Troll Attack

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October arrived in the blink of an eye, and Hogwarts had grown even colder.

The first month of the school year passed peacefully, with only a few minor events worth mentioning.

What Sargeras kept hearing about the most was that Harry Potter had been chosen as the youngest Seeker in Gryffindor's hundred-year history.

The second most talked-about thing was Professor Quirinus Quirrell, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts and had turned the subject into a shining example of failure.

That confused Sargeras a little. After all, Professor Quirrell, like him, had once been a student of Ravenclaw House.

From what he'd heard, the man had been a brilliant student back in his day—outstanding in theory and academics. The only problem was, he lacked confidence and had a quiet, overly sensitive disposition.

Back when Sargeras was still a student, Quirrell had briefly taught a class on "Muggle Studies" at Hogwarts. Sargeras had actually taken that class. To be honest, it hadn't left much of an impression.

Quirrell's attitude toward Muggle culture had been… conflicted. He seemed interested, but there was always an undercurrent of prejudice. Then again, that wasn't all that unusual in the wizarding world. While his teaching hadn't been particularly effective back then, it certainly wasn't as bad as it was now.

From what Sargeras had heard over the past few days, the professor—now rehired—hadn't just failed to improve over the years. If anything, he'd gotten significantly worse.

But none of that really had anything to do with Sargeras. After all, it was Dumbledore who had invited him back. Even if Quirrell taught worse than a troll with a chalkboard, it wasn't Sargeras' problem. All he needed to do was focus on his own classes well.

He was currently fiddling with the obsidian eye of his raven. His research had hit a dead end lately, and he needed something else to distract himself for a bit.

Like, say… giving this fellow new eyes.

Which—actually—he'd already commissioned from someone.

Suddenly, with a fluttering whoosh, a gray owl landed on the windowsill of his office, a package clutched in its beak. Sargeras opened the window and took the package with one hand while the other slipped a handful of mithril shavings into his palm.

Inside the package was a single object: a constantly rotating magical eyeball. It had been crafted by the alchemical master Barclay—someone Sargeras only knew about thanks to the recommendation of Mad-Eye Moody himself.

Yes, that Barclay—the same alchemist who had created Moody's magical eye.

But the eyeball Sargeras had commissioned was a bit different. It was much smaller in size, and its only function was surveillance. It could transmit the visual feed seen by Noctis straight to him.

At the same time, it retained its original function of refracting magical energy. Through the eye, he could project light and play back pre-recorded messages.

But that was good enough. After all, its main job was to serve as a messenger.

Sargeras nodded in satisfaction, then suddenly noticed the owl still perched at his window, its head tilted as it stared at him.

He smacked his forehead. "Sorry—force of habit."

He gave a little wave, and a sack of nearly-expired owl treats flew out of a drawer. He grabbed a handful and handed it to the bird.

After the delivery owl had flown off, Sargeras quickly replaced the raven's old eye with the new one and sent it out for a test flight.

The raven darted around the castle with swift, precise movements. And through its brand-new eye, Sargeras could clearly see a group of young witches and wizards practicing on the Quidditch pitch…

———————————————————

By the end of October, Halloween had arrived.

Jack-o'-lanterns lanterns and flocks of fluttering bats floated through every corner of Hogwarts. The whole castle was steeped in the warm, golden glow of the holiday spirit.

Sargeras sat at the professors' table, completely disinterested in the extravagant feast laid out before him.

Truth be told, when he'd first been informed that he was expected to attend the banquet, his first instinct had been to decline. But Professor Flitwick—who had once been his Head of House and had helped him considerably during his student days—was the reason that refusal never quite made it past his lips.

Inside the Great Hall, young witches and wizards laughed and cheerfully devoured their food, while the professors chatted quietly among themselves. Strangely, none of the castle's usual ghosts were anywhere to be seen tonight. Only Peeves the poltergeist floated about, causing minor mischief wherever he went.

Still, not everyone was at the feast. For instance—Hermione.

That bright little witch didn't always have the best judgment. It had been nearly two months since the school year began, and she hadn't managed to make a single friend.

It bothered her more than she cared to admit. And as if that wasn't enough, today Ron Weasley had gone and insulted her right in front of everyone.

All she'd done was correct the way he was holding his wand in Charms class.

She was trying to help… but he still talked about her behind her back!

Hermione kept repeating that in her mind, the same words tumbling over and over.

For someone as proud as Hermione Granger, it was especially painful. She had always done well in school, always excelled. Even here at Hogwarts, she was considered a very brilliant young witch.

She just didn't understand why everyone seemed to dislike her. Was it really so awful to strictly follow school rules and avoid getting into trouble?

Now, curled up in a stall inside one of the bathrooms, Hermione wept quietly, hidden from the world.

———————————————————

Sargeras let his gaze drift lazily across the sea of feasting students, before settling on the one name everyone knew—Harry Potter.

As someone who had crossed over into this world, he'd always had a lingering question in the back of his mind.

Because he knew nothing about the plot. All he'd ever heard was that Harry was "the Boy Who Lived," the one destined to defeat Voldemort. And over the years, with all that he had witnessed himself, there was one thing he kept wondering about.

Voldemort had supposedly been defeated eleven years ago—when Harry was still just a baby. So what exactly did the rest of this world-famous fantasy novel from his previous life even cover? Was it just about a baby beating the Dark Lord?

That couldn't be right!

He'd gone over every possibility he could think of, but in the end, no explanation ever fully made sense.

Maybe… maybe Voldemort hadn't actually died?

As Sargeras sat lost in thought at the professors' table, a sudden scream of terror rang out from the front doors of the Great Hall.

"Troooooll!"

Professor Quirrell came stumbling into the hall, panic etched across his entire face as he ran, shouting breathlessly, "There's a Troll! In the dungeons—!"

He sprinted straight up to Dumbledore, gasping, "Thought you ought to know…"

And then he collapsed face-first onto the floor, out cold.

BOOOOM~!

The Great Hall immediately erupted in chaos. Students leapt from their seats, shrieking in panic, eyes wide with fear.

Sargeras remained seated, quietly watching the chaos unfold around him without uttering a word. He didn't even look alarmed.

Though deep down, he was a little puzzled.

How could a troll possibly show up inside Hogwarts Castle?

And more than that… something about Quirrell's behavior didn't sit right with him. Sure, the man was timid and easily frightened—that much Sargeras understood—but fainting on the spot like that…?

"Silence!"

Dumbledore raised his wand, sending out a sharp series of thunderous bangs, and the chaotic din in the Great Hall died away almost instantly.

"Prefects, lead your Houses back to their dormitories."

"Professors, come with me to the dungeons. We need to deal with the Troll."

The old headmaster's calm, steady presence quickly helped settle the younger students' panic.

With the prefects shouting instructions, students began to huddle together in tight, uneasy clusters. Ron glanced over at Harry, then leaned in and whispered, "Hermione doesn't know about the Troll! She's still in the girls' bathroom… crying!"

Harry's eyes widened as it hit him. Without hesitation, he made up his mind. "We've got to go tell her…"

Ron's face twisted into a reluctant grimace, but he didn't argue. The two slipped away from the group while everyone was distracted…

Meanwhile, having listened to Dumbledore's orders, Sargeras also rose from his seat and looked up toward the chandelier, giving a quick gesture toward Noctis. The raven immediately swooped down in a silent dive, landing gracefully on his arm.

Sargeras joined the group of professors heading for the dungeons. Along the way, both Dumbledore and Snape quietly slipped away, vanishing down separate corridors without a word.

But when the rest of them finally arrived at the dungeon corridor, there was no sign of the Troll.

Professor McGonagall wore a deep frown as she scanned the empty hallway. Her voice was puzzled, tinged with caution. "It's not here… there's no Troll."

"It's been here. I can smell it." Sargeras swept his gaze across the corridor as he spoke, his tone calm but certain.

McGonagall gave a thoughtful nod, then turned to the two professors beside her. "Filius, you and Pomona—go and keep an eye on the students. Don't let anyone come this way. Sargeras…"

"I know." He gave a single nod, then raised his arm and flicked his wrist sharply. Noctis took to the air in a blur of wings. His voice dropped, cold and focused. "Find it."

"Cawww—!"

Noctis let out a piercing cry as it darted into the hallway ahead, wings slicing through the air as it swept through each passage and corridor.

Sargeras narrowed his eyes, saying nothing, silently watching the visions streaming into his mind through the raven's eyes.

Suddenly, a shrill, high-pitched scream tore through the air.

In the next instant, Noctis veered sharply in midair and shot straight like an arrow toward the source of the cry—the entrance to the girls' bathroom.

Inside the washroom, the hulking form of the Troll finally came into view.

It was a Mountain Troll, with thick gray skin, a knobbly, lumbering body, and flat feet covered in layers of rough, horn-like calluses. But it wasn't alone. There were also three young students inside, all in disarray and desperation.

"Shadowless Step."

Sargeras's body vanished in an instant before the professors' eyes, flickering out of sight like a shadow blown away by wind.

At that very moment, chaos had completely overtaken the bathroom. The sinks were shattered, the stalls crushed, water spraying in all directions from burst pipes.

Hermione was curled in a corner, paralyzed by fear, too terrified to even move.

Ron Weasley was throwing broken wood at the Troll, hoping to distract it.

Harry, meanwhile, was dangling upside down, caught by the ankle and held high in the air by the massive creature.

The troll had one hand wrapped around Harry's leg, the other gripping a heavy wooden club, already raised—ready to bring it crashing down on the boy.

Noctis let out a piercing shriek that echoed through the ruins of the room…

———————————————————

At that moment, Hermione Granger was filled with nothing but regret. She stared up at the enormous gray-black Troll, towering over her at more than ten feet tall, and all she could feel was despair.

Every ounce of courage she'd ever had had completely drained away. Right before her horror-stricken eyes, Harry Potter had leapt onto the troll's back in a reckless attempt to save her, jamming his wand straight into one of the creature's nostrils.

She wanted to help too, she really did… but her legs were shaking so badly she couldn't even stand.

For a fleeting moment, it all felt unreal, as though she had stumbled into some absurd and terrible dream.

At first, she'd thought coming to Hogwarts would be a beautiful dream of magic and wonder. But now that dream had twisted into something terrifying… this monstrous Troll crashing into it like a nightmare given form.

And now, with that giant club already raised, about to come swinging down and smash Harry into a bloody mess, she could almost see the moment the dream would shatter completely… transforming into a nightmare she might never wake from.

Huddled helplessly in the corner, Hermione could do nothing but tremble—until she witnessed something utterly surreal…

A raven swooped into the bathroom through the doorway, its piercing cry splitting the air—and in the same breath, Professor Greengrass appeared out of nowhere.

With calm precision and a face like stone, he raised his wand toward the Troll and uttered a spell, voice cold and unhesitating.

"Crimson Rend."

A flash of blood-red light shot from the tip of his wand and struck the Troll in the blink of an eye.

CRACK~!

The mountain-sized creature exploded into chunks of torn flesh, the force of the spell sending its shredded remains crashing against the bathroom walls. A massive, blood-red shadow flickered across the tiles—then vanished.

Just like that, the Troll was dead!

The three young wizards were safe, but none of them could calm down. They were still reeling, stunned, adrenaline pounding in their veins. Harry, drenched head to toe in the troll's blood and guts, was hit worst of all. The stench clung to him like poison, and the nausea hit hard enough to make him gag.

"Scourgify~ (Cleanse)."

Sargeras lowered his wand and pointed toward the trio with a subtle flick of his fingers.

A soft ripple of invisible magic passed through the air. In an instant, all three of them were clean again. The grime on their robes vanished. Cold sweat and tears disappeared. Even the stray strands of hair stuck to their foreheads dried out and lay neatly in place.

Without sparing a glance at their dumbstruck faces, Sargeras turned and cast another spell.

"Reparo Maxima."

The shattered sinks reformed in seconds, their ceramic pieces clicking back into place. The water spraying across the floor flowed backward, returning to the burst pipes and sealing the breaks with quiet precision.

He then bent down, picked up a wand from the wet floor, glanced briefly at the trio, and returned it to Harry's hand without a word.

The three young students opened their mouths to speak—but Sargeras raised a hand to stop them.

"Accio Remains."

All across the blood-soaked floor, chunks of troll meat began to rise into the air, drawing together and forming a large sphere. Threads of blood slithered out between the seams, winding around the mass like fine string.

Suspended in midair, the grotesque orb hovered before them, bound tightly in those thin red strands.

"No need to explain," Sargeras said with a faint smile. "Save your excuses for your Head of House. I imagine… she's not going to be very pleased when she finds you here in a moment."

Just as he finished speaking, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Snape, Quirrell, and Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway all at once.

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[Chapter End's]

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