Chapter 120: Crisis
"She won't even tell you? No wonder..." Ron said to the Gryffindor girls as they pushed through the crowded corridor.
"If you lived with her, you'd know," a girl with frizzy blonde hair said angrily. "She's a nightmare."
Just then, someone bumped hard into Harry, rushing past. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face—and was shocked to see she was crying.
"I think she heard you," Harry said, feeling a pit in his stomach. He'd felt uncomfortable the moment the girls had started badmouthing her.
Even Ron looked momentarily stunned.
"So what?" the blonde girl said, though she now looked slightly uneasy. "She must have noticed by now. She doesn't have a single friend!"
Hallowe'en was, by all accounts, supposed to be fun, especially now that Sean was reasonably sure the conflict between Ron and Hermione wouldn't escalate.
He entered the Great Hall and marveled at the spectacular decorations. A thousand live bats fluttered near the ceiling, while another thousand swooped over the tables in low, dark clouds, their wings making the candles inside the jack-o'-lanterns flicker. The golden plates were already piled high with sweets, just like at the start-of-term feast.
Sean found his usual seat at the quiet end of the Ravenclaw table, waiting for Hermione, Justin, and Neville.
Just then, he saw Professor Quirrell hurry out of the Great Hall, stammering to himself, his turban askew. He looked like he was rushing off to deal with some forgotten task, a common occurrence. At the staff table, Professor Snape's dark eyes followed Quirrell's exit intently.
So, too, did another pair of eyes, just below the staff table.
Neville had already arrived. Justin, Sean knew, was still busy in the kitchens. But where was Hermione? Sean scanned the long tables. She definitely wasn't in the Great Hall.
A procession of ghosts drifted up through the floor, silvery and translucent, discussing the deliciousness of the deathday feast—maggoty haggis, rotten fish, burnt cake, and moldy cheese. Ghosts, having lost most mortal pleasures, could only "taste" food if it was decomposed to the point of being nauseating to the living.
Trailing behind the ghosts were two unexpected figures.
"Sean," Ron said, rushing over, "we were looking for you, because..." He trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"Hermione's really upset," Harry picked up, his voice low and serious. "Ron asked those Gryffindor girls about the notes, and they said some awful things."
"We're sorry," Ron mumbled, looking at his feet. "We've been looking for her, but we couldn't find her. We finally found out she's friends with Parvati Patil, but..."
"Parvati won't talk to us," Harry finished. "She won't tell us where Hermione is."
"I understand," Sean nodded. "This isn't your fault, Harry. Or yours, Ron. Thank you for letting me know. I'll find her."
Harry and Ron, who had been bracing for a lecture, let out a visible sigh of relief. The moment Sean said he would handle it, their anxiety seemed to evaporate, as if his words alone could make Hermione reappear in the Great Hall.
But Sean knew it wouldn't be that simple.
Whether by some strange twist of fate or the universe correcting itself, Hermione was once again missing the Hallowe'en feast. His greater worry: what if she wasn't in the usual bathroom? What if she'd hidden somewhere else?
Finding Parvati Patil was his only option.
He strode over to the Gryffindor table, easily spotting Parvati, who looked up in surprise as he approached.
"Excuse me," Sean began, "I was wondering if—"
Parvati clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. "Of course! I know what you're asking, Mr. Green! Hermione's in the girls' bathroom, crying her eyes out! And she won't let anyone comfort her." She put a heavy emphasis on the word "anyone," clearly referring to Ron.
"Can you tell me which one?" Sean asked, relieved, his voice calm and steady.
"Happy to," Parvati said. "It's the one on the third floor, near the Charms corridor."
Neville had started to get up, intending to follow, but Sean stopped him with a single sentence. "If we both go, who will tell Justin what's happening when he gets here?"
And so, Sean left the Great Hall alone.
Neville sat anxiously in his seat, until—
Professor Quirrell sprinted into the Great Hall, his turban askew, his face a mask of terror. Everyone stared as he stumbled towards Dumbledore's chair, leaned heavily on the table, and gasped, "Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know."
He then collapsed in a dead faint.
The hall erupted in chaos. Dumbledore had to set off several purple firecrackers from his wand to regain silence.
"Prefects!" he boomed. "Lead your houses back to the dormitories. Immediately!"
Neville was frozen in terror. Justin finally hurried in from the kitchens, arriving just in time to hear the shocking news.
"A troll? Merlin's beard, they're twelve feet tall, weigh a ton! Neville, we have to go! Wait… where's Sean? And Hermione?" Justin asked, his mind racing.
"Hermione… third floor…" Neville's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes turning red. "Sean… went to find her…" He took a shaky breath. "I… I'm not leaving." His body was trembling, but his voice held a core of absolute resolve.
"...Then what are we waiting for?" Justin said, without a moment's hesitation.
Neville looked up, stunned, seeing the same fear—and the same fire—burning in Justin's eyes.
Near the Great Hall entrance, Percy Weasley was shouting, "Follow me! Stick together, first-years! No need to fear a troll if you follow my instructions! Now, keep up. Make way for the first-years! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"
"Are they insane?" Ron stammered, so terrified he was trying to make a joke.
"Sean and Hermione," Harry said suddenly, his face pale. "They don't know about the troll."
"Right," Ron said, biting his lip. He met Harry's gaze. "Well, we'd better go then."
"Harry," Ron added, seeing his friend's surprised look, "what do you take me for? A coward?"
(End of Chapter)
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