Chapter 42: A Very Gentle Professor
Outside the girls' bathroom.
A faint light dimly illuminated the corridor, filled with a nauseating stench like rotting waste and old socks left in a pile.
Low murmurs blended with the sound of heavy feet thudding against the stone floor.
Two first-year students hid behind a corner, barely three meters away from the troll. They peeked out, hearts pounding with fear and excitement, legs trembling.
"He went into the room."
"I saw it."
"The key's still in the lock," Harry whispered. "We can lock the door. That way the troll's trapped, and we can go find Hermione safely."
"Good idea."
"…"
The two boys crept along the wall, barely daring to breathe, terrified the troll might suddenly burst out swinging its club. Their hearts were pounding louder than their footsteps.
When Harry judged the distance right, he lunged forward, slammed the door shut, and turned the key.
Click!
Locked. Secure.
"Done!"
Both boys exhaled sharply, flushed with adrenaline.
They had defeated the troll or so they thought.
Grinning in triumph, they turned to run for Hermione only to nearly collide with a tall figure in the hall.
"Professor… Professor Lewynter!"
Caught red-handed.
Harry stiffened. "Professor, we didn't mean to break the rules! Hermione wasn't at the feast when everyone evacuated. Lavender said she went to the girls' bathroom, so we came to tell her about the troll!"
Melvin paused, deadpan. "One question, gentlemen. If the witch you're talking about is in the bathroom… then which room did you just lock the troll into?"
Their minds went blank. Cold sweat poured down their backs.
A mountain troll three meters tall locked in a small stone bathroom… and Hermione, barely one meter twenty, trapped inside.
They didn't dare imagine the rest.
Ron's voice cracked in panic. "Professor, please! Go save Hermione!"
"Didn't you call her a nightmare earlier?" a calm female voice interjected.
"I was wrong! She's not a nightmare she's brilliant! Please, save her!"
Harry blinked, suddenly realizing something was off. He looked behind the professor and exhaled in relief. Then he nudged Ron.
Ron shoved him away, near tears. "Why're you pulling me? Tell the professor to hurry! If Hermione gets hurt, it'll be our fault!"
Harry sighed and pointed. "Look who's here."
"…Hermione? HERMIONE!"
"You're not in the bathroom!"
"If I had been, you two would've killed me!"
"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have called you a nightmare. My fault…"
"I have flaws too. I'll try to fix them."
"No, it's our problem."
"…"
Melvin watched the emotional reconciliation of the future "Golden Trio" with detached interest until the wooden door beside them began to shudder violently.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said calmly, "I don't mean to interrupt your diplomatic negotiations, but if we don't open the door for Mr. Troll soon, he'll open it himself."
All three turned their heads just as
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The ancient door buckled under massive blows, spraying splinters and dust. The hinges screeched.
Then came one final CRACK! and the entire door exploded inward.
The mountain troll, over three and a half meters tall, lumbered out, muscles bulging like boulders. Its arms were twice as long as its legs; its head the size of a Quaffle swung low. With a guttural snort, it raised its crude club.
"P-professor…" Ron's voice shook.
The students drew their wands each in their own awkward way.
Hermione held hers upright, focused.
Harry gripped his backward, as though preparing to stab something.
Melvin sighed quietly. I teach Muggle Studies, not combat magic.
Hermione's gaze flicked nervously toward him. "Shouldn't we call Professor McGonagall or the Headmaster?"
Harry nodded eagerly. "Yeah we can run, the troll's too slow!"
Melvin merely adjusted his cuffs. "No need. I'll cover this lesson."
The three froze staring at him, wide-eyed, expectant.
The professor hesitated for a moment. For professionalism's sake, he drew his wand and spoke clearly:
"Aguamenti."
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The first-years gaped. Those were beginner spells the simplest they'd learned all week!
A clear stream of water coalesced midair, shimmering silver in the torchlight.
The troll blinked dumbly then swung its club down.
Before it could strike, the sphere of water floated forward and wrapped gently around its head.
The troll thrashed, gagged, bubbles gurgling from its mouth and nose. Its roar broke into muffled groans as the water filled its throat. Its veins bulged, muscles spasming wildly.
Within seconds, the beast stumbled, convulsed, and finally went limp collapsing backward with a thunderous crash.
The suspended water, now muddy and opaque, rippled softly, then splashed onto the floor with a sharp splash!
The students stood frozen, eyes wide.
Melvin exhaled. "Don't worry. It only fainted from hypoxic shock."
His tone was that of a calm lecturer. "Trolls are classified by habitat: mountain, river, and swamp. They're extremely resilient and resistant to standard spells. Suffocation via controlled water conjuration is the most efficient nonlethal method. Highly practical in emergencies."
Hermione stared at the troll's twitching chest, relieved to see it still breathing.
Harry and Ron exchanged a silent look. Their professor was terrifying and impressive.
Moments later, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell arrived.
Snape crouched beside the fallen troll, muttering. After a moment, he rose.
"Temporary coma. Oxygen deprivation," he said curtly.
Quirrell trembled, clutching his turban like a lifeline. Melvin glanced at him sideways honestly, one could mistake the troll for his date.
McGonagall's expression was grave. "Professor Lewynter, what happened?"
Melvin's tone was measured. "About an hour ago, I met Miss Granger on my way to dinner. Then the boys arrived, saying there was a troll loose. We encountered it here… and this was the result."
He gestured casually to the unconscious creature on the floor.
One hour later Gryffindor girls' dormitory
Hermione, freshly washed and in her winter nightgown, folded her uniform neatly. From a pocket, she pulled out a hazelnut chocolate. She paused, checking its label. No production or expiration date.
Parvati and Lavender were awake.
Parvati, sitting on her bed with a Transfiguration textbook, peeked over the cover. Lavender, half-buried under her blanket, shot upright.
"Hermione! Where were you? Did you see the troll?"
Hermione recounted the night's events with slight edits to avoid certain details.
Parvati's eyes shone with admiration. Lavender blinked, curious. "Harry and Ron went to find you themselves instead of a professor? Why?"
Hermione hesitated. "Maybe they… didn't think."
"Like the troll?"
"…Yes."
"How did Professor Lewynter defeat it?"
"With a Purification Charm and Levitation Spell used together to induce hypoxic unconsciousness," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "He didn't kill it."
"Elegant and efficient… that's so cool," Lavender sighed dreamily.
Hermione fell silent, remembering the scene. The calm voice. The faint shimmer of magic.
"Did they ever find out how the troll got in?"
"Apparently Professor Quirrell bought it for class demonstration and kept it in an unused dungeon. It broke loose tonight."
"Will he be expelled?"
"Probably not. Professor McGonagall said she'd discuss it with the Headmaster."
"Shame…" Parvati sighed. "He smells awful."
Hermione smiled faintly, still holding the chocolate. Her thoughts wandered to that kind, unassuming professor who always had candies in his pockets, who cracked awkward jokes, who cast windproof charms so casually, who could subdue a level-5 creature with grace and precision.
A young professor but a wise and gentle one.
She squeezed the chocolate in her palm, lips curving.
It would be a waste to throw it away. I'll ask him about it tomorrow.
(And for the record I treat Hermione like a little sister, not a romantic heroine.)
(End of chapter.)