Malfoy could hardly believe his eyes when he saw Harry and Ron still strutting about Hogwarts the next morning. His scowl deepened when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder. Turning, he was met with Elian's ever-present smirk.
"Looks like your plan backfired, darling," Elian drawled, his voice laced with mockery and sarcasm.
Malfoy shoved his hand off with a glare. "I know you had a hand in this, Vale. One day, you'll regret crossing me," he hissed, before storming off with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering behind him. Elian merely shrugged at the threat, as casually as brushing off crumbs after breakfast. With that, he strolled over to Harry and Ron, who were buzzing with excitement, clearly eager for another adventure after the previous night's escapade.
As Elian settled down next to Harry and Ron, without wasting not time, Harry filled Ron and Elian in about the package that on 31 July, when he went with Hagrid to Diagon Alley to buy his Hogwarts stash, Hagrid took a special package from Gringotts for Professor Dumbledore.
"And 'coincidentally' on the same day, someone tried to rob Gringotts." Elian added importantly.
"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.
"Or both," said Harry.
But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.
Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay beneath the dog and the trapdoor. Neville only cared about never going near the beast again.Hermione, on the other hand, was still refusing to speak to Harry and Ron. She did still address Elian, since he had, technically, saved her life, but only to scold him for his reckless behavior. That morning, as Elian was getting ready, Hermione appeared behind him and launched into another lecture about the events of the previous night, her words tumbling out in a relentless stream that made him feel as though he was being pecked at by an overzealous hen. Harry and Ron considered it a bonus not having to hear Hermione's bossy voice. They pitied Elian for still enduring it, but Elian didn't mind in the slightest. To him, Hermione might be a know-it-all, but at least she shared her knowledge with everyone around her. Beneath all his sarcasm, Elian respected that about her.
A week later, the usual morning flood of owls swept into the Great Hall, feathers drifting down as letters and parcels rained across the tables. Among the fluttering chaos, two deliveries stood out. Hedwig glided gracefully down to Harry, dropping a long, neatly wrapped package in front of him, while Marco swooped in and released a heavy parcel before Elian.
The hall immediately buzzed with whispers and pointing fingers. Everyone's attention was fixed on Harry's package,helped along, of course, by Ron loudly proclaiming that it had to be a Nimbus 2000. In the commotion, no one noticed Elian quietly gathering his own parcel, a letter tied securely to the top.
Slipping out of the hall unnoticed, Elian made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. He set the heavy parcel on the table but reached for the letter first. The parchment felt slightly rough beneath his fingers, the ink neat yet rushed, as if written with urgency. He broke the seal and read:
I know you will not open it in front of everyone, but just in case, open it privately. You will need a friend in the future that protects you, because sometimes people will not be enough.
E.V.
The initials E.V. struck Elian like a thunderbolt. His mind immediately raced back to the day of shopping in Diagon Alley, when he had stumbled upon the same initials in Flourish and Blotts, etched onto the cover of a peculiar book.
"Wizard Behind the Impractical Time Magic by E.V." Elian whispered the title under his breath, his fingers unconsciously drumming against the parcel. The memory of that strange encounter resurfaced, the mysterious man who had stopped him from even opening the book.
The coincidence unsettled him further. After all, he shared the very same initials. For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind: could he have somehow sent a parcel to himself, or worse, authored a book he didn't even know existed?
He quickly dismissed the notion. It was absurd… and yet, the unease lingered.
Elian carefully peeled back the wrappings, his curiosity sharpened. His eyes widened when the contents were revealed — an egg. Not just any egg, but one of deep scarlet, large like a dragon's, its surface faintly glowing. Around it shimmered a thin barrier, etched with runes uncannily similar to those carved into Elian's ring.
For a moment he hovered his hand above it, tempted to feel its warmth directly, but then faint footsteps echoed from the stairwell. His instincts flared. Swiftly, Elian drew one of his wands and pressed the tip against the egg.
"Reducio," he whispered.
The egg pulsed once, then shrank rapidly until it was no larger than a fist. Elian slipped it into the folds of his robes just as the footsteps drew closer.
It was Ron and Harry. Spotting Elian, they hurried over, Harry clutching his parcel tightly.
"Elian!" Ron said, grinning. "Do you know what Harry got in his package? It's a—"
"Nimbus 2000," Elian finished smoothly.
Ron blinked. "How do you know?"
Elian tilted his head with exaggerated innocence. "Oh, I don't know, Weasley. Maybe because a certain red-haired boy was squeaking loud enough for the whole castle to know what Harry got."
Ron's ears went pink as he glared at him.
Harry, curious, pointed at the empty box sitting before Elian. "What about yours? What did you get?"
"Oh, nothing," Elian replied flatly. "Turns out someone has a sense of humor. I got pranked."
"Oh," Ron and Harry said together, looking disappointed.
Trying to change the mood, Ron nudged him. "Well… want to open Harry's package with us?"
"Sorry to disappoint you guys, but I need to go somewhere." Elian gave a mock bow and turned away, leaving Ron and Harry momentarily intrigued, but their excitement over the Nimbus 2000 completely overshadowed him.
Elian walked toward the Black Lake and drew the egg from his robes. He tapped it with his wand and whispered, "Engorgio." The egg swelled to its normal size. Taking a deep breath, he placed his right hand on it. The moment his ring made contact, the runes etched across the egg began spinning violently. With a sudden surge, they shot toward the ring and were absorbed in an instant. The force knocked Elian to the ground, but he kept a firm grip on the egg, ensuring it didn't slip.
Before Elian could even catch his breath, the egg in his head started vibrating. The black stud in Elian's ear gleamed, and with a similar distorted sound like on the night of meeting with the three-headed dog, it said something to Elian.
"Shut up," Elian said, putting a hand on his ear. "I did what you told me that night because you told me the secret passageway to the third corridor."
The black stud gleamed again.
"What will I gain for doing something for you again? Because first of all, I don't know who you are; second of all, you just came out of nowhere that night; and finally... you made me risk the people I consider friends."
The black stud didn't gleam again, and the egg was still vibrating. Elian gently kept the egg on the ground and took a step back. The egg vibrated more violently and then crack. The shell splitted deliberately. Elian approached it slowly, and then a head popped out. It was a baby scarlet dragon with cyan eyes.
The dragon looked around with tiny, curious eyes, squeaking and screeching in its high, delicate voice before locking gaze with Elian, who crouched nearby.
"I will not harm you," Elian whispered gently.
He extended a hand slowly. The dragon cautiously stepped out of the egg and approached, sniffing his hand. After a moment, it pressed its little head against his palm. Elian rubbed it gently before carefully lifting the creature into his arms, holding it close.
"Now what?" Elian muttered to himself. Dragon-breeding was against the laws, and he was still pondering how to care for this new little friend when the dragon touched his ring, and shrank to the size of a cockroach.
Elian stared at it for a moment, analyzing what had just happened, before quickly tucking the tiny dragon into his robes. At that moment, a familiar voice reached him.
"What are yeh doing here, lad?"
Elian turned slowly. It was Hagrid.
"Oh, nothing, Mr Hagrid, just admiring the beauty of the lake," Elian said smoothly.
Hagrid chuckled. "Yeh are a funny one, lad. What's yer name?"
"Elian Vale, sir."
"Just call me Hagrid," he said, patting Elian's shoulder with enough force to make him wobble.
"Harry told me about yeh. He said yeh're… interesting."
"Well, I'll take that as a compliment," Elian replied, mock pride in his voice.
Hagrid laughed and gave another pat, which almost knocked him out .
"Wan'na join me for a cup of tea?" Hagrid asked.
"Pardon me, Hagrid, but I have a class right now. If you're free on Saturday—"
"Saturday it is then. Tea it'll be. See yeh!" Hagrid said cheerfully as he lumbered away.
For the next month, Elian devoted every spare moment to caring for the baby dragon,and it wasn't doing his health any favors. He skipped meals to scavenge for suitable food, though thankfully, the creature's pocket-sized form (thanks to Elian's ring) meant it didn't require mountains of meat. Elian chose not to dwell on how the ring had managed such magic; he was too busy pouring over a book titled Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit through which he learned that his dragon is a male . From it, he also learned that dragons were notoriously magic-resistant and earned the grim moniker of "wizard killers." Baby dragons, in particular, needed to be fed dragon's milk every half hour. The closest substitute was a mixture of chicken blood and brandy, something Elian had managed to acquire from Hagrid with a bit of smooth-talking.
Daily visits to Hagrid quickly became routine. Hagrid, thrilled to have someone so curious about magical creatures, welcomed Elian with wide grins and endless stories. Elian, in turn, listened with an enthusiasm rare for him. Fang, Hagrid's massive boarhound, had taken a particular liking to Elian and often rested his heavy head on Elian's lap while the boy listened.
Elian kept the dragon a secret from Harry and Ron, judging it far too dangerous for them to handle. Fortunately, Harry was too distracted with Quidditch practice three times a week, plus classes, to notice Elian's odd behavior. Ron, however, wasn't so easily fooled.
"You've been acting weird lately," Ron said one evening in the Great Hall, squinting at Elian.
"My Hogwarts expeditions are a bit too long these days," Elian replied lazily. "I could've asked you to come along, but I didn't want to get caught at every single turn I take, Weasley."
"Shut up, Elian! I'm not that interested in exploring Hogwarts," Ron retorted, but Elian was already walking away, smirk tugging at his lips.
Training the dragon was surprisingly easy thanks to its reduced size. Naming it, however, was another story. For all his sharp wit and cunning, Elian found himself embarrassingly stuck. Hours of thought produced gems like "Fire Spitter," which even he dismissed with a groan.
One afternoon in the library, while he sat drumming his fingers and staring blankly at his notes, Hermione swooped in, as she always did, ready to scold him for some imagined fault. Before she could open her mouth, Elian cut her off.
"Granger, before you launch into your daily 'Why Elian Exists to Annoy Me' lecture, answer me this: what would you name a hypothetical dragon?"
Hermione blinked. "What?" Half-confused, half-irritated.
"Just answer, for once, without answering with another question," Elian teased.
"I don't waste time on ridiculous hypotheticals," Hermione sniffed.
"Then I won't share my History of Magic notes with you."
"I don't need your notes."
"Yeah, I know. Just wanted to see if the threat worked."
"You're insufferable," she snapped.
But Elian wasn't even listening anymore, lost in his musings. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to leave. As she did, she muttered under her breath, almost unconsciously: "Tuffy."
Elian's lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. The dragon finally had a name.
Time slipped by, and before Elian knew it, Hallowe'en had arrived. Tuffy had grown considerably, though Elian kept him reduced in size ,after all, even at Hogwarts, a full-grown dragon wandering about would raise more than a few eyebrows.
On Hallowe'en morning, the corridors were filled with the mouthwatering scent of pumpkin treats baking in the kitchens. The day got even better when Professor Flitwick announced that they were finally ready to learn how to make objects fly, a spell the students had been eager to try ever since he'd sent Neville's toad zooming across the classroom.
Elian, however, was distracted. He would've preferred to spend the day with Tuffy, but skipping classes wasn't an option. Keeping Tuffy hidden in his robes was turning into a nightmare, especially when the dragon was awake. Mischievous to the core, Tuffy had a habit of slipping out the moment Elian's attention wavered.
One disastrous Transfiguration lesson stood out. While Elian was bent over his notes, Tuffy wriggled free and perched himself on Professor McGonagall's hat as she scribbled furiously on the blackboard. Elian noticed too late and tried to summon him back quietly.
"Accio," he whispered.
But Tuffy, darting away like a mischievous spark, dodged the spell. Instead, McGonagall's hat flew straight into Elian's hands. Before he could shove it back, the professor turned, eyes narrowing at the sight of her hat clutched in his grip.
"May I ask what you're doing with my hat, Mr. Vale?" she said, her tone razor-sharp.
"Uhh… nothing, Professor. I simply wished to know the name of your tailor, this stitching is exquisite."
A ripple of laughter ran through the class before McGonagall cut it off with a glare.
"One point from every house and detention after class, Mr. Vale."
Since that day, Elian kept a far closer eye on Tuffy.
Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Elian was partnered with Neville, who looked nervous at first but visibly relaxed when he saw who his partner was. Harry was paired with Seamus Finnigan, and Ron with Hermione Granger. Judging by their expressions, it was impossible to tell who looked unhappier about that arrangement. Hermione still hadn't spoken to Harry or Ron since the arrival of Harry's broomstick.
"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, standing atop his usual pile of books. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick! And say the magic words properly. Accuracy matters, never forget poor Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and ended up with a buffalo on his chest!"
For Elian, it was almost too easy. As soon as he muttered "Wingardium Leviosa," the feather floated gracefully above his desk. Neville gawked at him, both impressed and baffled.
"Exceptional, as always, Mr. Vale!" Flitwick clapped, practically glowing with pride.
Not everyone shared the same success. Harry and Seamus's feather stubbornly refused to budge. Seamus grew impatient, jabbed at it with his wand, and set it ablaze. Harry had to smack it out with his hat. Meanwhile, Ron was faring no better.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he bellowed, thrashing his arms like a windmill.
"You're saying it wrong," Hermione snapped. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. Make the 'gar' nice and long."
"Oh, you do it, then, if you're so clever!" Ron snapped back.
Hermione rolled up her sleeves, flicked her wand, and said clearly, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Her feather rose gracefully into the air.
"Well done, Miss Granger!" squeaked Flitwick, bursting into applause.
Before the clapping faded, another feather floated shakily upwards. It was Neville's. The professor looked like he might faint from delight.
"Amazing, Mr. Longbottom!" he squealed. "Simply amazing!"
Everyone stared in surprise, Neville most of all.
"I didn't do anything, Professor!" he stammered.
Under the desk, Elian pinched him, making Neville squeak. When Neville glanced at him, Elian gave the faintest shake of his head.
As class ended, Neville hurried after him, with Harry and Ron hanging back curiously.
"Wait,Elian!" Neville called.
Elian glanced over his shoulder. "What is it, Longbottom?"
"Why did you help me with the feather?" Neville asked quietly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Elian replied smoothly.
"But,you told me to flick my wand slower and make smaller circles—"
"I told you not to break your wand by flailing it like a mad buffalo," Elian said flatly. "And the smaller circles? That was because you nearly poked my eye out."
Without waiting for a reply, Elian turned and walked off, leaving Neville gaping and Harry and Ron exchanging amused looks.
"He was just trying to thank you." Harry said to Elian as they pushed their way into crowded corridors.
"I didn't do anything," Elian said. "Unlike someone who helped a very certain someone without asking." He added, looking at Ron, who was in a visibly bad mood.
"Oh, shut up," Ron snapped at Elian. "She just thinks she is above everyone. No wonder no one can stand her."
Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past them. It was Hermione. Elian caught a glimpse of her face—Elian's smirk flattened as he noticed tears in her eyes.
Elian tried to follow her but was shoved back by the crowded corridor.
"Why are you so concerned about her?" Ron asked, though his voice carried a hint of unease. "She probably just realized she's got no friends."
Elian gave him a rare, cutting look before slipping away, leaving Ron and Harry puzzled.
He asked around until Lavender Brown mentioned seeing Hermione heading toward the girls' toilet. By the time Elian arrived, Hermione was just about to push the door open. With a flick of his wand, he whispered, "Colloportus." The door clicked shut and sealed.
Hermione spun around, startled, and saw Elian approaching, slightly out of breath.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
"I don't know," he said with a half-smirk. "Maybe to annoy you, as always."
She turned on her heel to leave, but Elian's next words stopped her.
"Is this because of what Ron said?"
Hermione froze, then whipped around, anger and hurt flashing in her eyes.
"No need to act polite, Elian," she said sharply. "I know you think the same as everyone else, that I'm just a bossy, know-it-all with no friends."
"Maybe a know-it-all," Elian admitted, softer this time, "but… aren't we friends?"
Her eyes widened. Tears spilled freely as she sank against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the cold stone floor.
"Bu-but I don't listen," she choked out. "I talk without thinking, I correct people without caring how they feel. I'm just… just a stupid know-it-all who doesn't know when to shut up!"
She rambled quickly, her voice cracking, but Elian didn't interrupt. He simply stood there, watching quietly, until her sobs began to slow.
"Last year..." Elian said while sitting next to Hermione, leaving a deliberate bit of space between them. Hermione turned to him, curious. He kept his eyes on the ceiling as he continued, his voice steady but heavy.
"When I was in my Muggle school, I said something cruel to my only friend. Out of ignorance. He didn't speak to me for the rest of the day. I thought things would go back to normal once I apologized the next morning, but..." He exhaled sharply. "That night, he and his family died in a house fire."
Hermione's face softened, her voice quiet. "I'm so sorry... but why are you telling me this?"
Elian smirked faintly, his eyes finally meeting hers. "Because we're friends." Hermione smiled, as though those words meant everything to her. They skipped class for the entire afternoon, sitting in the quiet corridor and talking. Hermione spoke animatedly about magic, while Elian countered with his usual sarcastic remarks. Time slipped away without them noticing until the castle was bathed in the soft glow of evening.
"Should we leave for the Great Hall, Granger, or do you plan to spend the entire night outside the girls' toilet?" Elian asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Before Hermione could respond, a loud crash echoed from the far end of the corridor. Both of them jumped to their feet.
"What was that?" Hermione whispered, panic edging her voice.
Elian didn't answer. He had already pulled out his wand, eyes fixed on the corridor's entrance.
Then they saw it.
Towering twelve feet high, its granite-grey skin looked like cracked stone. Its lumpy body swayed as it moved, a small bald head perched absurdly on top like a misplaced coconut. Its legs were as thick as tree trunks, ending in flat, horn-like feet that clomped heavily against the flagstones. The stench hit them next,rancid and overpowering, just before they noticed the massive wooden club dragging along the ground in its enormous hand.
"A troll…?" Hermione breathed, her face pale with horror.
Elian nudged Hermione toward the girls' toilet, wand raised toward the lumbering troll.
"Are you out of your mind?" Hermione hissed, yanking his sleeve and dragging him inside.
They slipped into the shadows, the door creaking faintly before shutting behind them.
"I don't exactly appreciate what you—" Elian began, but Hermione shot him a sharp look and pressed a finger to her lips.
Elian raised his own finger in exaggerated silence, smirking, but the moment broke as a guttural grunt echoed just beyond the door, sending a shiver through the tiles.
The troll suddenly went wild, swinging its massive club with reckless force. Tiles shattered, sinks exploded in bursts of porcelain, and the floor cracked beneath its stomps. With a deafening crash, the club smashed into the stall where Elian and Hermione had been hiding.
They stumbled out, gasping for air as the troll's beady eyes locked onto them. Hermione froze, her face draining of color.
Elian raised his wand.
"Flipendo!" A spark shot out—nothing.
"Expelliarmus!" Again, only a faint flash, barely tickling the creature's thick hide.
The troll grunted, unfazed, and lumbered forward, swinging its club down. Elian yanked Hermione aside just in time.
"They really are magic-resistant," he muttered under his breath, half to himself.
Before the troll could advance again, a voice rang out across the bathroom:
"Oy, pea-brain!"
A length of pipe clattered off the troll's shoulder, drawing its attention. Elian glanced up and saw two figures at the doorway.
Harry and Ron.
The troll barely flinched at the pipe bouncing off its shoulder, but the shout caught its attention. It froze, its ugly snout turning towards Ron. That hesitation gave Harry just enough time to dash around its massive legs.
"Come on, run!" Harry shouted at Hermione and Elian.
Hermione was frozen in terror, pale as parchment. Elian grabbed her hand and pulled, but before they could move, the troll let out a furious roar, spurred into madness by the echoes of Harry's voice. It swung its club wildly, shaking the bathroom walls.
Ron had no way to escape.
Then Harry did something both incredibly brave and incredibly stupid: he sprinted forward, leapt, and clung to the troll's neck. The beast barely noticed him, until Harry's wand, still clutched in his hand, rammed straight up its nostril.
The troll howled in agony, thrashing about. Its massive club swung blindly, inches from smashing Harry to pieces.
Elian raised his wand again, desperately trying to find a spell that might work—
THUD!
A chunk of shattered stone hurtled through the air, striking him square on the temple. The world tilted. Elian collapsed to the ground, vision fading as the troll's roars echoed in his ears.
Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand – not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: 'Wingardium Leviosa!'
The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over – and dropped, with a sickening crack, on to its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.
They rushed toward Elian, who was bleeding from his head.
"We need to get him to the hospital wing!" Harry said urgently, gripping Elian's arm, with Ron supporting him from the other side. Hermione snatched up both Harry's and Elian's wands, her face pale with worry.
Before they could move, the door burst open with a sharp crack. Professor McGonagall swept in, her robes billowing, followed closely by Snape, and Quirrell stumbling nervously at the rear. One look at the troll made Quirrell give a strangled whimper before collapsing onto a toilet seat, clutching at his chest.
Snape knelt beside the fallen troll, eyes sharp and calculating. Professor McGonagall, however, hurried straight to the students. Her stern face betrayed a flicker of alarm as she saw Elian's injury. Without a word, she took him gently but firmly from Harry and Ron. Harry had never seen her look so furious—and so concerned at the same time. With surprising swiftness, she swept Elian into her arms and strode from the bathroom, heading straight for the hospital wing.
"Return to your dormitory at once," Snape snarled. "Your idiocy will be dealt with later."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped away, exchanging anxious looks.
The next morning, as expected, a summons arrived from Professor McGonagall. They had thought of visiting Elian in the hospital wing first, but there was no chance, Filch was already waiting outside the Fat Lady's portrait, looking far too pleased with himself. He marched them all the way to Professor McGonagall's office without a word.
Harry entered first, Ron and Hermione close behind. Professor McGonagall sat stiffly behind her desk, her lips pressed into the thinnest line they had ever seen. Her eyes, cold with fury, fixed on them the moment they stepped in.
"Wait for the fourth fool," she said sharply.
None of the three dared to raise their heads. The silence was unbearable until the door creaked open once more. Elian stepped in, a fresh bandage wrapped neatly around his head.
"Did you call me, Professor?" Elian asked with mock innocence.
"Stand next to them, Mr. Vale," Professor McGonagall said, her patience clearly stretched thin.
She rose from her desk and slowly approached the four of them, her footsteps echoing in the office like a judge preparing to deliver sentence.
"Now," she said, voice clipped. "Tell me why you four disobeyed instructions and failed to return to your dormitory with the other students last night."
Elian opened his mouth, ready to take the blame, but Hermione suddenly stepped forward.
"I went looking for the troll," she said quickly, her voice trembling but steady enough to be convincing. "I thought I could handle it on my own—because I've read all about them."
Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Hermione Granger, lying outright to a teacher?
"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead," Hermione pressed on. "Harry stuck his wand up the troll's nose, Ron knocked it out with its own club, and Elian got hurt protecting me. They didn't have time to fetch anyone. It would've finished me off if they hadn't been there."
"Well—in that case …" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them. "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"
Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless; however, Elian smirked, he had half expected something like this. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets, but that's what friends do for each other.
"Five points from Gryffindor for your stupidity, Miss Granger, and—" Professor McGonagall turned sharply towards Harry, Ron, and Elian.
"Well, I still say you were lucky. Not many first-years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points… and Mr. Vale, four points will also be awarded to the other houses for your involvement. Professor Dumbledore will be informed. You may go."
They hurried out of the office, relief washing over them, and walked together toward the Great Hall. It was Elian who broke the silence first.
"Well… that wasn't too bad. Gryffindor gained points, and the other houses got free ones without lifting a finger. Everybody wins."
That earned a small round of laughter, even from Hermione, who seemed lighter than she had all day.
"Oh—here," she said suddenly, handing Elian his wand. "You dropped it in the girls' toilet."
"And… er—thanks," she added, glancing at Ron, Harry, and then at Elian. Her voice was hesitant, but genuine.
Harry and Ron nodded awkwardly. Elian, of course, smirked. And from that moment on, the four of them were friends. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.