The stench in the air was overwhelming — thick, sour, and nauseating. Alex wrinkled his nose as he sprinted down the second-floor corridor, heading straight for the girls' lavatory.
He could already hear it — the deep, thunderous thud of something massive stomping around inside.
He didn't hesitate.
Bursting through the door, he was greeted by the unmistakable sight of a twelve-foot troll — gray, hulking, and grotesque, its skin mottled like dried stone, its head disproportionately small atop a towering mountain of muscle and sludge-stained flesh.
Its eyes were dull, slow.
Its movements weren't.
Cornered at the far end of the room, paralyzed in fright, was a small girl — her wand forgotten, her mouth open in a silent scream.
Hermione Granger.
The troll raised its club, ready to smash.
But Alex was already moving.
"Avis Maxima!" he barked.
A barrage of conjured stone shards and splintered tile lifted from the broken ground and surged at the troll like a hailstorm. They slammed into its face, peppering it with controlled force — not enough to launch it backward, just enough to get its attention.
The creature blinked, confused, turning away from Hermione and toward the new threat.
It roared.
Its footsteps thundered forward.
Alex held his ground.
He waited… just a step more… now—
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The troll froze mid-lunge, its limbs locking with a grinding sound. It stood still, trembling slightly, magic struggling against its natural resistance.
Alex didn't waste the moment. He darted around the frozen beast, sliding to Hermione's side.
"Hey," he whispered, keeping his voice calm.
At the sound of his voice, Hermione finally crumbled. Tears streamed down her face as she hiccupped quietly, trembling in relief.
"Shhh, it's okay. I've got you."
He stepped in front of her protectively — just in time.
The troll began to move again.
Its shoulders twitched.
Its feet scraped against the ground.
The petrification spell was wearing off fast.
Alex narrowed his eyes.
Fine. No more playing nice.
He raised his wand.
"Confringo!"
A high-powered blasting curse shot from his wand, roaring with explosive force. The troll took the full brunt of it, flying backward with a crash, smashing through the lavatory wall and into the corridor beyond.
Its wooden club spun into the air, somersaulting high above them.
And that's when inspiration struck.
Alex's eyes flashed.
He jabbed his wand upward. "Transforma!
The tumbling club morphed midair into a gleaming silver longsword, its blade reflecting the flickering lanterns of the corridor.
"Pierce the heavens — Surge Forward!" (Impetus Triumphalis!)
A modified propulsion charm, high-level, honed for deadly precision.
The sword sang as it ripped through the air — a silver comet — and in a split-second, it drove straight through the troll's throat with devastating force.
With a sickening crunch, the creature slammed back against the stone wall… and stayed there — impaled, lifeless, and still.
...
A collective gasp echoed down the hall.
"By Merlin's beard…" someone whispered.
It was Professor McGonagall.
Alongside her were Professors Flitwick and Snape, all just arriving — wands drawn, eyes wide in shock.
Alex stepped out of the ruined bathroom, still cradling Hermione protectively. His robes were dusty, his face calm.
Behind him, the enormous corpse of the troll hung like a grotesque tapestry against the stone wall — its eyes glassy, mouth agape, sword pinning it in place.
Professor Quirrell arrived last, took one look at the scene, and promptly collapsed into a trembling heap, sobbing softly into the floor.
Snape narrowed his eyes at Alex and walked past him to examine the impaled troll, muttering something under his breath.
McGonagall's face was pale. Her lips thinned into a tight line. "What," she asked, her voice trembling between rage and disbelief, "exactly were the two of you doing in the girls' lavatory?!"
Alex didn't miss a beat. With the calm of a seasoned liar, he straightened his back and answered:
"We were on a date, Professor."
McGonagall blinked. "...A date?"
"Yes," Alex nodded solemnly. "It's quiet. Private. No one comes here."
Flitwick made a choking sound and turned quickly, pretending to study the ceiling.
Snape gave Alex a long, slow stare — the kind that said 'I know you're full of it', followed by the equally eloquent 'but I can't prove it... yet.'
McGonagall's face turned a shade of scarlet usually reserved for malfunctioning Howlers.
"In a bathroom?!"
Alex didn't flinch. "We wanted privacy."
She sputtered for a moment. "You— This— You could have died, Mr. Gaunt!"
"I didn't," he said simply. "And neither did Hermione."
Hermione, still wrapped in his arms, had her head buried in his chest. Her face was burning.
She knew full well that Alex was lying to cover for her — that he'd taken the fall just so she wouldn't get into trouble. Her heart fluttered with something that wasn't fear. But it was all far too much. Too fast. Too chaotic.
And worst of all… her mind started racing with nonsense.
Did he always carry girls out of bathrooms like that?
What about Cho? What about that older Ravenclaw girl he hangs around with?
Was she... just another name?
She bit her lip and tried to keep herself from spiraling.
Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick walked over, examining the shattered wall and the expertly conjured sword. He looked at Alex with a complicated expression — pride, amazement, and a pinch of dismay.
It was clear now. The boy wasn't just gifted.
He was dangerous.
...And completely off-book.
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