The young witches and wizards of Hogwarts were enjoying the feast, munching on the various foods laid out on the long tables and listening to the skeleton band play. It was a truly delightful evening.
Dudley was in the middle of his twenty-eighth lamb chop when Professor Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, suddenly burst into the Great Hall. His face was a mask of terror, as if he'd seen something truly horrifying.
Professor Quirinus Quirrell, a Ravenclaw alumnus and the current Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, had a brief stint as the Muggle Studies teacher. He was a stuttering mess when he taught magic, and Dudley hadn't paid much attention to him. However, he was very familiar with his smell.
Besides a curious stench of rotting meat, he was also reeking of garlic.
It's worth noting that Quirrell was once quite brilliant and had a solid grasp of magical theory, but after a trip to Albania, he'd completely changed.
Seeing all eyes on him, he stumbled to Professor Dumbledore's chair, leaning against the table and gasping for breath. "Troll… in the dungeons—I thought you ought to know."
He looked utterly distraught, seemingly terrified by the troll, and the moment he'd finished his breathless warning, he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.
The entire Great Hall erupted into chaos.
Dudley frowned slightly.
A mere troll?
As far as he knew, Professor Quirrell was an expert at dealing with such creatures, having once subdued a mountain troll while he was a student at Hogwarts. Mountain trolls were far more dangerous and powerful than their less-intelligent counterparts.
A single troll might be a threat to a young witch or wizard, but to an adult wizard, it was nothing more than a minor annoyance.
Quirrell's behaviour was highly unusual.
Dudley glanced up at Dumbledore, not for a moment believing the old wizard hadn't noticed the same thing.
Dumbledore used a Sonorus Charm to amplify his voice, and with a few calm words, he managed to quiet the panicked students, especially the younger ones. A troll was a dangerous beast to them, armed with only a wand and a few basic spells.
"Prefects, stand up," Dumbledore's low voice boomed. "Lead your students back to their common rooms at once!"
The younger students, led by their prefects, began to make their way to the Slytherin common room.
Of course, the prefect wasn't the seventh-year Carrow, but the fifth-year prefect who'd led them on the very first day.
Dudley naturally followed them.
He wasn't particularly interested in the troll. The only useful part of a troll was its snot, which could be used for potions—and that was something you could buy anyway.
Besides, the smell of a troll was absolutely putrid...
How to describe it? It was like a vile mix of rotten onions and cabbage, with a dash of three-year-old expired herring, a hint of rancid butter, and the ancient, fermented scent of a latrine.
A strange, putrid smell wafted towards them from around the corner, and Dudley's eyes lit up.
"Yes, that's the one."
Draco Malfoy, who was right behind Dudley, asked, "What's the one, D-bro?"
He found out very quickly.
"Ugh, what a stench!"
Malfoy clamped a hand over his nose and retched a few times.
The students around them began to gag as well. One or two couldn't hold it in and actually threw up. A domino effect began, and soon a chain reaction of vomiting spread through the group.
The combination of the foul odour and the sick was a truly disgusting experience.
"Troll! It's a troll!"
The prefect seemed to realize it as well. He nervously looked around, on guard for the troll's sudden appearance, and quietly urged the students to turn back. However, many were already on the floor, practically coughing up their guts.
To prevent blockages, the upper and lower years were taking different routes. Of the four houses, only the Slytherins were headed to the dungeons, so the other houses weren't nearby.
At the moment, the only person here capable of facing the troll was the prefect.
The fifth-year prefect looked incredibly tense. His knuckles were white as he clutched his wand, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. Seeing that Dudley was the only student still on his feet, the prefect's face twisted into an expression of desperation.
"Go, quickly! Find the other prefects and a professor."
He wasn't about to abandon the younger students and flee.
"I think it's too late," Dudley said, pointing towards the shape slowly emerging from around the corner.
A smell this strong meant the troll was very close.
It was a creature at least twelve feet tall, with dull, granite-like skin. Its vast, clumsy body was like a huge pile of rubble, and its tiny head, the size of a cocoa bean, sat atop it. Its short, thick legs were like tree stumps, and it had flat, calloused feet.
In its hand, it clutched a massive wooden club, which dragged along the floor due to its long arms.
"You lot, run! I'll hold it off!"
The prefect shouted, raising his wand at the troll. "Impedimenta!"
This was a simple but effective jinx often used in duels to slow down an opponent. As he waved his wand, blue-green sparks shot from the tip, creating a flurry of transparent obstacles around the troll that hindered its already slow pace.
Impedimenta can manifest in four different ways: temporarily freezing an opponent, repelling them, creating a physical barrier, or simply slowing them down. The prefect's spell had created a barrier.
Unfortunately, such obstacles could be broken by simple brute force. And brute force was the one thing the troll had in abundance.
The troll let out a roar of frustration and smashed its club down, shattering the magical barriers instantly.
The prefect seemed to have anticipated this. His only goal was to stop the troll for a moment. He was already prepared with his next spell. "Avis!"
Countless birds flew from the tip of his wand, pecking at the troll. But this level of attack was so minor it was like a mosquito bite to the creature.
The simple-minded troll was distracted by the magical birds, trying to grab them.
The prefect seized the opportunity and cast another spell, this time aiming for the troll's weapon.
"Reducto!"
The great wooden club was instantly reduced to a cloud of splinters.
Weapon disarmed.
If that club had swept through the group, it would have been a devastating blow to the Slytherin students.
The prefect's wand moved again, and a series of vines sprouted from the walls, wrapping tightly around the troll's limbs and lifting its body into the air so it couldn't use its strength.
A well-executed Transfiguration spell.
Normally, the proper way to deal with a magical creature like a troll would be taught in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Hogwarts' current class was practically nonexistent.
So even as a fifth-year prefect, his experience with trolls was precisely zero.
This prefect was fighting the troll based on sheer intuition alone.
And yet, each spell was chained together, and each was cast with remarkable precision and timing.
This style of wizarding combat fascinated Dudley.
At the same time, he was already assessing the situation, wondering what he would do if he were facing this prefect.
Probably kill them before they could even cast their first spell.
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