It was dinnertime, and while Hermione, Ron, and Neville fretted over Harry's absence, I remained calm. I already knew what was coming. Harry was going to be fine—more than fine. He was going to become a Seeker. And a brilliant one, at that.
When Harry finally walked into the Great Hall, a flurry of questions erupted around him.
"What happened?"
"Are you expelled?"
"I told you not to be reckless!"
I raised my voice above the commotion, "Hey! Let him speak."
"I'm a Seeker now," Harry announced simply.
"I told you he'd be fine," I said, shooting a look at Hermione, who raised an eyebrow at me.
"You're joking," Ron said, eyes wide. "Seeker? But first years never—"
"—Not in about a century," I completed with a grin.
Ron looked as though Christmas had come early. "I can't believe it. That's brilliant!"
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only—don't tell anyone. Wood wants to keep it under wraps."
I chuckled. "Don't think it'll stay a secret for long."
Just then, Fred and George Weasley burst in, hurrying toward us.
"Well done!" George whispered excitedly. "Wood told us everything."
"You're on the team!" Fred exclaimed. "I tell you, we're going to win the Quidditch Cup this year! Haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry—Wood was practically dancing."
"Anyway, we've got to go," George added. "Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway."
"Bet it's that one behind Gregory the Smarmy's statue," said Fred. "See you!"
As they vanished, the mood soured with the arrival of Draco Malfoy, flanked by his usual shadows, Crabbe and Goyle.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you catching the train back to the Muggles?"
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and have your little friends with you," Harry replied coolly.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Malfoy sneered. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. Trophy room. Eleven o'clock. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel?"
"Ooh, do you know what it is?" Hermione interjected in her usual know-it-all tone. "Because first-years are not allowed to duel."
"Need the girl to defend you, Potter?" Malfoy mocked.
I stepped forward, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, what a noble offer, Malfoy. Challenge Harry to a duel, just so you can sneak off and tip off Filch? Let me guess—the moment we show up at the trophy room, he just happens to be patrolling nearby?"
Malfoy's smirk faltered.
"What's the matter, Draco? Cat got your tongue—or is it the truth?"
Without another word, Malfoy turned and stormed off, Crabbe and Goyle close behind.
Hermione gave me a sharp, suspicious glance but said nothing, resuming her meal in silence.
Later, Harry turned to me. "What is a wizard's duel, anyway?"
"It's a formal duel—wands only. No physical contact. One wizard typically acts as the second to oversee the rules. But it's all forbidden for first-years."
We soon left for the dormitory, eager to move past Malfoy's nonsense.
---
The next morning, the usual owl flurry descended into the Great Hall. But today, everyone's attention locked on a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. The parcel landed directly in front of Harry, knocking his bacon to the floor. Moments later, another owl dropped a letter atop the package.
Harry opened the letter first, wisely so, as it read:
> DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock. —Professor McGonagall
Harry's eyes gleamed as he passed the note to me.
"Nimbus Two Thousand," I said, impressed. "That's the fastest broom on the market right now."
We left the hall quickly to unwrap the broomstick in private. But halfway across the Entrance Hall, Crabbe and Goyle blocked our path. Malfoy seized the package from Harry.
"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back with a mixture of jealousy and spite. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter. First-years aren't allowed them."
"Are you jealous, Malfoy?" I asked, my voice calm but cutting.
Before Malfoy could reply, Professor Flitwick appeared beside us.
"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.
"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Malfoy said quickly.
"Yes, yes," Flitwick beamed. "Professor McGonagall explained everything. And what model is it?"
"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," Harry replied, barely hiding his laughter at Malfoy's stunned expression.
"And it's thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," Harry added.
We walked away, barely able to contain our laughter.
Harry and I headed upstairs, smothering our laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion.
Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick lay beneath his bed, or drifting off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to fly that evening. He bolted down his dinner without noticing what he was eating, then dashed upstairs to finally unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand.
"That's as beautiful as people say," I said in awe, running my fingers along the polished wood.
Even Harry, who knew very little about broomsticks, looked completely spellbound. It gleamed in the candlelight, its sleek mahogany handle flawlessly crafted, with a long tail of perfectly straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in elegant gold script near the top.
As seven o'clock drew near, Harry left the castle and set off into the twilight toward the Quidditch field.
---
It had been nearly two months since I arrived at Hogwarts, and the towering stone castle already felt more like home than anywhere I had ever known. I hadn't studied much advanced magic or theory yet—mostly because Hermione seemed to have developed a habit of keeping a close eye on me. At first, I'd assumed it was simple competition, but now... now it felt more like suspicion. She often gave me a look—half-curious, half-accusing—whenever I did something even mildly out of the ordinary.
With Harry occupied with Quidditch practice three evenings a week, I'd taken to wandering the castle in my free time, uncovering hidden shortcuts, secret passages, and forgotten corners of the school. On one such excursion, I'd even managed to sneak a glance at the infamous third-floor corridor—and the enormous three-headed dog guarding something far too secret for students to know.
---
On the morning of Halloween, we had Charms class first. Professor Flitwick beamed at us from his stack of books and announced, "Today, we begin levitation! One of the most exciting charms you'll ever learn!"
There was a buzz of excitement in the air. All the students have been dying to try this ever since we'd seen Professor Flitwick make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom on the first day.
He paired us off to practice: I was with Harry, and Hermione was paired with Ron. The lesson was lively—students all around us were waving their wands, muttering the incantation, and grumbling when nothing happened.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" I said clearly, flicking and swishing just as Flitwick had shown us. To my delight, the feather in front of us rose gracefully into the air.
"Nice one!" Harry grinned and tried again, his face scrunched in concentration. It took him a few more tries, but eventually, his feather floated as well.
Hermione's feather soared on her first attempt. "See? It's *Wingardium Levi-*o-sa, not Levio-saa," she said to Ron.
Ron rolled his eyes, and when class ended—only fifteen feathers airborne in total—Professor Flitwick praised us but reminded everyone to keep practicing.
As we walked out into the corridor, Ron grumbled, "It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."
Someone pushed past us at that moment—it was Hermione. She kept her head down, but I caught a glimpse of her face, pale and glistening with tears.
"I think she heard you," Harry said quietly.
"So?" Ron muttered, still sulking.
"You shouldn't have said that," I told him firmly. "She was only trying to help."
Hermione didn't come to our next class, and we didn't see her all afternoon. As we made our way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, we overheard Parvati Patil telling Lavender Brown that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone.
Ron looked uncomfortably guilty but didn't say anything. A moment later, the hall fell silent as Professor Quirrell came sprinting in, his turban askew and his eyes wide with panic.
"T-T-Troll — in the dungeons!" he gasped. "Thought you ought to know..." Then he collapsed in a dead faint.
There was an eruption of panic. Students screamed and jumped from their seats. Professor Dumbledore restored order with a few purple firecrackers from his wand.
"Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!" he commanded.
Percy Weasley puffed up with importance. "Follow me! Stay together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders!"
As we followed him through the castle, Harry suddenly stopped. "Wait," he said. "Hermione. She doesn't know about the troll. She's still in the bathroom!"
My stomach dropped. "We have to help her."
Harry nodded. "Come on."
We slipped away from the group and headed back in the direction of the girls' bathroom. As we turned a corner, we heard hurried footsteps behind us.
"Percy?" Harry hissed, pulling me behind a large stone griffin. But it wasn't Percy—it was Professor Snape. He swept past, his robes billowing behind him, and disappeared down the corridor.
"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Shouldn't he be in the dungeons with the other teachers?"
"He's heading toward the third floor," I murmured. "The forbidden corridor."
But then—something even more alarming caught my attention.
"Do you smell that?" I asked. A foul stench filled the air—a mix of old socks, rotting meat, and something distinctly... troll.
We froze.
From the end of the passage, a hulking shape lumbered into view. Twelve feet tall, with gray, lumpy skin, a bald head, and arms like tree trunks, the troll dragged a massive wooden club behind it, its flat feet smacking against the stone floor.
It paused near a doorway, sniffed the air, then ducked inside.
"No," Harry said, eyes wide. "That's the girls' bathroom."
"Hermione!" we both cried and ran.
The scene inside was chaos. Hermione was backed against the wall, trembling, as the troll roared and smashed its club through the sinks.
I raised my wand and shouted, "Glacies!" A blast of icy magic hit the floor beneath the troll, turning the tiles slick. With a loud crash, the beast slipped and fell backward.
"Harry, the club!" I yelled.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry cried, pointing his wand.
As the club rose into the air, I cast, "Incarcerous!" Thick magical chains shot from my wand, binding the troll's limbs to the floor.
"Drop it on its head!" I shouted.
Harry did, and the club came crashing down. The troll let out a groan and slumped into unconsciousness.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Hermione ran to me, tears streaming down her cheeks. She threw her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly, letting her know she was safe.
A moment later, the door burst open. Professor McGonagall strode in, eyes blazing, followed closely by Snape and a pale, trembling Professor Quirrell.
Quirrell took one look at the troll, whimpered, and collapsed onto a nearby toilet seat.
Snape bent to examine the troll's wounds, while McGonagall rounded on us.
"What on earth were you thinking?" she demanded, her voice like ice.
I looked at Harry, still holding his wand aloft.
"You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"
Snape shot Harry a sharp, probing glance. Harry quickly lowered his wand and stared at the floor.
"Please, Professor McGonagall," Hermione stepped forward, wiping her eyes. "They were looking for me."
"Miss Granger?"
"I went looking for the troll. I thought I could handle it—I've read all about them... but I was wrong. If they hadn't come, I'd be..." She trailed off.
Harry and I exchanged looks. Hermione Granger, breaking rules and lying to a teacher? It was astonishing.
"Well—in that case..." Professor McGonagall looked utterly flustered. "Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your foolishness. I'm very disappointed in you. If you're unhurt, you may return to your common room."
Hermione gave me one last glance and then slipped quietly out.
McGonagall turned to Harry and me. "That was incredibly brave. Not many first-years could take on a full-grown mountain troll and live to tell the tale. You each receive ten points for Gryffindor. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this."
We nodded and left.
Back at the Gryffindor common room, the feast had been sent up and everyone was celebrating. Hermione stood by the door, hesitant and awkward. None of us looked directly at one another as we said, almost in unison, "Thanks."
She gave a small, grateful smile and joined us.
From that moment on, Hermione Granger was our friend. There are some things you just can't go through together without becoming close—and knocking out a twelve-foot troll was definitely one of them.