Outside the girls' bathroom.
The dim light barely illuminated the corridor, where a foul stench hung in the air—a mix of sewage and socks left to fester in a pile.
A low grumbling sound mingled with the heavy thud of thick feet stomping on the stone floor.
Two first-year students crouched behind a corner, just a dozen feet from the troll, peeking out with half their heads exposed, clinging to the wall. Fear, excitement, and nerves swirled together, making their legs feel a bit wobbly.
"It went into the room," one whispered.
"I saw it," the other replied.
"The key's still in the lock," Harry murmured, keeping his voice low. "We could lock it in there, keep it contained, and go find Hermione without worrying."
"Good idea."
"…"
The two whispered back and forth, then crept along the wall toward the door, hearts pounding louder than their cautious footsteps, terrified the troll might suddenly burst out swinging its massive club.
Harry judged the distance, then leapt forward, yanking the key from the lock and slamming the door shut with a loud bang.
The lock clicked firmly into place.
"Done!"
They let out a cheer, hearts racing even faster.
They'd defeated the troll!
It was safe now.
The two first-years, faces flushed with excitement, turned to head down the corridor to find Hermione. But after just a few steps, they nearly collided with a professor's looming figure.
"P-Professor Levent," Harry stammered.
Caught red-handed breaking the rules.
Harry's stomach churned as he studied the professor's expression. "Professor, we didn't mean to break any rules. We were looking for Hermione. She wasn't in the Great Hall during the evacuation, and Lavender said she was in the girls' bathroom, so we came to warn her about the troll."
Professor Melvin paused, then asked, "One question, gentlemen. If the young witch you're talking about was in the bathroom, care to guess what room you just locked the troll into?"
!!
Harry and Ron's minds exploded with realization, cold sweat soaking their backs as identical looks of horror spread across their faces.
A twelve-foot mountain troll locked in a cramped bathroom with a first-year barely four feet tall, with no way to escape… They could hardly bear to think about it.
Ron, voice trembling with desperation, pleaded, "Professor, please, save Hermione! You've got to save her!"
"Didn't you call her a nightmare?" a light, teasing voice chimed in. "Why save her now?"
"I didn't mean it! She's not a nightmare, she's a good student! Please, save her!"
Harry caught the odd tone in the voice and glanced behind the professor. Relief washed over him. He looked at his near-tearful roommate, cheeks burning, and tugged at Ron's robe.
Ron swatted his hand away, still sobbing. "What are you doing? We've got to explain to the professor, get him to save Hermione! If anything happens to her, we're troll accomplices! It's my fault, all my fault…"
Harry sighed, exasperated, and turned Ron's face toward the small witch standing nearby. "Take a look at who this is."
"Hermione? Hermione!?"
"…"
"You weren't in the bathroom!"
"If I was, you two would've gotten me killed."
"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have called you a nightmare. It's all my fault…"
"I haven't exactly been perfect either. I'll do better from now on."
"No, it's our fault."
"…"
Professor Melvin watched quietly as the trio's friendship solidified in this pivotal moment. His gaze shifted to the trembling wooden door. "Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to interrupt your reconciliation, but if we don't open the door for Mr. Troll soon, he's going to make quite a mess."
The three young witches and wizards froze, turning to look.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The old wooden door groaned under heavy blows, wood chips and dust shaking loose. The sound of splintering grew louder, and the door's trembling intensified.
The pounding stopped for a few seconds.
Then, with a deafening crash, the thick wooden door shattered.
Splinters and dust flew everywhere, leaving only two fragments clinging to the metal hinges. As the twelve-foot mountain troll lumbered out, its bulging muscles crushed the remaining wood into splinters.
The troll's arms were nearly twice as long as its legs, its massive body topped by a head the size of a Bludger, grotesquely disproportionate. A long, crude club dragged behind it. Its grayish-green skin, caked with dried mud, gave off a nauseating stench.
The troll paused, eyeing the group of four warily before locking onto them. After a moment's hesitation, it lumbered forward, raising its club.
"Professor…" Ron's voice quavered.
The other two said nothing, bodies tense, hands reaching for their wands, each gripping them differently.
Melvin noted Hermione holding her wand properly, ready to cast, while Harry gripped his backward, like a dagger, as if he might charge the troll and stab it.
"…"
Melvin sighed. "I'm the Muggle Studies professor. Dumbledore never said I'd have to teach combat."
Hermione shot him a skeptical glance, mentally preparing a spell while calculating how long it'd take for the headmaster to arrive. The commotion surely hadn't gone unnoticed.
Harry realized he was holding his wand wrong, corrected his grip, and suggested, "Should we run and get Professor Dumbledore or McGonagall?"
Ron nodded frantically. "Yeah, yeah, the troll can't catch us!"
"Forget it. I'll take this lesson for now," Professor Levent said.
The first-years looked up, eyes glued to the professor, eager to see how he'd wield his wand, to witness a grown wizard's true battle magic up close.
Melvin, about to cast wandlessly, paused. Out of professional duty, he drew his wand and recited clearly:
"Aguamenti!"
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The three first-years blinked, confused. These spells didn't match their expectations of battle magic. They were too basic, too simple—spells they'd been practicing just that morning.
A shimmering orb of water formed in midair, reflecting the dim light like scattered silver scales, almost dazzling.
The troll glared irritably at the floating water blocking its path. Before it could swing its club, the water drifted closer, gently enveloping its head.
The troll opened its mouth to roar in pain, its throat convulsing, but no sound came. Bubbles poured from its nose and mouth as water flooded its gaping jaws, muffling its cries into smaller, fragmented bubbles.
Veins bulged on the troll's forehead, its face twisting into a grotesque, terrifying mask. Its body convulsed, staggering, hands flailing uselessly. The floating water clung stubbornly to its head, unaffected by its thrashing.
Within seconds, the troll's brute strength faltered. Its tense body went limp, collapsing backward. Its limbs twitched weakly, like a stranded fish slowly ceasing to struggle.
The water, now murky with the troll's caked mud, rippled with sediment. When it stilled, tiny bubbles occasionally surfaced.
The three students stared at the fallen troll, stunned.
Splash.
The murky water dispersed, splashing onto the floor with a clear sound.
The students snapped out of their daze, wanting to say something but finding their throats dry. Cold sweat coated their backs, a chill settling in their bodies and hearts.
"No worries, it's just passed out from drowning," Melvin reassured them, dutifully following his demonstration with a lecture. "Trolls come in three types based on their habitat: mountain, swamp, and river. They're ferocious, incredibly strong, and covered in a tough, muddy hide that resists most spells. In a safe situation, drowning them is the quickest way to incapacitate them. That said, these creatures are natural swimmers with remarkable resilience. It'll recover soon."
Hermione watched the unconscious troll. Water was slowly draining from its airways, and its chest still rose faintly, showing signs of life.
"…"
Professor Levent hadn't cruelly killed the troll.
She let out a quiet breath, unsure why she felt relieved.
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, saying nothing. This professor was… odd. Reliable at times, terrifying at others.
Moments later, Professor McGonagall arrived in a hurry, followed by other professors. Snape and Quirrell trailed behind. Quirrell, seeing the troll on the ground, seemed distraught, clutching his turban and letting out a weak sob.
Melvin's eye twitched. To an outsider, it might look like the troll was Quirrell's Halloween date.
McGonagall surveyed the scene, her expression stern. "Melvin, what happened here?"
Melvin paused, then began, "It started about an hour ago. I was heading to the feast after a late return and ran into Miss Granger on her way to the bathroom. We chatted briefly. Then we saw students evacuating the Great Hall. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, concerned for their friend, came to warn us about the troll. On their way, we ran into the real thing, and…" He gestured to the troll on the ground.
Snape inspected the troll, then looked up at McGonagall. "Drowned and unconscious," he said grimly.
Quirrell abruptly stopped sobbing.
…
An hour later, in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory.
Hermione, fresh from washing up, changed into her winter nightgown. Folding her wizard robes to put in the laundry basket, she found a hazelnut chocolate in her pocket. She paused, checking it for a production or expiration date.
Two of her roommates were asleep; two were still awake.
Parvati sat on her bed, halfheartedly skimming her Transfiguration textbook, glancing at it, then at her roommate, then back at her roommate, then at the book… before quietly turning it right-side up.
Lavender, far less subtle, had been tucked in but threw off her covers and sat up, chattering excitedly. "Hermione, where were you? Did you run into the troll?"
"You?" Hermione asked.
"We didn't see you on the way back, so we told the Weasley prefect, who told Professor McGonagall. The boys said Harry and Ron were missing too."
"…"
Hermione repeated Professor Levent's account, sticking to the truth but tweaking the details just enough. Everything tonight was a pure accident—no student lost points.
Parvati set her book down, eyes gleaming with envy. Gryffindors weren't known for staying out of trouble.
Lavender's eyes widened with curiosity. "Why did Harry and Ron go looking for you themselves instead of telling a professor?"
Hermione paused. She'd asked the same question earlier, with no answer. "Maybe their brains don't turn corners well," she said calmly.
"Like a troll's?"
"…Yeah."
"How did Professor Levent handle the troll?"
"Aguamenti and Wingardium Leviosa to drown it," Hermione replied, glancing at Lavender, knowing her interest in Levent. Worried she might think him cruel, she added, "It just passed out, not killed."
"Cool-headed, winning with wits, not violence—must've been so elegant, right?"
"…" Hermione paused, recalling the scene, and gave a soft, "Mhm."
"Did they figure out how the troll got into the school?"
"Something about the professors needing one for work," Hermione said, relaying what she'd overheard. "Professor Quirrell, for Defense Against the Dark Arts, bought an extra one as a teaching tool for older students. It was kept in an abandoned classroom, but it escaped during Halloween with no one watching."
"Will Quirrell get sacked?"
"Probably not. McGonagall said they'd discuss what to do with the troll with Dumbledore, but no mention of punishing Quirrell."
"That's a shame…"
Parvati and Lavender sighed, disappointed. If Professor Levent was a favorite among the girls, Quirrell was the opposite—oddly dressed, unkempt, with a turban he never changed, reeking so badly no one sat in the front row during his classes.
"Mhm," Hermione agreed, steering clear of their fashion talk. She looked at the chocolate in her hand, her mind drifting to her few interactions with Professor Levent.
He'd noticed her discomfort right away.
Always had candy in his pocket.
Casually suggested sharing it to help her get along with classmates.
Told ill-timed stand-up comedy jokes.
Cast a wind-blocking charm during courtyard chats.
Effortlessly subdued a 5X-level dangerous creature.
"…"
Quite a gentle professor, wasn't he?
Tucking her clothes into the basket and slipping off her shoes, Hermione climbed into bed. By the faint light, she studied the hazelnut chocolate again. Honeydukes' production was sloppy—no manufacture or expiration date.
Normally, candy like this lasted six months. Handmade, without preservatives, it could be a week or thirty days.
Maybe wizarding techniques included preservation charms?
Hermione squeezed the candy, pursing her lips.
It'd be a shame to toss it. She'd ask Professor Levent about it later.
To avoid any misunderstanding, to clarify: Hermione is being treated like a younger sister, not as some forbidden teacher-student romance.
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