepped forward to take responsibility for the chaos that had unfolded.
“I went looking for the troll because I—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them."
Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?
"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."
Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.
"Well—in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"
Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.
"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Ravenclaw for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Ravenclaw tower. Professor Flitwick will be resolved at least to know he hasn’t lost one of his students.."
Hermione left. Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.
"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win your respective houses five points. Does that seem about right, Professor Snape?”
Snape still stared at Harry, but offered what must have been the most difficult “Yes” in his career.
Professor McGonagall returned, sighing, “Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."
They hurried out of the chamber, the echoes of their footsteps reverberating through the dimly lit corridors as they descended two floors in silence. With each step, the oppressive atmosphere of the troll had begun to fade, replaced by a sense of relief that washed over them like a cool breeze.
"It's a shame we only got five points," Ron grumbled, breaking the silence as they traversed the winding staircases.
"Yeah, especially considering what Hermione did for us," Harry agreed, his voice tinged with gratitude.
Ron nodded solemnly, his expression reflecting a mix of guilt and appreciation. "She really went above and beyond."
"She wouldn't have had to if you hadn't..." Harry trailed off, his words hanging in the air.
"I know, I know," Ron sighed, his shoulders slumping with remorse. "I feel terrible about it."
As they stood before the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room, a sense of tranquility washed over them, contrasting sharply with the recent chaos of their encounter with the troll. The corridor was bathed in the soft, golden glow of the torches that lined the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that flickered with each passing breath of air. The tapestries adorning the walls depicted scenes of lush green meadows and rolling hills, transporting the observer to a tranquil countryside landscape.
"Okay, I'll see you later, then," Ron said, breaking the peaceful silence as he approached the barrel that served as the entrance to the common room. With practiced ease, he tapped the wooden surface twice, then thrice, a playful grin playing at the corners of his lips.
"One day you'll have to tell me what that has to do with Helga Hufflepuff," Harry remarked, his curiosity piqued by Ron's ritual.
Ron chuckled, his laughter echoing softly in the corridor. "Oh, you're still thinking about that? It's her name," he explained, his tone teasing as he demonstrated the pattern of knocks. "Hel-ga," he knocked twice, "Huff-le-puff," he knocked three times.
"Oh my god," Harry exclaimed, his realization dawning upon him.
As Ron vanished into the Hufflepuff Common Room, Harry lingered in the corridor, his curiosity still piqued by the mysteries of Hogwarts. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he decided to satisfy his curiosity about the house elves rumored to inhabit the castle. Slipping away from the common room entrances, he made his way down a labyrinth of corridors, guided by whispers of gossip and the faint aroma of freshly baked bread.
Eventually, he found himself standing before a painting of a bowl of fruit. Remembering Fred and George's tales of secret passages, he remembered something George had told him a few weeks ago about the entrance of the kitchen being behind a ticklish pear. Wondering just what that meant in the moment, Harry decided he would try to figure it out.
Harry tickled the pear in the painting, causing it to transform into a door handle. With a sense of exhilaration, he pushed open the concealed entrance and stepped into the bustling warmth of the Hogwarts kitchen.
The sight that greeted him was a flurry of activity. House elves scurried about, their small, wiry frames darting between towering stacks of pots and pans. The house elves, with their small stature and quick movements, appeared almost like sprites in the bustling kitchen. Their small, wiry frames were clad in golden robes that swished and swayed to match the air that was thick with the aroma of savory stews and sweet pastries, and Harry couldn't help but marvel at the efficiency of the kitchen staff as they worked tirelessly to prepare meals for the students and staff of Hogwarts.
Careful not to disturb the busy elves, Harry hid behind a large cauldron, watching in fascination as they danced around the kitchen, their movements almost choreographed in their precision. Among them, he caught a glimpse of a particularly industrious house elf, its large ears twitching as it supervised the preparation of a batch of treacle tarts. It had looked like they were preparing food for the next morning’s breakfast.
“Wow,” Harry had said, and then quickly and quietly ducked out of the kitchen and made his way back to the central staircase. He had arrived back at the portrait of the Pink Lady where he had quickly said, “Wingspan,” and the Pink Lady nodded, allowing him inside.
Harry joined Asher, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Alice Runcorn to the food set up in the common room, but his thoughts had drifted—to the girl in Ravenclaw that had from that point on become his friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and Harry quickly found out that knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll was one of them.
He was happy, because now he didn’t feel guilty about stealing looks at her.