"She won't even tell you lot? No wonder…"
Ron said to the girls as they pushed through the crowded corridor.
"If you lived with her, you'd know—she's a nightmare," a blonde Gryffindor girl snapped.
Someone bumped Harry's shoulder and hurried past.
It was Hermione.
Harry caught a glimpse of her face—and to his surprise, she was crying.
"I think she heard you," he said. Ever since those girls started in with the nasty comments, he'd felt awful. Even Ron looked taken aback.
"So what?" the girls said, though they looked a bit uneasy. "She must've noticed it herself by now—she hasn't got a single friend!"
…
Halloween was certainly delightful—especially now that it seemed unlikely Ron and the others would blow up at Hermione.
Sean entered the Great Hall and saw a riot of decorations: a thousand bats flapped along the walls and ceiling; another thousand, like low black clouds, wheeled above the tables, making the candles in the pumpkins flicker.
Gold plates were heaped first with desserts, just like at the Start-of-Term Feast.
Sean sat at the far end of the Ravenclaw table, waiting for Hermione, Justin, and Neville.
Just then Professor Quirrell left the Hall, shivering and moving quickly, as if rushing off to deal with some task. He was always forgetting things and hurrying away like that. Up at the staff table, Professor Snape watched him go, cold-eyed—and another pair of eyes below the dais did the same.
Neville had already sat down; Sean knew Justin was busy in the kitchens. But Hermione?
Sean scanned the tables—she wasn't in the Hall.
A group of ghosts drifted up from below and passed through, discussing their luncheon—maggots, rotten fish, burnt cake, moldy cheese. In the wizarding world, the dead may become ghosts, and ghosts lose many of the living's pleasures—like eating. But if food is decayed enough to make the living faint, ghosts can taste it. That's why there's often a ghostly gathering beneath the Great Hall.
Behind the passing ghosts came two people Sean didn't expect.
"Sean, we came to find you because…" Ron hurried over, then faltered.
"Hermione's upset," Harry said carefully, not twisting the truth. "When Ron asked some Gryffindor girls about the notes, they said some really nasty things."
"We're sorry. We've been looking for her. We finally learned Hermione's closer with Parvati Patil, but…"
"Parvati Patil won't talk to us—won't say where Hermione went."
"I understand," Sean nodded. "This isn't really your fault. Thank you for telling me. I'll go find her."
Harry and Ron, anxious a moment before, exhaled in relief. When Sean said he would handle it, their worry vanished—almost as if Hermione might appear in the Hall the moment he spoke.
But perhaps only Sean knew it wouldn't be that simple.
Whether by strange "fate correction" or something else, Hermione still didn't come to the feast.
What worried Sean more: if Hermione wasn't in the usual lavatory but had chosen some other corner, where would that push events?
Find Parvati Patil—that became Sean's only thought.
At the Gryffindor table, Sean moved quickly and found a startled Parvati at once.
"Sorry to bother you, but may I ask—"
Sean didn't finish. Parvati clapped a hand over her mouth, and the nearby students all turned.
"Of course I know what you're going to ask, Mr. Green. Hermione's in the girls' loo, crying… and she won't let anyone comfort her." Parvati leaned on the word anyone.
"Could you tell me exactly where?" Sean's shoulders eased a fraction; his tone stayed warm and steady.
"Gladly—fourth-floor lavatory," Parvati said, eager to help.
Neville wanted to go too, but Sean stopped him with a single line: "If both of us go, who'll tell Justin—who'll be searching everywhere in a moment?"
So Sean left the Hall alone.
Neville stood there, at a loss—until—
Professor Quirrell burst into the Hall, his big turban askew, terror all over his face. Everyone stared as he lurched to Dumbledore's chair, leaned on the table, and gasped:
"Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know."
He collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Chaos exploded.
Dumbledore had to fire purple sparks from his wand to bring silence.
"Prefects," he said in a low voice, "lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately!"
Neville was petrified. The feast hadn't even started yet; Justin had only just come back from the kitchens when he heard the shattering news.
"A troll—Merlin. They're supposed to be twelve feet tall and weigh a ton! Neville—we've got to go! Where's Sean? And Hermione?" Justin's panic was still strangely orderly.
"Hermione—on the fourth floor… Sean—went to find her…" Neville's voice dwindled as his eyes reddened. "I… I'm not going…" He shook from head to toe but couldn't hide the resolve blazing through him.
"…Then what are we waiting for?" Justin didn't hesitate. Neville jumped, staring at Justin—who was shaking too. The same fire burned in both their eyes.
At the end of the Gryffindor table, Percy was shouting: "Follow me! Don't get separated, first-years! If you do exactly as I say, you've nothing to fear from a troll! Now, stay right behind me. Make way—first-years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"
"Are they mad?!" Ron's lips trembled; terror made him want to crack a joke.
"Sean and Hermione… they don't know about the troll," Harry said suddenly.
"Then let's go," Ron said, biting his lip. He fell silent for a few seconds, seeing Harry's startled look. "What, Harry—you think I'm a coward?"