The Search for Love - Chapter 5 - Troll in the Dungeon (Patreon)

Snape’s POV

Severus Snape stood at the front of his dimly lit classroom, his gaze fixed on the row of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years shuffling in. It was the first Potions class of the term for first years, and he was already dreading it. If he was being honest with himself, he had always disliked this particular mix of students, even compared to the Gryffindor/Slytherin classes—Ravenclaws with their incessant need to prove their intelligence, and Hufflepuffs with their determination to be liked. But today, there was one student in particular that he found himself unusually preoccupied with.

The boy’s emerald green eyes met his, and for a moment, Snape’s breath hitched in his throat. Those eyes, so achingly familiar, transported him back to a time he had long tried to bury. Lily’s eyes. But no, he shook his head and forced himself to look away, they weren’t Lily’s; they belonged to her son. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who had somehow been sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor, as both his parents had been.

Snape had prepared himself for this moment, wanting to hate the boy that was the son of the man who had tormented him during his youth before stealing away the one person he had actually loved. The resemblance to James Potter was undeniable—save for those eyes—and it stirred feelings in Snape that he had tried to keep buried for years. Perhaps, he thought, if the boy had been sorted into Gryffindor and inherited his father’s arrogance, it would be easier to hate him. But he, along with most of the Great Hall had been in shock when the boy had been sorted into Ravenclaw and the young Potter seemed more reserved, more thoughtful, and from the way he had neatly laid out his supplies before class, it was clear he had inherited Lily’s respect for education rather than his father’s attitude.

Snape took a deep breath and forced himself to stay neutral. He began looking over the attendance list as the last of the students filed into the room. When he reached Harry’s name, he looked up, directly at the boy, and asked the usual three questions he always posed at the start of each year. Questions that he didn’t expect any of the students to answer. Questions that he could could on one hand that had been answered by a first year on their first day of classes since he had started teaching.

“What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

“What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

The questions were meant to intimidate, to remind them that they knew nothing. But when Harry raised his hand and answered each question with surprising accuracy, Snape felt a flicker of shock. He turned away quickly, hiding the surprise on his face, his occlumency shields having fallen. The boy had answered respectfully and correctly, without the arrogance he had expected.

“You are … correct, Mr. Potter. Five points to Ravenclaw.”

Perhaps, just perhaps, Harry Potter was not his father’s son in all the ways that mattered.

As he moved on with the lesson, Snape made a mental note to keep an eye on Potter. He doubted he could ever completely overlook the boy’s resemblance to James, but he would try—try to give him a fair chance. It was the least he could do, for Lily’s sake.

Harry’s POV

Harry’s first few weeks at Hogwarts were a whirlwind of excitement and discovery. Every corner of the castle held a new surprise, and he quickly found himself falling in love with the place. The classes were mostly enjoyable, though some significantly more than others. Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he had been most excited about while doing his pre-reading’s on the train, turned out to be disappointingly dull. Professor Quirrell, with his stammering and nervous demeanor, did nothing to make the subject interesting, if anything he grew to start to feel himself disliking the subject. Beyond that, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the man, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

History of Magic, to his surprise, was even worse than Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Binns, the ghostly teacher, droned on in a monotone that lulled more than half the class to sleep. Harry often found his mind wandering during these lessons, wondering why someone who was already dead would want to spend eternity teaching, unless of course it was to kill a part of the class from boredom.

Potions, on the other hand, was a mixed bag. Harry found the subject itself fascinating—the idea of combining ingredients to create something entirely new appealed to him. And while he had no doubt that Professor Snape himself was a potions genius, the professor’s demeanor was anything but welcoming. The man was strict, intimidating, and unforgiving, and it was blatently obvious that he favored the Slytherins to a ridiculous degree. But Harry was relieved that Snape treated him no worse than any of the other students. In fact, considering the stories he had heard from Ron and Neville about how Snape treated Gryffindors, Harry felt he was getting off lightly.

Herbology with Professor Sprout was interesting, though Harry wouldn’t say he was particularly passionate about the subject matter. He enjoyed learning about the different magical plants and their uses, but it wasn’t a subject that captivated him. Transfiguration, on the other hand, was another story. Professor McGonagall was strict but fair, and Harry found the challenge of turning one object into another thrilling. He could tell that McGonagall had been disappointed that he wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor, but she quickly got over it when she saw how talented he was at Transfiguration. Harry suspected that his dedication to the subject had earned him her respect.

But of all his classes, Flying and Charms were by far his favorites.

His first Flying lesson had been nothing short of amazing. The moment his feet left the ground and the broom responded to his touch, he felt a rush of exhilaration like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was as if he was born to fly. Madam Hooch had been impressed, pulling him aside after class to tell him that she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen someone so natural on a broom. She mentioned it was a shame that first years weren’t allowed on the Quidditch teams and hinted that she might have a word with Professor Flitwick to see if an exception could be made for him. He was speechless and told her that he appreciated the offer but would be ok no matter what the decision was.

Charms, though, was where Harry truly shone. From the very first lesson, it was clear that he had a natural aptitude for the subject, surpassing that of even his flying ability. Professor Flitwick, who was already a cheerful and encouraging teacher, seemed to take a special interest in Harry. The tiny professor often praised Harry’s work in front of the class, and Harry quickly became his favorite student. Flitwick even mentioned that Harry’s talent in Charms reminded him of his mother, who had been his best student until now. Harry felt a surge of pride at the comparison and threw himself even more into his studies.

It wasn’t just the classes that made Harry’s time at Hogwarts so enjoyable. He had quickly become friends with Hermione. They spent a lot of time together in the library, studying and discussing their lessons. Harry found her company comforting—Hermione’s dedication to her studies mirrored his own, and they often challenged each other to learn more and do better.

Harry also spent time with other first years both within his house and those in the other houses, who were all extremely interested in talking to him, though sometimes the attention was overwhelming. He had to remind them, usually at least twice a week, that he was just another student, no different from the rest, despite his fame. But he couldn’t deny that it was nice to finally be in a place where people were interested in him, though he wished it was more for his abilities than just his name.

Several days after his first flying lesson, Harry was enjoying his breakfast in the Great Hall, flipping through the pages of the latest edition of the Daily Prophet that had just arrived with the morning owl post. The chatter of students filled the hall, and the smell of toast and bacon wafted through the air, mingling with the scents of porridge and pumpkin juice. Harry had quickly grown accustomed to the routine at Hogwarts, finding comfort in the predictability of the mornings.

He was halfway through a piece of toast when the article on the page he was reading caught his attention. The headline read:

“BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS STILL UNSOLVED: VAULT 713 RANSACKED !”

Harry’s eyes widened as he read the article in full, detailing how an unknown intruder had broken into one of the most secure vaults in Gringotts, the wizarding bank, a feat that was deemed to be almost impossible. According to the report, the break-in had occurred on July 31st—Harry’s birthday—the same day he had visited Diagon Alley for the first time with Professor McGonagall. The vault, the article explained, had been emptied earlier that day, and the goblins were baffled as to how anyone could have gotten past their security.

As Harry read, a memory surfaced in his mind—Hagrid, towering over him in Diagon Alley, casually mentioning that he had to stop by Gringotts on "Hogwarts business" before patting his coat pocket. The words had seemed unimportant at the time, just another one of the many strange and wonderful things that had happened that day. But now, reading about the break-in, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a coincidence.

Harry’s mind raced. Could it really be true? Could Hagrid have emptied the very vault that had been broken into? It seemed too suspicious to be a coincidence. But then again, Hagrid was trustworthy, wasn’t he? Harry remembered how kind Hagrid had been to him, how he had offered to accompany them and purchased the owl as a birthday gift. The idea that Hagrid could be involved in something dangerous or secretive was unsettling and seemed farfetched.

As Harry mulled over these thoughts, Hermione, who had been sitting beside him, nudged him gently.

“Harry, are you alright? You’ve been staring at that paper for ages.”

Harry blinked and looked up at her, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just … something interesting in the paper.”

Hermione glanced at the article, then back at Harry. “The Gringotts Break-In, huh?  I remember having read that when it was in the paper. You think that break-in has something to do with Hogwarts?”

Harry hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Maybe. I just remembered something Hagrid said when we were in Diagon Alley. He mentioned stopping by Gringotts on Hogwarts business the same day it happened. And now, reading about this break-in … I don’t know, it just seems strange.”

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. “It could be a coincidence, but you’re right—it is odd. Maybe we should keep an eye on things, just in case something is going on.”

Harry agreed, though a part of him wondered what exactly they could do. They were just first-years, after all, with little experience in the wizarding world. But the sense of unease lingered in his mind, refusing to be dismissed.

Halloween arrived at Hogwarts in a flurry of excitement. The castle had been decorated with floating pumpkins, and the corridors were filled with the scent of spiced apples and cinnamon. The Great Hall was particularly stunning, with hundreds of carved jack-o'-lanterns bobbing above the tables, their flickering candlelight casting warm glows across the faces of the students. Bats fluttered around the enchanted ceiling, which showed a clear, starry sky, and the smell of roasting meat filled the air.

Harry entered the Great Hall with Hermione and a few other Ravenclaws, their chatter light and cheerful as they admired the decorations. The house tables were groaning under the weight of the feast, with platters of roast beef, chicken, and turkey, bowls of mashed potatoes, gravy, and every kind of vegetable imaginable. There were also platters of treacle tart, pumpkin pasties, and every other dessert Harry could think of.

“Wow, this is amazing!” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes wide as she took in the scene.

Harry grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much food, especially dessert, in one place before.”

They took their seats at the Ravenclaw table, joining the other students who were already digging into the feast. As they ate, the conversation turned to their classes, particularly Charms, where they had recently learned the Levitation Charm.

“Honestly, I thought it was going to be harder,” Hermione said, her voice slightly muffled as she took a bite of roast beef. “But it was actually quite straightforward, wasn’t it?”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I was surprised too. It just kind of … clicked, you know?”

The others nodded, and Terry Boot, one of their fellow first-years, added, “Well it didn’t click for most of us as fast as it did for the two of you but I’ll never forget the look on Ron’s face when Seamus managed to blow up his feather and most of Ron’s notes, instead of making it float. That was something.”

The group laughed, the memory of Seamus’s feather bursting into flames vivid in their minds. Harry had found the whole thing hilarious at the time, though he had felt a bit sorry for Ron, who had looked thoroughly embarrassed.

They continued to chat as they ate, the feast growing more and more lively as the night went on. There was something magical about Halloween at Hogwarts—something that made everything feel a little more special, a little more enchanted.

About halfway through the meal, when Harry was feeling pleasantly full and was just considering reaching for a pumpkin pasty, the doors to the Great Hall burst open with a loud bang. The chatter in the hall died instantly as all heads turned towards the entrance.

Professor Quirrell came stumbling into the hall, his turban slightly askew and his face pale as a sheet. He looked utterly terrified, his eyes wide and wild as he staggered forward, gasping for breath.

“Troll! In the dungeon!” he shouted, his voice high-pitched and trembling with fear. The hall was silent for a moment as his words sank in. Then, with a final gasp, Quirrell collapsed in a dead faint, falling to the floor with a thud.

For a second, there was complete silence in the Great Hall. Then, pandemonium erupted. Students screamed, some leaping to their feet in panic, others clutching the edges of the tables as if for support. The noise was deafening, a cacophony of fear and confusion.

Harry felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through him. A troll in the dungeon? He had read about trolls in one of his books—they were dangerous creatures, big, strong, and incredibly stupid. The idea of one being loose in the castle was terrifying, although the notion that it managed to get into the castle was confusing.

But before the panic could get any worse, a loud bang echoed through the hall, followed by the amplified voice of Professor Dumbledore.

“Silence!”

The effect was immediate. The students fell silent, all eyes turning towards the staff table where Dumbledore stood, his expression calm but serious.

“Prefects,” Dumbledore continued, his voice still magically amplified, “lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately. Teachers, follow me to the dungeons.”

There was a moment of hesitation as the prefects hurried to organize the students, but the Ravenclaws quickly fell in line behind their prefects, who were doing their best to remain calm.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a worried glance as they followed the other Ravenclaws out of the Great Hall. Harry’s mind was racing—if there was a troll in the dungeons, why would Quirrell have come all the way up to the Great Hall to tell them? And why had he looked so frightened, wasn’t he the professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts afterall? The whole situation seemed strange, but there was no time to dwell on it as they were herded out of the hall and towards the Ravenclaw Tower.

As they began to ascend the stairs, the chatter among the students grew louder, everyone speculating about the troll and what it could mean. Harry, however, remained quiet, his thoughts still on the strange behavior of Professor Quirrell. Something was definitely not right, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

However, as he began climbing the stairs following his housemates, lost in thought, he suddenly felt a tug on his shoulder. Glancing down, he realized that his bag had caught on a sharp edge of the stair rail, tearing the fabric. He groaned in frustration as he watched the contents of his bag—quills, parchment, and a couple of books—spill out onto the stone steps.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, glancing around to see if anyone could help him. But the other students were still rushing up the stairs, eager to reach the safety of the common room. No one seemed to have seen what had happened.

Cursing to himself, Harry pulled out his wand and whispered, “Reparo.” The bag mended itself instantly, the fabric weaving back together as if it had never been torn. Harry stuffed the wand back into his pocket and bent down to gather his things, wishing he knew the Summoning Charm. It would have made this whole situation much easier.

He quickly picked up his quills and parchment, shoving them back into his bag, before reaching for one of his books that had slid a little further down the stairs. Just as he grabbed it and started to stand, a piercing scream echoed down the corridor.

Harry froze, his heart skipping a beat. The scream had come from somewhere below, down the hallway they had just passed. It was filled with pure terror, the kind of scream that sent chills down your spine.

For a moment, Harry wasn’t sure what to do. The rest of the Ravenclaws had already disappeared up the stairs, and he could no longer hear the faint murmur of their voices as they climbed the stairs to the safety of the common room and that meant they might not have been able to hear the scream. They might not have been able to hear that someone was in trouble.

He hesitated for only a second before making his decision. He left his bag on the stairs and took off down the hallway, his feet pounding against the stone floor as he followed the direction of the scream. The corridor was dark, the only light coming from the torches mounted on the walls, their flames flickering and casting eerie shadows.

As he rounded a corner, Harry skidded to a halt as another scream sounded from directly in front of him.

Kind Regards,

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Story Note 1 – Short chapter - cliffhanger! Apologies to everyone who is enjoying reading the story! I do try to avoid cliff hangers but this was just too good of a place not to have one! Any guesses on who might have screamed?

Story Note 2 – As for Harry’s academic prowess, I do not think it unreasonable that if Harry put work into his courses he wouldn’t be able to do really well. In the books it was mentioned that Harry hid his studying abilities to make the Dursley’s feel better about Dudley, but if that wasn’t the case and Harry tried at school there is no reason he couldn’t have done much better in his classes. He also did remarkably well on his OWLS for someone who did about the bare minimum of school work.

Thanks to those of you out to those of you who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you enjoy them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or reach out to me directly.

Disclaimer – It has come to my attention recently that I unfortunately do not own Harry Potter. Who knew.