Harry Potter's revenge.

He wasn't sure what was going on with Quirrellmort and that worried him. Their defence against the dark arts teacher was acting more and more like Voldemort himself did. That hadn't happened last time. But why would the addition of Lord Slytherin into the timeline cause Voldemort take more control of Quirrell? For surely, it could only be that factor which caused the change.

Well, whatever. Without Hermione crying in a bathroom, there would be little need for him to be elsewhere and he could focus his full attention on this. With any luck, Quirrellmort might even drop some clues for him. He could but hope.

Harry ran his index finger, slowly, along his holly and phoenix feather wand and waited. "Could you pass the sprouts?" "Twenty inches! I swear she's trying to kill us!"

"Sure thing."

"You wait till your OWLs, you'll be begging for that little."

"They say Potter got a nimbus 2000."

"Wish I'd never taken it."

"Old news!

"And the chicken."

"Saw it at breakfast weeks back!"

Hermione served herself another potato off the big plate in front of her and looked around. The smells of the feast filled her nostrils with beef, gravy, and roast vegetables. The normal thousand floating candles had been replaced with as about as many floating glowing pumpkins and she couldn't help wonder how they got them to stay up there, given what she knew about how long pumpkins could retain magic.

Flint pointed his fork in the air and twirled it. "We'll win that match, no problem. Potter's a nancy boy and our team is nothing but hard hitters this year."

On her left, Daphne coughed in the middle of a separate conversation.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you don't have witches on the team? Because they're not hard hitters?"

Flint frowned. "Now, see here, Granger, it's not that I don't want witches on the team, Merlin knows it would liven up the locker room, it's just that none of the few who applied managed to beat the best wizards, see? Most of the families don't like their daughters playing."

"So if a witch did apply and could beat the current hopefuls then you'd let her on?"

"Well," Flint stroked his chin, "There is the cohesion factor to consider. Most of our lot have played together since they were kids. Got really good teamwork together, you know. She'd have to be really something special…"

Hermione shook her head and busied herself with her plate again. She may trust Harry with absolute power over her, but she wouldn't trust most of this lot to sweep the floor. She caught a snatch of conversation from Tracey.

"—was really surprised by our Potter's performance. He beat you, Daph. Might it not be a good idea to talk to him? I mean, it's not as though you give a damn what Snape thinks."

Daphne moved her food about on her plate. "We shall see." She speared a fine slice of beef, took a dainty bite, chewed, swallowed, laid down her knife and fork, and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "Potter is an unknown quantity. We don't want to just rush in. I'll grant you that he is starting to look more… interesting, but that is no reason to throw ourselves at him."

Hermione suppressed a snort. If there was a throw-yourself-at-Harry-competition, the Greengrass Heiress would certainly come out tops. She'd never seen her act the way she did with Harry with anyone else.

She glanced around, but of course Harry wasn't there. He would be up at the third floor corridor by now, waiting for the mass panic caused by Quirrell barging into the great hall to check out the stone's defences.

Hermione took another bite of food and glanced at the large entrance door to the great hall. Any moment now…

And then Quirrell entered the hall from the side door and calmly sat down at the staff table.

Dumbledore watched Quirrell take his seat at the head table, turned back forward, and surveyed his dominion. Things had quietened down over the last month. He hadn't heard anything from Lord Slytherin, Tom hadn't seemed to make any moves, and Harry Potter was so isolated the boy hadn't even bothered to turn up to the Halloween feast.

On the other hand, such timidity between Tom Riddle and Harry Potter did mean any possible confrontation between the two seemed less and less likely. That wasn't so useful.

Dumbledore picked up his goblet and swirled it.

There was also the fact that Lord Slytherin knew the prophecy from when the man had broken into his office. If Slytherin cared about it at all, it was hard to tell. John had no clue who Slytherin was, apparently, and Slytherin hadn't seemed to make the connection between the prophecy and Harry. Lily and James also hadn't changed their behaviour towards him, so it was unlikely Slytherin had told them, thank Merlin.

Speaking of John Potter… where was he?

The doors to the great hall slammed open.

"TROLL!"

He stared.

All talk ceased.

John Potter ran down the middle of the hall between the two tables. "On the seventh floor!" He reached halfway between him and the door. "Thought you ought to know." Then fainted.

Silence. Then someone giggled. Laughter broke out across the entire hall, great heaving belly laughs.

He stood up. "Silence!"

The laughter died instantly.

"Prefects, lead your houses back to your dormitories." Eyes widened around the hall. One girl shrieked but was quickly shushed. So much for a quiet month.

"Did you see that?" Hermione hissed.

"Yes." Replied Daphne.

"It was him."

"Yes."

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