Hollywood: Actor with equipment
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"Ow, ow, ow!"
Tom clutched his swollen foot, hopping on one leg in place, tears practically shooting from his eyes. This troll's backside was ridiculously hard!
"Roooaaar—?"
The troll seemed to sense something. It let out a puzzled low growl, then slowly turned around.
Its tiny eyes—barely bigger than fingernails—scanned the corridor blankly, completely failing to notice the blue cat hopping around at its feet.
After staring for a long moment, the troll scratched its head (smaller than a coconut), turned back just as lazily, heaved its club onto its shoulder, and lumbered onward.
"—Did it seriously not even see Tom?"
Watching the dim-witted giant, Harry kept his voice low and uncertain. "So… can we just slip past while it's not looking?"
Everyone except him and Hermione came from wizarding families—they probably knew trolls better.
"I-I don't know… but maybe it could work?"
Ron answered on instinct, mouth hanging open.
Draco shot him a cold glance. "If you're in a hurry to die, go right ahead and try it."
His voice stayed low, but the mockery was unmistakable. "Trolls are stupid, not blind. It missed Tom because that cat got lucky and moved fast. You think it won't spot this many of us? And if it does? Then what—we just stand here and wait to die?!"
"You—!"
Ron's neck stiffened, ready to fire back, but Draco cut him off instantly. "Keep yelling if you want to get us all killed. Go on—lure the thing straight to us and wipe the whole group out!"
Ron's face flushed crimson, but he clamped his mouth shut. Thank Merlin he still had Harry. Seeing his friend take the hit, Harry quickly tugged Ron's sleeve and whispered something soothing.
Watching the two of them huddled together, Draco felt an even sharper twist of irritation in his chest.
He'd clearly won the argument, yet somehow it felt like he'd lost.
Tom hadn't heard a word of the bickering. By now his foot had magically healed itself (the beauty of scene-transition recovery). He stared at the troll's retreating back, and a fresh wave of fury surged through him.
He'd come out here to look cool. Instead this ugly lump had made him look like an idiot. No way was he letting that slide. If he could swallow it, he wouldn't be Tom.
He glanced at the oblivious troll, reached behind his back, and rummaged. A moment later a dainty little harp appeared in his paws.
If the raw numbers don't add up, then don't blame me for turning into a mechanics monster!
With that thought, Tom lifted the harp.
It was an ordinary harp—until Tom flicked his tail and pointed at it from a distance. The instrument instantly floated into the air, swaying gently.
Magic harp? Simple. It was a harp that did magic. Whatever spell was on it didn't matter.
Tom's mouth curved into a grin. He plucked a single string.
A pink beam shot from the strings and struck the troll square in the back.
The next second the troll felt something change. The club in its hand grew heavier and heavier, and the corridor around it seemed to stretch wider and wider. The passageway that had barely fit one troll could now hold three or four with room to spare.
Its brain—smaller than a booger—had no idea what was happening. Before it could react, the massive club slipped from its grip.
The enormous log fell straight down and smashed directly onto the troll's head.
The troll itself didn't understand a thing, but the spectators watching from the side saw everything perfectly.
The moment the pink light hit, the four-meter-tall troll began shrinking at a visible speed until it was no bigger than Hedwig. The club stayed upright until the troll had shrunk to the size of an owl—then it slammed down.
"Is it… dead?"
Hermione swallowed hard, voice trembling. Getting crushed by a club thicker than its own body—even a troll probably wouldn't survive that.
[No, it's not dead.]
Tom glanced at the club that had bounced several times before finally landing, then shrugged.
[It's probably just embedded in the floor. I'm familiar with this.]
After all, this sort of thing was basically his daily routine. Well… back when he and Jerry were still on bad terms.
"Tom, how did you do that? Trolls have insane magic resistance! And what was that harp? Did you cast through it? But wizards can only use wands, right? What spell did you use to shrink it? And—"
Hermione had completely forgotten her earlier terror. She rushed right up to Tom, eyes sparkling, firing off questions like a machine gun.
This scene feels weirdly familiar…
Tom grumbled internally, but since it was Hermione he answered patiently.
[Trolls have high magic resistance, sure, but magic harps have a special effect against giants! That's a trick I picked up while adventuring with Jack!]
"Jack?"
Everyone except Hermione (the walking library) looked blank—even Harry, who'd grown up in the Muggle world.
Hermione blinked, puzzled. "Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk?"
[Of course!]
"But… that's a fairy tale."
[For Muggles, wizards are fairy tales too.]
"…Fair point."
Hermione fell into thoughtful silence, clearly tangled in the logic.
Tom covered his mouth, secretly laughing. He'd told the truth—there really was a Jack. Just not in this world.
"Wait, what are you two even—"
Ron started to ask, but before he could finish, a cold, furious shout echoed from the far end of the corridor.
"Sectumsempra!"
Several jets of blood sprayed into the air. Then a figure in black robes strode around the corner, face like thunder—Professor Snape.
His expression was grim, but the moment he saw the group—especially Harry, unharmed—a tiny, almost invisible breath of relief escaped him.
The instant his gaze landed on Harry's face, however, that relief vanished. Harry had changed back from Evans to Potter, and Snape's expression darkened like a storm cloud rolling in.