Chapter 148: Quirrell Being Held Accountable
Time: 7:10 PM
Ron and Harry exchanged uneasy glances. They braced for the inevitable deduction of house points, but instead saw something surprising—Draco Malfoy, for once, was calmly conversing with the professors. The same boy who often seemed like a caricature for always threatening to "tell his father" now stood composed and capable. In that moment, his figure appeared slightly taller in their eyes.
Professor Snape knelt beside the troll, examining it closely. Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron, her lips pale and tight, eyes filled with a mix of anger, shame, and concern.
"Scourgify." she muttered with a flick of her wand.
A wave of cleansing magic washed over them—Harry, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and even Ron were all scrubbed clean from troll gore and filth.
"Did that spell clean everyone evenly, or did it just target the cursed spots?" Harry thought, Ravenclaw instincts suddenly kicking in as he wondered about the mechanics of the magic.
"Whose cleaning charm was that?" Snape asked coldly, rising from beside the troll.
"What, Professor?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't an Unforgivable Curse. Are you trying to deduct points from Harry now?"
Crabbe and Goyle looked at Draco, slightly worried, while Ron gave him an admiring glance.
"So it was Harry Potter," Snape murmured. "No… I'm not deducting points. I'm just curious what kind of spell was used. It's not dark magic, but… it was extremely powerful."
For a brief moment, Snape's expression softened—just a bit—and he regarded Harry with a glimmer of restrained pride.
Harry blinked. It was the kind of look he hadn't seen since he made Seeker in his first year.
Professor McGonagall, catching this sudden change in Snape's demeanor, blinked in surprise herself. Quirrell, who had been feigning weakness near the toilet, stiffened in alarm.
"Professor Quirrell knows best," Ron chimed in quickly. Now that he was clean, his voice returned with surprising speed and boldness, eager to make up for his earlier silence.
"It was just the Periculum spell. A variant," Harry explained.
"No," Quirrell stammered, suddenly losing his usual hesitant cadence. "That's not just a spark charm. Dumbledore mentioned it in an old text—it's tied to purification and destruction. Normally, it incapacitates. But this... it killed a full-grown troll."
"Professor Quirrell, what—what are you saying?" Draco interrupted with biting sarcasm. "Is the troll school property? Do we owe Hogwarts compensation? My father is a school governor, after all."
"No, Mr. Malfoy, I-I was just… surprised," Quirrell quickly backpedaled and resumed his usual nervous stammer.
"That's enough, Quirinus Quirrell!" Snape snapped, his voice cold as ice. "My students nearly died fighting this troll. What concern of yours is the spell's nature? Your negligence is what's truly in question."
Quirrell slumped further, sobbing softly and refusing to meet anyone's gaze.
Professor McGonagall turned to Draco next, eyes sharp. "Mr. Malfoy, you're a Slytherin. We were searching the dungeons. Why didn't you follow your prefect and inform us instead of acting on your own?"
"If we had waited… Crabbe might've been crushed," Draco muttered, voice cracking. He blinked rapidly, as if on the verge of tears. Ron and Harry stared, stunned by the genuine emotion.
McGonagall exhaled sharply.
"Quirinus," she said at last, using his full name with unmasked fury, "I once believed you had the makings of an excellent professor. And yet you forgot a student in the fifth-floor bathroom while a troll was loose in the castle."
Quirrell said nothing.
"I understand the trauma from your travels… but what about after you fainted and were revived? Where were you?" she demanded.
Quirrell remained silent.
"I assumed young Mr. Crabbe had returned to his common room," he finally stammered, shifting uncomfortably. "Isn't it the prefect's responsibility to do a headcount?"
It was an evasive reply—understandable, perhaps. After all, Quirrell had once been her student at Hogwarts, and old habits die hard. But his true reason couldn't be admitted: during that time, he'd been sneaking into the restricted section on the fourth floor, trying to breach Dumbledore's protections around the Philosopher's Stone.
"Well," McGonagall said, eyes narrowing, "you're lucky this group survived. Not many first-years can handle a full-grown troll. Each of you has earned five points—for both Slytherin and Ravenclaw. I'll inform the Headmaster."
She pursed her lips and swept out of the room, Snape and Quirrell trailing behind her in silence.
As they exited, the air finally seemed to clear. Whether it was the distance from the troll's stench or the lingering effect of Harry's spell, everyone could finally breathe freely again.
"We should've gotten twenty-five points each," Ron muttered bitterly. "That was a troll, Harry. You deserved more."
"Oh, and since when did I give you permission to speak for us?" Draco said in his usual drawn-out tone. "Besides, Crabbe didn't cast anything—shouldn't count."
"You didn't say that in front of Professor McGonagall," Ron retorted. "She said each of you earned five points. That includes Crabbe."
"Fine," Draco rolled his eyes. "But don't get too comfortable, Weasley."
Then he cleared his throat. "You may call me Draco now. 'Ron'… ugh, such a plain name."
"We're heading to the sixth floor," Harry said. "You lot are going back to the dungeons, right?"
"Indeed," Draco said, then called out, "Let's go, Gregory, Vincent."
Crabbe and Goyle lumbered off behind him, grinning—each looking dumber than the other, but unusually cheerful.
"Draco Malfoy," Ron muttered, "he's not so bad. He did step up tonight."
"Don't forget," Harry said, "we helped him first. If we hadn't locked the troll in with them, he wouldn't have needed rescuing."
"Still, the troll was already hurt when we got there," Harry added.
"Don't remind me," Ron groaned. "I won't be able to look at meat for a week. They're Slytherin, all right—aimed there. That's pretty low."
"Well, trolls have high magical resistance," Harry reasoned. "Their weak points are few. If I were in Draco's shoes, I would've aimed for the same spot. The head's too small to hit anyway."
"Remind me to be grateful you were behind it," Ron said. "Otherwise, I don't know what else would've exploded on me."
"I need a shower before I can even think about food," he added darkly.
They reached the spiral staircase to the Ravenclaw Tower and stood before the familiar bronze eagle knocker.
"What can't you buy with Galleons?" the statue asked in its calm, lilting voice.
"Time," Harry answered automatically.
The door swung open.
Inside, the Ravenclaw common room was abuzz with energy. Laughter, chatter, and the clinking of plates filled the air as students dug into the Halloween feast that had been sent to the houses.
Only Anthony Goldstein stood at the door, waiting like a loyal sentry. He eagerly handed over a plate to Harry.
Ron waved vaguely and ran up to the dormitory, face pale.
"What's wrong with him?" Anthony asked. "He refused food?"
"Don't ask," Harry said, accepting the plate. "I'm starving."
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