Empowered by Ancient Magic: Projectile Mastery, the club hurtled backward, streaking through the air until it hovered directly above the troll's head.
For a split second, Wyzett's heart hammered so wildly it threatened to burst from his chest.
Staring down death, he felt something unexpected—an exhilarating rush, sharp and clear as lightning.
He surrendered himself to the flow of magic, calculated the club's descent, and with a flick of his wand, released the levitation charm. The club plummeted, striking the troll's skull with pinpoint precision.
CRACK!
A sickening crunch echoed through the hall. The troll's head was smashed down into its chest, like some grotesque game of whack-a-mole.
The dazed creature staggered forward, swaying on its feet before collapsing with a thunderous crash, sending up a cloud of dust.
"Direct hit! Ten points to Ravenclaw!"
"That's a Beater in the making!"
Fred and George high-fived, their excitement eclipsing even Wyzett's.
Clearing his throat, Wyzett reminded them, "Um… Ron and the others are still buried under that wall…"
"Oh! Right!" The twins darted to the rubble. "Ron! You still alive in there?"
"Alive! Alive!" came the muffled chorus of Hermione, Ron, and Harry.
"We're coming!"
But as the twins hurried past the troll's body, something went horribly wrong—the troll began to rise again.
"Is it a zombie now?"
The twins pressed themselves against the wall, eyes wide as the headless troll lurched upright, pushing through the swirling dust. It raised both arms like a mindless corpse, charging straight for Wyzett.
Now, the troll moved like a grotesque marionette, each step stiff and unnatural.
Fred and George instantly realized what was happening. "Wyzett, run! It's after you! Get out of there!"
"Petrificus Totalus! Impedimenta! Finite Incantatem! Stickfast Hex!"
They fired spell after spell, wands flashing with desperate bursts of magic, but the troll's natural resistance rendered their efforts useless. Even conjured ropes were torn apart as the beast barreled forward.
The terror of an XXXX-class magical creature was on full display.
"Wyzett! Head for the Great Hall! The doors can hold it back!" George yelled.
"Move, Wyzett! Are you frozen or something? Fred, let's go!"
The twins charged, abandoning magic for brute force. They leapt onto the troll's back, clinging tight.
It was hopeless. The troll thrashed violently, flinging them both into the wall with a sickening thud.
They hit the ground hard, groaning, and slipped into unconsciousness.
The floor shook with every step as the troll—unstoppable as a runaway train—closed in on Wyzett.
But Wyzett didn't retreat. In his mind's eye, he saw the troll's granite skin peeling away, the flesh beneath rotting and oozing…
The Wasting Curse.
He hated this spell. Casting it always stirred the Obscurus within him, riling its darkness in a way that made his skin crawl.
But with every other spell failing, there was no other choice.
He raised his wand high, voice low and venomous as a serpent's hiss. "Animus Morbus!"
In that instant, it felt as if another heart was beating inside his chest. The Obscurus core raged, wild and explosive.
A thick, dark beam shot from his wand, lancing straight into the troll's exposed neck—the only vulnerable spot in its hide.
That's where the unraveling began.
The troll's neck split open, skin sloughing away as the flesh underneath festered and dissolved into a foul, green ooze.
Its movements slowed, as if it were a giant tablet dropped in water, bubbling and fizzing as it shrank.
Bubbles burst across its body. The troll melted away, collapsing into a stinking pool of green sludge that spread across the floor.
At last, its shape gave out completely, slumping into a heap of foul-smelling slime.
Wyzett's robes were splattered with the stuff, but he barely noticed. He clutched his head, reeling as a tidal wave of malice crashed through his mind.
He staggered, vision spinning, every step backward a battle not to collapse.
Somewhere distant, Fred and George's worried voices broke through the fog.
"Hey! Wyzett, are you all right? What just happened out there?"
"You look awful—come rest in the Great Hall, yeah? No one's there anyway…"
"Whoa, why are you giving off black smoke? That's wicked cool!"
"Black smoke—now there's an idea! George, write that down!"
Just as Wyzett was about to fall, two hands caught him, steadying him.
The twins' infectious cheerfulness cut through the darkness. In that moment, Wyzett glimpsed a ray of light, holding back the flood of malice.
Custodis Meditatio—Guardian's Meditation.
Seizing the moment, Wyzett slipped into meditation, letting calmness flow through him.
Gradually, the world righted itself. He pictured the Great Hall, festooned for Halloween. The twins' retching noises drifted into his awareness.
"Ugh… what happened? Why did the troll turn to stinky water?"
"Who cares? We buy Stinksap for Dungbombs, but this stuff's even more potent—ugh!"
"Yeah, and Stinksap costs a fortune. We'd better collect as much as we can!"
Hearing them, Wyzett couldn't help but smile.
Fred and George were truly something else—ignoring their own bruises to scoop up the green slime, already plotting to turn it into Dungbombs.
Maybe it was their spirit, but the malice inside him faded, losing its grip.
He seized the chance, gripping his wand tight. With a swift, sweeping "S" in the air, he cast, "Mundus Totalus!"
His wand flared silver-blue, conjuring a whirling vortex.
The whirlwind swept away every trace of green slime from his robes—and with it, the last vestiges of the Obscurus's malice.
Just then, Dumbledore's voice rang out from beyond the Great Hall.
"May I lend a hand, gentlemen? If Mr. Filch finds you here any later, I fear his wrath will be most impressive."
…
At last, the Great Hall hummed with life, the spirit of Halloween returning.
Fred and George stood like royal guards beside two large jars of green slime, fending off Percy as if he were a dragon eyeing their treasure.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron stood off to the side, battered but unharmed, covered in dust and looking sheepish.
All three had their heads bowed, bracing for a well-deserved scolding.
Penelope sat beside Wyzett, her concern plain. "Should I take you to the hospital wing? You look dreadful—pale as parchment…"
Dumbledore was there too, four professors arrayed behind him, each with a different look on their face.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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