"A t-troll… in the dungeons… I thought you ought to know…"
Quirrell collapsed onto the floor with a thud, unconscious.
The Great Hall erupted into chaos. Wayne's eyes darted around, then he leapt onto a bench and bellowed:
"A troll's here! Run for your lives!"
The moment the words left his mouth, he hopped down—landing squarely on the back of Quirrell's head.
"Bloody hell, Lawrence!"
Both the "unconscious" Quirrell and the Voldemort clinging to the back of his head cursed in unison.
Voldemort gritted his metaphorical teeth, suppressing the urge to lash out.
Patience… you must endure.
Wayne's little outburst only sent the students into even greater panic.
Dozens of young witches and wizards scattered like headless chickens until Dumbledore fired several bright fireworks from his wand, finally restoring some order.
Casting a weary glance at Wayne—still standing on Quirrell's head—Dumbledore said in a firm voice,
"Prefects, lead your Houses back to the common rooms immediately."
The Headmaster's tone carried a strange authority, and the chaos was quickly subdued.
The prefects stepped forward, gathering their Houses into orderly lines and leading them out of the Great Hall. First years were herded to the very back of the group.
Only then did someone notice the crumpled Quirrell, who had been stepped on more times than anyone could count.
"Oh! Professor Quirrell!"
Seeing the nearly deformed turban, Wayne cheerfully called out,
"Professor Quirrell's fainted, and his turban's filthy! Let's get him to Madam Pomfrey—someone take that turban off for him!"
"N-no need!"
Quirrell, still feigning weakness, forced himself to his feet despite the pain.
"I-I'm fine now. Quickly, back to your dormitories—it's dangerous here."
Ignoring the students' concern, he limped after the other teachers.
As they exited the Hall, a first-year whispered,
"Trolls are massive—how'd it even get into the castle?"
"No idea, maybe from the Forbidden Forest?"
"But then why would it be in the dungeons? Someone would have seen it on the way in, right?"
Wayne was wondering the same thing.
It wasn't surprising that Quirrell could get hold of a troll—but smuggling it into Hogwarts unnoticed? That was impressive… and suspicious.
"Wayne!"
Hermione suddenly ran up behind him, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him in the opposite direction.
Harry was right beside her, both of them looking pale and tense.
"Ron's still in the girls' bathroom—he doesn't know about the troll!"
"What?" Wayne was baffled. This was all backwards.
Hermione was fine, but Ron had locked himself in a lavatory?
The three of them hurried down a deserted side corridor toward the bathrooms.
As they went, Hermione anxiously explained what had happened.
If she hadn't humiliated Ron earlier, he wouldn't have hidden himself away all afternoon, and he certainly wouldn't now be in danger.
"Alright, it's not entirely your fault," Wayne reassured her.
"But Ron does need to learn to keep his mouth shut—especially about spreading gossip about me."
Suddenly, Wayne stopped dead and yanked them both behind a nearby statue.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor—fast and purposeful.
It was Snape.
He swept past them without noticing, disappearing up the staircase.
"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "That way… he's headed to the fourth floor. But where are the other professors?"
"Alright, stop overthinking it. What professors do is their business. Let's just hurry and find Ron," Wayne urged, and the three of them set off again.
As soon as they turned a corner, Wayne wrinkled his nose and squinted his eyes.
That smell—absolutely vile!
It was worse than the most pungent potion fumes. He could almost see green miasma drifting through the air.
Panicking, he quickly shut off his dynamic sensing, finally feeling a bit better.
Wayne had just discovered one of the drawbacks of his ability—
If a single troll was enough to nearly knock him out cold with its stench, then if there were a dozen of them, he wouldn't even bother fighting. He'd just run.
Hermione and Harry both covered their noses too. Then they heard a deep grunting noise and the heavy thud of massive footsteps.
A hulking figure—easily twelve feet tall—rounded the far corner and entered the boys' bathroom. The next moment, a boy's scream rang out.
"That's Ron!" Harry's face went pale as he instantly recognized his best friend's voice. He sprinted toward the bathroom.
With a flick of Wayne's hand, Harry suddenly floated into the air, his short legs kicking uselessly.
"You and Hermione stay here and don't cause trouble!" Wayne barked, striding into the bathroom himself.
The door was already smashed in. Inside, Ron was huddled in the corner, his wand snapped clean in two and tossed aside.
The troll loomed over him step by step, its massive wooden club raised high.
Wayne raised his palm and the troll's club was yanked from its grip—then slammed right back down onto its own head.
Crack!
"ROOAAARR!"
The club shattered. The troll roared in fury and turned around to face him.
Wayne was speechless.
Wasn't this thing supposed to get knocked out with one good hit? Why was it perfectly fine?
Pssh!
Two sinks exploded, sending twin jets of water spraying into the air. Under Wayne's control, the water merged into a massive sphere, engulfing the troll and suspending it in midair.
Hermione and Harry rushed in just in time to see the beast struggling furiously inside the watery prison—but unable to escape. Their jaws dropped, both too stunned to speak.
"Ron, get out of there!"
Controlling the water sphere with one hand, Wayne quickly used the other to cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, cursing his own stupidity for not thinking of it earlier to block the stench.
Ron finally snapped out of his daze at Wayne's call and staggered over to Harry.
Clear water churned around the troll's filthy body, quickly turning murky—and making the bathroom reek even worse.
The three kids clamped their noses shut, watching Wayne's protective air bubble in envy, silently vowing to learn that spell someday.
After two or three minutes, the troll's thrashing began to weaken until it stopped moving entirely.
"Is it… dead?" Harry whispered.
"Better leave it in a little longer, just to be safe," Hermione said cautiously.
Wayne agreed. Trolls were thick-skinned and far more resilient than Acromantulas or centaurs. That was why he'd decided to drown this one—slowly.
And honestly? It was filthy. If it had to die, it might as well die clean.
I really am a kind-hearted Hufflepuff, Wayne thought smugly—
—when suddenly, loud footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron turned toward the sound, and moments later Professor McGonagall stormed into the bathroom, with Snape limping behind her, and Quirrell bringing up the rear.
"Good heavens!" McGonagall clutched her head. "What in the world are you doing?!"
A troll floated serenely inside a giant water bubble, while three students stood watching Wayne.
What in Merlin's name was this scene?
Snape's face darkened. His eyes narrowed slightly when he spotted the watery prison, then flicked briefly toward Wayne—who was grinning and greeting McGonagall like nothing was wrong.
Quirrell entered too, glanced at the troll, and immediately burst into weak sobs, slumping onto a toilet and clutching at his robes to wipe his tears.
"Professor Quirrell," Wayne said helpfully, "if you need to use the toilet, this isn't a great time."
Quirrell froze mid-sob. Then he cried even louder.
"You can stop now, Lawrence," Snape said in a low voice. "Or are you trying to soak the troll to death?"
At that, Wayne released the spell. The troll crashed to the ground with a dull thud.
"I want an explanation! What in Merlin's name is going on here?!" McGonagall's eyes blazed with fury. Harry had never seen her this angry before.
For some reason, it reminded him of when Hermione had been scolded earlier.
"Do we even need to ask?" Snape sneered, fanning the flames. "The brilliant Lawrence, eager to prove how powerful he is, dragged along his little girlfriend and two tagalongs to pick a fight with a troll."
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