For all that being manhandled like a house cat had left Professor McGonagall grinding her teeth at Theodore, the instant she heard he was on the same floor as the troll, her expression changed at once. She handed the first-years off to Prefect Percy and drew her wand, striding for the lower classrooms—
—and Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville bolted after her without a heartbeat's hesitation.
McGonagall stared. "I distinctly said: first-years to your dormitories!"
Hermione—normally the model of obedience—set her jaw. "Theo's in danger. We're his friends.
I'm not sitting and waiting for news. I need to see he's safe."
Harry, Ron, and Neville all bobbed their heads in fierce agreement.
McGonagall's brows knotted. Help? With a troll? Its hide drank spells; most first-year charms might as well be feathers. What did they plan to do—Levitate its club and bonk it into submission?
Not the time to argue. Every second mattered.
She didn't even bother protecting her dignity. McGonagall blurred, bones folding with practised economy—a tabby cat streaked down the stairs, angling for the corridor like a thrown knife.
…
In the broader chaos, unnoticed in a corner of the Great Hall, Professor Quirrell slipped toward the fourth-floor staircase. Voldemort's voice coiled in his skull.
Diagon Alley drained me more than expected—and at term's start the staff are scattered. If the Stone is on the fourth floor, this is our cleanest window. While the troll draws their eyes—find it.
Quirrell hurried, face bloodless. Too much delay, and his "master" would pay the price with any currency to hand—including Quirrell himself.
…
The lavatory door burst inward.
A twelve-foot silhouette filled the frame: skin dull and granite-grey, a boulder of a torso topped with a comically undersized cocoa-bean head. The stench arrived a half-second later, a weapon in its own right.
Theodore pinched his nose. In two lifetimes, he had never met a smell so ambitious.
"What do you lot even eat?" he asked, voice nasal. "And… do trolls bathe? Ever?"
The tiny head cocked. Perhaps it caught the mockery, perhaps not. Either way, trolls resolved the insoluble the only way they knew how:
They smashed it.
The club rose. The troll thundered forward.
Theodore didn't flinch. In fact, his mouth curled—eager. Apart from Diagon Alley, he hadn't really cut loose. And since then, his talent sheet had grown fangs. A thick-skulled, thick-skinned troll? Perfect test dummy.
He crooked a finger. "Come on then, big lad. Show me your best."
The club crashed down.
For a beat, delight lit the troll's piggy eyes—there was nothing like the sight of a little thing flattening—
—and then confusion. That hadn't felt like meat and bone. That had felt like striking iron.
It yanked the club up. Theodore stood exactly where he had been, unharmed, sheened in a thin golden film—Adamantine Body, Unclouded Mind—which had absorbed the blow without dimming.
The troll tried again.
THUNK.
THUNK.
THUNK.
Same result. Same unmarked boy. The glow didn't so much as flutter.
Even the troll sensed something was wrong.
Theodore, on the other hand, looked satisfied. A hit like that would trouble most Shielding Charms. Against his defence—especially with Earth-Spirit Core feeding strength up from the stones—this level of force couldn't touch him. He could stand there all evening and let it wear itself out.
And Earth-Spirit Core wasn't only defence. It made power answer when he called.
Crackle-crackle—like muffled thunder—ran along his arms as muscle and vein swelled. He reached forward—
—and grimaced. "Right. You're filthy."
He changed tack and seized the club instead.
The troll clung, outraged. For a breath. Then the pressure pouring through the wood became a landslide. The world flipped: Theodore heaved, lifted the troll clear off the tiles, swung…
…and spiked it into the floor.
Something rattled in the troll's tiny skull. For a woozy, drifting second, reality felt optional.
Wait, it rumbled in muddled Trollish, blinking at him. You… me… same kind?
Which mountains your tribe? What you eat? Why so strong?
Theodore's pleased expression flattened. "I'm what now?"
"You're the troll. Your entire family's the troll," he said crisply—in Trollish—and wrenched the club, whirling the creature up and slamming it down again.
The troll groaned, then peered up with something like wonder. You know my whole family are trolls? Ah. Then you troll too. You must know our clan. Are… are you my father? No wonder Father so strong…
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