At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor. They drew closer until three figures appeared at the bathroom door—McGonagall in the lead, followed by the caretaker and Quirrell.
The witch strode in, her spine chilling at the sight. Shattered tiles, the stench of troll, the scorched air—and blood, far too much blood, splattered across the floor.
Her instincts kicked in at once. The first troll came into view, and she whipped out her wand. But when she saw its condition—bound, restrained, already subdued—her expression faltered. Fear gave way to astonishment, to confusion.
Then she reached the bathroom itself. Another troll. More destruction. And blood everywhere. For a moment, it felt like she'd stepped into a nightmare.
But once again, the monster was already neutralized.
She wanted answers. But first, she had to know whose blood had been spilled.
Her eyes swept to the boys, Harry and Ron. She had heard Noah's desperate shout earlier and suspected it wasn't theirs, but still—she had to check.
"Are you all right, Potter?" she asked.
"Why did it take so long?" Harry muttered, his voice raw. "Why were there two of those things in the castle?" He didn't say another word.
McGonagall gripped her wand tighter. His question pierced her like a blade. Why had it taken so long? Why were there two trolls loose in the castle? Who was responsible?
"Handle the troll," she ordered Quirrell, stepping closer to the boys to examine them herself.
Quirrell stammered as he flicked his wand, trying to undo the flaming spears pinning the beast. To his own shock, his first attempt failed. McGonagall raised a brow, studying the spell more carefully.
On his second try, Quirrell managed to free the troll, dispelling the flames. The creature, now unbound, didn't attack—it simply collapsed unconscious, leaving Quirrell hovering nervously over it.
McGonagall, satisfied Harry and Ron were unharmed, walked over to the shattered spears.
"Transfiguration?" she murmured, tapping them. At her wand's touch, the four spears reverted into broken pieces of the troll's own club.
The ropes restraining the first troll had been conjured as well—but that spell was different. More advanced.
McGonagall fell silent for a moment, then turned sharply to Ron.
"Weasley. Tell me what happened here."
Meanwhile, Noah had reached the infirmary.
He was nearly at the door when Madame Pomfrey came rushing down the opposite corridor, face damp with sweat from running.
During dinner, when the troll attack was announced, every staff member had been dispatched across the castle. The moment she heard Noah's shout, she hadn't even thought about whose voice it was. She had just sprinted back to her ward.
"Two injured students?" The possibility made her chest tighten. And if it involved a troll… the odds of survival weren't good.
But when she rounded the corner and saw the girl in Noah's arms, her heart nearly stopped.
A jagged stake of wood jutted from Violet's abdomen. No one survived wounds like that for long.
Please, don't let me be too late.
Noah didn't waste words. He carried Violet straight inside and set Hermione gently on a vacant bed.
"She's only got a broken ankle and exhaustion," he explained quickly. Pomfrey glanced at Hermione, noted her steady breathing, and immediately turned her full attention back to Violet.
"Leave her to me," she said firmly, summoning dozens of vials into the air with a flick of her wand.
Noah nodded, passing Violet carefully into her arms.
"Violet Potter. Eleven years old. Injury from a splintered bathroom door, penetrating wound. Incident occurred two minutes ago. Estimated blood loss: one liter. Wound cauterized both sides. Left kidney punctured."
As he stepped back, he relayed every detail he had seen, every observation from his own inspection.
Pomfrey's sharp eyes flicked to him, then she nodded briskly and closed the curtains around Violet's bed.
Noah lingered a moment, staring at the drawn curtains, then turned to Hermione.
His expression softened. Relief flickered there too—because he trusted Pomfrey's skill. She was more than capable of handling what came next.
But as he left the ward, his calm cracked into something darker. Fury simmered beneath his skin, the urge to hunt down whoever was responsible and make them pay.
He knew Quirrell had unleashed the trolls. But he couldn't confront the professor directly. Not openly. Not when Voldemort was involved. That required careful moves.
And still—that wasn't the whole story.
Why had Hermione been crying in the bathroom? In this world, Ron hadn't mocked her. They'd been friends from the start. She shouldn't have been there. So what had changed?
The twins' prank had been hours earlier. Surely that wasn't enough to keep them there this long.
If something else had happened, he would find out. No—he would uncover the truth.
Noah drew a deep breath, forcing himself back into calm. When his gaze cleared, it held a new emptiness—like a vengeful spirit searching for a soul to claim.
He turned, and his eyes met those of an old man approaching.
Dumbledore.
The young and the old locked stares. Noah's calm emptiness against the headmaster's calm pensiveness.
Noah's tongue itched to speak accusations. But he held them back.
Dumbledore was a master manipulator, weaving half the threads in the shadows. But Noah couldn't even call it entirely wrong.
After all—didn't he himself, armed with knowledge of the future, do the same?
The old man had clear goals. And he would do whatever it took to achieve them. Even if it meant sacrifices. Even if it meant sacrificing the Chosen One. All for "the greater good."
"How are they?" Dumbledore asked gently.
Noah walked to the window at the end of the corridor, staring at the night sky.
"They're fine. They'll make it," he said at last.
"Don't worry. Madam Pomfrey is the finest in her craft," Dumbledore reassured, joining him at the window.
"Have you notified the Potters?" Noah asked without turning.
"I met Flitwick on the way. I asked him to tell them in person. A letter would only cause confusion," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard.
"Confusion, huh… Two trolls loose in the castle. Very confusing indeed," Noah muttered.
"I've heard you handled yourself admirably," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Though perhaps… a little cruelly with the second troll." His fingers ran down his beard again, as though weighing the words.
"Did I?" Noah glanced at his hands, crusted with dried blood. He knew the troll wasn't truly at fault. It was stupid, driven only by instinct.
But he didn't care.
He gave Dumbledore no answer, and the headmaster didn't press. Silence stretched between them.
Noah didn't move. He wouldn't—not until he heard the words he was waiting for.
Nearly an hour later, Noah finally turned back toward the infirmary door. Dumbledore watched him, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and followed after.
A second later, the door opened.
Pomfrey stepped out, surprise flashing across her face before she composed herself.
"All went well," she said at once, and Noah's shoulders eased. "Miss Granger should be discharged in two days. Miss Potter, however, will need at least a week."
"Thank you," Noah murmured, bowing his head slightly before turning to go.
"You saved her life," Pomfrey called softly after him. He froze mid-step, not looking back. "Your choice not to remove the wood and to cauterize the wound—it was exactly the right decision. Yes… you saved her life."
Noah didn't reply. He simply walked away.