Chapter 141: Destiny?
After that incident, Snape's attitude toward Russell returned to normal. Many Slytherins who had been considering making trouble for Russell breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Good thing they'd stayed cautious instead of striking while Russell seemed out of favor—otherwise they might be facing consequences now.
Russell sometimes felt that whenever Snape looked at him, he wanted to say something… but always swallowed the words at the last second.
Probably wondering whether there was any Witch's Draught left in stock.
---
Life, however, was less pleasant for Harry and Ron.
Once Snape realized Harry had reverted to being a boy, his attitude snapped back—not just restored, but worse than before.
Fortunately, Harry had been studying diligently. Combined with what seemed like an inheritance of his mother's talent for potions, he was no longer flustered by Snape's rapid-fire questioning.
Gradually, as Harry consistently answered correctly and brewed well, Snape's hostility softened. He still called on Harry often, but the barbs in his tone grew noticeably fewer.
Ron, on the other hand, had a very different experience.
The day he drank the potion and strutted into Potions class as a girl, Snape took one look at him—and promptly threw him out.
Ron was furious.
He couldn't stop muttering about how unfair it was. Why did it work for Harry but not for him?
Russell, however, had a pretty good idea.
Snape was probably thinking: Why wasn't it Harry who drank it?
A few days later, Halloween approached.
Wednesday had been looking forward to it for ages and had prepared thoroughly.
The Great Hall decorations were much the same as last year, and the feast was lavish. Russell thought Hermione probably wouldn't end up crying alone in the bathroom like in the original timeline—she had more friends now.
"Where's Hermione?" he muttered, scanning the hall.
She wasn't there.
Russell inhaled sharply.
Was this some kind of destiny correction? That shouldn't even exist in the wizarding world…
Just as he was about to ask Harry and Ron whether they knew where Hermione was, Professor Quirrell suddenly burst into the Great Hall.
His enormous turban was askew, his face pale with terror. He staggered to Dumbledore's seat, leaned against the table, and gasped:
"T–troll… in the dungeons… thought you ought to know…"
Then he collapsed onto the floor.
What an act, Russell thought coldly.
Though this time, Quirrell actually wasn't pretending. His body was already weak, and luring a troll inside had taken considerable effort.
The hall erupted into chaos. Dumbledore had to fire several bursts of purple sparks from his wand before the students quieted down.
"Prefects," he said gravely, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
Russell turned to warn Wednesday not to wander off—
—but she was already gone.
Like a fish slipping into a current, she vanished into the crowd, clearly mistaking this for part of the Halloween festivities.
Russell cursed under his breath and chased after her, but she moved too fast. He lost her.
That was bad.
Grinding his teeth, he headed toward the dungeons himself.
---
Harry, who had been climbing the stairs with the others, suddenly froze.
"Hermione!" he grabbed Ron's arm. "She doesn't know about the troll!"
"Oh no. Right. Right!" Ron agreed immediately.
As they fought their way back down against the flow of students, Ron kept muttering under his breath.
"Lavender's unbelievable. Hermione hasn't been annoying for ages, but she still badmouths her. If it weren't for her, Hermione wouldn't be crying in the bathroom and we wouldn't have to risk our necks like this…"
He went on and on.
"I figured it out—Lavender likes Russell. She keeps getting rejected, so she takes it out on Hermione because Hermione's close to him. But it's not like that's even true—"
Harry, exasperated, was about to tell him to shut up when he suddenly clamped a hand over Ron's mouth.
"Look."
They saw Snape striding quickly toward the fourth floor.
Suspicion flared in Harry's mind.
Before he could process it further, a horrific stench assaulted his nose—
like a mixture of unwashed socks and an abandoned public toilet.
A deep, grinding sound echoed through the corridor—something between a beast's growl and stone scraping on stone. A massive shape lumbered toward them.
When moonlight illuminated the creature, Harry's stomach clenched.
It was at least twelve feet tall. Its coarse gray skin looked like weathered rock. A tiny head perched atop its bloated body, and its thick legs shook the floor with each step.
The stench of rotting cabbage filled the air.
Its tree-trunk arms dragged a massive wooden club along the stone floor, producing a shrill scraping sound as it advanced toward them.