Chapter 142: The Troll
At that moment, Harry had no mind left to think about Snape.
Faced with such a massive creature, his thoughts went completely blank.
Quirrell had clearly explained in class how to deal with trolls—but now Harry couldn't remember a single word.
They saw the troll pause beside a door, peering inside curiously.
It twitched its long ears, tilted its peanut-sized head as if making a decision, then ducked and slowly squeezed into the room.
"Hey, Harry," Ron whispered, tapping his shoulder and pointing toward the open doorway. "The key's still in the lock. We could shut it in there."
Pressed flat against the wall, they crept toward the entrance. Just as they reached out to push the door closed—
The stench suddenly intensified.
With a low, frightened growl, the troll came thundering toward them.
"Run!" Harry shouted, no longer caring whether they attracted its attention. He grabbed Ron and bolted down the corridor.
They had barely taken two steps when Ron yanked him back.
"Harry—wait. It's not chasing us."
Harry turned.
The troll wasn't advancing. Instead, it was whimpering and retreating, step by heavy step, until it pressed itself flat against the wall—as though confronted with something far more terrifying than they were.
"Is there something worse in that room?" Harry muttered, utterly confused.
What happened next stunned them both.
A small witch stepped out of the room.
She carried an aura that screamed do not approach. Behind her, Hermione stumbled out, sniffling, her eyes swollen from crying.
"Wednesday, let's go," Hermione whispered urgently, glancing at the grotesque troll and struggling to steady her voice.
"You go ahead," Wednesday replied calmly. "I want to play a little longer."
A delighted smile curved her lips—the kind someone might wear upon discovering a beloved new toy.
She extended her arm straight out and began tracing slow circles in the air with her wand.
It was a peculiar spell—Fearcraft.
Call it hypnosis, call it illusion—its inspiration came from boggarts. The Addams family had refined the concept into a charm that forced the target to confront their deepest fear.
However, if the target possessed strong willpower, they could break free quickly. And the spell required two strict conditions: the target must see the caster's wand, and the wand must continue drawing circles without interruption. The moment that motion stopped, the effect vanished.
Because of those limitations, it was far less practical in combat than something like a Disarming Charm. Most people treated it as little more than a prank spell.
Today, however, it proved useful.
Trolls were notoriously thick-skinned. Years of grime layered over their unwashed bodies formed a natural armor, rendering most standard student-level spells nearly useless against them.
But Fearcraft did not target the body.
It targeted the mind.
And right now, the troll was clearly seeing something that terrified it beyond measure.
Despite its massive size, the troll's intelligence was pitifully low—so the fear spell worked astonishingly well on it.
"If you're not leaving, then I'm not leaving either," Hermione said stubbornly, though she was trembling with fear.
In her mind, Wednesday had risked herself to come save her. How could she abandon her in return?
What Hermione didn't know was that Wednesday's rescue had been pure coincidence.
"ROAR!"
The troll, which had been cowering, suddenly bellowed. Whatever it was seeing in the illusion must have shifted—because it became violently agitated.
Its tiny bloodshot eyes widened as it swung its massive club wildly. A powerful gust of wind forced Wednesday to squint.
The stench didn't bother her much.
At that moment, her wand stopped circling.
The troll snapped back to its senses.
It shook its head, blinking and scanning the corridor. The terrifying enemy that had just dominated its vision was nowhere to be seen.
Apparently convinced it had scared its foe away, the troll puffed up with pride.
Then it lowered its gaze—
Two small figures stood before it.
And it was hungry.
Grinning hideously, it reached toward Wednesday and Hermione.
Hermione tried to pull Wednesday away—but fate was unkind. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor.
"Hey, you idiot!" Ron shouted, trying to draw the troll's attention.
They hadn't learned any proper offensive spells yet, so shouting was the best he could manage.
Harry, heart pounding, suddenly surged forward in a burst of reckless courage—
Only for Ron to grab him back at the last second.
"Damn," Wednesday thought.
It was too late to restart the spell.
Yet her expression remained perfectly calm.
Just as the troll's enormous hand descended—
A surge of black liquid burst from the tip of her wand, wrapping around the troll's arm.
Where droplets splashed onto the stone floor, they hissed and sizzled, eating small holes into the surface.
But the troll felt no pain.
The black liquid clung and corroded—but its arm did not slow.
It continued reaching.
Wednesday considered dodging—
But Hermione was behind her.
She hesitated.
And in that brief moment, the troll's hand loomed overhead.
"Protego!"
A clear voice rang out.
An invisible yet unyielding barrier sprang up between them and the troll. Even as the black liquid sizzled against it, the shield held firm.
At the far end of the corridor stood Russell, his black hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead.
He had almost taken a wrong turn.
The troll tilted its head in confusion.
Its tiny brain struggled to comprehend why it couldn't grab the food in front of it.
By now, the black liquid had finally eaten away the thick layer of grime covering the troll's skin—its natural armor.
But the corrosive substance was nearly spent.
Russell decided not to drag this out.
He steadied himself.
"Stupefy!"
A red beam shot forward and struck the troll square in the head.
It staggered—but did not fall.
"Tough, aren't you?" Russell muttered.
Then he noticed something.
The troll's left arm—where the black liquid had stripped away the grime—was slightly different in color.
Understanding dawned on him.
"So that filth was acting like armor."
He raised his wand again.
"Scourgify."
The cleaning charm hit—and the encrusted grime on its chest disintegrated instantly.
The troll growled uneasily, touching its suddenly bare torso.
A chill ran through it.
The last time it had felt like this was when it wandered into a giant's lair and was nearly beaten to death.
Its tiny eyes locked onto Russell.
With a roar, it hurled its massive club.
The weapon, as tall as a man, spun through the air with thunderous force.
"Watch out!" Hermione screamed, covering her eyes.
Russell did not move away.
Instead, his eyes gleamed.
He flicked his wand.
Invisible magic condensed into a blade.
Crack.
The club split cleanly in two midair, the halves flying past him harmlessly.
He reconsidered his plan.
Stripping the troll entirely before knocking it out would be tedious.
And trolls weren't exactly known for dropping rare materials.
In that case—
There was no need to hold back.
"Sectumsempra."
The whisper left his lips.
An invisible blade swept across the troll's neck.
Its body continued forward under momentum—
But its head remained behind.
With a dull thud, it hit the floor.
For a split second, the troll's severed head blinked in confusion, watching its body stumble away.
Then darkness took it.
The body collapsed ten meters from Russell, crashing down like a falling monument.
Silence.
"You two alright?" Russell asked, lowering his wand and stepping around the corpse.
Harry and Ron rushed over as well.
"I'm fine," Wednesday said calmly.
"Thank you," Hermione said softly. Then she turned to Harry and Ron. "Harry, Ron—thank you for coming to help me."
"Oh—uh—sure," Ron stammered, completely unprepared for gratitude from Hermione.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Professor McGonagall arrived first, Snape close behind, Quirrell trailing at the rear.
Quirrell glanced at the headless troll—
And promptly let out a weak sob before collapsing to the floor, clutching his chest.
Snape bent down to inspect the corpse.
His expression darkened immediately.
He rose, shot Russell a complicated look—
Then turned a cold, lethal gaze toward Quirrell.
McGonagall surveyed the five students.
Harry had never seen her so furious.
Her lips were pale.
"What in heaven's name were you thinking?" she demanded, her voice sharp with icy anger.
"A Ravenclaw. A Slytherin. Three Gryffindors. All four Houses accounted for—just missing a Hufflepuff for a complete set."
"You are extraordinarily lucky none of you were killed."
"Why weren't you in your dormitories?"