Chapter 13: 5-4

"I feel strange. I never knew you were such a crybaby," Hermione said.

"I didn't know either," I replied.

The two of us continued to sniffle. We were a mess; our eyes and noses ached, surely turned a bright, stinging crimson.

I had finally managed to coax Hermione out of her self-imposed exile in the Girls’ Bathroom with my clumsy persuasion, only to end up spending time in a cubicle with her that would have made Moaning Myrtle turn pale from the sheer gloom. Between the pity and the embarrassment, we caught each other’s eyes and shared a bitter laugh. It felt as though I had cried enough for an entire lifetime.

"I’ve never skipped a lesson before. And to think it was in a toilet!"

"Well, it certainly makes for a… pungent anniversary," I joked.

"Oh, honestly!"

She chuckled at my joke, then moved gracefully to the sinks to dampen a handkerchief, pressing it gently against my eyes.

"You can't just leave them like this. You have such a pretty face, yet you’re so indifferent about these things. And your hair—why on earth did you cut it?"

"Just a whim."

"…Sigh. I used to think of you as a big sister, but now… I feel very much like I’m looking at a little sister."

"…And I’ve always thought of you as an older sister, Hermione."

"Oh, have you really?"

I wasn't talking about this Hermione, of course. But she was still 'her.'

"Well then, I suppose I should act like a proper sister. Come on, stand up, Maria. Let’s wash your face and get you sorted."

Regaining her usual spirit, Hermione took my hand. Just as I began to rise from the closed toilet seat—

"—GET DOWN, HERMIONE!!"

CRASH!

I lunged, pulling her to the floor. In that split second, a massive shadow swept through the air, obliterating the top of the cubicle walls. It was a Troll’s club.

I was horrified. How? How could someone like me have failed to notice its presence until it was this close? Then, I bit my lip as the realization hit me.

What a disgrace. I’m a failure as an Auror. I was crying so pathetically that my nose was too stuffed to catch the stench of a Troll—!

"Hermione!"

"Ah… wh-what…?"

Hermione was completely paralyzed with fear. It was only natural. The Hermione here—this little Hermione—was just a kind, brilliant girl. She didn’t have the strength to fight yet.

"Hermione, hold on to me."

"Wait—Kyaa!?"

I scooped her up in a side-carry and scrambled out of the wreckage of the cubicle—a terrible place to be cornered. I tried to make a break for the exit, but the path was blocked. The Troll’s hideous, hulking frame stood right in the way. For a brainless brute, it had rotter's luck.

"Hermione, don't make a sound. Don't provoke it. If you're scared, just cling to me. You don't have to look. I promise, I will protect you. Trust me."

"……"

I pressed her head against my chest, shielding her. With one hand, I quietly leveled my wand at the Troll, which looked as much confused as it did vacant.

If I were in my 'original' body, fighting while carrying a small girl would be child's play. I could probably take this thing down even if I were carrying Ron and Harry at the same time. Even if it were the adult Hermione, I could manage.

But right now, I am Maria. An eleven-year-old girl. I have zero experience fighting in this body while trying to shield someone else.

"Maria…"

"It's okay."

To soothe her trembling form, I stroked her delicate back. I locked eyes with the Troll, gripping my wand tight. Just as I opened my mouth to cast—

"—STUPEFY!"

A bolt of red light streaked from nowhere, hitting the back of the Troll’s head and bursting into a shower of sparks.

"Maria!"

"Hermione!" "Hermione!"

Three heads appeared at the doorway, stacked one above the other: blonde, black, and ginger.

"Draw it toward us!"

“Hey, you pea-brained lump!”

"Maria!"

"Draco! Take Hermione!"

The Troll blinked stupidly, as if only just realizing something had hit it, and slowly turned toward the door. Taking advantage of the distraction, Draco rushed in and took Hermione from my arms. With my limbs free, the advantage was mine.

"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"

Phut.

"……"

"……"

Wait. My wand. It just… uh…

"…Er… PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

Fizzle.

"……Draco, lend me your wand! Help!"

"I can't right now!" Draco shouted back, his hands full trying to support the trembling Hermione.

Right. Focus.

The spells hadn't worked, but the Troll seemed to have enough intelligence to realize something annoying was buzzing at its feet. It swung its club down; I rolled instinctively to dodge, feeling a flash of heat graze the side of my face.

My vision blurred. Through the haze, I heard Hermione scream something at Ron. A wand—a hand-me-down from his brother Charlie—pointed straight at the Troll. Draco, having set Hermione down to draw his own wand, stared at me with wide, horrified eyes. And behind them was Harry, his face contorted with a look that suggested he was ready to kill the beast himself.

Something warm and wet trickled down my temple.

"INCARCEROUS!"

"PROTEGO!"

"—WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

The spells overlapped: Draco’s binding spell sent ropes coiling around the Troll’s legs, tripping it; I threw up a frantic Shield Charm; and Ron, with perfect pronunciation, took control of the club.

THUD.

The entire bathroom shook with the weight of the falling giant.

Now, Trolls—like most magical creatures—possess a natural resistance to magic. Therefore, physical attacks with blunt objects—in this case, its own club—are far more effective. Draco’s ropes would have been snapped in seconds. My wandless Shield Charm would have lasted one hit at most.

It was Ron’s Levitation Charm, cast following Hermione’s frantic instruction, that delivered the finishing blow.

Silence fell. No one spoke as they stared at the unconscious Troll, the only sound being the heavy breathing of children. Draco was the first to move, dragging himself up. He pointed his wand at me and calmly muttered:

"Episkey."

Ah… that’s right. The club must have cut me when it grazed my head.

"…Maria…"

Draco’s hands were shaking. The Draco Malfoy. Usually so poised, so proud, striving to be the perfect heir—he was trembling. He pulled me into a tight embrace. His hands moved feverishly, touching my cheek, my temple, my eyes, my neck—checking for injuries, completely heedless of the blood staining his own clothes.

"Maria, thank God… Maria…"

"I'm fine, Draco. I'm okay."

"I see…"

"Thank you. Ron… Harry, you too. And Hermione, thank you for listening to me. It meant a lot."

"—MARIA!!"

Harry was the next to tackle me into a hug. Hermione joined in, clinging to Harry and me, while Ron tried his best to wrap his arms around the whole lot of us.

Beside the fallen Troll, the children clung to each other and wailed, their small, growing arms stretched to their absolute limit.

Eventually, three professors burst in, and the five of us were taken into custody. To my surprise, it was Ron who spun a web of lies to protect us from Professor McGonagall, who was vibrating with fury at our disregard for the evacuation orders.

Hermione tried to confess—"No, it’s my fault, I was the one hiding in the toilet"—but the three of us silenced her. Understand this, Hermione, I thought. This is his way of apologizing. This is his gallantry.

After docking five points from Ron and awarding five to the rest of us, McGonagall dismissed everyone except me. Since I looked like a bloody mess (despite Draco’s first aid), I was escorted to the Hospital Wing by Professor Snape.

Quirinus Quirrell, the root of all this trouble, remained eerily silent beside the fallen Troll.

"……"

Turning away from that pathetic figure, I followed Snape. He didn't offer a single glance back, simply commanding me to follow with his silhouette.

"—Maria."

"Hermione?"

Suddenly, Hermione pulled me into one last embrace from behind. She held me with all her might, yet with a gentleness that showed she was mindful of my injury.

I looked back, startled. Behind her, McGonagall stood with Harry, Ron, and Draco, looking impatient but allowing the moment. Snape, of course, did not wait.

"Maria, thank you so much. …Um, I said this before, and you might not remember… but despite how you look, you’re very manly."

"Haha, I’ll take that as a compliment."

"It’s a bit complicated. And… Maria. I lied earlier. I said Harry was the only one special to you. But there’s someone else, isn't there? —Draco Malfoy. …Am I right?"

Usually, Draco and I met in secret, using our enchanted parchments to coordinate. Even Harry wasn't always there. I certainly hadn't told Ron or Hermione.

I suppose that desperate embrace earlier had made it obvious we cared for each other—but it was more than that.

"You’re very observant, Hermione."

"A maiden’s secrets are for a maiden to uncover. …I’m rooting for you. Because I love you dearly."

Leaving me with that cryptic remark, Hermione pecked me on the cheek and ran back to Professor McGonagall.

"……"

Wait. So.

Rooting for... what exactly?

"What do you think?"

I waved my cypress wand, which hadn't responded to a single spell correctly today. As expected, the wand remained stubbornly silent.

Upon seeing a young girl with drying blood on her head, Madam Pomfrey, the matron of the Hospital Wing, was livid. The bleeding had stopped, but the scratches remained. "What a disgrace for a young lady!" she fussed. If I had been wearing a skirt like Hermione, my legs would likely be in a similar state. Skirts really are useless for defense.

Regardless, I listened politely to the Matron’s scolding—fueled by love and duty—and felt a strange sensation as she treated me. To be honest, an injury like this didn't even register as a "wound" to me. My old self, 'Harry,' might not have even noticed the pain. I realized for the first time that being a "student" under protection is a profound luxury.

—Yes. That’s why. I felt it was only right to share some of this woman’s maternal mercy with the fool who had discarded his own protection.

While Madam Pomfrey was grumpily slathering ointment on my cheek, I whispered something in her ear.

"…Then, I shall take my leave," Snape said, turning to go.

"Severus? What are you saying? You are also my patient."

"……What?"

Madam Pomfrey grabbed Snape’s arm as he tried to stand. "Grabbed" was an understatement; despite being a woman, the sheer force behind it was more like a "wrench."

"A certain brave student just informed me. —You have an injured leg, don't you?"

"……"

"Don't you glare at the student!"

I felt a very intense gaze from the side. When I looked back at him, he immediately snapped his eyes away. Gosh, this man…

His complexion looked like he was about to collapse, yet he was still playing the martyr until he turned pale.

"Now, let me see. —Good heavens! You were going to leave this untreated?! Severus, you really are… just like when you were a boy…"

"Madam Pomfrey… I must insist you address me as Professor Snape—"

"Be quiet! An adult who is afraid of the infirmary is no different from a child! This girl has more courage than you!"

My heart felt light as I watched the Matron shove the brooding man into the seat next to me and begin treating the jagged bite marks without a word of protest. As I watched the somewhat pathetic exchange between the adults, I noticed Snape looked incredibly troubled. I couldn't help but speak up.

"……Professor?"

The man’s shoulders gave a microscopic flinch. …Ah. Is this—is he like this because of me? Because of Maria?

If that’s the case.

Without a word, I stopped looking at him and simply laid my hand over his. He didn't pull away.

Please understand. Please notice. —My hand is warm and alive, isn't it?

Silence. The Hospital Wing, having left the day’s chaos behind, was filled with a sacred stillness, broken only by the sound of Madam Pomfrey winding bandages.

Perhaps I was just imagining it. He still refused to look at me, and I’ve always been good at believing in convenient delusions.

But. Even so.

I felt, just for a moment, that he squeezed Maria’s hand back.