Dumbledore's half-blood grand-daughter: Year One

Chapter Eight: Troll Allergies

On Halloween morning we woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought we were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since we'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, because Seamus wanted to be mine and he always blows things up).

Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived. I was with Neville. "Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual.

"Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest." It was very funny to watch. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it -- Harry had to put it out with his hat.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill. "You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long." "You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled. Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above our heads. I congratulated Hermione and gave it a try. My feather rise to meet Hermione’s.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger and Miss Barnet's done it!" Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry and I as we pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly. " Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. I caught a glimpse of her face -- and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you." "So." said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends." I glared at him and ran after Hermione, but she refused to come out of the bathroom. I spent the whole day in there with her.

Harry’s POV:

After Hermione and Taylor ran off, they didn't turn up for the next class and weren't seen all afternoon. On our way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Ron and I overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone, and Taylor was with her.

Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later we had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of our minds. 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 feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

I was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll -- in the dungeons -- thought you ought to know." He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence. "Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!" Percy was in his element.