“Mr Potter. Mr Weasley,” Cassian said, unimpressed. “Out for a dungeon crawl, are we?”

Ron scrambled to his feet. “We were… uh, heading back, but then… Hermione! She doesn’t know about the troll. She is in the loo!”

Cassian stared at them, mouth parting slightly. “You left a girl in the bathroom while a troll is on the loose?”

Harry shot a look at Ron, panicked. “We didn’t leave her, we just… she didn’t know! We were going to find her.”

Cassian sighed a tired breath and looked over his shoulder for a miracle that wasn’t there. “Brilliant.”

Sending them alone was a gamble. If the troll was still loose in the corridors, they’d only panic and might blunder straight into it. But if it really was in the bathroom… dragging two first-years along would be reckless. He hesitated, torn between dangers, but leaving them behind felt worse. In the end, the safest choice was to keep them close.

He turned. “Right, show me.”

Ron blinked. “You are coming?”

Cassian looked at him, incredulous. “Yes, Weasley, I thought I would let you two handle it. Maybe throw a quill at it, see who blinks.” Seeing the blank look, he jerked his chin. “Move.”

They didn’t argue. They ran.

The trip to the girls’ loo wasn’t long, five corridors, two half-skids, and one very near collision with a suit of armour. Cassian was already regretting not bringing a mask or, better, a shovel. There was a distinct stink in the air now. Sharp, sour, and heavy. Not a lavatory scent. Worse. A troll.

As they neared the corner, a crash shook the tiles. One of the sinks inside the girls’ loo screamed its death rattle. Something grunted. Something huge.

The door had been torn off its hinges. The stone threshold was cracked. Inside, the troll loomed… grey, leathery, and profoundly stupid-looking, its back to them, club raised mid-air.

Hermione was cornered near the last stall. Frozen. Clutching the edge of the basin for her dear life.

Before Cassian could even move, Harry yelled, “Look here, you big oaf! Come after me if you dare!”

The troll stopped mid-swing, one thick foot scraping sideways as it turned, blinking at Harry like he just insulted its mum.

Cassian didn’t wait. He stepped in front of the duo, wand up, quick flick, “Glacium!”

The spell sparked blue and snapped off the troll’s shoulder like rain on stone.

“Lovely,” he muttered. “We are dealing with thick skin and thicker skull.”

Another flick. “Confringo!”

That one hit square in the chest. Troll stumbled a step, snorted, then sneezed like it had smelled its own armpit. No burn. Barely a dent.

Cassian sidestepped, pulling the two behind, as the troll’s club whooshed past and cracked a basin in two.

Hermione scrambled sideways, clutching the wall.

Harry and Ron bolted left, flanking the troll without any real plan other than not dying. The creature turned, growling, swiping its club across the broken tiles.

“Reducto!” Cassian shouted a stronger spell, this time aimed at the creature’s leg.

It bounced off the shin.

“Oh, for… what is that leg made of, petrified meatloaf?”

Harry ducked under a swing. Ron tripped over his own foot and smacked into the wall.

The troll bellowed and lurched forward. Club raised.

Hermione snapped, “Do something!”

Ron’s wand jerked up. “Wingardium Leviosargh…!”

Cassian was already shouting, “It is ‘Leviosa,’ not… don’t add a bloody consonant!”

Hermione echoed him from the floor. “It is ‘Wingardium Levi-o-sa!'”

Ron’s grip tightened. He shouted it again, cleaner this time. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The troll’s club twitched. Then lifted.

Up. Straight up. Troll blinked at it like it was mugged by gravity.

It hovered there, then lost control of his spell. The club dropped.

Straight onto the troll’s head.

It made a sound like a pumpkin splitting under a boot.

The troll wobbled. Stared. Then dropped, legs buckling as it face-planted. Face-first into the mess.

Silence.

Cassian straightened slowly, wand still raised. Bits of ceiling dust drifted through the air like lazy snow. Someone’s shoe squelched in a puddle. Harry leaned over, breathing hard. Ron looked pale. Hermione was pressed into the wall, cheeks blotchy, eyes wide.

Cassian stepped around the unconscious troll, sidestepping the troll spit. He looked down at the mess of face and club and slowly let out a breath.

“Well,” he said, “that is one way to defeat a troll.”

Harry wiped his face on his sleeve. “Is it… dead?”

Cassian crouched, tapped the troll’s skull with the end of his wand. Dull thunk. “Nope. Brain is still rattling around in there. Probably looking for the exit.”

Hermione was still clutching the sink.

Ron stared at his wand, surprised it could do that. “I… I didn’t think it would work.”

“Neither did I,” Cassian said, dusting off his sleeve. “But I am thrilled to be wrong. Mark the date.”

Harry glanced at Hermione. “Are you alright?”

She nodded stiffly. Her hands trembled.

Cassian waved a hand, “Right. No time for hugs. We got a troll in a loo and three students who should be upstairs. That is a paperwork nightmare.”

Before they could leave, two things happened.

First, Cassian felt it. Like someone flicked a switch behind his eyes. Magic shifted in him, familiar, strange, and utterly textbook. His mastery on Wingardium Leviosa jumped a level. It wasn’t the same as casting it himself over and over… this was from teaching it. This kind of increase usually took weeks. A few dozen classroom hours. This? Felt like a cheat code.

That… was odd. Not unwelcome, but odd.

Second, McGonagall swept into the ruined bathroom with the energy of a woman fully prepared to ban students from existence. Snape followed, looking like he scented blood and wanted to bottle it. Quirrell trailed behind, still trembling, turban half-askew, wide-eyed as if expecting the troll to resurrect.

The three of them stopped dead.

One very unconscious troll. One toilet in several pieces. Three students smeared with more grime than could be justified. And Cassian.

McGonagall’s gaze snapped to him, then to three students. “Explain yourself. Right now.”

Hermione stepped forward.

“It was my fault, Professor McGonagall,” she said, fast and firm. “I was looking for the troll. I read about them, and I thought I could handle it. Harry and Ron came to stop me.”

Small, stiff, still shaking a little, but refusing to look away. She stood straight.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Granger. What possessed you to think… no. No, we will address that later.” She turned her attention on Harry and Ron. “You two left your dormitories to follow her?”

“Yes,” said Harry. Only that.

“If they hadn’t found me, I would be dead now. They even fetched Professor Rosier. Harry and Professor Rosier managed to slow the troll and Ron knocked it out with its own club. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.” Hermione added.

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn’t new to them.

“Well, in that case…” said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them. “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione hung her head.

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I am very disappointed in you. If you are not hurt at all, you would better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

Hermione nodded, hanging her head low.

McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron. “Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first-years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

They hurried out of the chamber.

McGonagall opened her mouth… Her brow twitched. “Professor Rosier?”

Cassian gave a shrug. “Caught them halfway through a heroic rescue attempt. Not ideal timing, granted. I followed them. Arrived just in time to help.”

Snape’s eyes were on the troll.

“You let students…” he began.

Cassian cut him off, gesturing a hush with one hand like swatting a fly. “Didn’t let anything. Just… okay?”

Snape’s jaw moved like it wanted to file a complaint.

“Honestly,” Cassian muttered, “do I look like someone who herds children into troll territory for fun? No, don’t answer that.”

Well, Snape was barely listening to him. He looked too excited for the troll to argue about anything else once McGonagall gave him permission to dissect it. He didn’t say anything, just leaned forward like the mess on the floor had whispered sweet nothings to him.

“Right,” Cassian said, stepping over whatever gooey covered the ground, “and that is my cue.”

He left before someone handed him a mop. No thanks. Not even for ten points to effort.

***

As he entered his room, Bathsheda was already there, perched on the arm of the chair, flipping through something that looked suspiciously like one of his lesson plans.

“Troll is down,” Cassian said, shedding his coat on a chair. “Toilet is ruined. Snape is wet. You are welcome.”

She didn’t look up. “Snape is what?”

Cassian rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t know how else to explain the expression. McGonagall said he could dissect the troll for Potions. He looked thrilled. Got that look again… you know.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head, then closed the folder. “You were gone a while.”

“Ah yes. Took a detour through the worst group project in Hogwarts history. Potter, Weasley, and Granger tried their hands at troll-hunting. Managed not to die, which I count as a win.”

He threw himself onto her with all the coordination of a flailing wardrobe.

She kicked him off without blinking. He hit the floor with a grunt and a flurry of limbs, landing hard on his side.

“Cold!” Cassian wheezed from the rug, arms splayed, glaring up like she just betrayed a sacred peace treaty.

Bathsheda didn’t dignify that with a reply… just slid off the couch and onto him, dragging the blanket as she went. It half-covered his legs by the time she landed, elbow jammed somewhere near his ribs.

He groaned theatrically, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her closer. “You think a troll could manage its way from the dungeons up to the first-floor girls’ loo without at least three people noticing the smell?”

Her head was tucked under his chin, hair tickling his collarbone. “Doubt,” she mumbled.

“Thought so.” He kissed the top of her head, fingers playing absently with the edge of her shirt. “So why did Quirrell say it was in the dungeons, then?”

Spoiler

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

Don’t worry, I’ll keep lecturing into the void. Historians are good at shouting into abysses. Comes with the job.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep