Chapter 13: Halloween Incidents
By early October, a breakthrough had been made. With the help of their dedicated volunteer, Argus Filch, Severus Snape had successfully brewed the first iteration of the Magical Activation Potion. Over the following weeks, data was meticulously collected, and by Halloween, Snape presented Solim with the third, significantly improved version. Eager to test its efficacy, Solim decided to skip Herbology and the dreaded Flying lesson that afternoon—he hadn't attended a single one since term started, as there was no practical exam to worry about. His absence went largely unnoticed, though Harry Potter's flying prowess had earned him a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a fact that buzzed through the castle.
Two corridors away from the Slytherin common room lay a hidden chamber Solim had repurposed for private potions work. Today, it served as a temporary laboratory to observe Filch.
"Argus, the results from the first two trials were promising. This is the third iteration; the effects should be even more pronounced." Solim uncorked the vial Snape had given him that morning and handed it to the caretaker. "You know the procedure."
The latent magic within Filch was like a boulder blocking a tunnel. The first potion had been like a weak firecracker, barely making a dent. The second was more like dynamite; it worked, but the backlash had been violent, causing Filch's pores to seep blood. Without Snape's swift intervention, the outcome could have been disastrous. Yet, that second experiment was a crucial breakthrough: for a fleeting moment, Filch had been able to consciously channel his magic. It gave Snape and Solim a new direction: if a powerful blast was too dangerous, perhaps a slower, more controlled erosion would work.
Solim was cautiously optimistic about this new version. Even if the progress was slower, safety was paramount.
Filch didn't hesitate. He took the vial and drank its contents in one determined gulp. Despite the trauma of the second trial, the mere possibility of wielding magic was worth any risk. To be free of the Squib's curse, to become a true wizard—that was a prize he would pay almost any price for.
"Aren't you worried about another... accident?" Solim asked, the familiarity born of their shared secret allowing for a dark jest.
"You're not a Squib. You could never understand," Filch replied, settling into his chair with a practiced calm. He had learned the rhythm of these experiments.
Solim raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He wasn't a Squib, that was true. But his drive to save his sister gave him a profound understanding of Filch's desperate hope.
A comfortable silence fell. Solim made notes in his small, leather-bound journal, while Filch sat with his eyes closed, intently focusing on the sensations within his body. This was their routine.
By the time they were satisfied with the results and left the room, the Halloween feast in the Great Hall was nearly over. Solim and Filch walked briskly towards the entrance, their stomachs empty.
"Wait, Argus," Solim said suddenly, grabbing the caretaker's arm. "Do you smell that? It smells like... a troll."
He mentally kicked himself. He'd forgotten that a troll incident was part of the Halloween tradition in Potter's first year. He had no innate cultural connection to the holiday, and the memory had slipped his mind until now.
"Filch, something's wrong. Get to the Great Hall, find the professors. Tell them there's a troll in the castle, numbers unknown."
He waved off Filch's concerned look. "Don't worry about me. I can handle a troll. I'm more worried about a younger student stumbling into it. Go, now!" With a flick of his wand, he cast the Bubble-Head Charm on both of them, the foul stench becoming instantly manageable.
Leaving Filch to his task, Solim sprinted towards the girls' bathroom on the second floor. As he rounded the corner, his fears were confirmed: a fully grown mountain troll, twelve feet tall and reeking of filth, was bending its thick head to enter the bathroom, attracted by the sound of crying within.
Solim's wand, held in his left hand, snapped up. "Avis!" A flock of small, twittering birds erupted from his wand tip, swarming the troll's head. Distracted and enraged, the creature stumbled back from the doorway, swatting at the magical nuisances with its crude club.
Inside the bathroom, Hermione Granger, hearing the commotion, wiped her tears and cautiously peered out.
Her scream was piercing, a sonic weapon that made even the prepared Solim flinch.
"Merlin's beard, she could weaponize that," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Hermione, get back inside!" he yelled, but the troll, now thoroughly annoyed by the birds and attracted by the new, louder noise, began lumbering towards the bathroom entrance again.
Hermione stood frozen, petrified, as the massive creature advanced.
Seeing the troll raise its club, Solim didn't have time for a precise spell. He shot a hasty, non-verbal Impediment Jinx in Hermione's direction, hoping to shove her out of the way. Not waiting to see the result, he charged into the bathroom. His jinx had been rushed; what if he'd thrown her into a wall?
His heart hammered against his ribs as he burst in. Hermione was cowering in a corner, trembling as the troll loomed over her, its club held high. She seemed to have forgotten how to scream.
Solim sent a Stunning Spell slamming into the back of the troll's lumpy head. The beast staggered, turned, and its small, dull eyes fixed on this new irritant. "Hermione, get into a stall! Now!" Solim shouted. The command broke her paralysis, and she scrambled into the nearest cubicle, slamming the door shut.
"Good, now you're paying attention to me," Solim said, his wand tip steady, aimed between the troll's eyes. It was too close to Hermione; a full-body-bind or a simple knock-out could make its dead weight crush her. He needed a more definitive solution. "Then you can lie down. For good."
"Incendio!" he hissed, focusing the spell with brutal precision.
A jet of concentrated flame, no larger than a fist, shot forward, striking the troll squarely on the bridge of its nose. There was a sizzling sound, and the smell of burnt flesh joined the stench in the air. The troll stood motionless for a two-count, a look of stupid confusion in its eyes, before it collapsed forward like a felled tree, hitting the floor with a ground-shaking thud.
Hermione, peering through the gap under the stall door, had witnessed the entire, terrifying event. Shaken but now clear-headed, she crawled out and scurried to stand behind Solim, clutching the back of his robes.
With a wave of his wand, Solim cast a series of Cleaning Charms on her, removing the grime from her crawl across the floor. "While I'm aware this is the girls' bathroom," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm, "might I ask why you're here? Did you leave the feast early?"
Before she could answer, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. It sounded like only two people—not professors. Harry and Ron appeared in the doorway, their mouths agape at the scene of destruction, the felled troll, and the unscathed pair. Before they could form a question, another, heavier set of footsteps approached.
Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell arrived moments later. McGonagall's face was white with fury as she took in the shattered sinks and the prone troll. Snape swept past the boys without a glance, going straight to examine the creature. Quirrell took one look, let out a whimper, and slid down the doorframe in a dead faint.
"Quite the performance," Solim noted dryly, recognizing the act.
"What on earth were you thinking?" Professor McGonagall's voice was dangerously quiet, the prelude to a storm. "Do you have any idea—"
"Professor, it was me," Hermione interrupted, her voice trembling but determined. She looked at Ron's hurtful words from earlier. "I read about trolls and thought I could handle one. I was arrogant and wrong. If it weren't for Solim—"
Solim cut her off. "Oh, come off it, Hermione. Who do you think you're fooling with that story?" He slid his wand back into its holster. The professors were here; the danger was past. "A good lie needs careful weaving, not spur-of-the-moment nonsense. Let's just be honest."
"Mr. Selwyn," Snape's voice cut through the tension, cold and flat. "Did you kill this troll?" It was phrased as a question, but his tone left no room for doubt.
"I did," Solim confirmed with a nod. "Subduing it would have been more complicated. And given Miss Granger's proximity, a permanent solution seemed the safest course of action."
"You know what I am asking," Snape pressed, his black eyes boring into Solim's.
"Fine, fine," Solim sighed, feigning exasperation. "It was a weakened, highly focused Fire-Making Charm. A simplified variant. Short duration, minimal area of effect. It won't burn down the castle." He gestured to the troll's head. "As you can see, the burn is localized. Besides, Professor, I'm eleven. Do you honestly think I could produce a full Confringo? And even if I could, I certainly couldn't stop it. You know standard damage spells are largely ineffective on an adult troll. To control the situation, I had to eliminate the threat."
"Very well. Twenty points to Slytherin," Snape said curtly. He then turned his gaze to Harry, a sneer twisting his features. "And can either of you… heroes… explain your presence here?"
"We—we were worried about Hermione!" Ron stammered. "She wasn't at the feast, so we thought—"
"So, instead of informing a member of staff, you took it upon yourselves to hunt a mountain troll?" Snape's voice was silkily contemptuous. "Perhaps the famous Harry Potter thought he could manage it?" He glanced at Professor McGonagall. "They're all yours, Minerva."
Professor McGonagall looked as though she'd swallowed something sour. She knew her Gryffindors. Hermione's cover story was flimsy, but Harry and Ron's reckless bravery was painfully typical.
"While their judgment was… severely lacking," she said stiffly, "they were motivated by concern for a classmate. For that… bravery… I award Gryffindor five points each." She glared at the three Gryffindors. "Now, get back to your common room. Immediately."
Snape gave a final, disdainful look and swept out of the bathroom, his robes billowing behind him. Solim watched him go, noting the slight limp. Probably got bitten by that three-headed dog, he thought. Best not to bother him tonight.
"You… you… l-l-leave this to m-me," Quirrell stammered, picking himself up from the floor.
Solim glanced at the trembling professor as he passed. "A shame," he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.
He guided a still-shaken Hermione out of the bathroom, ignoring the two Gryffindor boys. "Come on, it's Thursday. Neville and Draco will be waiting for us." Once they were in the corridor, he asked, "Now, tell me what really happened."
After hearing her story about Ron's cruel "no friends" comment, Solim let out a derisive snort. "So you endangered your life because of a jealous idiot? Remember our discussion on the Dark Arts? Jealousy is a classic fuel for it. Don't be a fool, Hermione. Your intellect is worth a thousand of his thoughtless remarks."