Chapter 121: Forward
Fourth‑floor corridor.
A blurred figure moved swiftly along, almost impossible to see with the naked eye.
After hearing Parvati Patil's words, Shawn was fairly sure the plot had not changed.
When he had left the Great Hall just now, he had heard the uproar inside and seen Professor Quirrell's figure.
That confirmed that, at the very least, Tom was unlikely to go on a killing spree. Not unless he wanted Dumbledore to blast him into Tom Mark Two.
All Shawn had to do now was make sure Hermione was safe.
That would not be too hard.
Unless Tom had somehow relocated his brain into the troll's body, Shawn might not be able to defeat the troll outright, but he was certainly capable of getting Hermione out. This time, there was no Harry Potter on the outside, locking the door.
What Shawn had not expected was that more than one person had followed him.
Outside the girls' lavatory on the fourth floor,
A foul stench stabbed into Shawn's nostrils – like mouldy socks mixed with the reek of a public loo that had never been cleaned.
Then he heard it: a low muttering and the sound of huge feet scuffing along the floor.
At the far end of the passage to his left, a massive shape was moving in his direction.
Shawn melted further into invisibility. He needed to find Hermione first.
Then the giant creature lumbered into a patch of moonlight.
The sight was terrifying. It was twelve feet tall, its skin a dull, granite‑grey, its vast, lumpish body like a heap of mud boulders with a cocoa‑bean‑sized head stuck on top.
Its short, thick legs were like tree stumps, ending in flat, calloused feet. The stench rolling off it was enough to make anyone retch. In its hand, it clutched a huge wooden club. Its arms were so long that the club dragged along the floor.
The troll stopped beside a door and peered inside.
Worse, at that exact moment, the door began to wobble faintly, as if someone inside were about to open it.
The sound of the latch stopped at once as the troll squeezed itself into the room.
Shawn matched the troll's pace almost perfectly. With the aid of the Disillusionment Charm and Quietus, he slipped into the lavatory behind it without effort.
The lavatory lay open before him, apparently empty.
In one of the cubicles, however, Hermione had both hands clamped over her mouth.
A troll. It is a troll. A XXXX‑rated creature. First‑years, facing it, would not even have a chance to fight back. They would be too terrified to speak a spell.
The words crashed around Hermione's mind. Worse, she had been crying here for so long that she had no strength left at all.
On top of that, she was now so frightened she could not have managed even a simple Levitation Charm.
Curled up in the cubicle, Hermione looked as if she might faint at any moment.
Outside the cubicle,
Shawn heard the faint, stifled sound of breathing. Through the half‑open door, he saw Hermione's bloodless face.
Her eyes were dull, her lips trembling. She tried to stand but could not.
Shawn's gaze flickered. He let out a quiet breath. There was no room left for hesitation. He stepped into the cubicle. The Disillusionment Charm slid from him like receding tidewater.
His usually calm expression rippled. The troll had appeared ahead of schedule. Waiting for Potter and the others had become meaningless.
…
In the corridor,
To the crowds of students rushing to their dormitories, Neville and Justin, forcing their way upstream, looked very strange.
A troll. Twelve feet tall, weighing over a ton, with thick hide immune to most magical attacks…
Those were the words Professor Quirrell had stammered over and over in Defence Against the Dark Arts, even hauling several students up to answer questions.
In the students' minds, trolls were nearly as terrifying as dragons.
So the children hurrying to their common rooms were all white‑faced, wishing they had more legs so they could run faster.
"Do you think if the troll finds us, we will die?" one boy asked his friend, voice shaking.
"What else? You think you are Shawn? Take on a troll single‑handed, thrash a werewolf with your bare hands, snatch a dragon egg from under a dragon's nose…" the other said, face as pale as anyone's, attempting a joke.
The attempt did nothing for the atmosphere.
Justin and Neville were already struggling for breath.
Especially Justin. He had only just come from the warm kitchens. He had not even had time to throw on a robe and was shivering hard.
"Actually… Shawn is not…" Neville began, wanting to say something, but the words only made the air heavier.
Once they realised Shawn and Hermione had no way to stand against a troll, they ran faster.
Lightning split the sky. Thunder roared overhead.
Wind, rain, the pounding of his own heart – in Justin's mind, they all blended into a gentle woman's voice.
You are about to step into the world of fierce struggles, my child. You must become unbreakable.
I know. Justice is a rugged road. If you truly come to the point where you must choose between lives, my child, Justin, remember this: what you need then is not your wand, but your courage.
When was a person unstoppable?
Justin thought it was at the moment he listened to the greatest voice of his life – his mother's call.
In the Hope Room,
A yellowed envelope still lay on an expensive trunk. Mrs Finch‑Fletchley had chosen the trunk herself and all but wrestled her longing into it.
The envelope trembled slightly in the draught. Mrs Finch‑Fletchley's handwriting was clear:
Dearest Justin,
In the meaning of life, we are all miracles. Just as the future is not necessarily more important than the present. How can a broken future look a brave present in the eye? Yet I love you, my child. I love you. That is all.
Ever never‑disappointed in you,
Mum (Lilianna)
…
In the Great Hall,
Snape stared at the chattering students, his dark gaze sweeping the room again and again.
Nothing. Nothing. Still nothing.
With everyone's attention scattered, he had no trouble noticing Quirrell's disappearance as well.
His expression grew darker than ever, especially after he exchanged a look with the equally alarmed Professor McGonagall.
Gone. He is gone…
Snape's thoughts were in chaos. Seeing Dumbledore fixed on some point in the distance, Snape's anger surged up fierce and hot.
"What are you waiting for, Albus? We have to find him! Damn it, we have to find him!" he hissed.
"Severus, do you mean Harry? He just slipped out. Oh, he will be quite all right…" Dumbledore's reply made Snape pause, then he glared at the Headmaster, cold and hard.
Yes. In the eyes of the greatest white wizard of the age, who could compare to Harry Potter?
Knowing that – knowing Harry was surely under Dumbledore's eye – was the only reason Snape had not immediately noticed the boy leaving.
What about the others? The other students?
So. They were expendable. Pawns to be sacrificed.
What waited at the end of the castle staircase?
Quirrell? Or the faceless one?
The Dark Lord, risen again. The grand design to prove the saviour's potential. Pawns walking in shadow…
He had nothing left he could offer this filthy world. He was willing to cocoon himself at the mouth of some shabby, spider‑ridden alleyway.
But there were always things that stood higher than everything else.
Snape's face was like ice as he strode out of the Great Hall.