The silence in the ruined lavatory was thick and heavy, punctuated only by the drip of water from broken pipes and Quirrell's pathetic, whimpering noises. The three senior professors stared at the scene, processing Ariana's calm, factual report. It wasMcGonagall who finally broke the spell, her professional demeanor reasserting itself over her shock.
"You… neutralized the threat," she repeated, her voice a mixture of awe and incredulity. She took a step closer, her sharp eyes taking in the details: the sheet of magical ice, now slowly melting; the massive, bound troll; the shimmering Protego still faintly glowing around a trembling Hermione. "Miss Dumbledore, what spells did you use?"
It was not an accusation, but a demand for a formal after-action report. Snape leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his expression one of intense, predatory curiosity. He, more than anyone, recognized the sheer level of magical proficiency that had been on display.
Ariana lowered her wand, the tip still glowing faintly. "First, a Shield Charm, Protego, to protect Hermione from the immediate impact. Then, a localized Transfiguration on the floor, to create a low-friction surface and disrupt its balance. While it was disoriented, I used a high-intensity Wand Lighting Charm, Lumos Maxima, to temporarily overload its optical senses. Then, a Levitation Charm, Wingardium Leviosa, to disarm it. Finally, I used the troll's own club, with the assistance of gravity, to render it unconscious, followed by an Incarcerous Charm to secure it."
She delivered the explanation with the cool, detached clarity of an Auror debriefing a mission. She didn't boast. She didn't embellish. She simply stated the tactical sequence. Each spell was basic in principle—first-year charms, a simple transfiguration—but she had applied them with a level of power, precision, and strategic thinking that was utterly unheard of in a student, let alone an eleven-year-old. She hadn't overpowered the troll with a single, mighty curse; she had dismantled its ability to fight, piece by logical piece.
Snape's black eyes narrowed. She had not only performed flawlessly but had analyzed and articulated her actions with a chilling degree of competence. This was not the work of a gifted child; it was the work of a master strategist.
McGonagall looked utterly flabbergasted. "You… transfigured the floor into ice?"
"It seemed more efficient than attempting to bind its legs while it was still mobile," Ariana explained simply. The sheer audacity and brilliance of the tactic left McGonagall speechless. She looked at Harry, who was still standing by the door looking stunned, and then at Hermione, who was finally beginning to emerge from her shell-shock, her mind, always analytical, starting to process the tactical genius she had just witnessed.
"Fifty points," McGonagall said, her voice filled with a stunned reverence that momentarily overrode her usual sternness. "Fifty points will be awarded to Gryffindor for the most brilliant and courageous use of magic I have seen in decades." She then seemed to remember herself and turned a stern glare on Quirrell. "Professor, perhaps you can explain why a mountain troll was on the second floor when you specifically stated it was in the dungeons?"
Quirrell stammered incoherently about the troll being clever and knowing its way around, a lie so transparently weak it was insulting. Dumbledore arrived then, his presence filling the corridor, his eyes taking in the scene with a grave expression. He listened to McGonagall's quick summary, his gaze lingering on Ariana with that now-familiar mixture of sorrow, pride, and protective resolve. He said little, merely instructing the other teachers to handle the troll and ensuring the students were escorted back to their common room.
The journey back to Gryffindor Tower was a silent one. Harry was still trying to process the lightning-fast sequence of events. He had been ready to fight, to do something, but Ariana had handled the entire situation before he could even cast a single spell. He was beginning to realize that being her friend meant occupying a very different role than the one he was used to with Ron; it meant being a spectator to a level of power he couldn't yet comprehend.
Hermione walked beside Ariana, her usual stream of chatter conspicuously absent. She kept glancing at the serene, blonde girl, her mind racing. She replayed the encounter again and again. The shield charm, cast without a moment's hesitation. The tactical use of transfiguration. The blinding light. The disarming. The clinical, final strike. And then, the truth. The calm, cutting truth that had protected her not just from the troll, but from her own impending, foolish lie.
Ariana had not only been braver and more powerful, but she had been smarter. She had outthought everyone, including Hermione herself. The jealousy that had been festering in Hermione for weeks did not intensify; it simply… evaporated. It was impossible to be jealous of something so far beyond her own scale. You don't feel jealous of a thunderstorm or a tidal wave; you feel awe. All her petty criticisms, her sniping remarks, now seemed laughably small, like a child throwing pebbles at a fortress.
When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and uttered the password, the common room fell silent. The news of the 200-point loss had made them pariahs. But Ron, who had heard from a prefect what had happened, was waiting for them, his face pale.
"Is it true?" he whispered. "You fought a troll?"
Before Harry could answer, Ariana simply nodded and started walking towards the girls' dormitory staircase. She had no interest in recounting the events or basking in the new, awestruck stares of her housemates. The problem was solved. The event was over.
Hermione, however, stopped in front of her. "Ariana," she said, her voice small and tight. Ariana paused, turning to face her.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. It was not just a thank you for saving her life. It was a thank you for telling the truth, for showing her a better way. It was an apology and an acknowledgement all rolled into one.
Ariana looked at the girl—the brilliant, insecure, lonely girl—and saw not the annoying know-it-all from class, but the raw potential beneath. She saw a mind that, if honed and directed, could be a formidable asset. She saw a flicker of the loyal friend she knew Hermione would become. And for the first time, she felt a genuine, uncalculated flicker of empathy.
In a gesture that stunned Harry, Ron, and everyone else watching, Ariana closed the small distance between them and wrapped her arms around Hermione in a brief, gentle hug. It was not a warm, effusive embrace, but it was solid, reassuring, and deeply sincere.
"You are safe now, Hermione," she said softly, her voice for Hermione's ears alone. "That is what matters."
She then released her and continued up the stairs, leaving a stunned and tearful Hermione in her wake. That single, quiet gesture was a peace treaty, an alliance, and a coronation all in one. The feud, one-sided as it had been, was over.
From that night on, everything changed. Hermione no longer saw Ariana as a rival. She saw her as a mentor, a puzzle, and an ally. Her brilliant, fact-finding mind now had a new subject of intense study: the quiet, enigmatic girl who wove magic like music. She began to ask Ariana questions—not about gossip or schoolwork, but about theory. "When you transfigured the floor," she'd ask in a hushed tone in the library, "were you focusing on the molecular state of the water or the crystalline structure of the ice?"
Ariana, in turn, found a mind that could almost keep up with her own. She would answer
Hermione's questions with clear, concise explanations drawn from the advanced texts she read, giving the other girl a glimpse into a world of magic far beyond their first-year curriculum.
The rest of the school soon began to notice the shift. The two smartest first-year witches were no longer at odds. They were a unit. They would be seen in the library, heads bent together over ancient tomes. They would walk to class together, engaged in quiet, intense conversation that no one else could follow. The sight of them together became a symbol of intellectual power that was, in its own way, far more intimidating than any physical threat. The school's bullies learned quickly to give them a wide berth. The professors watched with fascination. Snape's sneers became slightly less pronounced when he saw them together, and Dumbledore's eyes held a deep, thoughtful light.
The boys, Harry and Ron, were left slightly adrift. They were still friends with Hermione, but she was now part of a duumvirate, an alliance of minds that they couldn't fully penetrate. They were the brawn—or in Harry's case, the Chosen One—but Ariana and Hermione were rapidly becoming the undisputed brains of the operation. A new, powerful, and utterly terrifying friendship had been forged in the wreckage of a lavatory, and Hogwarts would never be quite the same.