Chapter 88: 88: The Day of Quidditch

Ron let out a desperate yell. "Stock—help Hermione! She's gonna get squashed!" Eve knew all too well—Hermione's tiny frame wouldn't stand a chance against a troll's stomp. Her wand was out in a flash, instinct kicking in. "Expelliarmus!" The troll's massive club flew from its hand, crashing through the wall between the boys' and girls' bathrooms. Pipes burst on impact, and the bathroom instantly transformed into a chaotic splash zone, water spraying from every direction like a shower room gone rogue. Eve's hands trembled. She wasn't calm—in fact, she doubted any witch her age could stay calm in front of a troll. No spell from Quirrell's lessons came to mind. She had no strategy, no brilliant plan to take down the towering beast. But she had an idea—if she could just lure it away from Hermione. That would be enough. Firing Stunners and Full Body-Bind Curses in rapid succession, Eve backed out of the bathroom. Sparks crackled uselessly across the troll's rough skin. Its magical resistance was too high—her spells barely left a mark. But it worked. The troll's beady eyes fixed on Eve, lumbering after her with heavy, earth-shaking footsteps. "Brilliant!" Ron chattered through chattering teeth. "But it—it's chasing Eve now!" Hermione's voice cracked in panic. She couldn't bear the thought of Eve facing the troll alone. "Don't worry," Ron attempted to reassure her. "Stock's in second year. She can handle this." "Handle this?! Are you serious?" Hermione snapped. "She can't!" Without another word, Hermione dashed out, chasing after Eve. She didn't make it far. By the time she reached the corridor, Harry Potter was flying through the air—thrown straight off the troll's back. He landed hard—right on Eve's leg. The impact sent Eve crashing to the ground with a yelp, her ankle twisting painfully beneath her. "No!" Hermione screamed. She bolted forward, skidding to a stop in front of Eve and spreading her arms wide. Like she could shield her with nothing but sheer will. Hermione's wand hung forgotten at her side. She had no clue what to do—panic froze her in place. Will it stomp me? Will it crush me into paste? The terrible thoughts kept swirling, but Hermione refused to move. ...Is this how I die? Resigned, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She braced herself for the crushing blow, the troll's foul breath filling her nostrils as its fist swung down— BOOM. Hermione cracked open one eye. She wasn't dead. A hand, cold but steady, encircled her waist. Someone had pulled her back—shielded her. Wide-eyed, Hermione looked up. Nolan. His left arm was wrapped protectively around her. His right hand? Locked in a fistfight with the troll. Hermione gawked, utterly convinced she'd lost her mind. Nolan shoved her gently aside, stepping forward. He cast a glare at Harry, who was sprawled awkwardly on the ground. "You're such a nuisance," Nolan muttered, as if Harry's near-death experience had been nothing but an inconvenience. Pulling his wand free, Nolan's crimson gaze flicked to Eve. "The troll's weak spot is the back of its head. Simple. Every wizard knows that. You know that. But you forgot—because panic clouds your mind." His voice softened. "Remember, Eve—the more dangerous the situation, the calmer you have to be. Your brain is your greatest weapon. Stay focused, and it will keep you alive." Before Eve could respond, the troll roared, swinging a massive fist once more. Nolan raised a hand lazily, snapping his fingers. A shimmering Shield Charm enveloped his body just as the troll's punch connected. The force of the blow rang out—louder than the last. Nolan didn't even flinch. Lifting his sleek, dark unicorn hair wand, he pointed at a flickering jack-o'-lantern behind the troll. "Reducto." The pumpkin exploded, sending chunks of burning pulp splattering across the back of the troll's head. The beast stumbled. Without hesitation, Nolan flicked his wand again, this time at a toppled candle. "Incendio." The flames from Nolan's Incendio spell licked at the back of the troll's head. Panicked, the massive creature thrashed wildly, swatting at the fire and howling like a clumsy circus clown trying to extinguish its own hair. At that moment, Professor McGonagall arrived, leading a group of professors at full tilt. Her face was colder than the night air. "Would someone care to explain—what on earth is going on here?!" Snape extinguished the flames with a flick of his wand, his expression twisted into a disdainful smirk as the battered troll collapsed to the floor, unconscious. "It seems our dear Mr. Potter was unsatisfied with his existing reputation at Hogwarts," Snape sneered. "Perhaps he thought conquering a troll might be more entertaining? A worthy addition to his list of accolades, no doubt." Harry's face burned crimson. He couldn't think of a single explanation. If only I hadn't interfered, Harry thought bitterly. Maybe Eve Stock would've gotten Hermione out safely, without injuring her ankle. This is all my fault. But Nolan wasn't paying attention to the professors' interrogation or the Gryffindor trio's frantic excuses. Instead, he knelt beside Eve, quietly casting a spell to mend her twisted ankle—nothing complicated. Still, Nolan noticed something off. Eve's usual spark was dimmed, her expression clouded with disappointment and frustration. "This wasn't your fault," Nolan said softly, his voice gentle yet firm. "It happens to everyone—the first time you face danger, your mind goes blank. That's normal. The key is to get used to it—until you overcome it." He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Next time you see a troll, you'll know exactly what to do. Won't you?" Eve gave a hesitant nod. Then, without a word, she buried her face against Nolan's chest. After the chaos of nearly being trampled, this—right here—felt like the safest place in the world. Eve didn't stay down for long. There was no time to wallow in failure. She'd been training since the start of the year—all leading up to today's Quidditch match. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The age-old rivalry. Even if Slytherin lost, they'd still hold first place in the standings. But if Gryffindor won, they'd knock Ravenclaw down to third and take second for themselves. Marcus Flint's glare swept over the team like a storm cloud before the match. "We will not lose," he snarled. "Not to them." His lip curled. "I can't stand the thought of it. Have you seen Oliver Wood's smug face? He's laughing at us—at you! Why? Because this year they've got that brainless Chosen One." Flint spat the last words with pure venom. "I don't know who let them recruit a first-year onto their team, but we all know why. Favoritism." Flint's teeth clenched. "Are we going to let a team of privileged Gryffindors walk all over us?" "NO!" The team roared back in unison. "That's right!" Flint's fists tightened around his broomstick. "So let's tear down their hero. Let the entire school see—the Chosen One bleeds like everyone else." He paced along the line of players, letting the tension simmer. Then, his eyes locked on Eve. "Besides..." Flint's smirk returned. "We've got the best Chaser in Slytherin's history. Eve Stock." All eyes shifted to her. "Well?" Flint leaned in, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. "Tell us, Stock. Are you ready?" Eve's silver hair shimmered under the green of her Slytherin robes. She tightened her grip on the broomstick—one Nolan had enchanted personally—her heart thudding against her chest. Her lips pressed together as her pupils quivered slightly. "I think I'm ready," Eve said quietly. Then, her voice grew steadier. "I've been waiting for this moment."