For one blazing second—right when the troll called him "Dad"—Theodore's fist tightened and a fireball coalesced, heat rolling off it in waves. He very nearly carved a path with Fire-God Opens the Way and roasted the brute to charcoal.
He didn't. Not just because the blast would be loud enough to rattle the whole floor, but because a sharper idea clicked into place.
A troll was, after all, a magical creature—rated XXXX, far nastier than his Fire Crab, Hoo-Hoo. If Hoo-Hoo could be raised to spit flame on par with a young dragon, then what if he trained a troll? Properly bred and fed, what could it become?
The thought cooled his temper.
Meanwhile the troll, still mumbling "Dad," shuffled closer. Theodore's eye twitched. Even Adamantine Body, Unclouded Mind felt spiritually tested by the smell. The thing was a walking cesspit.
Wind snarled through the lavatory. A dry zzzt of current braided through it as bright filaments of lightning laced Theodore's hands and Ruyi Bang—Command Wind & Thunder answering his call.
Lightning crawled down the lengthened Ruyi Bang. He rapped the troll hard.
Even a troll could not shrug off lightning. The shock snapped something awake behind its dull gaze. It stared at the staff, at the crackling arcs, and its eyes filled with fear. It rumbled, chopping the air with one massive hand:
"D-Dad, strong! Only from sky when big thunder!"
Theodore inhaled, patience thinning—then jabbed it again, electricity dancing. "Call me that one more time, and I'll keep zapping you until you smell like cooked turnip."
Wounded dignity oozed off the troll. What else was a small, metal-skinned, lightning-throwing biped with absurd strength if not… a superior troll? Under the tyranny of the crackling stick, even it could learn. It rummaged its tiny word-hoard for a safer title.
"King."
Better than "Dad." Theodore accepted it—while pinching his nose. The two jolts had heated the stench. Somehow it was worse.
"Scouring Charm—Scourgify. Scourgify. Scourgify."
A gale roared. Centuries of grime and a miasma of troll-reek peeled away in curling sheets. It took five passes—five—before the air reached "barely tolerable."
The troll blinked, fascinated by the sensation of being clean. Then it rumbled, plaintive as a child:
"King… itchy! Want roll in muddy place!"
Blue-white light popped along Ruyi Bang. "You crawl into mud and I'll introduce you to Mister Lightning again."
The troll recoiled, shaking its head vigorously. "No go. No go."
"Good. Stand there."
Now that it wasn't an olfactory war crime, Theodore let the Seven-Apertures Heart study it. Under Beast Affinity and Beast-Breeding—both subsumed into that master talent—something old stirred in the creature's blood.
"Your lineage… unusual," he murmured. "Ancient. Too many myths tell of your kind."
Follow the river far enough and you hit the spring: Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires, monsters hurled into Tartarus—beings who could wrestle gods. Time had thinned that ichor to dishwater. But maybe, just maybe…
A breeding formula surfaced, as natural as breathing.
"Devil's Snare—its magic harmonises with troll flesh. Make it the base, fold in several other reagents… and your growth could spike. Push the bloodline. One eye, four arms, unique traits…"
Not god-killers, not yet. But a dragon-breaker? Absolutely.
Excitement flickered behind Theodore's eyes. A properly raised troll could change a battlefield—even in the war to come at Hogwarts. Push further and even the likes of Dumbledore or Voldemort would frown and recalculate.
His mind jumped ahead to the three-headed dog guarding the Stone upstairs. Bought by Hagrid "from a Greek chap," if memory served. Greek… which was Olympian country. If Fluffy's ancestor was Cerberus, the music-sleep trick made perfect sense.
"Yes," he thought. "We'll borrow the dog, too. Give it a proper home. In a few years… a bestiary fit for myth."
He eyed the troll again, almost fond. "We can't keep calling you 'troll.' Your name is Abba."
"Abba… Abba-abba," the creature crooned, chest rumbling with pride. "King give name. Abba!"
Theodore grimaced at the rags slung around Abba's frame and flicked his wand. Fabric cinched, hems settled—a neat, fitted tunic hugged the massive torso as if a giant-sized tailor had fussed over every seam.
Abba whooped and windmilled his club.
"Step away from that child—now!"
Professor McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip from the hall. A white-hot spell streaked in; Abba's club bloomed into living thorn-vines that coiled his forearm and began to race across his body.
"Abba! Abba-abba!" the troll howled, terrified. "King! Abba hurt! Abba scared!"
Theodore sighed. "Professor, please," he called, calm but firm. "He's young—a juvenile. He wandered in by mistake. He's tamed. He won't lose control."
McGonagall did not lower her wand. Her face was granite. "Mr Ashbourne, I understand your… charitable instincts. But trolls are not creatures one tames. Come here. We will handle the beast."
Theodore looked at Abba's wide, panicked eyes. Shook his head once.
Then, very softly, he turned his palm and whispered:
"Incendio."
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