Trapdoors and Troublemakers

Harry Potter's POV

Olivia slides into the seat beside me just as I'm unpacking my bag. She's fast—probably ran here just to beat everyone else. Before I can even say hi, Malfoy walks in with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him like oversized shadows. Olivia lets out a giggle. I raise an eyebrow at her. "Well, congratulations, Harry, on making the team," she says, like it's casual, like it's not a huge deal. And that is what I want. People have been fussing over me, except her.

"Um... thank you, Liv," I say slowly. "And why are you giggling?" She grins, clearly proud of herself, and leans closer. "Had a little chat with Malfoy earlier. Left him completely speechless. You should've seen his face." I laugh. "You did? That's impressive."

"Thank you very much," she says, and I pat her on the back. Honestly, she deserves it. Most people get flustered around Malfoy, but Liv? She practically made him combust.

The next day, I find out my dad was a Seeker too. That news settles somewhere warm in my chest. I've never known much about him, but this—this feels like something we share. Something real.

Later, Ron, Hermione, and I are heading back to the common room when the staircase decides to move. Typical Hogwarts. We have no choice but to jump onto a landing and go through the nearest door before the stairs leave us stranded.

The room is dusty and dark, with cobwebs stretched across the corners. It feels abandoned. I freeze when I hear footsteps echo behind us. Without thinking, we run through the next door—straight into a nightmare.

A three-headed dog stands there, massive and growling, one head drooling, another snarling, and the third one already snapping toward us. My heart practically launches into my throat.

We scream.

All of us.

We barely make it out and slam the door shut behind us before the beast can lunge.

Back in the common room, it's empty except for the fire crackling. We're all out of breath, rambling about what just happened, trying to make sense of it. "You're going to wake up the whole castle," says a voice from behind one of the chairs. Olivia turns around, arms crossed. "Let alone the Gryffindor tower."

"Liv, you won't believe what we just saw!" Ron shouts. "Hermione, did you see it? That trapdoor under the dog?" I ask, trying to piece it together. "A dog?" Olivia says flatly. "That's what you're puffed up about?"

"Not just a dog!" Ron huffs. "It had three heads. Three, Liv. And one body." She blinks, stunned for a second. That's more like it. "It wasn't just standing there either," Hermione says. "It was guarding something."

"Guarding?" I echo. That hadn't occurred to me until now.

Hermione grabs Olivia's arm. "Yes. Now if you two don't mind," she says, motioning to Olivia, "we're going to bed before you lot keep shouting and get us killed—or worse, expelled."

Honestly, I'm not even sure which would be more terrifying at this point.

Olivia Middleton's POV

Levitation class is going about as chaotic as expected. Professor Flitwick's voice is bright and encouraging, but most of the class is flailing their wands like they're swatting flies. I glance sideways just in time to hear Hermione snap, "Stop, stop, stop, you're going to take someone's eye out. Besides, you're doing it wrong."

I bite back a grin. Merlin, I love when she goes full know-it-all mode.

Ron, predictably, rolls his eyes and shoots back, "Alright, you do it then, if you're so clever, Miss Know-It-All." Hermione just sighs and turns to me. "Together, Liv?"

"Always," I say with a grin, nudging her arm. We raise our wands and chant, "Wingardium Leviosa!" in perfect unison.

To our absolute delight, both feathers float gently into the air. Mine spins once in a graceful little twirl before hovering like it's weightless. I glance at Hermione and we beam at each other—this is why we're friends.

Ron, however, looks like he's been forced to chew a lemon. His feather is very much not floating.

We're still giggling when a small explosion goes off behind us. I whip my head around. Seamus stands in a cloud of black smoke, his hair singed and sticking out in every direction. "Oh no," I mutter, trying not to laugh again. "He's never going to learn to stop adding random wand flicks."

After class, I walk beside Hermione, trailing behind Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus. I'm still grinning about the floating feather—until I hear Ron. "No wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

My stomach drops. I look up in horror just in time to see Hermione shoulder past him, her face crumpling as she breaks into a run. "Ron!" I snap. "She was helping. You could've been a bit nicer, don't you think?"

He stammers, but I don't wait around to hear his excuse. I break into a run, calling out, "Hermione! Mione, wait!"

She doesn't stop. I can tell she's crying. She's so fast when she's upset. It takes all afternoon to find her. By the time I catch up, she's locked herself in the girls' bathroom. I gently push open the door, stepping into the quiet echo of dripping sinks and cold tiles.

"Mione?" I call softly. "I know you're in here."

She doesn't answer. I take a few steps closer.

"You've been in here all afternoon," I say, trying not to sound too worried. "Look, I copied all the notes twice for you. I even asked the professors about the homework. You'll catch up, I know you will. But can we please go to dinner? I'm starving, and I know you must be too. We can sit far away from the boys, promise. Just... come out."

I keep my voice soft, calm. My heart hurts seeing her like this.

Finally, I hear her shuffle.

"Liv," she says quietly, "I'll be fine. Thank you for everything. Just... please go eat, alright? Don't starve because of me. I'll be out before bedtime—"

But her sentence is cut off by a deep, guttural growl.

"What was that?" Hermione asks, frozen. "I-It's a—" I don't get to finish.

A monstrous shape barrels into the bathroom, and I barely register the size of it—the foul stench, the long arms—before something solid and brutal slams into me. Pain explodes in my side as I crash into the wall. I hear Hermione scream just before the world goes black.

Hermione's screams pierce through the pounding in my skull. My eyes fly open. The smell hits me first—something rancid and unbearable—and then I see it: the troll. Huge. Wild. Its club is raised mid-swing, and Harry's right beneath it.

I don't even think.

I push myself up, pain lancing through my side, but I get to my feet. My wand is still in my hand—I don't remember holding onto it, but I raise it. "Wingardium Leviosa!" I shout, voice shaking, and the club lifts into the air, floating above the troll's head like a feather.

With my other hand, I do something odd—I raise my palm toward the troll like I'm telling it to stop. Something in me surges.

And it freezes. Just—stops. Its limbs stiffen, eyes locked, breath shallow.

The room goes silent. Harry, Ron, Hermione—they're all staring. I don't even know how I'm doing this. But there's no time. I flick my wand and release the club. It crashes down onto the troll's skull with a bone-rattling thud, and the beast slumps to the floor.

I exhale shakily and nearly collapse again. Hermione rushes to me, arms tight around my shoulders. Harry's eyes are wide. We don't say anything about the way the troll froze. Not right now. Not until we understand what just happened.

Professor McGonagall bursts into the bathroom not five seconds later, followed by Quirrell and Snape. Her face is thunderous until she sees the troll. Her expression shifts—something between horror and surprise.

They bark questions. We answer carefully. We explain, sort of, what happened.

Points are taken, then given—especially for me. McGonagall calls it bravery, though I feel more like I've just survived a storm I didn't know was coming. Madame Pomfrey drags me off to the hospital wing, muttering about concussions and cracked ribs, and makes me drink something that tastes like moldy socks. I sleep like a rock.

The next morning, it feels like the whole castle's buzzing. Everywhere I go, people are whispering my name—"Did you hear what she did?" "She levitated the club!" "She froze the troll!"

It's surreal.

At breakfast, I sit between Harry and Ron, trying not to squirm under the attention.

Then Malfoy swaggers over, his smirk stretched across his pale face. "Looks like your little girlfriend isn't going to be around to save you in the air, Potter," he drawls, eyes flicking to me. "Although she might've managed to somehow protect you idiots from a troll. Which, Merlin knows how she did."

My face heats up instantly. Girlfriend? Troll praise? I don't know which part is making my cheeks burn—but they are burning. Hermione would've said something snappy. I don't even need to.

"Jealous, are we now, Malfoy?" comes her voice in my head—but it's real. Mione's voice, behind me. He scoffs. "Jealous? Me? Of Middleton?" But as he walks off, I hear him mutter something under his breath. "Maybe."

Maybe what? Maybe because I stopped the troll? Maybe because I protected Harry? Maybe because I didn't crumble when I should've?

I don't know.

Later, we're all at the Quidditch pitch, Gryffindor colors flashing everywhere, and I can tell Harry's nervous. His first match. But when he sees us—me—he relaxes. I smile at him, warm and wide, and he smiles back. He's going to be amazing.

The match starts, fast and dizzying. Harry's broom is swift—but then it jerks. Once. Twice. Something's wrong. My heart lurches. Hermione squints through her binoculars. "Snape," she whispers. "He's jinxing the broom."

Before I can ask what she means, she bolts. A few seconds later, smoke rises from the teacher's stand. A distraction. Hermione's clever like that. Then, somehow, Harry recovers. He flies again—faster, steadier—and then we all gasp as he plunges downward.

He hits the ground, hard. But when he sits up, the Snitch is in his mouth. His mouth.

We scream. We cheer. Gryffindor wins.

After the match, we visit Hagrid. Hermione tries to explain what we saw—about Snape, about the dog, about everything. He goes still. "Listen," he says gruffly, "you four—first years—shouldn't be meddling. This is between Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel."

The second he says that name, he freezes. His eyes meet mine, wide and sheepish.

"I shouldn't've said that," he mutters. "I should not have said that."

And then he disappears inside, leaving us with the name echoing in our ears.

Hermione leaves for Christmas break. The tower feels quieter without her, but I stay. So does Harry. So does Ron. The three of us stick together.

One afternoon, I wander down a corridor I've never been in before, looking for Harry—and find a room. Inside is a tall, strange mirror.

Words are carved at the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

I sound it out backward in my head. I show not your face but your heart's desire.

And then I see it.

A girl who looks like me—but older. Wiser. Her hair is wind-swept, tangled like she's been by the sea. And beside her, holding her hand, is a boy with white-blond hair.

He looks nothing like Harry.

My breath catches. I don't know what it means. But I know how it makes me feel—yearning.

I back away, confused and rattled, and head back to the common room to wait for Harry.