Chapter 147: Broken Giant Monster Head
Time: 6:50 PM
As the echoing roar rang through the castle, Professor Quirrell, who was still creeping through the restricted corridor on the fourth floor, turned even paler than usual.
"You fool… why is the troll on the fifth floor?!" snarled a cold voice from the back of his head.
Quirrell winced. He had placed the troll in the dungeon to create a diversion while he tried to bypass the protections surrounding the Philosopher's Stone. Dealing with Hagrid's three-headed dog, Fluffy, had already exhausted him. It was clear now that Voldemort's backup plan—to swindle Hagrid with dragon egg rumors—might be necessary.
"My vault… my galleons… but hehe… once I get the Philosopher's Stone, gold won't matter anymore!" Quirrell muttered as he fled past Professor McGonagall's animated chessboard and startled Fluffy into barking. On his way, he even misled Professor Snape, who had come to inspect the area.
But his moment of satisfaction was short-lived.
"Idiot! Go find Mundungus!" Voldemort snapped. Quirrell clutched his head in pain—his master was punishing him again.
"Mundungus Fletcher has too many connections, but he's a weak link… With a handful of galleons, he'd sell the Minister of Magic's underpants," Voldemort sneered. "Borgin, on the other hand, has been profiting too much lately. He won't bother with smuggling dragon eggs. But Fletcher… yes, that fool is useful."
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Meanwhile, back at the fifth-floor boys' bathroom, Professors McGonagall, Snape, and other staff were rushing from the dungeons toward the source of the commotion.
At the same time, Harry and Ron had mustered the courage to unlock the bathroom door—only to freeze at the sight before them.
Inside, Draco Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were crouched, wands drawn, in an active battle stance. The massive mountain troll, bruised and bleeding, had crossed its thick arms over its waist, protecting its most vulnerable area, unsure what to do next.
Their entrance disrupted the standoff.
The troll turned with a pained snarl, grabbing its club—now damp and stained with leaking pipes—and swung it violently toward the newcomers. As it stumbled forward, it knocked loose tiles and shattered a nearby sink.
"Malfoy! Run interference!" Harry shouted. Desperate to distract the creature, he ripped a faucet from the wall and threw it against the opposite corner.
CLANG!
The troll paused, confused by the sound, and turned its bleary eyes in that direction. At the same time, it kept its hands locked around its lower body, terrified of another targeted hex.
Harry darted behind the troll, hoping to keep its attention divided.
"Hey, you great lump!" Ron shouted, hurling a metal pipe at the beast's back.
Draco and his friends took advantage of the distraction, retreating toward the exit but keeping their wands at the ready, unwilling to abandon the fight.
The pipe barely made the troll flinch, but Ron's shout got its attention. With a rumbling growl, it turned toward him.
"Ron!" Harry whispered urgently. He scanned his mind for spells.
Levitation? No… it's gripping the club too tightly. Stunning? No effect… too magically resistant…
He thought back to his earliest memories at Hogwarts. Something odd... something powerful…
Quirrell. The fireworks spell that had once knocked a grown man senseless.
Harry's eyes lit up.
"Periculum!" he shouted, pointing his wand directly at the back of the troll's head.
The wand flared with red light—brighter, sharper than ever before.
The beam struck the troll's skull—and with a sickening crack, its cranium split like a melon. White brain matter, splashes of gray, and streaks of crimson exploded outward, spraying Ron from head to toe.
The troll groaned once and collapsed backward.
Harry barely dodged in time, rolling away as the enormous body slammed into the ground with a floor-shaking thud.
"Urghh—" Ron dropped to his knees and vomited. His dinner, along with a pool of acidic liquid, poured onto the tile floor.
Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle rushed in. Draco pulled Harry to his feet while the others looked down at Ron with a mix of horror and disgust.
"Honestly, Weasley," Draco muttered, holding his nose, "the sinks are right there. Must you shower in troll innards?"
"Ron, maybe wash off before you speak," Harry added quickly, trying not to gag.
Ron stumbled toward the broken pipe.
"Wait!" Crabbe exclaimed. "Why use the one by the toilet? There's a clean sink right here!"
Ron glared at all three of them, his face red with rage but his mouth firmly shut to prevent anything—liquid or words—from escaping.
Harry and Draco exchanged an awkward chuckle.
Just then, help arrived.
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"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" Professor McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip through the room.
Behind her came Professor Snape, his eyes glinting suspiciously, and finally Quirrell—who let out a theatrical gasp and collapsed on a nearby toilet, clutching his chest.
The room fell silent, save for the dripping of burst pipes and the occasional groan from the half-squashed troll.
"Professor Quirrell!" Draco shouted, pointing. His face was flushed with fury. "You knew there was a troll loose! Crabbe's been in the fifth-floor bathroom this whole time! Why didn't you tell anyone he was alone?"
"And you're the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!" Goyle chimed in angrily.
"I—I—I…" Quirrell stammered.
"I will be writing to my father about this," Draco hissed.
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