Chapter 24: Aging Potion—Fury Fells a Troll
Ron gulped, pulled out his wand despite shaking. "I'm coming too!"
Harry admired his courage. "Good man! I misjudged those 'Gryffindor heroes'—more like a pack of louts who ditch their own!"
They ran for the classroom corridors.
A stench slammed them: a thousand pigs' dung and a hundred cows' urine, fermented together.
They pinched their noses and headed for the loo. Closer, worse.
"All too quiet," Ron swallowed. "Why is it stinkier as we near the loo? Quirrell said the troll's in the dungeons—don't tell me it's climbed up?"
The words came true. A shriek from the girls' loo.
Who else but Hermione?
Harry didn't hesitate. He yanked free the white-frost mithril blade, drew his wand as well. "Don't panic, Big Sis! I'm coming!"
He burst in on a towering mountain of a creature—the mountain troll.
Over two fathoms tall, face like a ghost, body like a beast. Moss and slime all over, scalp with sparse whorls. A mat of rank hair on chest; three stubborn creases on its brow.
It swung a long-handled, big-headed club, tearing at a cubicle door.
Harry roared, "Hah! Try my blade!"
He stepped, spun, and slashed. His heel skidded; pale skin peeled, blood-red flesh showed.
The troll howled and brought the club down. Despite its bulk, it was quick. A wind of filth rushed; that club could kill.
Harry rolled. The troll chased, club whistling, determined to pulp him.
"Hey! Big oaf! Your grandpa Ron is over here!"
Seeing Harry burdened by steel, Ron flung a shard of tile at the troll's skull. It howled and turned on him.
Ron ran, calling, "Harry! Hermione! Run!"
Hermione's legs were jelly; she'd wept all afternoon and had no strength left. "I—I can't. Leave me. Run…"
One fled, one couldn't stand. The troll's club would kill; the blade weighed down the hand.
Seeing the troll raging, Harry's temper flared. He stripped off his robe to grapple again—then his fingers hit the Aging Potion.
Ah! He'd forgotten the twins' miracle. If not now, when?
In the panic he forgot "just a few drops." He pulled the stopper and swallowed half the bottle.
In moments, joints surged like bamboo after rain. Underclothes snapped with whip-cracks. Sinews writhed under skin like a hundred serpents. Were the Sorting Hat here, it would cry "Hell-spawn!"—a calamity come to earth.
Ron and Hermione gaped. They swallowed as they saw his bronzed, iron frame.
Harry took the blade—it was as light as a feather.
He tied the robe round his waist and laughed. "Beast! I'll take your sorry life!" He charged, dragging the knife.
The troll, remembering the sting of that edge, swung down with the club.
"You're slow!" Harry sprang aside, rolled under it, and hacked twice.
A born butcher with a killer's craft, he cut the hamstrings in two strokes. The monster screamed and toppled.
Strike while ill and kill: Harry mounted it, drove the blade into its heart, then churned until the organ was paste.
He stood, white skin spattered with clots and sheets of blood.
"Are you two unhurt?" he asked, bowing slightly, foot on the corpse.
Ron, shocked, finally croaked, "I—I'm fine."
Hermione, pale with a faint flush, turned her face. "I'm all right. Harry—ah—your, your robe… pull it up."
"Thank you, Big Sis. I nearly made a fool of myself."
Footsteps thundered. The professors arrived.
Quirrell saw the gore and nearly fainted again.
McGonagall's eyes bulged. She drew her wand at the naked man on the troll. "Sir! Dress at once and put down the blade! You don't seem to be staff!"
"No stranger," Snape said, pushing down her wand and stepping up, black eyes on the green ones. "If I'm not mistaken, this exhibitionist is Mr. Potter.
"You drank Aging Potion, didn't you, Potter."
Snape knew potions; none doubted him. Learning a first-year had slain a troll, the staff inhaled as one.
Harry snorted. "Aye. If I hadn't come, Hogwarts would have bled—your fault to bear!"
They glanced toward the cubicle; Hermione knelt inside.
"What is the meaning of this? Miss Granger, you should be in Gryffindor Tower! And Mr. Weasley!"
"Wait, Minerva," Dumbledore stepped through, eyes on Harry. "Harry, perhaps step off the troll and let's talk."
"I meant to!" Harry lifted the blade, vaulted, and with a flash lopped off the troll's head.
He speared it and snarled, "I trusted you, old mule! But you're a faithless bird!"
Knife felling troll shows his steel; the white wizard's broken word chills the heart. Harry's rebuke stunned the hall. Why did Dumbledore betray? Wait and see.
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