The boy from the train was right. In order to be Sorted, they really did have to fight a troll.
Trial By Troll
Harry Potter, eleven years old and new arrival at Hogwarts, shook like a leaf as he stood in line.
The walls were thick stone and the doors heavy wood, yet he could hear the crowd beyond. They clamoured and muttered and gasped in delight, but it didn't entirely drown out that other, more terrible, sound.
Sccrrrchhh...
There was a grunt, a crash, and the crowd cheered loudly.
Harry felt sick.
The red-headed boy he had met at the station had told himthat in order to be sorted, they had to fight a troll. Harry hadn't believed him, at the time. But now, waiting in line as they were called up one by one to slip through that big heavy door and march into the waiting audience, he really wished he had done.
"GRYFFINDOR!" came the chorus from inside the great hall. There was a great deal of applause, and the crowd fell silent again.
"Perks, Sally-Anne!"
A little girl in front of him jumped in fright as her name was called, and without a word slipped, ashen-faced, into the room beyond.
He heard it as it all went terribly wrong. It started with that noise.
Scccrrrrccchhhhhh...
Sally screamed, and when that crash came again her scream was cut short far, far too quickly. The crowd gasped, and grew quiet.
All Harry could hear was their murmurs, and his own thudding heart inside his chest as he waited to hear the fate of the little girl.
The crowd were subdued, but they still cried, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
He wiped his hot, too hot, palms against his robes and tried to get his legs to hold him upright properly. He now faced the door. He had to be Sorted.
"Potter, Harry!"
All he could hear were frantic whispers as he pushed the doors open with trembling arms.
Their audience was vast; four tables circled a raised platform like vultures. Hundreds of children, each dressed in four different colours, fixed gleaming eyes upon him as he stumbled in.
"Is that him?" - "Harry Potter, that's Harry Potter!" - "Ooh, just wait 'till mum hears about this!"
In the centre of the raised platform stood the most massive, ugly creature he had ever seen. It stood, squinting out at the crowd with beady eyes, on legs like tree trunks that held a distended belly. Its arms were spindly, and he could see its ribs through sallow skin across its chest, but the rest of it was so fat it made Uncle Vernon look like a gym rat. It was a jumble of a creature, bony and brawny, thick and thick, stupidly clawing at the barrier that glowed around it as it tried to jump down from the platform and towards the children around it.
The arena floor was sprinkled with blood.
"He's the boy who lived! Of course a troll won't be any problem for him,"
He walked forward numbly, legs moving almost of their own accord, until he was at the steps to the arena, and was being smiled at by a dumpy woman dressed in Hufflepuff yellow. An old, battered hat was pressed onto his head before he could say anything, and he had to adjust it before it slipped over his eyes.
"Now dear, you just have to survive three minutes or subdue the troll, and you'll be judged on your performance. Go on, dear, there's no need to be shy!"
His head snapped back mechanically to the troll, and he found himself again clutching desperately at the contents of his pockets. All he had in his left pocket was a few knuts, that chocolate frog he'd bought from the trolley witch, and the card of Albus Dumbledore that came with it. In his other pocket was his wand, though fat lot of good it'd do him when he didn't know any magic.
A hand on his back propelled his frozen legs forward. The cheery yellow witch ushered him into the shimmering magic of the barrier, and he felt the magic like wet pudding ooze down his limbs as he passed it. The hat wobbled precariously atop his head.
The troll noticed him slowly, with a dumb blink of its beady little eyes. It turned away from the barrier where it'd been pawing at the delicious snacks below, and as its body rotated its meaty fist brought with it the giant wooden club.
Scccrrrrccchhhh... came the noise of wood scraping against stone.
Harry found himself scant metres away from the grunting monster. It seemed excited, dim little eyes alight and face twisting as it snorted. And then that club was flying through the air, straight at him.
Harry bolted, skittering to the side, and felt his hair fly back as the giant wooden bat crushed the stone beside him. The crowd cheered, the troll grunted loudly.
It didn't give him time to recover, because before he could so much as scramble away, the creature swung out again with the club, dragging it across the ground and into his side.
It was like time forgot to breathe, for a moment, as that club loomed just inches from his face.
What came next was blissfully blank. And then suddenly his cheek was pressed up against the ground, glasses digging into him and the oversized hat flung far, far away. It took a little while for the pain to seep in.
His vision swam. His brain pounded. He knew he only had a moment before it would be back.
Harry staggered up to his feet even as the crowd shrieked. His hands went for his pockets again.
He flung the knuts out, but the troll didn't even seem to notice as they bounced off its thick green flesh. Those strange stick-like arms were dragging the club towards itself again in order to lift it up and swing back down again at the tasty little snack.
Sssccccrrrrrppp...
His hands scrambled at his pocket. The card...? No use! He brought out the chocolate frog, still struggling inside its wrapper, and his fingers moved probably faster than they'd ever done before as he tore at it.
He flung the frog just as the troll went to heave its club into the air again, and the animated sweet landed square on its ugly face.
The troll shrieked in surprise, club clattering across the floor as it landed heavily on its bottom, both hands clawing at its face as it tried to get the little creature off. The frog leapt out between the clumsy pawing fists and the troll swung its arms out after it, away from the boy beside him.
That was all the opportunity Harry needed. Blood pounded in his head. The world tilted slightly, but it wasn't important.
Harry hurtled at the momentarily downed monster, the thick card of the chocolate frog clutched tight between his fingers. Legs wrapped around the back of the troll's huge neck before he knew what he was doing, and he yanked at an ear with one hand while he fought desperately to dig that little hexagonal card as deep as he could into the troll's tiny little eye socket.
The troll was screeching, screaming, and it took Harry a moment to realise he was too, burning his throat hoarse with a yell as he tore away at the delicate flesh, watching as blood coated the smiling genial face of Albus Dumbledore, who waved up at him. But he'd found his mark.
Bits of eyeball slid down his wrist. Harry stared, just for a second.
And then he couldn't breathe as the air was crushed out of his lungs. A giant rough hand wrapped around him and squeezed so tight he thought he was going to burst.
A second later, he was sent skidding across the floor again, bouncing a little as he came to rest by the edge of the glowing barrier. He could hear the roaring of the crowd dully, like a little fly buzzing in the back of his mind. His chest burned.
Breathing came at last, painfully, awkwardly, manually, as if he'd forgotten how to do it. He watched the troll howl out its agony as it staggered back to its feet, club forgotten, clutching at its dripping eye and the card still lodged within the socket.
Harry knew he had to get to his feet. But he wasn't entirely certain he knew how any more.
He tried anyway. His knees shook and knocked together, his panting breath like fire and acid blooming in his chest. His stomach turned, just like his vision. Before he could even register what would come, he was on his knees again, gagging back tears as he emptied his stomach on the floor of the arena.
The troll screamed, and Harry never even got a chance to wipe his mouth before he was forced to roll away from where an elephantine foot came stomping down at him.
All traces of its former delight were lost. Rage and pain scrunched the troll's face up into an inhuman scowl, its one remaining eye furious. He had to keep rolling, keep staggering away, as the troll attempted to squash him like a bug. Its legs kicked out at him again and again.
Harry spotted the old, tattered hat, still folded against the wall of the arena where it'd been flung. In a fit of desperation he lurched for it, mind spinning and clutching at insensate hope. It had been given to him – it must have some kind of purpose. Maybe it was the key to getting out of his Sorting alive.
The foot connected with his side in a vicious kick, sending Harry hurtling once again into the arena barrier. He scrambled up best he could, hacking up blood as he did so. He wasn't so far from the hat. Keep crawling, his brain screamed, keep going.
At last his fingers closed around the fabric of the hat, but he was too late – the troll had reached him once again. He heaved the tattered garment onto his head and closed his eyes as the creature screamed and swung at him, this time bringing down his meaty fat fists.
"That's time!" a voice cried out, but the creature was upon him, too late, too furious to be stopped, and his head was split with a dizzying crack as something heavy dropped out of the hat. He drew it out before he even knew what it was, and suddenly the troll was screaming and thick blood showered his new school robes.
Harry was holding a sword; gleaming and resplendent, studded with jewels. The troll had swung its arms into it, and the wounds gaped wide – the monster staggered back.
Harry hefted the thing that had fallen out of the hat, and howled back at the monster, ducking under its arms to slash at its face, its chest, to down it once and for all.
"Mr. Potter! Retreat through the barrier! Your time is up," that loud voice insisted, but Harry's blade had already whistled true through the creature's flesh.
Its neck gaped strangely, for a moment, before blood sprayed forth, coating both him and the ground with visceral goop. It tried to growl but only sicked up more blood on itself, even as it keeled to the unforgiving ground.
Harry stood over its corpse, panting hard.
Slowly, the noise and colour of the great hall returned to him. He saw hundreds of eyes fixed solidly on him. Some looked sick, eyes were wide, but most were cheering loudly.
"Bloody brilliant!" - "Did you see that? He pulled a sword out of the Sorting Hat!" - "Of course he should get extra time, he's Harry Potter-"
Harry's legs trembled so he sat down numbly, his head pounding and chest screaming at him as he struggled to breathe. It hardly registered that he was sat upon the corpse of his fallen foe.
"-out of the time limits," someone was saying, and the sound sort of slithered slowly around in his head as he struggled to piece together the words over all the pain and his pounding, pounding head. "But nonetheless, a remarkable performance. Your scores, if you please?"
The dumpy yellow witch who'd pushed him into the arena smiled fondly up at him, seemingly unconcerned for how the world was spinning. "A lovely little display of persistence and hard work! Every time you were hit, Mr. Potter, I thought you'd be down for good – oh, like poor miss Perks, may her soul find peace – but you got up for more! Very well done, dear." The kindly-looking lady frowned, though. "I'm afraid I'll have to take some points off for killing the poor creature – it wasn't terribly kind of you to slay it or tear out it's eyeball. They have feelings, you know. And going out of time, too!" She tutted.
"Hufflepuff gives Harry Potter -" her wand twirled in the air and a flaming golden number bloomed into the air. "- A four!"
A tiny man who sat in front of the mass of students dressed in blue gave a polite little cough, and all attention turned to him.
"Oh dear, I confess I didn't have too high hopes for your intellect, Mr. Potter, when your wand stayed firmly in your pocket. But your use of the hat was very creative indeed! Why, I didn't even know it did that! How marvellous! I feel Ravenclaw must award you -" His wand darted out like the witch before him and again a glowing number burned in the air. "-Fourpoints, for showing us all something new today!"
Suddenly he could feel an icy glare piercing him from the next teacher, a man with a hooked nose and a terrifying face glowering through a curtain of hair. The hall hushed as he spoke.
"Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity." Titters of laughter came from the students behind him. "No doubt the rules do not apply to you, because you are too good for us all, let alone something as mundane as a time limit. Sadly we do not have the whole day to watch you attempt to show off. To your Slytherin qualities... I'm sure that perhaps you, Potter, feel as though leaping onto a troll's back passes for cunning. The rest of the world thankfully disagrees. Slytherin awards-" Apparently they weren't allowed to give zeros. "-One point."
People were snickering at him, until a hand slammed loudly against wood and the remaining professor spoke up, eyes burning. Her hair was pulled into a bun as severe as her personality.
"Never in my life have I seen such a display of recklessness! To attack a fully grown troll unarmed save for a chocolate frog and the card it comes with, then anger it so by dealing a terrible injury! To reach blindly for a hat of all things, right as you are in mortal peril…!" Harry's stomach roiled, and he was almost thankful that he'd already thrown up, so that he couldn't do it again now.
"Never in my life…" The stern professor's voice dropped to a whisper. Something shone curiously in her gaze, and when she continued it was with reverence in her words. "We should all hope to be as brave, as fearless and noble as Harry Potter. It's unsurprising you would not know of the sword, Professor Flitwick – it has long been a secret, passed down in whispers amongst the house of the lions, a legend thought lost: that sword was the very same wielded by Godric Gryffindor himself."
A gasp rang out through the audience, and furious whispers started up again. Suddenly Harry was blinking back at the golden number hanging in the air.
"Gryffindor, of course, rewards you a full ten points!"
Cheers reverberated throughout the room, applause and joking wolf-whistles from Ron's twin brothers rising through the din. People were grinning and clapping and it didn't matter that the room was spinning or that his torso was on fire – it was all for him.
An old man with twinkling eyes and a very very long beard stood up, beaming. Dimly, he recognised the face as the very same man who was on a card embedded deep in the eye socket of a dead troll: Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts.
"It seems we have quite a clear answer." he addressed the room. "Let's hear it for Mr. Harry Potter!"
All at once the students adorned in red and gold sucked in their breath, and when it came back out it was in a roaring bellow:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
They all cheered madly.
Harry Potter, for his part, drenched in blood and sat atop a hulking troll, felt his face crack into a huge giddy grin.
Wizards, apparently, were insane. Violent. Had no sense or inkling that you probably shouldn't march children up to fight trolls. But they liked him.
They wanted him here – Gryffindor wanted him here.
And maybe he was a little bit insane too, just a tiny bit, if one judged by the eyeball that dribbled down his sleeve.
Maybe now, he thought as the crowd chanted his name, he really had a home.
Fin.
(This is a oneshot, but there's a slight chance there'll be a continuation. Give it a follow if you're ever interested in seeing more.)