Flames raced toward Abba—and the young troll flinched—until Theodore raised his voice.
"Abba, hold still. It'll be over in a blink."
The troll froze, wide-eyed. The blaze reached him… then twined mid-air. Under Theodore's wand, fire thinned into ribbons, coiling down the living briars that bound Abba's arm. In a heartbeat, Professor McGonagall's transfigured thorns were nothing but drifting cinders.
Abba stared at the falling ash, then clapped and bounced, delighted. "Abba! Abba!" Each hop thudded through the stone.
Professor McGonagall drew a long, steadying breath, eyes fixed on Theodore—half from the shock that he'd actually tamed a troll, half from the neat, impossible metamorphosis he'd just pulled off.
He'd advanced again. Between last period and now.
At eleven?
Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville were no less stunned. Even Hermione—who knew better than anyone how strong Theodore was—felt her mind go blank watching those fire-threads and that crisp reversal. So this was his real level.
Harry's mouth worked. They'd… been at school for one day. Had Theodore attended a secret pre-Hogwarts?
"Mr Ashbourne," McGonagall managed at last, voice tight, "you will explain yourself."
Theodore put on the look of a man grievously wronged. "With respect, Professor, I'm the one due an explanation. I was minding my own stomachache, in a lavatory, at Britain's 'safest' school—when a troll walked in. Do you know the sheer panic of yanking up your trousers to meet a club? If I hadn't been born able to converse with magical creatures—even trolls—I'd be a pancake. Surely thirty points to Gryffindor for courage would be… reasonable?"
Silence. Then, reluctantly, "It does rather… sound reasonable." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Very well. Thirty points to Gryffindor—for Mr Ashbourne's courage, presence of mind, and frankly astonishing Transfiguration."
She exhaled. "Now, Mr Ashbourne, back to your common room with the others. As for the troll—"
"It's Abba," Theodore supplied gently.
McGonagall inhaled through her nose. "—as for Abba, I will have Hagrid escort him to the Forbidden Forest."
Theodore nodded and turned to his new charge. "Abba, back to the forest. I'll come visit. And listen—if you don't want to meet Mister Lightning again, stay clean. Not a roaming chamber pot, understood?"
Abba bobbed his head. "Abba clean. King say—Abba do."
They left the lavatory. Harry and Ron lasted two steps.
"Theo!"
"You tamed a troll?"
"Do you—do you actually speak Troll?!"
Hermione just pressed a hand to her chest, some colour returning to her face. "I'm… glad you're all right."
Harry opened his mouth to declare that Theo was too absurd to be in danger—then Ron elbowed him, shooting a meaningful look towards Hermione. Harry blinked, side-eyed, then mouthed: Really? Ron's minute nod said trust me. For some reason, the thought didn't make Ron entirely happy.
Back in the Gryffindor common room, the noise hit like a tidal wave.
"What happened?"
"Was it a troll?"
"Did McGonagall flay you alive?"
Ron basked, throwing his arms wide. "Huge troll. And under Theo's wand it started tap-dancing. Oh—and McGonagall didn't take points. She gave us thirty, for Theo's bravery, quick thinking, and insane Transfiguration!"
A heartbeat of stunned quiet—then the room erupted. Shouts, cheers, questions—
Theodore smiled faintly, let Veil Presence slide over him, and ghosted out from the ring of admirers.
"So much for staying low-key," he thought, glancing towards the Headmaster's tower. "Even Dumbledore will be peeking now." His plans for the three-headed dog would have to simmer on a slow flame; no reason to wave flags at the castle's chessmaster yet.
At least Earth-Spirit Core and Crane-Form Lightness—layered with the breathing from the Flying-Tiger Drill—meant that with both feet on stone he could drink from the castle's deep lines of earth-qi. He spent the next few days attending classes like an angel and, quietly, growing—body like tempered steel, magic like a fuller tide.
Thursday evening came swiftly.
In the dorm, nerves hummed.
"Potions tomorrow," Harry muttered.
"Snape's like a venomous snake," Ron said. "He hisses at everyone and saves the worst for Gryffindor. And after this week? Theo and Hermione have racked up seventy-plus points. The Slytherins are glaring holes through us."
"He's going to single us out," Neville fretted.
A thoughtful light kindled behind Theodore's eyes.
Potions. At last.
Seven-Apertures Heart; Control Fire As One; and a respectable foundation in theory… he could put on a clinic. But to impress Snape—to move from grudging tolerance to actual rapport—took more than tidy brewing.
Fortunately, he still had a trump card.
He looked up from his notes, voice mild. "I have a way not only to keep Professor Snape from docking us… but to make him add points."
Three heads snapped towards him.
"Do you want to hear it?"
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