Chapter 8 — The Troll Is Here
Strangely enough, even though Hogwarts deliberately divided students into four Houses, classes were always taught with two Houses together. And despite the fact that Gryffindor and Slytherin students clearly couldn't stand each other, most of their lessons were shared. It had been that way for years. Whoever designed the timetable back then must have done so with the hope that something would happen.
"The Levitation Charm is the foundation of Charms. You've practiced the swish and flick many times—now you'll apply it in this lesson. Repeat the incantation after me: 'Wingardium Leviosa.' Pay attention to the length of your syllables. If your pronunciation isn't precise, the feather won't rise."
Under the guidance of Professor Flitwick—the diminutive Charms professor with goblin ancestry—the classroom filled with off-key attempts and mangled pronunciations. Years later, when Harry looked back on this lesson, he deeply understood that as the very first spell freshmen learned, the Levitation Charm's pronunciation was far more difficult than many spells that came later.
If you couldn't even pronounce a simple Levitation Charm correctly, you might as well snap your wand and stop being a wizard. Perhaps that was the hidden meaning behind making it the first spell.
At the neighboring desk, Ron and Hermione were arguing over whose pronunciation was more accurate. But Harry had no time to pay attention to them—because another terrifying instructor was currently staring at his hand movements.
"It's been over a month, and your hand is still this stiff," Malfoy said with a frown, watching Harry perform the swish and flick.
Harry gave a wry smile. When he was young, Dudley had once broken his dominant hand. Ever since then, he'd struggled with fine motor movements. Back then, in order to achieve good grades so teachers would be willing to protect him from Dudley and his gang, he had practiced longer than anyone else—just to make his handwriting neat enough during exams.
"Don't worry. A few more practices and it'll get better." Harry looked confidently at his hand. He had survived a childhood that felt like hell. In a place as comfortable as Hogwarts, there was no reason he couldn't learn.
"Look, Miss Granger has already succeeded!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed excitedly. As everyone's attention shifted to the feather floating above Hermione's desk, he urged them on. "All right, everyone—keep practicing. You can do it too. Quickly now!"
Hermione seemed to revel in the admiration. She glanced proudly around the classroom—only to notice that someone was ignoring her achievement. Malfoy wasn't looking at her at all, but instead pulling a distracted Harry back to focus on his own feather.
It was fine. Theoretically, no one could be liked by everyone. Maintaining excellence was enough. That had always been Hermione's belief as a top student. Those who disliked her were simply jealous of her talent. There was no reason to be angry at them—if anything, she should pity them.
But Malfoy was different. She was the one competing with Hermione for first place. Yet Hermione felt no sense of rivalry from her at all. That was what she couldn't accept. It was as if the goal Hermione worked so hard to achieve was, to Malfoy, something trivial and optional.
The frustration of not receiving acknowledgment from a rival finally erupted after Charms class.
"Can't even spare a glance? How arrogant, Princess of the Malfoy family," Hermione muttered as she brushed past Malfoy on the way out—quiet, but loud enough for Harry and Malfoy to hear clearly.
"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Malfoy stepped in front of Hermione. Seeing Malfoy angry, Goyle instinctively moved as if to teach Hermione a lesson, but Malfoy waved him back. "I do not believe my conduct toward you could be described as arrogant. Even though you've been repeatedly rude to me for over a month now, I have graciously tolerated your behavior. And yet you call me arrogant?"
Harry and Ron frowned at Malfoy's words. By ordinary, non-aristocratic standards, that sounded exactly like arrogance.
The meaning of arrogance must be different in the wizarding world.
Or maybe it means something different to rich people.
Harry and Ron—two boys from completely different upbringings—shared a strangely mutual understanding in that moment.
"What are you even talking about… you clueless princess," Hermione said, rubbing her forehead helplessly. "Thinking that ordinary interaction is an offense, and believing that enduring others is an act of generosity—that's arrogance."
Malfoy glanced at Harry in confusion. Harry didn't dare admit that he thought Hermione was right, so he quickly looked away.
"Fine. I've spent too much time with you lately. It seems you, as a Muggle-born, have forgotten that our statuses are different. Even among ordinary wizards, I stand above them—let alone someone like you."
When Malfoy said the word, Hermione and Harry felt the atmosphere around them shift, though they didn't fully understand why.
Goyle, who would normally side with Malfoy without question, wore an uneasy expression. Neville looked anxiously at Hermione, trying to gauge her reaction. Ron—who had always been relatively polite to Malfoy—strode forward, his face flushed red.
"Take that word back, Malfoy."
A flicker of regret crossed Malfoy's face, but she quickly put on her proud mask and looked at Ron with disdain, retreating elegantly behind Goyle. "A poor, red-haired Weasley dares to speak to me in that tone?"
"Take it back!" Ron roared. Even Goyle, taller than him, instinctively stepped back at the sudden intensity. "You can't possibly not know how offensive that word is. Saying something like that to a classmate you've known for over a month—don't you feel ashamed?"
A faint blush appeared on Malfoy's face before fading beneath her pale skin. Her complexion, translucent like ivory, paired with her cold gaze, made her seem like a blizzard capable of freezing anyone who approached.
"Yes… how shameful indeed. The heiress of the Malfoy family mingling with the likes of you. If I had any sense of shame, I should have kept my distance from you all long ago."
With that, Malfoy turned and left, Goyle following loyally behind.
Harry stared at her retreating figure, unsure whether he should follow.
It was Halloween. The Great Hall was filled with pumpkin decorations, and the tables were laden with a lavish feast. Yet Harry didn't eat a single bite. He had missed his chance to follow Malfoy. At first, he assumed she had only left in anger and would return. But by dinner, he realized neither Malfoy nor Goyle had shown up.
"Miss Greengrass, have you seen Malfoy?" Harry asked Daphne Greengrass, who shared a dormitory with her. Instead, she looked at him in surprise.
"There are times when even you don't know where Malfoy is?" Daphne asked, unease flickering across her face. She called out to another girl. "Pansy, have you seen Malfoy?"
Pansy Parkinson looked around in confusion. No conspicuous Goyle. No familiar Malfoy. "No idea. She wasn't in the dorm when I left the common room. Maybe she's busy with something. If you're in a hurry, why not ask Potter? Isn't he glued to Malfoy all day?"
Pansy's words sent a chill down Harry's spine. A terrible premonition made his forehead throb in rhythm with his heartbeat.
At that moment, even worse news arrived.
"Troll!" Professor Quirrell burst into the Great Hall in panic. After uttering that single word, he collapsed in a faint.
The Hall descended into chaos. It was only when Dumbledore raised his voice—rarely filled with such authority—that the terrified students quieted down. After ordering the prefects to lead students back to their dormitories, he summoned the professors to locate and expel the troll.
But Harry couldn't hear any of it. Malfoy was missing—and a troll was roaming the castle.
Before the prefects noticed, Harry slipped out of the Hall. He had no idea how to search, but he couldn't simply return to the common room and wait. Even if he had to turn the entire castle upside down, he would find Malfoy and make sure she was safe.
"She's in the girls' bathroom."
As soon as Harry left the Hall, Ron and Neville appeared before him, as if they had been waiting.
"After I explained what that word meant to Hermione, she got furious and ran off to demand an apology from Malfoy. Later, I saw Goyle standing guard outside a girls' bathroom. Obviously that thin-skinned heiress must've been hiding inside worrying. So I suggested Hermione go in and duel her, and Neville and I went back to the Hall."
"We didn't expect a troll to break into the school," Neville said anxiously. "We have to bring them back quickly."
"Maybe they're already with Madam Pomfrey getting treated," Ron said with a grin, as though anticipating drama. "I've heard girls' duel injuries can be pretty ugly."
But when they reached the corridor and saw Goyle lying on the floor, Ron's grin vanished.
"Damn it…" Ron's face went pale. Goyle's head had been struck by some blunt object, blood pouring freely. If it had been any of the three of them, they'd probably be dead—but Goyle still clung to faint breaths.
"He's tough… Was it the troll?" Neville pressed a handkerchief to Goyle's wound. He didn't know healing spells, but at least he could stop the bleeding.
"Ahhh—!" A girl's scream echoed from inside the bathroom.
"Malfoy!" Harry rushed inside without hesitation. Ron and Neville exchanged a glance before following.
—
Earlier…
Malfoy had been splashing water on her face in the bathroom.
She hoped the cold water would calm her down—but it was useless. The damp stains spreading from her sleeves to her elbows, from her collar to her chest, made it clear she had washed her face many times. Yet the irritation inside her remained.
"What am I even doing? Even if she's Muggle-born, I didn't need to say something that harsh…"
Apologize. It was the obvious thing to do.
Facing the mirror, Malfoy attempted to practice a version of herself that wasn't arrogant—only to nearly smash the mirror instead.
Hermione was right. She was an irritating, arrogant princess. In the past, she wouldn't have cared what commoners—or even lowborns—thought of her. It was natural for the lower class to resent the upper class. That was the original sin of nobility.
"Damn it…"
But when Hermione had called her arrogant, something had flared within her chest—an anger she couldn't suppress. She didn't want to admit it, nor had she realized it yet, but the familiar group of six had already become part of her daily life. Being cursed by insignificant outsiders meant nothing. What mattered was who had said it—someone she had begun to consider a "friend."
The bathroom door opened.
Malfoy turned in confusion. She had told Goyle not to let anyone in.
Of all people, it was Hermione—the last person she wanted to see right now. Wand in hand, Hermione turned and locked the door.
"I've learned what 'Mudblood' means," she said coldly. "It's truly an awful thing to say, Miss Malfoy."
Malfoy forced a bitter smile. So she had come to pick a fight—like Ron—demanding that she take it back?
"That was too much. After spending so much time together, you still said something that cruel to me. And I didn't even understand it at the time. So…" Hermione raised her wand and pointed it at Malfoy. "I'm going to beat you with magic so you can understand what it feels like to be hurt. Duel me, Alice Malfoy."
Strangely enough, as Hermione issued her challenge, the irritation in Malfoy's heart vanished.
Or rather—she now despised the version of herself that had spent so long agonizing over something caused by an idiot.
Every professor who had ever taught Hermione found it strange that a top student like her had been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. Now Malfoy understood why. The model student who always spoke of school rules and grades like scripture, when pushed to the edge, was a genuine Gryffindor— a reckless lion who charged ahead without the slightest thought for consequences.
Half an hour later, several long tears ran through Malfoy's clothes, exposing skin that was normally never seen. A clear cut marked her face. Hermione, meanwhile, sported a dark bruise around one eye and a bloody nose. The two of them sat weakly on the bathroom floor, pressing their wands against their own wounds to ease the pain.
"I'm sorry. I really couldn't stand being ignored by you all the time. Honestly, compared to a dirty word I didn't even understand, it hurt far more to treat you as a rival only to realize you never even considered me worth noticing." After venting her emotions, Hermione felt much lighter. She looked at Malfoy beside her, her gaze filled with disappointment. "From now on, I won't presume to see myself as your competitor, and I won't offend you anymore. I'm truly sorry."
"Then I owe you an apology as well. Words once spoken can't be taken back, but for insulting your birth, I deeply regret it. If you require any concrete compensation, I'll comply."
"That's not necessary. I'm already satisfied. Ron was right—when you're in a bad mood, picking a fight really does help relieve the pressure."
"If you would permit me this shameless request, Miss Granger." Malfoy looked at Hermione's profile. Sometimes she envied people like Hermione and Ron—people who could openly express their feelings. "My family upbringing was… rather unusual. I don't really know how to get along with people my own age. I'm sorry for the unpleasantness before. May I…"
Her voice faltered halfway through. She felt her face flushing and turned away awkwardly. "May I ask if you would be willing to be my friend—and my academic rival?"
Malfoy's words stunned Hermione. For a split second, Malfoy mistook her silence for rejection—until Hermione scratched her hair awkwardly.
"I thought we were already friends… Do people in your wizarding high society need some sort of ceremony or something?"
A ceremony? Malfoy thought back to how she had first met Pansy and Daphne. She rose to her feet and gave Hermione a formal bow.
"I am Alice Malfoy, daughter of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy. May I have the honor of knowing your name and establishing a friendship with you?"
After speaking, Malfoy extended her right hand, inviting Hermione to shake it.
For a moment, Hermione nearly burst out laughing. With a smile in her voice, she replied, "Hermione Granger. My parents are dentists. Just call me Hermione."
She clasped Malfoy's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Do you really make friends like that? Miss Malfoy?"
"Just call me Malfoy. Of course not. That's part of a formal introduction at a ball. I only used it here as a little joke about ceremony."
"When you joke without smiling, people will think you're serious." Only after hearing it was a joke did Hermione laugh in relief. Still holding hands, they supported each other to the sinks and washed the blood from their bodies.
Malfoy looked at her reflection in the mirror. Despite her disheveled state, there was a genuine smile on her face.
It looked awful—but it didn't feel bad at all.
Their happiness did not last long. Just as they were celebrating the beginning of their friendship, a massive wooden club smashed the door of the girls' bathroom to pieces.
"A troll?"
Malfoy stared in shock at the monster that had burst in. Over two meters tall, reeking of a foul green stench, it blocked the only exit. The troll stumbled from the dim corridor into the brightly lit bathroom, momentarily confused about where it was—until it noticed two trembling creatures at its feet.
"Ahhh—!"
Hermione was the one who screamed. Malfoy's legs gave out and she collapsed to her knees. No sound would come from her throat, and she couldn't run. The fear of death stole her breath and all strength from her limbs. Like a lamb awaiting slaughter, she could only watch as the troll's club swung down toward her.
"Malfoy!" Harry's voice rang out from behind the troll, snapping her back to awareness. By the time she realized what had happened, she was already in Harry's arms as he pulled her deeper into the bathroom, narrowly dodging the blow.
"Harry…" Malfoy was shielded behind him. Harry's eyes were fixed on the troll. His right arm hung limply at his side. He hadn't fully dodged the attack—just a glancing blow had completely shattered his arm.
A dead end—and one more life dragged down with her. Malfoy hated her own helplessness.
When Neville saw the troll, he froze. He wanted to run, to escape immediately—but his feet refused to move.
This was a monster they couldn't possibly handle. Trapped in the bathroom, Hermione and Malfoy were doomed. They would never last until the professors arrived. And honestly, anyone who wandered to this remote bathroom on Halloween instead of staying in the Great Hall had only themselves to blame.
With a single swing of its club, the troll could reduce them to pulp. Watching the two girls who already seemed like walking corpses, Neville felt a surge of sorrow. The days they had spent together had been happy ones. For the first time in his life, Neville had felt something like belonging.
Gryffindor stood for courage. He had never understood why he had been sorted there. He was a coward—someone who didn't even dare resist when bullied, who could only pray for someone else to protect him.
"Malfoy!" Harry's shout rang out beside him. Before Neville realized it, Harry had already dashed past the troll, scooped Malfoy up, and dodged another crushing blow—one powerful enough to shatter the marble floor.
What is he doing…?
Neville hadn't been able to stop him. Now Harry, too, was about to die.
What is he doing?
Neville stared at Harry in confusion. Wasn't he a Slytherin? Why… How could he be braver than a Gryffindor like himself?
"You monster!" Ron hurled broken stones from the ground at the troll. The distraction drew the troll's attention away from the bathroom interior. Though it saved the three inside from immediate death, it made Ron the next target.
Stop…
Ron barely dodged the troll's swing. It was more luck than anything else. Not every attack left an opening. If the troll aimed just a little more accurately, Ron would be dead.
Don't make me—
The troll grabbed Ron by the ankle and lifted him upside down. There would be no second chance. With a simple slam, it could smash the fragile life in its grasp.
But Ron did not give up. Even dangling in midair, he flailed his arms, trying to strike back.
I'm ashamed of living like this!
By the time Neville realized it, his body had already moved. Gripping a broken pipe snapped off by the troll, he leapt onto its head and brought it down hard against the creature's skull.
Like Ron's, his attack did nothing but shift the troll's focus. The troll noticed Neville and swung its club horizontally, the sheer force creating a gust of wind.
In the instant before death, Neville thought of his parents.
Tortured by Death Eaters with the Cruciatus Curse, they had never revealed a single secret of the Order of the Phoenix. Broken beyond recognition, driven insane, unable even to recognize their own family, they lingered in St. Mungo's Hospital awaiting death.
Whenever his grandmother took him to visit them, she would say with both sorrow and pride that his parents were brave heroes.
In the end… had he disappointed her?
With that final, confused thought, Neville closed his eyes.
"Stupefy!"
A Stunning Spell more powerful than any they had ever seen struck the troll before it could kill Neville, blasting it all the way to the end of the corridor.
Before they could even process what had happened, Snape, Dumbledore, and Flitwick arrived. They stood around the five students attacked by the troll, each wearing a different expression at the miserable sight before them.
"You—why are you here?" Professor McGonagall looked at the five with a panic she rarely showed others. "Who will explain to me why you weren't safely in your dormitories, but here being attacked by a troll?"
"I'm very sorry. I was in a bad mood and didn't attend the feast. Miss Granger wanted to comfort me and stayed to talk with me in the bathroom, so we didn't know a troll had entered the school. If Weasley and Longbottom hadn't come to save me, I might have already been… killed by the troll…"
After finishing, Malfoy covered her face and began to sob. Hearing her cry, the adults looked at her with pity.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous this was? You could have been killed! Ten points from Gryffindor." Professor McGonagall lectured sternly, then pointed at Harry. "Potter, could you come here?"
Harry stood uneasily and limped over.
"You're injured, aren't you? All of you will spend the night with Madam Pomfrey. Now Weasley, Longbottom—stand properly. I have something to say to you."
The three boys exchanged anxious glances and stepped forward, bracing themselves for the worst. They had imagined every possible outcome—being scolded harshly, even slapped, or perhaps turned into some sort of Hogwarts anti-troll demonstration model.
What they never expected was for Professor McGonagall to pull all three of them into a tight embrace.
"You—did very well."