Chapter 121: Forward
Third-Floor Corridor.
A blurred figure moved swiftly through the shadows, nearly invisible to the naked eye.
After hearing Parvati's words, Sean knew the plot was, for the most part, unchanged. He had seen Quirrell hurry out of the Great Hall just as the feast began, his face a mask of terror. This confirmed that Voldemort's plan was in motion, but also that Dumbledore was present. Tom Riddle wouldn't dare make a major move, not unless he wanted to be personally annihilated by the Headmaster.
Sean's objective was simple: ensure Hermione's safety. It shouldn't be too difficult. Unless the troll had somehow absorbed Tom Riddle's cunning, Sean was confident he could, at the very least, create a diversion and get Hermione out. After all, there was no Ron Weasley here this time to accidentally lock the door.
He hadn't anticipated, however, that he wasn't the only one heading toward the danger.
Outside the third-floor girls' bathroom, an overpowering stench hit him—a foul mixture of stale public toilets and unwashed socks. Then he heard it: a low, guttural groaning and the sound of massive, dragging footsteps.
From a passage to the left, an enormous shadow preceded the creature itself.
Sean remained Disillusioned, his first priority to locate Hermione. He didn't have to wait long. The monster lumbered into a patch of moonlight.
The sight was horrific. It was twelve feet tall, its skin a dull, granite-grey, its lumpy body like a boulder with a tiny, coconut-shaped head perched on top. Its short, thick legs, like tree stumps, ended in huge, calloused feet. The smell was gag-inducing. In one massive hand, it dragged a heavy wooden club.
The troll stopped at a doorway, peering inside. To Sean's horror, the doorhandle began to turn. Someone was trying to come out.
The rattling stopped abruptly. The troll, catching the scent or sound, lowered its head and squeezed its massive frame through the doorway.
Sean moved in perfect sync with the beast. Aided by the Disillusionment Charm and a Silencing Charm on his own movements, he slipped into the bathroom right behind it.
The bathroom was a wreck of splintered wood and shattered porcelain. He scanned the stalls. In the last one, through a gap in the damaged door, he saw a flash of bushy hair. Hermione was huddled inside, her hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her sobs.
"Troll! A Troll! XXXXX-rated monster! A young wizard doesn't stand a chance! They'll be too terrified to even cast a spell!"
The words from The Dark Forces echoed in Hermione's panicked mind. Worse, she had been crying for so long she felt utterly weak, her magic sluggish and unresponsive. She was terrified, convinced she couldn't even manage a simple Levitation Charm. She cowered in the stall, feeling light-headed, on the verge of fainting.
Outside the stall, Sean heard her ragged, suppressed breaths. He saw her pale face, her trembling lips, the way she struggled uselessly to get to her feet.
His gaze hardened. All hesitation vanished. He slipped silently into the stall with her, the Disillusionment Charm dissolving like mist. His face was calm, but his mind raced. The troll is here early. Waiting for Harry is no longer an option.
In the corridors below, Justin and Neville fought their way against the tide of fleeing students.
Twelve feet tall… a ton or more… thick hide, immune to most minor spells… Quirrell's stuttered warnings from Defence class replayed in their minds. The fear of a troll was, for most first-years, second only to that of a dragon. Students scrambled, pale-faced, desperate to reach their common rooms.
"D-do you think we'll die if it finds us?" a first-year whimpered to his friend.
"What do you think? That you're Sean Green?" his friend retorted hysterically. "Able to take on trolls, wrestle werewolves, and snatch dragon eggs?" The dark humor did nothing to ease the panic.
Justin and Neville were both breathing hard. Justin, having come straight from the kitchens, wasn't even wearing his cloak and was shivering from the cold and fear.
"Actually… Sean isn't…" Neville began, but his words were lost in the noise. The realization that Sean and Hermione were facing that monster alone spurred them on.
A flash of lightning illuminated the corridor, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The storm, the rain, the pounding of his own heart—it all blurred in Justin's mind, coalescing into the gentle, firm voice of his mother.
"You are about to enter the tumultuous world of adults, my child. You must become unbreakable. I know justice is a winding road, but if you ever reach a moment where you must choose, Justin... remember. What you need is not a wand. It is courage."
When is a person unstoppable? When he is answering the greatest call in his life, Justin thought. The call of his mother.
Far away, in the Room of Hope, a letter lay tucked inside an expensive trunk—a trunk Lillian Finch-Fletchley had packed with more than just school supplies. The parchment seemed to glow in the darkness:
My Dearest Justin,
In the grand scheme of things, we are all miracles. The future is not more important than the present. How can a broken future dare to face a courageous present? And I love you, my child. I love you. That is all.
—Forever proud, Lillian
In the Great Hall, Snape's dark eyes scanned the panicked crowd. Not here… not here… still not here…
With everyone distracted by the troll, he easily noted Quirrell's "faint." But his gaze was fixed on the empty space at the Ravenclaw table. His expression grew darker than ever. He caught McGonagall's equally alarmed gaze. He's gone.
Snape's mind reeled. He looked at Dumbledore, who was calmly directing the prefects, and a cold fury unlike any he had felt in years surged within him. "What are you waiting for, Albus?!" he hissed, striding towards the Headmaster. "We have to find him! Damn it, Albus, find him!"
"Severus, are you referring to Harry? He just slipped out," Dumbledore replied mildly. "He'll be quite alright..."
Snape froze. Then, a look of pure loathing crossed his face. Of course. In the great Albus Dumbledore's eyes, who else mattered but Harry Potter? Knowing Potter was the centerpiece of Dumbledore's plan was the only reason Snape hadn't immediately noticed his absence.
But what about the others? What about him? Were they all just… acceptable losses? Disposable pawns?
What waited at the end of this game? Quirrell? Voldemort? A returning Dark Lord, a test for the "Chosen One," a shadowy game of chess…
He had long since given up on this wretched world, content to rot in his dungeon, a spider in his web. But some things… some things were worth more than all of it.
Snape turned, his face a mask of cold fury, and stalked out of the Great Hall.
(End of Chapter)
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