32. Changes.

It's amusing how much impact a single letter can have. Why should I go out of my way to hunt down Peter Pettigrew when I can have Dumbledore do it for me?

With that one move, I had already shifted the future.

The Philosopher's Stone had been real—shockingly so—and now it rested safely in my Gate of Babylon. Quirrell was still lurking around the castle, oblivious to the fact that his grand prize was long gone. Meanwhile, Pettigrew had been captured on just the second day of school, nearly three years ahead of schedule, leading to Sirius Black's freedom.

What's the point of living in this world if I don't shake things up a little? And I was being smart about it.

I wondered how fate would respond if I kept messing with the timeline. With Pettigrew out of the picture, a whole string of events unraveled. He was the one who had captured Bertha Jorkins, leading to Voldemort's revival. He was the one who ensured Harry's forced entry into the Triwizard Tournament. With him gone, how much would things change?

The next few weeks passed in a comfortable routine. Yue, Rachel, and I continued excelling in our classes. None of the subjects were particularly challenging—we had all studied ahead of time, and both Yue and Rachel were prodigies when it came to magic.

Serenity spent most of her time within my Gate of Babylon, sorting through the treasures she had swiped from the Room of Requirement. She had gone back multiple times, filling her trunk over and over again. The room held a thousand years' worth of lost and forgotten magical artifacts. If it were ever revealed to the public, it would probably be one of the greatest magical discoveries in history.

When we weren't in class, we spent our time curled up in my trunk's expanded space, reading books or working on assignments. It was a quiet, cozy existence—at least for now.

Then came Halloween.

The Great Hall was alive with celebration. Floating pumpkins, enchanted bats, and flickering candlelight created a warm, festive atmosphere. Laughter echoed through the hall, and the scent of roasted meats and sweet desserts filled the air.

But I had my mind on something else.

Sitting at the Ravenclaw table, I casually unfolded the Marauder's Map beneath the table. My eyes scanned the shifting names, looking for something—or rather, someone. And there it was.

Troll – In the dungeon!

Quirrell's panicked voice was about to ring out at any moment, but I wasn't worried. I had already seen where the troll was heading. And more importantly, I knew who was in danger.

Hermione.

Closing the map, I slipped away from the table before the chaos began, already making my way toward the girls' bathroom where she was trapped.

The halls were eerily silent, the distant sounds of the feast muffled behind thick stone walls. Rounding the corner, I stopped just outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall as I waited.

A moment later, a slow, thunderous thud shook the ground.

Then another.

And another.

The troll was coming.

The lumbering creature dragged its massive club across the stone floor, its beady eyes scanning for prey. It hadn't noticed me yet, its attention locked on the door to the girls' bathroom.

Inside, I could hear Hermione shuffling nervously. She had no idea what was outside.

As the troll raised its massive club, preparing to break down the door, it swung open from the inside—and Hermione stepped out.

She froze.

Her eyes widened in sheer terror as she looked up at the towering creature looming over her. The troll let out a guttural growl, already swinging its club downward.

I moved before Hermione could even scream.

A blur of motion—one step forward—and my arm shot up, catching the descending club in my hand. The sheer force of the swing cracked the stone floor beneath me, but I didn't so much as flinch.

Hermione gasped as she saw me standing there, holding back the troll's club with one hand.

The troll let out a confused grunt, trying to push down with all its weight. It didn't budge me an inch.

I sighed. Too easy.

With a flick of my wrist, I twisted the club out of the troll's grasp and swung it back—hard. The club smashed into the troll's chest, sending it flying down the corridor like a ragdoll. It crashed into the wall with a thunderous boom, leaving behind a deep crater in the stone before collapsing to the floor.

Silence.

I dusted off my hands, looking over at Hermione. She was still frozen in place, staring at me with an expression of pure shock.

"…Ryan?" she finally breathed, eyes darting between me and the unconscious troll.

I met her gaze, scratching the back of my head. "Huh, you actually know my name?" I hadn't formally introduced myself to her in classes. "Nevermind, we should get out of here before the teachers arrive."

Before she could respond, I scooped her up into a princess carry and rushed off.

Hermione let out a small squeak, her arms instinctively wrapping around my neck. The rush of wind from my speed caused her hair to flutter wildly, but she barely seemed to notice, her wide eyes locked onto my face.

"W-Wait! What about the troll?" she stammered, glancing back at the crumpled creature in the hallway.

"It's not going anywhere," I replied smoothly, rounding a corner and ducking into an empty classroom before any of the teachers could spot us. I set Hermione down gently, and she stumbled slightly before straightening herself, still flustered.

Her hands clenched the front of her robes as she struggled to find the right words. "That was—how did you—what are you?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Ryan," I answered plainly, smirking at her exasperated huff.

"I know your name!" she shot back, crossing her arms. "But no normal first-year can do that!" She gestured wildly in the direction of the hallway, where the troll lay in a crumpled heap. "You caught its club with one hand! Then you sent it flying like it weighed nothing!"

I shrugged. "Trolls aren't that strong. Just big and dumb."

Hermione's eye twitched at my nonchalant attitude. "You punched a mountain troll across the hallway, Ryan. That's not normal!"

I leaned against the desk, tilting my head. "What's normal, then? Being helpless and waiting for teachers to come save us?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning in thought. She was too intelligent to argue blindly, and she knew I had a point. If I hadn't intervened, she could have been seriously hurt—or worse.

A sudden rush of footsteps echoed down the corridor, the hurried voices of professors carrying through the stone walls. Hermione stiffened, her eyes darting toward the door.

"We need to go," I whispered.

She hesitated. "But—shouldn't we tell them what happened?"

I smirked. "And how do you think they'll react when they find out a first-year single-handedly took down a fully grown mountain troll?"

Her mouth opened, then closed again as realization dawned.

"...Oh."

"Yeah, oh." I tapped her shoulder lightly. "It's easier if we let them assume the teachers handled it. Fewer questions, less trouble."

She still looked conflicted but nodded slowly. "Alright… but I will be asking questions later."

I chuckled. "Looking forward to it."

We slipped out of the room and merged back into the streams of students being ushered to their dorms. As we moved, I caught Hermione sneaking glances at me, her expression a mix of curiosity and determination.

I had a feeling she wasn't going to let this go anytime soon.