No Fortress Is So Strong, Chapter 10
Title: No Fortress Is So Strong
Summary: In 1981, the two Potter sons had their fates switched, and Nicolas Potter became a famous face. But there are those who know the truth, that the real Chosen One was the younger child. The Slytherin. Now, two brothers share a destiny.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes & Caveats: This is a rewrite of the fanfiction story Slytherin Serpent. The premise was originally thought up in 2004, rewritten in 2006, and rewritten again in 2009. This is the only complete version.
This chapter is as yet unbeta’ed for spelling, grammar, and brit-picking. I apologize for this in advance. If you spot any error, no matter how small, please tell me in a review so that I can fix it.
Many thanks to Micah, who examined this story for plot and continuity errors.
“When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life.” ~Antisthenes
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Chapter Ten: Peeves
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Harry later decided to put the mystery out of his mind for now, deciding that the Hogwarts’ ghosts were cracked and that as long as that dog was there, he was never going to know what it was guarding. Instead, he turned his attention instead to the coming Saturday, when Quidditch trials were scheduled.
Saturday dawned almost painfully bright, as Harry found out when he emerged from the dungeons. He was up early, earlier than all his dorm mates, in part because he knew Nicolas would be up just as early and a nervous wreck to boot, and in part because his sleep had been rife with restless dreaming, vague and indecipherable.
As was normal for him, Harry sat down for breakfast at the Gryffindor table, where Nick was behaving true to form. He was white and looking shaky as he moved his scrambled eggs around on his plate.
“Morning, Nick,” Harry said, sitting down beside Jon and across the table from his brother.
“Morning, Harry,” Nick grunted in reply, and a chorus of “Morning, Harry,” rippled down the table. Harry waved a hand and grinned at the others, and nodded at Katie on the other side of Jon.
“Ready for trials?” Harry asked, directing his words at Nick and Katie. Katie nodded eagerly, looking determined, while Nick just looked even sicker. Harry glanced surreptitiously at his watch - the time read seven-ten a.m. and the trials weren’t set to start until ten-thirty. Harry groaned under his breath. It was going to be a long morning.
And he was right. He spent the entire breakfast hour trying to get Nick eager to go for it and give it his all, and then switched to trying to get his brother’s mind off it completely. Nothing seemed to work, and it was a very tired and very relieved Harry that sent his brother off to change into his Quidditch gear.
That done, he headed out to the pitch to get a good seat. He’d purposely done his best to disguise the green trim on his school robes, going so far as to put on his cloak and snitching a Gryffindor scarf despite the fine day. A Slytherin would not be looked on favorably at the Gryffindor Quidditch Trials.
It seemed to work; Harry got a good spot in the stands behind the Weasley prefect with a good view of the pitch and still close enough to the ground to see the Quidditch hopefuls. There were a lot of them too, Harry noticed with a pang of unease, and Nick and Katie were by far the youngest - and smallest. One particular sixth year had to have had three stone on Nick, at least.
It seemed luck was with the younger players that day, though - fifth year Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood seemed disinclined to taking on a player older than him, and being forced to hold trials again in a year or two rather than training a single player for several years. The sixth year played the Chaser position respectably, but he didn’t shine at it.
In fact, until Nick went the only player that really played spectacularly was Katie.
She was fast and determined in the air, and an excellent shot. She landed flushed with exhilaration and victory, giving Nick a challenging look.
But the second Nick took to the air, Harry knew he would get the spot. Not that Katie was in any way a bad flier, but Nick flew like he was unsupported. He flew as if he felt what Harry felt while in the air, as if he belonged there and never wanted to land.
Oliver Wood was so excited he couldn’t hold still, and although Official Postings wouldn’t be announced until the next day, there was no doubt who had earned the coveted Chaser’s position.
Down on the grass, Katie glumly patted Nick on the back, who turned and started speaking to her earnestly. As he talked, she grew more animated, less disappointed looking. After a moment, she nodded, and Nick grinned.
A short time later, Katie returned to the field for the Seeker trials, her face set in a grim and determined expression. And now, with Nick off the field, she trumped the competition for the important position, and looked delighted as she descended to the grass. Nick was cheering for her from the field, a wide smile barely visible on his face.
Not wanting to get caught in a Gryffindor uproar, Harry snuck away, smiling broadly.
-----
Slytherin had no open spots that season, so there were no trials. It was perfect for Harry, who knew first years were never allowed on the school teams, but second years were, and the Seeker position would open up when Higgs graduated next year just in time for Harry to try out for it.
With this in mind, Harry looked forward to the next flying lesson, two weeks after the first. Both Malfoy and Weasley were banned from the lessons for the rest of the year, and although both could be heard defensively declaring that they didn’t need stupid flying lessons anyway, Harry was very glad of the chance to catch up in experience while Malfoy lounged around eating his mother’s care packages.
So on Thursday, the twenty-sixth day of September, Harry was the first out of the castle. He had enough time to carefully examine each broom until he found one that looked almost respectable; it was a little worn down, but there weren’t too many splinters and most of the twigs were still straight. He was crouching down beside it when the rest of the Slytherins arrived, Zabini in the lead.
“Eager much, Potter?” Zabini drawled when he came into earshot. Harry tilted his head up against the glaring sunlight, smiling a little.
“This is my chance, yes? When Malfoy’s sitting on his arse.”
“Your chance for what, Potter?” Pansy asked scornfully. “The Seeker’s position? In your dreams!”
“We’ll see,” Harry said, eyes flashing irritably, and then there was no more time for talking because Hooch was bounding down the steps of the castle and hurrying towards them.
“Sorry I’m late, class,” she called. “Dratted staircases. All right, everyone next to a broom? You all remember last lesson, don’t you? You know the drill - UP!”
“Up!” the class shouted, and most of the students got their brooms into their hands, more or less, although Longbottom had to pick his up from the ground.
“Very good,” Hooch said briskly, ignoring Longbottom in favor of nodding at everyone else. “Mount up, and on my whistle again - Longbottom, you stay on the ground until everyone else is up in the air - three, two, one…”
The whistle sounded, and Harry kicked off from the ground, sheer joy overwhelming him. Like before, his initial kick took him far out of range of the other students, catapulting him up into the sky. They hovered below him like large, clumsy insects, jerky and wobbly.
Like before, Hooch let him be as she lectured the other students, merely watching him out of the corner of her eye as he swooped and darted this way and that.
And like before, when it came time to dismount, Harry felt awkward, clumsy, and ungainly on the ground…but Hooch’s face was glowing.
“You’ll be playing on your House team next year, Potter, or I’ll eat my hat,” she declared when they had all landed on the ground. Harry felt his mouth stretch in a wide smile.
“I intend to be,” he replied.
“Good,” she said briskly. “I shall speak with your Head of House.”
As Harry accompanied his House mates back to the castle, Pansy Parkinson caught up to him, her face twisted into an ugly glare.
“You think you’re so good, Potter,” she spat viciously, “but you’re nothing next to Draco. He’s to have the position next year.”
“We’ll see,” Harry said, and he didn’t have to force the smugness into his voice that made her face twist up even more. Harry’s mouth stretched wide, exposing his teeth in a wicked, mischievous smile.
Pansy stomped away in a huff.
-----
That night Professor Snape caught up to him just outside the Great Hall, calling his name. Harry stopped, confused, as his Head of House strode up to him.
“Hungry, Potter?” Snape asked conversationally, and Harry blinked in bemusement.
“Sorry?” he asked in confusion.
“Are you hungry, boy?”
“Er, yes sir,” Harry replied, furrowing his brow.
“Shame then, because you’ll be missing dinner tonight. Come with me.”
Whispers flew through the ranks of assembled first year Slytherins, and Harry saw Malfoy smirking widely out of the corner of his eye. Worried now, Harry broke out of the group and followed the tall, dark figure of his Professor as he strode down the corridor, past the entrance to the Great Hall.
They left the castle and emerged into the rapidly darkening evening, and strode off down the hill towards the Forbidden Forest. Within a few yards Harry could make out a strange, soft glow in the fading dusk, coming from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. Curious, he picked up speed, hurrying now.
The glow was from a dozen large globes that were situated around the perimeter of the Quidditch pitch, a bit like stadium lights but not as blinding. In the center of the pitch, in full Quidditch gear, was Madam Hooch.
Harry felt his breath catch in eager anticipation. She’d mentioned speaking to Professor Snape - this was it.
“Hello, Potter,” Hooch said amiably when they stopped beside her. “I’ve taken the liberty of asking Professor Snape here tonight, so we can really put you through your paces without anyone here to see. Ready?”
“Yes,” Harry said emphatically.
“Excellent,” she responded, smiling. “There’s some gear in the trunk over there, although we’ll have to make do without proper Quidditch robes.”
Harry moved towards the trunk, taking out a pair of fingerless gloves, wrist-guards, shin-guards, and goggles.
“I can transfigure his robes,” Snape said from behind him, and Harry straightened curiously.
“Excellent, that would be most helpful,” Hooch said, sounding relieved, and Snape waved his wand twice. Harry’s robes abruptly changed shape, becoming tan trousers and an emerald green jersey-like shirt, overlaid by an open-front green robe that fastened at the throat, with wide sleeves that ended just past his elbows. Harry grinned in delight and wasted no time putting on the Quidditch gear that was piled at his feet.
That done, Hooch handed him the broom he’d flown that afternoon in her lesson, and Harry kicked off from the ground.
Flying at night was utterly amazing, Harry thought. Just something about the cool night air rushing past his ears…
“I’m letting out the Bludgers,” Hooch called up, warning him, and Harry looked down in fascination as she opened up a second, as yet unnoticed chest. Two huge balls - the infamous Bludgers - zoomed out. One shot towards Snape, who deflected it with a swift charm, and the other gave chase after Harry.
Harry yelped, rolled gracefully out of the way, and laughed at his own fright, then he caught a glint of gold as Hooch released the Snitch. His mind clicked into immediate focus, keeping an eye on the Bludgers while he searched swiftly and methodically for the tiny, elusive ball.
He felt Hooch’s and Snape’s eyes on him the entire time, burning like a brand between his shoulder blades, and the few minutes it took him to spot the Snitch felt like years - but spot it he did.
It was hovering down the field, near the ground by the goal-posts. Harry saw it when one of the glowing balls reflected light off it as it skimmed along near the ground, and before Harry made a conscious decision he was off like an arrow, flat against the broom. Wind rushed so loud in his ears it made his head ache, but he reached the other side of the pitch in a mere handful of instants, and then he was spiraling under his broom as he dived, moving by instinct alone.
A split second later, the Snitch was in his hand, wings fluttering helplessly against his fingers. He looked down at Hooch, grinning broadly, and Snape, who looked on impassively with his arms crossed.
Harry grinned and let the Snitch go again, gave it a head start, then darted after it again. This time he caught it in mere seconds.
As the time went on Harry began instinctively getting a feel for the Snitch’s moves and decisions, found himself taking shortcuts that paid off, or heading in a specific direction, just knowing that the Snitch would show up there in just a moment.
By the time Hooch called him down, he was high on adrenaline and laughing giddily…and Hooch looked just as happy as he felt.
Snape was still impassive, but Harry knew he’d caught the man’s attention. It was just a matter of time now.
-----
Suddenly, the days were flying past. Harry’s time was divided between classes, his brother, homework, eating, sleeping, and flying, of which he had a lesson a week. One lesson was the usual Thursdays at three-thirty every two weeks, but he also had an extra lesson every other Monday evening during dinner with Madam Hooch, who was determined to make him the best Quidditch player he could be.
She went so far as to bring twice the normal amount of Bludgers on the field, then three times, then four, until eight Bludgers zoomed around the dimly glowing pitch and he dodged and weaved while searching for the tiny, elusive golden ball.
Until suddenly he’d been at Hogwarts for nearly two months.
On Halloween, the school awoke to the delicious scent of baking pumpkin wafting through the halls, which would have made things miserable - all the distracted stomach grumbling - except for the fact that classes had suddenly become so much more interesting.
In Charms after lunch, Professor Flitwick told them they’d learned enough to start making objects fly, something Harry was quite eager to try. He had them pair up to share a feather. As usual Harry’s partner was Zabini, who went first.
It wasn’t as easy as Harry had thought it would be, clearly. He looked around in bemusement as students waved their wands haphazardly and shouted in garbled Latin.
Zabini was only marginally better than that. He at least kept his movements rather more subtle, and didn’t shout - but despite this, their feather remained stubbornly on the desk and showed no inclination to fly.
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong,” Harry ventured after a while. He’d been keeping an eye on the tables closest to him and noted which tables got the most results, and which tables one did not want to emulate…like Crabbe, when he set his feather on fire.
Zabini let out an explosive breath of air and threw down his wand, saying, “You try it then.”
Harry picked up his wand and studied the feather intently, remembering the instructions. They’d been practicing the wand movement for weeks, so Harry thought - or rather hoped - that he would have it down by then.
“Swish and flick,” he murmured under his breath, “and proper pronunciation. Wingardium Leviosa!”
The feather twitched and went spinning off the desk, and Zabini yelped and stumbled back in surprise. Harry flushed and went to fetch it.
“WinGARdium Leviosa!” Harry insisted, to the same effect, only this time the feather went and stabbed Daphne Greengrass in the back of the neck.
“Oh, bloody - sorry, Greengrass,” Harry called sheepishly. “Blasted feather - here, thanks,” he said, taking the feather she handed back to him.
Zabini was smirking all over his dark face as Harry flung himself back into his seat. “One more try,” Zabini wheedled. “I want to see you hit that prat Nott in the back of the head, too.”
Harry scowled but gamely raised his wand.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” he tried, swishing his wand hard, and the feather shot up towards the ceiling so fast it was a white blur, then stuck there with the point buried in the solid stone, quivering gently.
“Ai,” Harry said, startled, and the entire class turned to gape at his feather.
“A bit too much power there, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick squeaked, looking shaken. “But very good, very good indeed - five points to Slytherin! Now just work on your control, please - a little less oomph, if you don’t mind…”
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, a little breathlessly.
“Damn, Potter,” Zabini said when Flitwick turned away. “That was quite a charm.”
“Urgh,” Harry replied, and spent the rest of the class with his hands folded on his lap and his wand safely in his pocket.
Clattering rapidly down the staircase next to Zabini after class, Harry was still caught up in thinking of his bizarrely strong levitation in Charms when there was a startled yelp from behind him, his only warning. Before he had time to turn and look, something shoved him in the back, hard. He caught a glimpse of Zabini ducking sideways beside him and then he was airborne over the stairs.
He didn’t even have time to make a sound as he instinctively tucked his head down and rolled, then hit the stairs hard on his back. The impact drove the breath from his lungs and the stairs bit deeply into his neck, shoulders, back, and legs, then he bounced and flipped again. He managed to take the subsequent impact on his hands and elbows, and then he was rolling and crashing down the remaining stairs to slide to a rest at the bottom, gasping for air but miraculously still conscious.
Dimly, he heard shouting from up the stairs, and screaming from somewhere to his left, and a funny cackling sort of sound, like laughter but not quite, and then his ears stopped working so good and everything got really muted sounding, as if coming from underwater, and then there were hands on him, holding his twitching limbs still, pressing two fingers against his throat, bracing his head to keep his neck immobile. Someone was screaming, and the sound made Harry’s head ache.
Then there was another sound, a low-toned, muted voice; a baritone. A larger, warmer hand pressed against his neck, and the voice cracked whip-like above him, barking out orders, and then, “Can you hear me, Potter?”
Harry could understand it, if he tried, but everything ached and he couldn’t seem to open his eyes. Just breathing took all the energy he had.
“Mobilicorpus,” the voice said, and Harry realized who it was - it was Professor Snape, who lifted him off the ground and onto what was probably a stretcher - and after that, everything went really dim and quiet for a while, except for some strange, bright flashes of intermittent light.
-----
He came awake in the white light of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. His eyes opened easily and he took a quick inventory - there was no pain anywhere in his body. Gingerly he sat up, marveling at the wonders of medical magic.
Further down in the wing, the tall, spare figure of Harry’s Head of House loomed, contrasting against the white walls and speaking quietly to Madam Pomfrey. Harry listened but couldn’t make anything out, so he cleared his throat quietly.
“Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, businesslike as she bustled over to him. “Feeling all right? No pains? Headache? Sore neck? No? Then you can go, if you like.”
“Yes,” Harry said, and swung his legs over the bed, relieved that he was still in his student robes. “Sir,” he added, looking up at the Professor, “what happened?”
“Something of a freak accident,” Snape replied. “Peeves was not watching where he was going.”
“Peeves pushed me?” Harry asked, bewildered. “I didn’t know he could do that.”
“Peeves is a poltergeist, not an incorporeal ghost, Mr. Potter,” Snape sneered. “He is a manifestation of student emotions, and as such can affect the living world.”
“Oh,” Harry murmured, a little abashed.
“Nonetheless,” Snape continued, “he crossed a line when he knocked you down the stairs. He will be suitably dealt with, Mr. Potter, rest assured.”
“All right,” Harry nodded.
“You will miss the feast,” Snape hinted, and Harry jumped to his feet in relief.
“Yes, sir,” he called behind him, already hurrying towards the door.
-----
The Great Hall was nearly full by the time Harry got there, and he made a beeline straight for his brother at the Gryffindor table, who was looking stressed and uncomfortable. Nick saw him when he was a few yards away and leapt to his feet, an expression of utter relief crossing his face.
“Harry,” he said, and there was relief in his voice as well as on his face. “You’re all right! I heard that Peeves knocked you off the stairs and you were in the Hospital Wing but when I tried to visit you they wouldn’t let me in!”
“Don’t worry about it, Nicolas,” Harry shrugged. “I don’t remember being in the Hospital Wing anyways, so I wouldn’t have been good company. Madam Pomfrey woke me up and said that I could go.”
“Good job you didn’t miss the Feast,” Jon said, patting Harry on the back when he was close enough. “That would be a major bummer.”
“Zabini thought you’d broken your neck,” Nick said plaintively, face settling into worried lines again. “He came running to find me after Defense.”
“I’m fine, Nick,” Harry said reassuringly. “Madam Pomfrey fixed me up in just a few minutes, and Snape said he’s going to deal with Peeves. And I made it to the feast, which is the only thing that matters, right?”
“Right!” Jon agreed, nodding his head. Harry grinned at him.
“Your House mates look worried, Harry,” Katie said, nodding across the hall towards the Slytherin table. Harry turned and looked.
She was right, although it was beneath Slytherins to ever look worried. To a student, their faces were calm and impassive, but they were betrayed by the flicker of their eyes in Harry’s direction. Zabini especially kept him in his sights.
“You’d better go,” Nick said, already looking calmer. “You should sit with your House.”
“Yes,” Harry said, rising to his feet. “See you.”
“See you,” Nick echoed, and Harry set off across the hall. Halfway there Zabini spotted him and nudged Nott beside him to make room. Harry nodded in thanks.
“Head still on your neck, I see,” Zabini drawled when he sat down.
“So far,” Harry replied airily, and Zabini looked satisfied, and served himself some potatoes.
Down the table, Prefect Hallswayde turned her head and stared at Harry for a long moment, and Harry blinked deliberately back. Hallswayde turned away.
Message sent and received.
All right?
Yes.
-----
Harry had been looking forward to the feast, which had smelled so delicious all day - but it apparently was too much to ask for to have a nice, quiet evening with his House mates.
Harry had just served himself a helping of roast when a panicked-looking Professor Quirrell sprinted into the Hall, turban askew and a wild, crazed look on his face…an expression of complete and utter terror.
“Troll!” he shrieked as he staggered to a halt in the middle of the Hall. “Troll, in the dungeons!” he gasped and swallowed hard, and managed to garble out in a weakening voice, “Thought you ought to know,” before his trembling legs gave out in a faint.
Harry stared, then threw his fork down onto his plate as the students around him leapt to their feet, in an instant uproar. He noted as he pushed himself to his feet that Quirrell looked to be in danger of being trampled.
There were several loud bangs from the direction of the staff table - Dumbledore was on his feet, wand out, his deep voice rumbling loudly from his chest.
“Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”
“Come on, Slytherins!” one of the seventh year prefects called loudly. “Stick together, line up two deep. Follow me!”
Harry looked longingly at his roast and sighed as he joined the throng, moving slowly towards the doors as the Professors rushed ahead of them. Snape flew down to meet the line of Slytherins, long legs eating up the distance.
“Directly to the common room, Slytherins,” he barked. “Fast as you can. Stay together, and stay on guard! If you see any sign of the troll, signal the dungeon alarms, and a Professor with come to you, understand?”
The prefects were nodding, and Snape whirled around and rushed towards the doors - away from the dungeons. Harry stared after him, but the prefects were shouting and rounding them up, and Harry lost sight of his Professor as older students ushered them in close and began guiding them towards the common room.
It was a slow process, for they moved only in sections. The seventh year prefects would scout ahead with their wands out to make sure the section of dungeons immediately ahead was safe, then return for the remainder of the House which would then move forward as a unit, and then stop as the prefects scouted the next section.
But half way there, Harry suddenly staggered sideways, growing dizzily lightheaded. He bumped into the tall, spare form of Theodore Nott, who stumbled to the side under Harry’s weight before he managed to catch himself. Harry fell to his knees, blindly clutching his head and keening softly in the back of his throat.
Behind his closed eyelids, there were flashes of light. He caught a glimpse of pale, freckled skin and dark red hair, a closed door marked Girls, and a hand pushing it open. Behind the door, in the girls’ toilet, was the sound of screaming.
Harry came to with a strangled gasp, lurching to his feet. Zabini and Nott each had one of his arms, supporting him as he wavered.
Harry tried to speak, but it felt almost like his mouth was no longer connected to his brain - and his brain was occupied with one thing. It was like a compulsion, not something he could have denied even if he’d wanted to.
Not that he would want to.
Harry shook himself free and bolted, back the way they’d come.
Nick had found the troll.
-----
Harry wasn’t even thinking about where he was going. Instinct - or perhaps something else entirely - guided his sprinting footsteps up the stairs and to the corridor that housed the girls’ toilet. There was the sound of banging and crashing, spaced with intermittent, deafening roars and the occasional scream or shout. Harry flung himself at the door and slammed it open.
The toilet was in shambles - the basins were torn off the walls completely, the partitions flattened as if by a mighty blow. Jon was slumped in a heap against the far wall, barely conscious. He had a long, jagged cut on his head, slowly seeping blood. A large chunk of stone basin was beside him, looking very battered as if it had been wrenched from the wall itself.
Under what remained of the basins, a bushy-haired girl in Ravenclaw colours huddled out of sight, wildly frightened eyes taking in the scene of devastation, and in the middle of the room, roaring furiously, was the troll.
It was twelve feet tall at least, its skin a dull, mottled granite gray, lumpy and leathery like an elephant’s. It’s body was huge and blocky, and almost comical with its comparatively tiny head sitting atop it like a coconut. It stood on short legs like tree trunks, had arms like a gorilla’s that nearly dragged on the ground, and was holding an enormous wooden club over its head as it advanced slowly on Harry’s brother.
Nick looked terrified and determined as he backed away slowly, wand in his hand. Harry yelped, “Nick!”
The troll heard the sound and turned towards him, and Nick looked a strange mixture of utterly relieved and even more terrified.
The troll lumbered faster, and Harry fell backwards into a crouch, feeling his shoulders tense and his focus sharpen. The troll raised his club, preparing to bring it down on Harry’s head. Harry gritted his teeth and raised his wand - this would be a perfect time for that too-powerful Levitation Charm.
But then Nick took a leap that one only takes when absolutely desperate. He charged forward and managed to jump high enough to wrap his arms around the troll’s neck from behind - and Harry, facing the troll, had a perfect view of the wand in Nick’s hand going straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.
The troll shrieked and rocked backwards, arms flailing. Nick took a glancing blow to his shoulder and went white with pain.
Harry screamed; a full-throated howl of fear and anger and determination. A rush of magic sizzled red-hot through his shoulders and arms and out through his fingertips, which were extended out in front of him. The surge of magic hit the troll in the knees, breaking them both, and the troll fell forward with a howl of agony. Nick rolled clear with a yelp and scrambled to his feet, favoring his shoulder.
Harry went down onto his knees, exhaustion rolling through him in the wake of the surge.
The troll kept howling, loud, plaintive…agonized.
Over the din, none of the students heard the sound of approaching footsteps until they were right outside the door, which flung open to reveal Professor McGonagall with her hat askew. Snape and Quirrell followed, each of them wild-eyed and frantic. Snape’s eyes focused immediately on Harry, slumped on the ground.
“Potter!” he barked, and crouched down beside him. “Are you hurt?”
Harry tried to make his mouth work, but his entire face felt numb and stiff.
“He did something,” Nick said in a small voice, barely audible over the troll’s moans.
“What did he do?” Snape demanded.
“I don’t know,” Nick admitted, wincing as he held his shoulder. “He made the troll’s knees break. Without his wand.”
“Magic overexertion,” McGonagall said, waving her wand. The troll’s moans were instantly silenced. “What were you thinking?”
In the sudden quiet, the question rang ominously.
“It was my fault, Professor McGonagall,” said a small voice, and everyone turned to look. It was the little Ravenclaw girl, Hermione Granger, top of the entire year…to Malfoy’s endless frustration.
“Miss Granger?” McGonagall asked, astonished. Hermione began to cry, and stomped her foot on the tiled floor.
“It was that horrible boy, Ron Weasley,” she sobbed. “He called me a bloody little upstart know-it-all who would never have any friends. So I came here,” she sniffed. “I wasn’t hungry,” she added tearfully.
“I heard one of the first year girls saying she’d been in the girls’ toilet all afternoon, crying,” Nick spoke up anxiously. “She didn’t know about the troll, so Jon and I came to get her.” Nick pointed to where Jon was rubbing his head blearily by the wall, and Jon waved his hand back sheepishly. “Only, it was already here,” Nick went on, his voice infused with remembered dismay.
“It was about to clobber me,” Hermione admitted, “but Jon and Nick started shouting and throwing things at it. The sounds confused it, but Jon still got hit with a b-bit of st-stone.”
“I’m all right, Hermione,” Jon said reassuringly. “Just a scratch.”
“And what about you, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked sharply, her beady eyes finding Harry’s.
“Same,” Harry lied, although it was an effort to speak and left him winded. “Mandy Brocklehurst has been ranting about Ron Weasley all afternoon.”
“Harry did something,” Nick repeated. “He made its knees break.”
“He is lucky to be conscious,” Snape snapped, getting stiffly to his feet. “Can you stand, Mr. Potter?”
“Mmm,” Harry mumbled, but made no effort to move. He thought he might fall over if he did. Snape bent down, grabbed him by the upper arms and heaved him to his feet, where he swayed dizzily.
“Well,” McGonagall said briskly, “this seems like an eclectic mix of circumstances, don’t you agree Professor Snape? I will certainly be having a word with Mr. Weasley - perhaps a letter to his parents as well.”
She regarded the four bedraggled students with a gimlet eye. “I suppose,” she said, then paused for a moment before continuing. “Five points to Gryffindor each for Mr. Potter and Mr. Bonham, and five to Slytherin…for sheer dumb luck. Mr. Potter - both Mr. Potters - and Mr. Bonham as well - oh, goodness, all of you to the Hospital Wing, yes, even you Miss Granger.”
“Mr. Potter can come with me,” Snape said authoritatively. “He is in need of sleep, not Healing Charms.”
“If you insist, Professor Snape,” McGonagall said crisply. “The rest of you, go.”
“Come along, Mr. Potter,” Snape growled, and supported a clumsy Harry from the room. They walked the corridors in silence with Snape’s hand wrapped firmly around Harry’s upper arm, until they reached the depths of the dungeons.
“You lied back there, Potter,” Snape said suddenly, and Harry twitched feebly. “Don’t think I did not notice. I will give you one chance to tell me why you were in that bathroom.”
“I wanted to find Hermione,” Harry insisted, and Snape snarled angrily.
“Don’t lie to me, boy,” he snapped. “You are not a brainless Gryffindor, as much as you try to act like one. I will find out what made you leave the dungeons at such a time, don’t think I won’t.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry murmured, and stared straight ahead for the rest of the walk.
He couldn’t tell him, simply couldn’t - for who would believe him if he said he’d seen Nick’s plight in his mind?
No one, that’s who.
So Harry remained silent even as Snape shoved him roughly through the entrance. He wouldn’t tell anyone.
Not ever.
Chapter Eleven