Fourth-floor corridor.
A blurred figure was moving quickly—almost impossible to spot with the naked eye.
After hearing Parvati Patil, Sean was pretty sure the plot hadn't changed.
When he'd just left the Great Hall, he'd heard the uproar and seen Professor Quirrell's silhouette. That told him Tom was unlikely to go on a killing spree—unless he wanted Dumbledore to smack him into becoming "Tom 2.0."
From here, Sean only had to make sure Hermione was safe.
That shouldn't be hard.
Unless Tom had somehow put his brain into the troll. Even if he couldn't guarantee a win, Sean could at least get Hermione out—especially since this time there was no Potter to lock the door.
What Sean didn't expect was that more than one person had followed behind him.
Outside the fourth-floor lavatory.
A rank stench hit Sean's nose—the reek of old socks mixed with a never-cleaned public toilet.
Then he heard it—a low muttering and the scrape of massive feet dragging across stone.
At the end of a corridor to the left, something huge was moving toward him.
Sean cloaked himself and aimed to find Hermione first.
But right then the gigantic thing stepped into a shaft of moonlight.
The sight was terrifying: twelve feet tall, skin dull as granite, a hulking, stupid body like a heap of boulders topped by a cocoa-bean-sized head. Its short legs were as thick as stumps; beneath them, flat, callused feet. The stench rolling off it was nauseating. It clutched a massive club; with arms so long, the club dragged on the floor.
The troll halted by a door and peered in.
Worse, the door jittered—someone inside was about to open it.
The sound stopped quickly, because the troll—the reeking troll—squeezed into the room.
Sean matched its pace, slipping after it into the lavatory with the help of Disillusionment and the Quieting Charm.
The room lay bare—apparently empty.
But inside a stall, Hermione was pressing both hands over her mouth.
"Troll! It's a troll! XXXX-level danger—first-years don't even get a chance to fight back! They're too scared to speak, let alone cast!"
That voice careened around her mind. Worse, she'd been crying so long she had no strength left—and now she was so frightened she probably couldn't manage even a simple Levitation.
She huddled in the stall, looking ready to faint at any moment.
Outside the stall.
Sean heard the thin, stifled breaths. Through the half-ajar door he saw Hermione's bloodless face. Her eyes were dim; her lips trembled. She tried to stand but couldn't.
Sean's gaze flickered. He sighed, dropped the last of his hesitation, and slipped gently into the stall as the Disillusionment washed off him like a receding tide.
His normally calm face wavered. The troll had shown up early; waiting for Potter was pointless now.
…
In the corridor.
While crowds of students rushed toward their dormitories, Neville and Justin pushing the other way looked very out of place.
Trolls: twelve feet tall, over a ton in weight, thick hide, resistant to most magic…
That was Defense Against the Dark Arts, repeated in Professor Quirrell's stammer, with pop questions to match. In students' minds, trolls were almost as terrifying as dragons.
So everyone streaming to their Houses was pale as chalk, wishing for extra legs to run faster.
"D'you think if the troll spots us we'll die?" one boy quavered.
"What else? You think you're Sean? Solo a troll, punch a werewolf bare-handed, nick a dragon egg in front of a dragon—" the other joked weakly, but it didn't help.
Justin and Neville were already short of breath—Justin especially, since he'd just come from the warm kitchens and hadn't grabbed his cloak; he was shivering.
"Actually… Sean isn't…" Neville tried to say, but the words only made the air heavier.
Realizing Sean and Hermione couldn't take a troll, they ran faster.
Lightning split the sky; thunder roared.
Wind, rain, the thud of his heart—inside Justin it all became a gentle woman's voice:
"You're about to step into the harsh battles of the adult world, my child. You must become unbreakable.
"I know the road of justice is rough. If the choice you face is life itself, my child—Justin—remember, what you need isn't your wand, but courage."
When is a person unstoppable?
Justin thought: when he answers the greatest voice in his life—his mother's call.
In the Hope Nook.
A yellowed envelope rested on an expensive trunk, the one Mrs. Finch-Fletchley had chosen, crammed with homesick love. The envelope trembled in the draft, the neat hand clear to read:
[Dear Justin,
In the meaning of life, we are all miracles. Just as the future isn't always more important than now—how could a broken future dare to judge a warrior's present? And yet I love you, my child. I love you. That is all.
—Lilliana, who has never once been disappointed in you]
…
Great Hall.
Snape watched the frantic students, his harsh gaze sweeping the room.
No… no… still no…
With everyone's attention scattered, he had no trouble also noting Quirrell's absence. His expression sank even darker; one glance at an equally alarmed Professor McGonagall made it worse.
He wasn't here… He was gone…
Snape's thoughts tangled. Seeing Dumbledore staring a particular direction, fury flared up in him:
"What are you waiting for, Albus! We have to find him! Damn it—find him!"
"Severus—do you mean Harry? He just stepped out. Oh, he'll be fine…" Dumbledore's answer froze Snape for a beat. Then he shot the Headmaster a cold glare.
Of course. In the eyes of the greatest white wizard of the age, who mattered more than Harry Potter?
Knowing that—knowing Harry would be in Dumbledore's hands—was exactly why he hadn't noticed the boy slip out a moment ago.
What about the others? The other students?
Ha… all expendable? Pawns to be sacrificed?
What lay at the end of the castle stairs?
Quirrell—or the "mysterious one"?
The Dark Lord returned, the plan to prove the Savior's mettle, pawns moving in shadow…
He had nothing left to offer this filthy world, and was content to cocoon himself at the mouth of shabby Spinner's End.
But there are always things that stand above all else.
Snape's face like ice, he strode out of the Great Hall.
~~~
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