As Draco Malfoy slowly made his way down from the Astronomy Tower, he felt cold and hungry, and his legs felt like lead.
He'd spent too long talking with the Bloody Baron, pacing excitedly around the tower, and now he felt rather worn out.
An eleven-year-old's body was a frustrating thing—you couldn't judge it by the standards of a seventeen-year-old, but you had to respect its limits all the same.
Draco sighed and planned to hurry back to the Great Hall, where the Halloween feast was underway, and slip quietly into a seat at the Slytherin table—laden with roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, steak, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and green apples—so he could finally fill his stomach.
But a sudden noise stopped him in his tracks. Passing through an empty side corridor on the second floor, he caught the faint sound of someone crying—sobbing and mournful, as if it came from the girls' bathroom.
Draco frowned. A proper Malfoy didn't meddle in other people's business—he preferred to mind his own. Besides, it was clearly the girls' bathroom; he had no business going in to help anyone.
But his feet wouldn't budge. The crying sent a wave of unease through his stomach, making him shudder as though the Bloody Baron's cold, ghostly body had just passed straight through him.
A strange feeling suddenly washed over him—if he left now, he might regret it.
He didn't understand his own behavior. Perhaps it was because he, too, had once cried in a bathroom in his past life, and the memory of that feeling was not a pleasant one; or perhaps it was the nagging sense that he'd forgotten something important tonight.
Just as he stood there hesitating, a foul stench wafted in from the left side of the corridor, followed by a low grumbling sound and the dull thud of enormous feet dragging across the floor.
"A troll!" Draco's face went pale, and he raked a hand through his platinum-blond hair in frustration.
Merlin's beard, how could he have forgotten? He must have gotten too caught up talking with the ghosts!
He suddenly remembered: in his previous life, the Halloween feast in his first year had ended in chaos—because Quirrell had let a troll loose from the dungeons.
"Get out of here before the troll turns around," Draco told himself. But the crying from the bathroom hadn't stopped, and its mournful, anxious edge only grew more unsettling.
Draco never called himself a "saint"—that was Potter's job. Looking back on both his lives, he still had no interest in playing the hero; he simply wanted to survive.
But now, he could no longer sit idly by.
Judging by the high, fledgling pitch of the crying, whoever it was had to be young—an innocent child.
The approaching troll was far too dangerous for a crying little girl to face alone.
In his previous life, Draco had witnessed more than his share of suffering and death; he was long since weary of watching people get hurt, or worse.
No one should have to face something even worse in that bathroom, amid such heartbroken weeping—Moaning Myrtle alone was enough for Hogwarts to handle—and certainly no one should be hurt, let alone killed, over something as absurd as a troll.
He made up his mind, set his worries aside, and braced himself to be branded a "shameless scoundrel" or a "frivolous playboy." Then he shoved the door open and rushed into the girls' bathroom.
A small, familiar figure was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom.
Damn it! How could it be her? Draco's heart started pounding wildly.
Hermione's eyes were red and swollen; she was just reaching for the tap to wash her face when she heard the sound and slowly turned around.
"How could you—" she said, startled, her voice thick and nasal from crying.
Without even pausing to wonder why she was crying, Draco—usually so composed—lost his cool in front of someone else for the first time in his life. He rushed forward, no longer caring about anything.
He grabbed the hand of the utterly astonished Hermione and bolted for the door.
"There's no time to explain—come with me, now," he said hurriedly, pulling her stumbling along behind him as they rushed out of the girls' bathroom.
"Wait—" Hermione exclaimed in surprise, as he suddenly pulled her out the door.
The boy who'd just barged into the girls' bathroom was now, inexplicably, gripping her hand and running. His hand was icy cold but surprisingly strong, betraying an impulsiveness and assertiveness she'd never seen in him before.
What was he trying to do? she wondered, bewildered.
The situation was growing more dangerous by the second. In the candlelight flickering from a nearby alcove, Draco caught the troll's reflection swaying back and forth around the corner.
Before it could turn, he grabbed the bewildered girl and hurried her down a side corridor.
"Stop!" Not far past the corner, Hermione wrenched her hand free, flustered and confused by his sudden intrusion and the rough way he'd pulled her along.
She choked back tears and said angrily, "What... what are you doing? Why did you drag me out? And how dare you barge into the girls' bathroom?"
Hermione was a little annoyed.
She couldn't believe that a boy would stride into the girls' bathroom so casually—it was rude enough on its own, and he hadn't even asked before dragging her off, which made it worse. She was still cross with him over his constant rule-breaking, especially that prank with the feather during Levitation Charm practice earlier that day. Whatever game he was playing now, it was completely unforgivable.
Boys were all the same, never showing any respect, Hermione thought wearily, turning to walk away and resolving never to deal with such annoying boys again.
"Keep your voice down!" Draco caught Hermione just as she turned back toward the girls' bathroom and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Look for yourself!"
Hermione was already furious—first he'd clapped a hand over her mouth without a word, and now he'd grabbed her shoulders from behind, which struck her as rude, presumptuous, and frankly improper!
But when she came to her senses, she turned her head and found him with a solemn expression. His light gray eyes were clear and deep, and he didn't seem to have any malicious intentions or be joking with her.
So she took stock of the situation, widened her eyes, and gave a small nod to show she wouldn't make a sound. Draco released her, and the two of them edged out from behind the wall, peering toward the door of the girls' bathroom.
In the moonlight, the twelve-foot troll craned its dim, lumbering head and peered into the girls' bathroom.
It was the very picture of repulsiveness: skin as gray as granite, a body huge and clumsy, a bald head like a coconut, short legs like tree stumps, and flat, enormous feet...
Worse still, it dragged a heavy, thick wooden club along the ground behind it, which made the whole scene even more terrifying.
Hermione involuntarily grabbed Draco's hand and began to tremble.
Draco glanced back at her and noticed that her face was pale and her eyes were red, which made him feel uneasy.
Hermione Granger—that stubborn, headstrong girl—looked far better when she was proud and pleased with herself than she did right now, he thought, and he gently squeezed her hand back, feeling how cold her small fingers were.
The troll finally made its decision—insofar as a brain the size of a sesame seed could decide anything—wiggling its long ears, baring its teeth in something like a grin, and slowly crawling into the girls' bathroom.
Hermione's breath caught. She trembled uncontrollably in the cold draft, like a candle flame about to go out in its niche.
"Oh my God..." she whispered.
She realized she'd completely misjudged the boy beside her. If he hadn't pulled her out of the bathroom when he did, the consequences would have been unthinkable.
Imagine—facing that hulking, disgusting thing completely defenseless, without even her wand.
"Oh my god, Draco..." Hermione's face had gone as pale as one of Hogwarts' ghosts. "Thank you."
"Not angry anymore?" Draco pouted and made a face at her. Hermione was extremely embarrassed and gave him an awkward smile.
Then, to her surprise, she realized she could smile again. Just half an hour earlier, she had thought she would never smile again at Hogwarts.
But now, strangely, the sadness and gloom in her heart had been chased off by the fright of the troll and Draco's meddling.
A sense of relief, tangled with lingering fear and a faint, unfamiliar warmth of goodwill, quietly spread through the dark corner of the corridor.
Draco noticed something else as well. Hermione's hands were colder than his own, even though he had spent the entire night wandering the Astronomy Tower.
And she was still trembling.
Like a rabbit caught out in the snow and ice, unable to find its burrow, she sat there with red eyes, her small face pale in the moonlight.
Merlin, his own smile was more like a grimace. It brought her little joy, and it certainly didn't satisfy Draco's twisted sense of humor—instead, it stirred the last shred of pity left in his heart.
A self-proclaimed upright Gryffindor? A brave and fearless Hermione Granger? No, she's just a careless little scatterbrain!
She'd either get swallowed by the vanishing step, freeze herself into an ice block, or be reckless enough to end up as a troll's dinner!
Wasn't she supposed to be the smartest? So why did she keep finding trouble that ordinary people never even came near?
She was always alone, looking isolated and helpless—who could just ignore that? He felt a flicker of irritation, as if some invisible chain were tightening around his heart.
But she was looking at him now, timid, gripping his hand tightly as if afraid he'd run off. It seemed he wasn't the ruthless Slytherin she'd once scorned, but someone she could trust. The warmth in her gaze made his chest ache.
Draco had absolutely no idea what to do with her.
This little ice cube who so often drove him mad now looked utterly pitiful, he thought, irritated—but he didn't let go of her hand.
They stood there for a few long seconds, hands clasped and equally cold, staring blankly toward the bathroom, until he finally had to ask himself: how long could two people with such freezing hands hold on before either of them warmed up?
He sighed and let go of her hand. As she watched, puzzled, he pulled an empty jam jar from his robe pocket, conjured a bright blue flame with his wand, and dropped it inside. "Take this."
She'd always liked staying warm this way, Draco recalled silently, drawing on memories from his past life.
Hermione then realized that she had been holding onto his hand the whole time. A little embarrassed, she cupped her hands around the warm jar, looked down at the strange blue flame, and whispered "thank you" again.
"Pleasure," he said, his smile finally relaxing a bit.
Draco glanced towards the bathroom again. He wanted to get Hermione away from this dangerous place as soon as possible—a place where trolls roamed was not one of the top ten tourist destinations in the wizarding world.
Just then, he spotted two small figures sidling up to the open bathroom door. One of them sprang up, snatched the key from the lock, and slammed the door shut, locking it tight.
If his eyes weren't deceiving him, that had to be Potter and Weasley. These two ordinary-looking little geniuses of the wizarding world had just locked up the troll.
Bravo! If he weren't afraid of being discovered, he would have whistled at them right now.
Hermione, who was covering the jar, also saw this scene. She nestled close to him, her tousled hair peeking out from beside him, and whispered, "Why are they here too?"
But before he could answer her, Draco watched in disbelief as Potter and Weasley—who'd already run off—came stumbling back down the corridor, dizzy and confused, and reopened the bathroom door.
Merlin, is tonight Halloween night, or Gryffindor's Night of Mischief?
Are all the reckless fools in Gryffindor lining up to die tonight?
Draco's face turned green.
A moment later, the two reckless fools dashed into the girls' bathroom, shouting, "Hermione! Are you in there?"
"Oh my god!" Hermione gasped. She turned to him, the color that had returned to her cheeks draining away again, her eyes filling once more with fear. "Draco, they've come looking for me! I have to go save them!"
She was trembling, already trying to dash toward the bathroom, but he caught her wrist.
"How are you going to save them? Did you even bring your wand? How exactly do you plan to fight off a troll?" Draco frowned, firing the questions at her one after another.
For an unarmed first-year to confront a monster that size was utterly reckless, irrational, and dangerous in the extreme.
There was no surer way to get herself killed.
"I didn't bring my wand, and I don't know how to fight a troll, but I can't just leave them here—they came back for me!" The little brat turned and shouted at him, tears welling in her eyes.
"Let me go! I want to go find them!" Her eyes started to redden again, like a rabbit ready to bite, her expression extremely stubborn.
Merlin! Is there anyone more ungrateful than her? Draco felt a surge of anger rising within him.
However, her tears... he couldn't bear to see Miss Know-It-All cry. It was an ugly, blotchy sort of crying—not pretty in the least.
"Fine, I'll come with you." Draco rolled his eyes—and almost wanted to slap himself the moment the words left his mouth.
"Idiot! What are you doing? How did you end up joining the ranks of reckless fools?" Draco cursed himself silently, but his feet wouldn't obey as he followed the impulsive crybaby—Hermione Granger—toward the girls' bathroom.
"Run, Ron, run!" As they approached the door, they could already hear Potter shouting from inside the bathroom.
The moment they burst into the room, the scene that greeted them was so unexpected and terrifying that Draco felt as though he'd been stung by a Billywig, his soul practically floating clean out of his body:
Weasley was pressed flat against the wall, wand in hand, trembling like a leaf; Potter, meanwhile, was riding the troll itself, bravely—and foolishly—clinging to its hideous neck.
Potter's wand had ended up in the last place anyone would expect—jammed straight up the troll's nostril, looking for all the world like a slimy twig.
A wizard, abandoning his wand for hand-to-hand combat? Draco was stunned.
What makes Potter think he can fight a monster head-on?
Draco has lived two lives and has never seen such mindless behavior!
Is this the intelligence of the guy who can defeat the Dark Lord?! Merlin must be blind. Draco's pupils dilated in shock, and he inwardly groaned.
At that moment, the troll roared in pain, swinging its club wildly and twisting its body, as if it might shake off the tiny ant clinging to it at any second and crush him for good—or else turn the club on Ron, who stood not far away.
"Please save them, Draco, please," Hermione pleaded, tugging at his sleeve anxiously.
She hated herself for not carrying her wand with her. It was her biggest mistake of the day. She could only plead with him; for some reason, she felt Draco would have a way.
In fact, even with seven extra years of study, Draco had no confidence in "facing a troll head-on."
But there was no more time to think. The troll, hearing the commotion at the door, turned around in confusion—and danger was about to bear down on him and the little girl beside him.
"Immobulus!" In a flash, Draco used the first spell that came to mind.
That was the same Immobulus Charm Hermione had once used on a swarm of Cornish pixies in her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, back in his previous life.
Fortunately, it worked, and the startled troll froze in place.
"Brilliant!" Weasley's exclamation came from the other side of the wall.
"Get out of here!" Draco's expression was deadly serious, with no trace of relief in it, as he shouted at them. He kept his wand trained on the troll, just in case it suddenly snapped out of it and attacked.
He'd only managed to freeze it by sheer luck. Trolls were thick-skinned and highly resistant to magic, which was why wizards had always been wary of them—and he had no idea how long the spell would hold.
Upon hearing this, Potter quickly pulled the disgusting wand from the troll's nostril, rubbed the sticky substance off it, and scrambled down from it. Weasley and Hermione, who had come to their senses, hurriedly helped him to prevent him from slipping and falling.
The troll twitched its eyelids, seemingly about to wake up. Faint voices could be heard coming from the other end of the corridor. Perhaps the professors had found their way here.
This is not a good thing.
If the professors discovered several reckless first-years squaring off against a troll instead of obediently returning to their dormitories, losing House points and worse would be a foregone conclusion.
Draco had no wish to tarnish Slytherin's reputation by costing it any unnecessary points.
"Quick! Hide! Don't let anyone find us!" Draco hurriedly called to them, and they hid in a nearby classroom.
They hadn't been hiding long before they heard loud footsteps and Professor McGonagall's voice ring out, "Oh, Severus, it's here!" The troll seemed to have fully woken and began roaring again.
Meanwhile, four first-year students hid behind the classroom door. They pressed their ears against the door, trying to catch any sounds coming from outside, while barely daring to breathe, afraid of being discovered by the professors.
Judging from the sound, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape seemed to have cast several spells together. Then, the troll crashed to the ground with a dull thud.
After a while, Professor Quirrell's voice came through. He stammered that he could take charge from now on.
Time passed slowly, and only once the four first-years were sitting on the floor behind the door, yawning over and over, did silence finally return outside.
Hermione was still holding the jar.
She was leaning wearily against the door, dozing off. Gradually, her head, heavy with sleep, slid down the door, and Draco caught her with lightning reflexes, settling her against his shoulder.
She never noticed a thing. Only the blue flame, dancing gently and tirelessly in the jar she still clutched, bore witness to it all.
Potter and Weasley, on the other side, were too dazed to register any of it. They leaned their heads together, still breathing hard, lost in the terror of having faced the troll head-on.
After a while, they came to their senses, exchanged glances, whispered a few words, and finally tentatively spoke. They said softly, "Thank you."
Draco, still listening intently to the sounds outside, whispered to them, "Never be so reckless again. Not every time will someone come to your rescue."
These two idiots, trying to stop a runaway chariot with their bare hands, were lucky beyond belief not to have been torn apart or crushed to a pulp by the troll.
"Also, a wand is a wizard's life, so you must cherish it," Draco said seriously, noticing Potter and Weasley nodding quietly.
Just then, his shoulder felt lighter—Hermione had suddenly woken up. She looked up, rubbing her eyes sleepily with the back of her hand; her eyes were still a little swollen.
He turned his head and unconsciously smiled at her—she smiled back at him with hazy eyes—then he looked at Potter again, his face regaining its solemnity. "You must carry your wand with you at all times. It is for casting spells, not for melee combat. If it breaks, it can never be put back together."
Potter looked a little embarrassed, as if he had just remembered that "wands can be broken."
Draco couldn't help but worry. Potter's attitude toward his wand was far too careless; he didn't seem to understand what it meant for a wand to have chosen its wizard.
There was nothing else quite like it in the world.
However, Draco could only touch upon the subject briefly. He couldn't lecture Potter and the others too much. After all, they were just 11-year-old children; what profound principles could you expect them to understand?
Funny how things turn around—now it was Potter and the others being reckless, not him. Draco sighed, realizing he'd grown a little too invested in them, when he himself was already buried under a mountain of troubles and could barely look after himself.
He straightened his face and instructed them, "By the way, I hope you can keep this a secret. Don't tell anyone that I saved you, or that I was ever here. That would be the greatest thanks you can give me."
He didn't want anyone taking notice of his nighttime wanderings. As for his secret investigation into the Dark Lord, surfacing too soon, before he understood the full situation, would only invite disaster—staying out of sight was far safer.
The three of them exchanged puzzled glances, unsure what to make of his request. But in the end, brimming with gratitude toward their rescuer, they nodded in agreement.
After this incident, Harry, Ron, and Hermione became true friends.
Brave and loyal Gryffindors that they were, willing to face down terrifying creatures for one another even at the risk of their own lives—how could anyone say there was no friendship between them?
They also came away with a new understanding of Draco. Slytherin or not, it was hard not to grow fond of someone who'd been through something like that with you—and who'd saved your life besides.
This is what it means to face a twelve-foot-tall monster together.