Charms class on the morning of Halloween had started as lively as ever. Gabriel was half paying attention, half hiding a grin as Cormac McLaggen's quill started to vibrate instead of levitate, getting progressively more agitated before - bang! - going off like a firework and staining both his and Harry Potter's face with soot. The boy spluttered, swearing loudly while the Gryffindors beside him laughed until Flitwick squeaked for order again.
Gabriel's chuckle along with the class, wondering if the other boy was like him and had the blood of some magical being on his veins, for every spell to end exploding like that. But which magical creature even had anything to do with explosions? An Erumpent? He considered it for all of a second before snorting at the image of the rhino-like beast dressed in a suit and sitting on a table eating breakfast with Cormac and his mother.
Shaking himself off from silly thoughts, Gabriel looked down at his own quill, running a thumb along its edge as he thought through the mechanics of the charm they were practicing.
"Wingardium Leviosa." First crafted in 1544 by Jarleth Hobart, a wizard - warlock, his dizzy memories from History of Magic corrected - eccentric enough to announce he'd cracked the ancient dream of human flight. Except, of course, he hadn't. The spell was really a refinement, a union of older works - Levioso, the previous levitation charm, which lifted objects and beings alike but could not move them, and Locomotor, which moved exclusively objects but could not take them far from the floor. Together, they became Wingardium Leviosa: a precise, stable, and powerful spell, capable of lifting and moving incredible loads through the air freely.
And yet, Gabriel mused, it had actually never done what Hobart so desperately wanted. No soaring through the skies, no freedom of true flight. Which is most odd, when one considers that small animals and little children can, in fact, be affected by the spell.
"Mr. Moretti," Flitwick piped up, snapping Gabriel out of his thoughts. The Charms Master's eyes twinkled. "Are you not going to try it for us?"
Gabriel grinned, pointed his wand - not at the quill, but at the desk beneath it - and said clearly, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The whole desk rose up smoothly, quill, parchment, and all, drifting a foot off the ground before wobbling precariously and falling, splashing ink against its surface. The students gasped, then burst into laughter as Flitwick himself clapped delightedly, his tiny hands echoing sharp against the wood.
"Excellent! Quite ambitious, my boy! Though - ah, perhaps next time, start with something smaller?"
Gabriel scratched the back of his neck with an awkward laugh as another round of laughter started around him.
Class soon ended in a rush of chatter and scraping chairs. As Gabriel gathered his things, he caught sight of Hermione Granger a few desks down. She was a few paces away from a group of her own house-mates trying desperately to look like she was not giving all of her attention to what they were talking about.
Whatever was said made their mouths twist into smirks and snickers, and Hermione's lips pressed tight before she turned on her heel and hurried from the classroom, bushy hair bouncing behind her.
She didn't appear for any other class that day.
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By the time dinner rolled around, Gabriel had mostly shaken off the day's classes. The Great Hall had been transformed - enchanted bats swooped lazily beneath the floating ceiling, which tonight mirrored a starless sky heavy with looming storm clouds. Hundreds of pumpkins carved with flickering faces glowed from every surface, their light painting the walls in a warm, shifting orange. Thick ropes of black and gold ribbon wound around the pillars, and the air carried the sweet, spiced scent of cinnamon and roasting chestnuts.
The tables themselves groaned with food. Roast meats gleamed under candles, tureens of rich stews steamed invitingly, and trays of pastries crowded every available inch—treacle tarts, pumpkin pasties, custard pies. Gabriel had piled his plate high and was halfway through demolishing a particularly flaky pasty when a strange tug started in his gut.
At first, he thought it was indigestion. But as he chewed slower, he realized it wasn't his stomach at all. It was worry, prickling sharp beneath his ribs.
He swallowed, set down his fork, and let his eyes roam the Ravenclaw table. Then across the Gryffindors. Then further down. And then it clicked.
Hermione wasn't there.
The absence landed in his chest like a stone. He frowned, scanning again just in case, but no - her bushy hair and stiff posture were nowhere to be seen.
Leaning toward Padma Patil, who was daintily finishing a tart nearby, Gabriel asked in a low voice, "Hey. Do you know where Hermione went?"
Padma blinked at him, surprised. "Why would I know that?"
Gabriel shrugged, smirking a little. "Because your sister's the biggest gossip in our year, and I keep seeing you two talking after every class. Don't think I haven't noticed."
For a moment Padma tried to look scandalized, but then she laughed softly, shaking her head. "All right, that's fair. " She leaned in, lowering her voice. "She's been in the girls' bathroom on the second floor all afternoon. Told a couple of people she didn't want to be bothered."
Gabriel sat back, frown deepening as the worry in his stomach twisted tighter. He looked mourningfully down at his beautiful plate, letting out a heavy sigh, and rising from his seat. Padma looked confused at him before realization passed through her eyes, quickly substituted with incredulity.
"Wait, you're not going to-" She starts to ask, stopping when she sees his raised eyebrow and smile, "Gabe, I really think you-"
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"- shouldn't be in the Girl's Bathroom!" Hermione shrieked.
'Well,' Gabriel thought with a flicker of amusement, 'at least she's not crying anymore'.
He raised his hands in surrender, not that she could see it through the box, sighing. "You can tell the teachers later if you want, I don't care. I just wanted to check if you were okay. Something happened in Charms today - I know that much - but that couldn't have been everything."
"Of course it wasn't everything!" she burst out, voice echoing sharply off the tiled walls. "I've been trying so hard, so hard, to make friends. To… to fit in. And it's not working! It's the same as my old school, the exact same! Everyone still calls me names, still thinks I'm just some… some bossy little know-it-all—"
Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck, nodding with a wince. "Well… you do kind of give off that impression."
Hermione gave a strangled scream of frustration, stamping her foot. "You don't help either! You never take me seriously, you're always mocking me in class, trying to prove you're better!"
That one hit. He flinched, lips pressing tight. "I… I'm sorry. Really. That wasn't my intention. I just-" he faltered, cheeks reddening, "I just thought your reactions were… well, cute. So I kept egging you on. Which was stupid, and wrong. You were my first friend here in Britain, Hermione. I never wanted you to think I hated you."
Her voice dropped low, uncertain. "You… really think I'm your friend?"
"Of course." He hesitated, then added more honestly, "Though… I guess we haven't really acted like friends. We don't hang out outside class. And I left you alone in the library all the time because you looked so focused…" He grimaced. "That's on me."
There was a pause. Then Gabriel straightened his posture dramatically, and held out his hand. "So… let's try this again, yeah? Gabriel Moretti. Eleven years old. From Brazil. My mum's kind of batty and I got some of that from her. The only things I'm really good at are eating and doing magic. And I'm terrible at this whole making-friends thing."
Hermione blinked at him. Silence stretched. Gabriel's ears went hot. "Don't just ignore me, that was embarrassing enough to say out loud-"
"I'm thinking!" she yelled back, stamping her foot again.
"Okay, okay!" He raised both palms, defensive, but then a laugh slipped out before he could stop it.
"Don't laugh at me!" she screamed, frustrated. He kept laughing. "Really, stop it!" she demanded, but her voice cracked, and a wet giggle slipped free. Soon they were both laughing, breathless, Hermione's laughter still trembling around the edges.
When the sound finally ebbed, she took a deep breath, smoothing her skirt. "All right then. My name is Hermione Granger. I'm twelve—"
"You're older than me!?" Gabriel cut in with mock outrage. He could almost hear her growl.
"Don't interrupt me!"
That set him off again, laughter bubbling out helplessly. She crossed her arms, though the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself. "Honestly. You're impossible."
He wiped at his eyes, grinning. "Sorry, sorry. Go on."
But before she could, something shifted. The air thickened with an acrid, foul stench - rotting meat and damp stone. Gabriel's grin slipped away.
"… What's that?" he muttered, suddenly serious.
Hermione froze. "It wasn't me!" she blurted, mortified.
"I know." He shushed her, voice low and firm. "Shut up."
Then the heavy, earth-shaking thud of enormous footsteps rolled down the corridor, rattling the bathroom stalls.
Gabriel turned toward the door, jaw tightening, as the reek pressed in stronger with every resounding step.
"Hermione." Gabriel calls out quietly.
"What?" She whispers back, tremulous.
"Don't come out of the stall." He warns.
Gabriel didn't answer Hermione's next whispered "What?"
He couldn't. His eyes were fixed on the door as it creaked inward.
And there it was.
A troll.
It lumbered into the bathroom with the uncomfortable sound of something heavy, rough and meaty dragging against stone. It was enormous, though Gabriel couldn't for the life of him say how tall at that moment, its skin was a mottled grayish-blue, thick and leathery and sickly-like. The rags hanging from its shoulders might have once been something approaching cloth, but now they were nothing more than greasy, tattered scraps. In one massive hand it dragged a crude club, the thing more a slab of tree trunk than a weapon, its surface splintered with age and caked in filth. Its head and face were humanoid, in a sense, though only enough that its deformations triggered the uncanny valley and made it look oh-so-wrong.
The stench, somehow, hit Gabriel much harder than the horrifying sight.
The reek of rot, of unwashed flesh, of damp and stuffed caverns clung to its skin, thick and putrid. He swore he could see the foulness, a greenish haze, around the thing's mouth each time it exhaled.
Then its eyes met his.
Sickly green-yellow, glowing faintly in the dim torchlight. Not truly malicious, nor cruel - no, worse. Stupid, yes, but with a sharpness underneath, like an animal that might at any moment snap. The troll tilted its head, confused, considering him.
And Gabriel's thoughts fell into a drumbeat.
How. How. How. How.
How did a troll get into Hogwarts? How was it here, in this place, supposed to be the safest in England? How, how, how-
The troll's feet scraped forward, the lowered club dragging and grinding against the stone floor…
Hermione's stall stayed silent behind him. His breath came ragged, heart hammering until his vision dimmed at the edges. Every choice ran through his mind in a rush: scream? It would only enrage it. Run? Not fast enough, and he couldn't leave Hermione. Play statue? The thing was stupid, sure, but it wasn't that stupid.
Defense, then. Always defense.
'Quirrell, seu filho da puta,' he thought savagely, remembering the useless Defense classes.
Charms? He ran through them like cards. No good. A Trolls would shrug off any direct spells he could cast. Glacius? Freeze him solid? No, too weak for that. Freeze the ground, then? Not enough fine control for something like that.
His mind shifted tracks.
Transfiguration then. But the castle walls were warded against structural changes. No holes, no quicksand. His shirt into a weapon? What kind? A sword? Too short. A spear-
He blinked. The troll was right in front of him now.
It sniffed, its nostrils flaring. Then, strangely, it recoiled - like it had smelled something it hated. With a guttural snarl, it swung its massive arm.
The backhand caught Gabriel full in the chest.
He flew.
The world shattered in a crash of porcelain and spraying water as his body smashed through a sink. His skull cracked the mirror behind it, glass raining down, water soaking him as he slumped to the tiles.
Warmth trickled down his forehead, over his eyes. Blood.
'Ah,' he thought distantly. 'I'm going to die.'
Oddly, it wasn't the first time he caught himself thinking this.
The first was the illness, he was seven years old when his body burned hotter than human flesh should, lungs drowning, sight gone. Some kind of sickness from his father's side of the family that his mother had no previous knowledge of.
The second was the car crash, a drunk man hitting the automobile he was in right on the passenger's side where he was sitting. The car was charmed, of course, so there was no damage at all to it, but the detritus from the crash of the other car flew through the window and left a litany of cuts across his face.
The third was the ocean, when he kept going farther and farther away from the shore despite the many warnings, wanting to crash against taller waves. Then the current became too strong and he could not fight against the drag anymore.
It was so very strange. Every time he thought about death he hated it - every part and aspect of it. He hated the idea of permanent loss, of not being able to do the things he liked anymore, of not seeing people he loved anymore, the end of stories. He hated it so much.
But every time he was actually confronted with it he could only feel apathy. Is he really so lazy that he can't even be bothered with fear?
The troll roared down at him, hot, foul breath washing over his bleeding face.
Gabriel licked his lips. He felt his own blood. Metallic, sharp. He found himself liking the taste of it. Then again, he'd always liked blood lollipops.
Movement flickered at the edge of his vision. Hermione, peering from a tiny gap in her stall door. Wide eyes, pale face, wand shaking in her hand.
'Yeah,' Gabriel thought, as if trying to communicate his thoughts just from an exchange of looks. 'While it's distracted, slip out. Just walk quietly, don't let it notice-'
But instead, she raised her wand.
'What the hell are you doing, menina-'
She screamed broken words, and he idly noticed that the roars of the troll must have injured his ears, because he couldn't understand a word of it. A jet of blue fire burst forth from her wand, slamming into the troll's back.
Gabriel blinked.
For one breathless second, all he could think was how pretty it looked. The shimmering cerulean flames licked against the gray hide, so bright and enchanting. He felt like he could get lost in it.
The troll staggered, confused, even afraid - only to bellow when it realized the fire hadn't burnt it. With a roar, it turned on Hermione's stall and swept its club sideways. Wood and porcelain exploded as stalls shattered. Hermione shrieked, barely ducking under the swing.
But now it saw her.
It raised its club.
Hermione Granger was about to die.
'What.'
She was going to die.
'No.'
She will if you don't get off your fat arse and do something you lazy son of a bit-
Before he could make sense of it, his body was already moving. Launching.
The next instant he was on the floor again - but with the troll under him. The massive club had flown from its grip, clattering across the tiles.
Gabriel didn't even know how they'd gotten there. He hadn't the mind to question it.
The troll heaved, trying to rise. Gabriel slammed a fist into its face. A sloppy punch. Skin tore across his knuckles against the troll's leathery hide, pain lancing up his arm. He didn't stop. The other fist followed.
The troll snarled, shoving against him. Gabriel brought both fists down like hammers, smashing it back to the tiles.
And then he just kept going.
Punch.
There's blood in his hand.
Another one.
It hurts.
Once more.
He can't stop.
So he kept punching.
Even when he felt something twist inside his arms, pressure building up like it was going to explode; even when his mouth started to ache, and he felt his teeth fall and something pierce his gums; even when his knucles split, revealing the black leathery hide underneath...
It stopped hurting.
So he kept punching.
Something cracked. Something wet. He wasn't sure if it was the troll's skull or his own hands breaking.
Screaming filled the room - he couldn't tell whose.
Then, suddenly, a flash of red light.
It was supposed to do something, he knew, but what?
Another flash of red light. Dizziness hits him, and the next punch comes slower.
Three, four, five more flashes. His vision is darkening.
He lifts his arm again, but before he can bring it down another flash comes.
And then, finally, darkness.