Defeating the Troll

With the aid of Primordial Magic: Projectile-Craft, the massive club shot backward, soaring through the air until it hovered directly above the troll's head.

Vizet's heart pounded wildly in his chest.

Faced with a life-or-death crisis, he felt something unexpected.

Exhilaration

His understanding of magic sharpened in that instant. Calculating the trajectory with pinpoint accuracy, he released the Levitation Charm's effect.

The massive club plummeted.

Bang!

A sickening crack echoed through the corridor. The troll's skull, like a mole in a game of Whack-a-Mole, was slammed downward into its own chest.

The creature wobbled, staggered a few paces forward, and then collapsed with an earth-shaking thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Fred and George whooped in triumph.

"Brilliant hit! Ravenclaw scores!"

"He'd make a fantastic Beater!"

They high-fived, their grins wider than ever.

Vizet, catching his breath, coughed lightly and brought them back to reality.

"That was impressive, but… Ron and the others are still buried under that wall."

"Oh! Right!" the twins exclaimed in unison, rushing to the pile of collapsed rubble.

"Ron! You still alive in there?" Fred called.

Three voices responded at once.

"Alive! Alive!" came the muffled cries of Hermione, Ron, and Harry.

"Alright, hold on — we'll get you out!"

But before the twins could reach them, something shifted.

A heavy, unsettling scraping sound filled the air.

The troll moved.

Vizet's eyes narrowed. That should have been enough to kill it.

Yet the massive body twitched, convulsed — and then, impossibly, stood up again.

Fred and George froze.

"Did it just… resurrect?"

A deep, guttural growl vibrated through the hallway as the headless troll lurched forward, its movements unnatural, like a marionette controlled by invisible strings.

And it was moving toward Vizet.

A chill crawled up his spine.

Something was very wrong.

Fred and George reacted instantly.

"Vizet, run! It's after you!"

"Move! Get to the Great Hall — we can trap it behind the doors!"

Their wands flicked desperately, sending spell after spell.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Arresto Momentum!"

"Immobulus!"

"Incarcerous!"

Bright flashes of magic shot through the corridor, but the troll barely flinched. Even transfiguration magic proved useless — the ropes they conjured snapped like twine against its inhuman strength.

Vizet did not move.

His mind raced. This… isn't normal.

Trolls were resistant to magic, but not like this.

Then realization dawned. This troll isn't moving on its own.

Someone — or something — is controlling it.

Fred and George, seeing Vizet frozen in place, took desperate action.

"Forget magic — just jump on it!"

Without hesitation, the twins leapt onto the troll's back, clinging for dear life.

It was a bold plan.

A terrible plan.

The troll thrashed violently, slamming itself against the walls to dislodge its passengers.

The twins were sent hurtling through the air, crashing into the stone wall with twin thuds.

They hit the ground, groaning, momentarily dazed.

Vizet's pulse thundered in his ears.

The troll's faceless head turned toward him.

Its soulless, puppet-like body lumbered forward.

A vision flashed through Vizet's mind — granite-like skin splitting apart, rotting flesh melting away, a creature reduced to festering sludge.

His fingers tightened around his wand.

There was only one spell left.

A spell he had sworn he would not use.

Because the Obscurus inside him would fight back.

Because he would lose control.

But there was no time to hesitate.

He raised his wand and, in a voice like a whispering serpent, hissed the incantation.

"Morbus Letalis Crucio!"

The Obscurus within him pulsed violently, like a second heartbeat pounding against his ribs.

For the first time in a long while, he felt it stir — an uncontrollable force, as volatile as a powder keg ready to explode.

A thick, black energy erupted from the tip of his wand, striking the troll square in the face.

The air sizzled.

The troll screamed.

Dark magic spread like a venomous tide, eating away at its flesh.

Its stone-like skin peeled away in grotesque chunks, revealing the pulsing, decaying mass beneath.

Bubbles boiled up across its entire body, bursting one by one, spewing foul-smelling green slime in every direction.

The troll shrieked, staggering backward as its flesh liquefied, melting into a putrid pool of sludge.

And then —

With a final, gurgling groan, the troll collapsed, its entire body dissolving into an unrecognizable heap of foul-smelling ooze.

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Vizet barely noticed the putrid green slime clinging to his robes.

He didn't care.

His hands shot up to clutch his head as an overwhelming wave of malice surged through him, pounding against his consciousness like a violent tide.

His vision blurred. His balance wavered.

He stumbled backward —

"Hey! Vizet, are you okay?"

Fred's voice cut through the haze, but it sounded distant, distorted.

"What was that just now?"

"You look awful — should we get you to the Great Hall? No one's there, you can rest —"

"Whoa, you're literally smoking — this is wicked!"

"Black mist? That's genius! George, remember this for later!"

Vizet barely registered their words.

Dark tendrils of energy coiled around him, curling into the air like wisps of shadow.

The Obscurus inside him pulsed violently, fighting to take control.

Then —

Two steady hands grabbed him just before he collapsed.

The twins held him up, their presence grounding him in reality.

Their voices, bright and full of unshakable humor, cut through the suffocating darkness.

Light.

It was like a sliver of light piercing through the abyss.

Guardian Meditation Method.

Vizet seized the moment, forcing himself into a meditative state.

The chaos inside him settled. The darkness retreated, its grip weakening.

His mind cleared, and for the first time since the battle ended, he became aware of his surroundings.

The Great Hall flickered into focus.

Candles hovered above long tables, the remnants of the Halloween feast still scattered across golden plates.

And, unmistakably, the retching sounds of Fred and George echoed nearby.

"Ugh... what in Merlin's name happened?" Fred groaned. "Why did the troll melt into — this?"

"No idea," George wheezed. "But if you ever wanna make proper Dungbombs, you need Corpse-Stench Spirits — and even those don't smell half as bad as this… ugh!"

"Yeah, but those are expensive! This, on the other hand — free sample!"

Fred and George, despite still aching from their crash into the wall, were already scooping up the green mucus, bottling it with alarming enthusiasm.

Vizet stifled a chuckle.

Even after facing a near-death encounter with a reanimated troll, the Weasley twins had one thing on their minds: pranking potential.

Their infectious energy pushed back the last remnants of darkness threatening to swallow him.

Seizing the moment, Vizet gripped his wand, raised it high, and traced a yin-yang symbol in the air.

A silver-blue cyclone burst forth.

The whirlwind swept away the troll's foul-smelling slime, cleansing his robes in an instant.

More importantly — it purged the lingering malice that had threatened to consume him.

And just in time.

A calm, familiar voice echoed from the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Shall I lend a hand?"

Vizet turned, heart still racing.

Standing at the doorway, his deep-blue robes flowing around him, was Albus Dumbledore.

"If Mr. Filch stumbles upon this scene," the Headmaster continued, "I daresay he'll be… considerably displeased."

The hall, once filled with eerie silence, now stirred with renewed liveliness.

The twins had stationed themselves in front of their two large jars of green slime, standing like royal guards defending a priceless treasure.

Their greatest threat?

Percy Weasley — who was pacing nearby, throwing them suspicious glances, as though the putrid substance inside the jars might explode at any moment.

On the far side of the hall, Hermione, Harry, and Ron stood shoulder to shoulder.

Dust clung to their robes. Their hair was wild and disheveled.

They weren't hurt.

But judging by the way they stood — heads lowered, hands clasped — they were most certainly waiting to be scolded.

Meanwhile, Penelope Clearwater had taken a seat beside Vizet, watching him with concern.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital wing?" she asked gently. "You're as pale as parchment."

Before Vizet could respond, his gaze drifted past her.

Dumbledore had stepped further into the room, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over the troll's remains, then landing squarely on Vizet.

Behind him stood four professors, each with vastly different expressions.