Trolls are not native to the British Isles. Their homeland is the distant Scandinavian Peninsula, where they are creatures of nightmare and legend. With no fixed diet, any living thing can become their meal—including humans. During the Middle Ages, their immense strength and tough, rock-like hides made them a terrifying threat, capable of tearing through a squad of armored knights with ease.
Fortunately, their low intelligence is a fatal flaw. They possess brute strength but rarely know how to use it effectively. Sometimes, a simple Levitation Charm is all it takes to defeat one. But if that fails, the only sane response is to run. At close range, a wizard's duel with a troll almost always ends in death.
"It's over," the prefect said, pinching his nose as he admired his handiwork. The first troll was now trussed up tightly in the transfigured vines, completely immobilized.
Most wizarding battles, unless defined by a massive disparity in power, are won through skill and cleverness. This prefect, despite having no prior experience, had used a flawless chain of spells to subdue his opponent.
"Quickly," he ordered the younger students, clapping the dust from his hands. "Go and inform the professors. The troll has been dealt with by Slytherin."
The crisis appeared to be over. Yet Dudley's brow was furrowed. His senses, acutely sensitive to smells, told him the stench in the air was somehow growing thicker. He could feel a faint, rhythmic tremor through the soles of his shoes.
Just as the prefect turned his back, a second head slowly emerged from around the corner behind him. Eyes the size of pumpkin lanterns stared intently at the prefect's unprotected back.
Another troll. And this one was even bigger. Its hulking form was so massive it nearly scraped the stone ceiling of the corridor.
"What?" the prefect asked, seeing the looks of pure terror on the faces of the students. He spun around just in time to see a monstrous head looming less than two meters above his own, its huge, yellow eyes fixing him with a hungry stare.
He had only a split second to instinctively cast a Shield Charm before the troll's massive hand swatted him aside like a fly. He flew through the air and crashed into the far wall with a sickening thud.
This troll was clearly more intelligent than the first. It had immediately identified and eliminated the greatest threat. Not all trolls were mindless beasts; the smarter ones even had their own language and, with training, could become brutally effective security guards.
The new troll let out a guttural roar, a sound of unclear meaning to most, but Dudley's innate ability allowed him to grasp its simple, chilling intent.
Hungry. Want to eat.
And its meal was right at its feet. The young Slytherins, already weakened by shock and nausea, were frozen in place. Forgetting how to run, many could barely even stand.
The troll opened its cavernous mouth, revealing a row of yellowed, rotten teeth as it greedily surveyed the buffet of terrified children. Its eyes were filled with ravenous appetite. Dudley could see Pansy Parkinson's delicate, pug-like face contorted in a mask of pure despair.
"For the sake of biscuits and tea," Dudley muttered to himself. He grabbed Malfoy, who had collapsed at his feet, and tossed him to a safer position. Despite his training, Malfoy was still just a boy.
Dudley strode to the corridor wall, curled his fingers, and pulled. With a sharp crack, a slab of stone broke free from the thousand-year-old castle. In the chaos, no one noticed his small act of vandalism. He clenched the heavy stone in his fist, his muscles coiling like a viper.
Then, he hurled it.
The stone flew with impossible speed, a blur of grey aimed directly at the troll's head. To the onlookers, it was as if he had cast a powerful curse, a non-verbal spell of pure destruction.
The head is a troll's primary weakness. Had the prefect known this, a single Blasting Curse to the temple would have ended the first fight before it began. In any battle, knowledge is power.
The rock struck the troll's temple—the weakest point on its skull—with devastating force. The stone itself disintegrated into dust on impact, a testament to the sheer power behind the throw. The troll stumbled, a dent appearing in its thick skull as blood sprayed from the wound.
But that was not the end.
A split second later, a brilliant flash of red light erupted from the point of impact. BOOM!
The troll's head suddenly exploded, the fiery blast illuminating the entire corridor. Dudley had coated the stone in an Exploding Potion, a highly unstable mixture that detonates violently upon impact. It was one of Snape's most dangerous creations, a perfect tool for dealing with thick-skinned beasts. Its power was not merely physical; it carried a payload of pure, destructive magic.
The troll's massive body crashed to the ground without so much as a final grunt. Half of its head was simply gone.
Silence. Utter, deafening silence.
The Slytherin students remained slumped on the floor, staring blankly at Dudley. The scene had been so chaotic, they hadn't seen him throw a rock. In their eyes, he had simply pointed, and with a single, unspoken word, the troll's head had exploded.
A one-spell instant kill. A headshot.
The fifth-year prefect had used every trick he knew just to subdue the smaller troll. Dudley hadn't even blinked. He seemed completely accustomed to such violence.
Cold-blooded. The word burned itself into their perception of him. They remembered the rumors of him turning the Gryffindors against each other with a single spell. It all made sense now.
Such powerful dark magic, they thought, a collective shiver of terror running through them. And he claims he's not a dark wizard?
In truth, Dudley's primary motivation was disgust. The troll's most formidable weapon wasn't its strength but the nauseating stench that rolled off it in waves. No sane person wants to get into a fistfight with a walking latrine, especially not someone like Dudley, whose fighting style relied on close-quarters combat. His combination attack had been brutally effective, and he made a mental note to consider its applications against wizards.
Under the stunned gazes of his housemates, Dudley calmly took out an empty vial and walked toward the fresh corpse. Since it was already dead, he might as well collect some potion ingredients.
This final, chilling act cemented their view of him.
He doesn't even spare the corpse! they thought in horror before a new, even more terrifying idea took root.
Wait... Big D is experimenting with new Dark Arts!
And that is how the legend spread.
[Chapter Complete]
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