The Great Hall was alive with the cheerful sounds of the Halloween feast. The ethereal music of the skeleton band drifted over the students as they enjoyed the lavish spread, and for a moment, life couldn't have been more pleasant.
Just as Dudley was finishing his twenty-eighth lamb chop, Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, burst into the Great Hall. His turban was askew, his face a mask of sheer terror, as if he had just witnessed something from his worst nightmares.
Quirinus Quirrell, a Ravenclaw graduate, was a man who stuttered his way through every lesson. Dudley didn't have a strong impression of the professor, but he was intimately familiar with his scent—a strange, cloying mixture of garlic and something else, something vaguely like decay. It was widely known that Quirrell had been a brilliant and steady academic before a research trip to Albania had changed him completely.
Seeing every eye in the hall fixed on him, he stumbled toward the staff table, collapsing against it. He gasped for air, his voice trembling as he managed to get the words out. "Troll... in the dungeons... thought you ought to know."
With his message delivered, he promptly fainted, slumping to the floor in a heap.
The Great Hall exploded into chaos.
Dudley frowned. Just a troll? he thought. From his research, he knew that Professor Quirrell was reputedly skilled at handling such creatures; he had even subdued a mountain troll once before, a beast far more dangerous than the common dungeon variety. A single troll might pose a threat to students, but for any competent adult wizard, it should be a trivial matter.
Quirrell's terrified performance was highly abnormal. Dudley glanced up at Dumbledore, certain the old wizard had noticed the same discrepancy.
Dumbledore's voice, magically amplified by Sonorus, cut through the panic, calming the younger, more frightened students. "Prefects!" he commanded, his tone low but firm. "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
The students scrambled to their feet, and the Slytherin prefect—the same fifth-year who had led them on their first day—began herding them toward the dungeons. Dudley followed along, uninterested in confronting the troll himself. The only part of a troll useful for Potions was its mucus, and that could be bought at any apothecary. The smell, however, was something no one would ever want to purchase.
As they descended, a peculiar stench drifted up from the corridors below. Dudley's eyes lit up with recognition. Yes, that's the smell.
It was a rancid cocktail of unwashed socks, rotten cabbage, and something indescribably foul that clung to the back of the throat.
Malfoy, who was trailing close behind, wrinkled his nose. "Big D, what is that smell?"
He found out a moment later. "Ugh, it's disgusting!" he gagged, covering his nose and dry-heaving.
His reaction started a chain. The air filled with the sounds of retching as one student after another succumbed. The vile stench of the troll mixed with the acidic smell of vomit created a truly unbearable miasma.
"Troll! It's a troll!" the prefect realized, his eyes darting around nervously. He urged the students to turn back, but it was too late. Many of the younger Slytherins were already doubled over, too sick to move quickly.
To prevent congestion during emergencies, the routes back to the common rooms were segregated. The Slytherins, whose dormitory was the only one in the dungeons, were completely alone. At that moment, the only person in the corridor with the composure to fight was Dudley.
The fifth-year prefect looked incredibly tense, his knuckles white as he gripped his wand. The confident air he'd had on the first day was gone, replaced by a look of sheer desperation as he saw that Dudley was the only student still standing properly.
"Go!" the prefect ordered him. "Quickly, find the other professors!" He clearly had no intention of abandoning his charges to save himself.
"I think it's already too late for that," Dudley said calmly, pointing to the hulking figure that was just rounding the corner ahead.
The stench was now overwhelming. The monster stood twelve feet tall, with dull, granite-grey skin. Its clumsy, boulder-like body was topped with a tiny, bald head. Its short, stumpy legs supported its massive frame, and it gripped a thick wooden club that dragged on the ground, scraping against the stone floor.
"You lot, run! I'll hold it off!" the prefect shouted. He jabbed his wand forward. "Impedimenta!"
A shimmering, transparent barrier materialized in the air before the troll, hindering its clumsy steps and slowing its advance. The prefect's spell was designed to create a physical obstacle, and for a moment, it worked.
But strength was something the troll had in abundance. It let out a guttural roar and brought its massive club down, shattering the magical barrier into a thousand glittering fragments.
The prefect was ready. "Avifors!"
A flock of small, screeching birds erupted from the tip of his wand, swarming the troll's head. The attack was little more than a nuisance, but it served its purpose. As the dim-witted creature swatted at the birds, the prefect seized his chance, aiming his wand at the club.
"Reducto!"
The troll's wooden weapon dissolved into a shower of splinters and dust. The immediate threat of being crushed was gone.
The prefect's wand moved again. Thick, python-like vines erupted from the stone walls, wrapping themselves around the troll's limbs, hoisting its massive body into the air, and leaving it suspended, unable to exert its immense strength. Transfiguration.
Normally, dealing with magical creatures was taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but that class was a joke under Quirrell. This prefect, with no formal training, was improvising brilliantly, relying purely on his own skill and quick thinking.
Dudley watched the seamless chain of spells, his eyes alight with analytical interest. He noted the perfect execution, the clever strategy, and the precise wandwork. He was simultaneously impressed and detached.
He found himself considering how he would have responded in the same situation.
His own strategy would be far simpler. End him before he could cast his first spell.
[Chapter Complete]
***
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