Harry and Hermione chanted Alohomora together, stepping into the next trial—or perhaps the lair of the one seeking the Philosopher's Stone.
A hellish scene awaited.
Two trolls toyed with Harry's transfigured butterfly, swinging their clubs at blinding speeds, careful not to hit it, engrossed in a game of who could swing faster while keeping the butterfly intact. Sensing a breeze from the open door, they froze, eyes locking onto Harry and Hermione. These trolls dwarfed the Halloween one, their arms thicker than Harry's head, clad in sturdy armor over their massive frames.
Harry and Hermione slammed the door shut, magically locking it, praying the trolls wouldn't enter the chess room.
"Trolls!? Two of them!?" Harry gasped.
"What do we do? Ron's not here!" Hermione cried.
If Ron were awake, he'd have named the trolls something absurd to lighten the mood. But Ron was unconscious, leaving them rattled.
(We were naive…)
Panic surged. Despite Halloween, they hadn't expected trolls lying in wait. Deep down, they'd underestimated the traps.
"We need a weapon—anything! Maybe the chess pieces' rubble? Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry tried levitating a large chunk, but it didn't budge.
"No, Harry. Trolls can throw rocks back. We need to counter their attacks," Hermione said.
"But I can't even think of how to fight them…"
Harry recalled Halloween—Ron dropping a club on a troll's head from above.
(Height! That's it!)
"Hermione, back to the bird room! We'll use the brooms to stay out of their reach and drop their clubs on their heads, like Halloween!"
Hermione, pale but hopeful, clutched her hair. "It's… our only shot. But what if they throw their clubs? Or jump?"
"I'll handle thrown clubs with Expelliarmus. Sirius taught me. I'll distract them—you hit one from behind, hard."
"Harry, aren't you scared? You could die!" Hermione protested.
Harry was terrified but felt he had to stand in Ron's place. This wasn't Gryffindor courage—it was necessity. "No time for fear. We've left everyone behind to get here."
"You're so brave, Harry," Hermione said.
"No, Hermione. I wouldn't have thought of this without you."
Harry couldn't stop now. Azrael, Draco, Farkas, Zabini, Ron—all left behind. Courage or not, responsibility drove him, beyond any House virtue.
"Ready, Hermione?"
"Ready, Harry."
"Three, two, one—Alohomora!"
They burst in on brooms. The trolls, having crushed the butterfly, stood ready. "Hermione, up!" Harry shouted. They soared, dodging a charging troll that slammed into an invisible barrier, groaning in pain. The second troll barked something in its language.
"Hermione, take that one! Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermione targeted its club, but the troll gripped it tightly.
Harry aimed at the other troll's club. "Expelliarmus!" The spell missed as the troll dodged, grinning wickedly.
(The broom's instability…)
Harry edged closer. The troll unhooked its shoulder plate, preparing to throw it.
(It's using armor as a weapon!)
"Expelliarmus!" Harry aimed at the plate, sending it spinning toward him. The troll smashed it with its club, sending it hurtling past Harry at supersonic speed, shattering a chandelier into a deafening cascade of fragments.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermione, undeterred, relentlessly targeted her troll's club, aiming for its head. Her voice hoarse, she struck until blood flowed, driven by survival.
Harry zipped along the wall to keep the second troll from targeting Hermione. It closed the gap with uncanny agility, leaping toward him. "Expelliarmus!" Harry dislodged its club, unbalancing it mid-air. In the adrenaline-fueled moment, the troll's panicked eyes seemed to move in slow motion.
"Bombarda!" Harry blasted its eyeball, recalling McGonagall's advice: Powerful magic can fail against resilient creatures, but eyes are their weakness.
Drawing on everything—broom skills honed with friends, Sirius's tips, Flitwick's charms, McGonagall's wisdom, Quirrell's theory—Harry avenged Halloween. Without any piece, he'd be dead.
The troll, agile but pain-intolerant, plummeted in agony. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry used its club to pummel its head, blood pooling as it stilled.
"Hermione, you okay!?"
Turning, he saw her tearfully battering her troll. "Hermione, stop! It's over!" He blocked her, and she collapsed off her broom, gasping.
"I'm sorry I didn't protect you," Harry said, hearing Ron's imagined rebuke: (Sorry? What're you doing, Harry?)
He felt pathetic. Azrael might've known what to say, but all Harry could do was offer Hermione a handkerchief.
"It's not that… I might've killed it!" she sobbed. "They were just following orders, guarding the Stone!"
Both knew potions used slain creatures, and they'd dissected frogs in class. But willfully harming an innocent being was new.
Draco's voice echoed in Harry's mind: "It's all your fault, Potter!"
"It's not your fault, Hermione," Harry said, crouching beside her. "I told you to do it. It's my fault, not yours. Anyone would agree."
His words, meant to comfort, echoed a devil's temptation. But Hermione was stronger than he expected. Wiping her eyes, she stood, face streaked with tears. "No, Harry! I came here by my own choice! It's not your fault! Let's move forward!"
Before he could stop her, she flung open the next door, stronger than Harry ever imagined.
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