Chapter 37: Hope Fine

Upon hearing Ron’s words, Hermione did not hesitate for even a moment. She spun around and followed him, running against the flow of the retreating students.

The prefects were too preoccupied with maintaining order among their respective Houses to notice the two first-years slipping away in the opposite direction.

“Oh no, I really hope Harry’s okay,” Hermione said, worry evident in her voice.

“How could he not be?” Ron replied, attempting to sound confident, though his tone faltered slightly. “He’s the Boy Who Lived! Even You-Know-Who failed to harm him—how could a troll manage it?”

Despite his words, a sliver of doubt crept into Ron’s heart. Trolls were known for their incredible resilience. Their rough, thick skin and high resistance to magic meant that even a properly trained wizard could struggle against them. For a first-year, casting a spell that could scratch a troll, let alone hurt one, was almost laughable.

Merlin’s socks, Ron thought as he prayed fervently. Please let Harry be safe! I’ll give up chicken legs for an entire year if it means he’s okay!

At that exact moment, the subject of their worry—Harry—was in the process of fastening his trousers.

Originally, he had planned to use the Halloween feast as a cover to sneak into the dungeon beneath the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The feast’s bustling chaos made it easy to go unnoticed. Besides, his chosen excuse was legitimate—he genuinely needed to use the restroom.

As Harry adjusted his robes, however, he noticed something peculiar. A series of heavy “thud, thud, thud” footsteps echoed from outside, accompanied by an overpowering stench that made his nose wrinkle in disgust.

The combination of the thunderous footsteps and the noxious smell left no room for doubt. A troll.

He pushed open the stall door cautiously, his gaze landing on the entrance just in time to lock eyes with the intruder.

Standing in the doorway was a towering twelve-foot-tall mountain of flesh, its gray, granite-like skin dull and lifeless. Its disproportionately small head, no larger than a basketball, sat atop a massive body. In one gigantic hand, the troll dragged a wooden club thicker and taller than Harry himself.

The troll hesitated, its tiny brain trying to process the human before it. When it realized the size disparity between itself and the small figure, it let out an earsplitting roar, clearly intending to intimidate.

Harry, however, wasn’t impressed. Instead, he cringed. Ugh, its breath stinks.

The troll, dimwitted though it was, somehow understood Harry’s look of disdain. Enraged, it let out another roar, its eyes filled with fury. Yet it couldn’t fathom why the small human before it hadn’t fled. Instead, Harry stood there, seemingly unbothered, even contemptuous.

If Harry was unafraid, it wasn’t because of bravery alone. In truth, he was livid. The death of an old friend had left him reeling the day before, and he’d hoped to distract himself by investigating the dungeon. But this lumbering fool had blocked his path, and the professors would surely arrive soon. Any chance of sneaking away would be ruined.

The troll raised its enormous club, grinning in anticipation of an easy strike.

Harry, however, mirrored that grin.

What luck, he thought darkly. I was looking for a way to vent. And now, a punching bag has come straight to me.

Even with its limited intelligence, the troll sensed something amiss. Before it could react, Harry whipped out his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

A bolt of red light struck the troll’s arm, sending the massive club flying from its grip. The weapon didn’t hit the ground, however; Harry’s wand moved with precision, suspending it mid-air.

“Not so tough without your stick, are you?” Harry taunted.

Taking a deep breath, Harry immediately gagged, cursing the stench emanating from the creature. Muttering a transfiguration spell, he transformed a broken stall door into thick iron shackles, which clamped tightly around the troll’s ankles.

“Hey, big guy!” Harry called, drawing the troll’s attention. As it turned toward him, its beady eyes full of rage, Harry waved his wand. The floating club swung down, slamming into the troll’s massive shoulder with a deafening thud.

The troll howled in pain, staggering under the blow. Its thick skin provided little solace against the repeated strikes as Harry continued to wield the club like a weapon of vengeance. Each swing was calculated, avoiding vital areas but landing hard enough to inflict maximum pain.

The creature flailed wildly, attempting to shield itself, but the shackles on its ankles disrupted its balance. With a loud crash, it toppled to the floor, groaning pitifully.

Harry wasn’t done. This wasn’t just about venting his frustration anymore. The troll had attacked him first, and as far as he was concerned, he was perfectly justified in defending himself.

Surely the school wouldn’t expel him for that.

The troll, meanwhile, was filled with regret. Why had it wandered into this building? Why had it chosen to confront this deceptively small, incredibly dangerous human? It could only groan in pain, its cries laced with remorse and an almost pleading tone.

Even Ron and Hermione, hurrying toward the bathroom, could hear the troll’s anguished wails.

“What if it’s hurting Harry right now?” Hermione whispered, her voice breaking with panic.

“It’s not—it can’t be!” Ron shouted, though he picked up his pace, his fear mirrored in his urgency.

They arrived at the bathroom door, the muffled sounds of blows and the troll’s wails seeping through. Ron gulped, his hands trembling.

“Is… is this the right room?” he asked nervously.

Hermione, her face pale but resolute, whispered, “Let’s open it quietly. If the troll’s just venting its anger on the bathroom, we don’t want to provoke it.”

Ron nodded, pushing the door open ever so slightly.

What they saw inside left them utterly speechless—a memory that would stay with them forever.