As Victor followed after Hermione, he quickly realised he couldn't actually follow her.
She had rushed straight into the girls' bathroom.
Victor stopped short in the corridor. He had standards—few, perhaps, but firm ones. Entering a girls' bathroom while it was clearly in use was not one of them.
So he stayed where he was, leaning lightly against the stone wall.
Sigh… I really couldn't avoid this part of the plot, and Ron is still an idiot.
He glanced down the corridor, mind already racing ahead.
Today was Halloween.
Which meant Quirrell would release the troll into the castle—causing chaos, drawing teachers and prefects away, and giving him the perfect chance to sneak toward the forbidden third-floor corridor.
And if Victor remembered correctly…
This bathroom, he thought grimly, is exactly where things go wrong.
He exhaled slowly.
"Great," he muttered under his breath. "Of all places."
Still, leaving wasn't an option.
Hermione was upset, alone, and hiding inside a bathroom.
As much as Victor disliked how predictable this was becoming, he wasn't about to walk away. This wasn't a book anymore—it was real. Plots could go wrong. Timing could slip. And if something went even slightly off… Hermione could get hurt.
What if the troll reaches here first? he thought grimly. What if things don't line up the way they're supposed to?
That settled it.
For her safety, he stayed.
A friend doesn't leave, Victor decided. Even if the only thing he can do is stand guard outside a girls' bathroom like a statue.
So he remained there, silent and watchful, waiting—hoping this part of the story would follow the script just closely enough.
***
Like that, night fell over Hogwarts.
Dinner time arrived, and the corridors slowly emptied as students headed toward the Great Hall, and Victor was still standing in front of the girl's bathroom
Hermione was still inside.
Victor glanced around the empty corridor.
"Since no girls were using it now, maybe I could go inside," Victor muttered. With the bathroom empty, there was no real objection—and no chance of being mistaken for some creep sneaking into a girls' bathroom.
He stepped inside.
Then he heard it.
Soft, uneven sobbing, coming from one of the stalls.
Victor stopped a few steps in, his voice lowering instinctively.
"Hermione," he called gently. "Are you… still crying about what Ron said?"
The sobbing faltered for a moment.
"…Victor?" her voice came, small and hoarse.
He didn't move closer. He stayed where he was, near the sinks.
"It's already dinner," he said quietly. "You've been here a long time."
There was a pause.
"He didn't mean it," Victor added after a moment. It wasn't an attempt to back Ron up—he'd never do that for an idiot like him. He just wanted Hermione to stop crying, to stop letting careless words hurt her this much.
"That doesn't make it hurt less," Hermione replied from behind the stall door. Her voice wavered. "I was just trying to help."
"I know," Victor said quietly.
Then he cleared his throat, deliberately shifting his tone to something lighter.
"But hey," he added, voice turning cheerful, "if his words were right, would I be standing here outside a bathroom instead of eating dinner?"
There was a small pause.
"Today's a feast," Victor continued casually. "And yet here I am, missing it. That alone should tell you Ron's words don't mean anything. That you have friends who is there for you"
From inside the stall, Hermione sniffed.
"As for Ron," Victor went on, unfazed, "just ignore him. You were trying to help, but his brain twisted it into something else. That's on him, not you."
He leaned back against the sink.
"Honestly, why worry about one idiot's words?" Victor said lightly.
"Idiots say hurtful things all the time," he added evenly. "That's usually because they aren't smart enough to notice someone's intentions in the first place."
He paused, then added in a lighter tone, "So come on. Clever girls shouldn't cry."
There was a moment of hesitation.
Then the stall door creaked open.
Hermione stepped out slowly. Her eyes were red, and she was clearly trying very hard not to sniff again.
Victor looked at her and gave a small, genuine smile. "Well," he said, "you still look cute—even when you're crying."
Hermione blinked, then let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. She wiped at her eyes and walked over.
Ron's words felt distant now. Wrong.
Because right there, in an empty bathroom on Halloween night, she had a friend who cared enough to stay.
In the Great Hall, floating pumpkins drifted lazily through the air, their carved faces glowing softly as they passed overhead. Bats fluttered near the enchanted ceiling, which showed a dark, starry sky, adding to the festive mood.
The long tables were piled high with Halloween food—roasted meats, bowls of sweets, pumpkin pasties, and dishes whose names most first-years didn't even know yet.
Suddenly, the doors of the Great Hall burst open.
Professor Quirinus Quirrell staggered inside, his turban askew, face pale with terror. The noise in the hall died down almost instantly as everyone turned to stare.
"T—troll," he gasped, clutching his chest. "Troll… in the dungeons."
Before anyone could ask anything else, Quirrell swayed, his eyes rolling back. With a soft thud, he collapsed onto the stone floor, unconscious.
For half a second, the hall was frozen.
Then chaos erupted.
"A troll?!" "In the school?!" "RUN—!" "Did he say dungeons?!"
Students screamed; chairs scraped violently against the floor, and several plates shattered as people leapt to their feet. First-years teetered on the edge of panic, older students shouting over one another as the noise spiralled wildly out of control.
Panic-fed screams echoed across the Great Hall, sharp and rising, until they blurred into one continuous roar.
Then—
"SILENCE!"
The single word cracked through the Great Hall like a spell.
Professor Albus Dumbledore was on his feet, wand raised slightly, his voice calm but carrying unmistakable authority. The noise died instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch.
"Prefects," Dumbledore said evenly, "please lead your Houses back to their dormitories."
And among the panicking students, two figures were behaving strangely—moving against the tide, whispering urgently to each other instead of screaming, their eyes darting far too deliberately toward the doors leading out of the Hall.
"Ron," Harry said suddenly, clutching his sleeve as students pushed past them, "Hermione's still in the bathroom. Someone said they last saw her in the girls' bathroom—and the bathrooms are near the dungeons."
Ron's face drained of colour.
"The dungeons?" he repeated. "But—that's where the troll is."
Harry nodded, already turning. "She won't know. She probably hasn't heard anything."
For a second, Ron hesitated—then guilt hit him hard.
"We've got to tell her," he said quietly.
They slipped away from the line of students being herded out, moving against the flow as teachers shouted instructions and prefects tried to keep order.
*****
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Currently updated up to Chapter 32.
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