A/N: Another nice long chapter
Chapter 9: Troll in the dungeons
The first couple of mornings in my 'fitness regime' were pitiful. Hedwig had suggested the lake by rubbing her head against my elbow and showing me her view of the lake. I'd ran about 1000 metres before laying down on the sand whilst Hedwig mocked me from a nearby rock. I had briefly considered asking Tonks for advice, the wizarding law enforcement would have to be fit after all, but I wouldn't want to be roped into whatever she does. It had taken a while, but the running had slotted into my schedule, I use the time to digest the previous day's book absorptions. Good food and exercise, I may yet be salvageable.
Professor Quirrell runs past me on my way to the Great Hall. "Troll! Troll in the dungeons!" He shouts just before I get to the door. A troll? What is a troll doing in the school? Probably not part of the Defence Against the Dark Arts syllabus.
I press my foot to the ground as the hall breaks into screams. Quirrell's echo comes running out of the hall backwards. I quickly follow the phantom as it runs; in a different situation I might be amused by the backwards running. It flickers as my foot misses one of Quirrell's footprints.
It vanishes all together as a foul smell fills my lungs, breaking my concentration. A new set of footprints on the ground, a murky grey-blue. I put my foot beside it for scale, this must be the troll's. I draw my wand and slowly follow the footprints, trying my best to ignore the horrific stench. I round the corner and come across one of the worst sights I've even lain eyes upon – A fat troll arse trying to squeeze through a tiny door. I'm glad I've not eaten yet or I'd vomit right here.
A high pitched scream reaches my ears. Great, the troll has a hostage inside the toilet. Not something I ever thought I'd hear myself think. I hurry forward, firing a 'Flipendo' hex at the visible door in an attempt to draw it's attention. When I reach the door, I see the troll swinging it's club across the room, splintering the wooden stools. Another scream. "Help!" Hermione. Why can things never be simple?
"Hermione!" I call out, using my wand to throw a splintered door at the troll, it turns tome. "Err, try not to die, ok?" The troll raises it's club over it's head and takes a step towards me. "Arresto momentum!" I manage to bark moments before being crushed. The club freezes two feet above me, the troll looks at it dumbly.
Fully grown mountain troll. Approximately 12 feet tall. No help. Dense bones, thick skull, thick skin. Getting closer. Spell resistant skin! That's what the book said!
"Harry!" Hermione scream again.
"Right." I aim a blasting hex at the large mirror on the wall. The shards explode outward, slicing into the troll, which only serves to anger it further. "Don't panic." I say, more to myself than Hermione, who is well beyond the panicking point. I fire a levitation charm at the frozen club, bringing it under my control as the troll steps towards me. With a sharp slash downwards, the club cracks against the troll's head. It teeters for a moment before falling forward, landing beside it's club, the dust settles a moment later. I keep a firm grip on my wand as I climb over the wreckage to Hermione, who is currently hiding beneath the sinks. "You alright?" I crouch down next to her. She nods shakily, dust falling from her hair. "Good good." I stand up as the pounding of footsteps grows louder. "The cavalry." I say once the teachers burst through the door.
"Mister Potter!" McGonagall gasps, clutching her hand over her chest. "Miss Granger! What is the meaning of this!? Are you alright?" I look between the troll, smashed room and then back to the expectant faces of the teachers.
"Toilet's clogged." I say.
"Potter!" Snape barks.
"Ok, ok." I raise my hands in mock surrender. "I picked up the troll's scent." I pointedly look at Albus. "And heard a scream, so I came in here and knocked it out with it's club."
"Just like that?" Flitwick asks.
"Well, there was a bit of shouting, screaming, and smashing, but essentially yes."
"Why is it bleeding?" McGonagall asks, either disgusted by the smell or the troll itself.
"The mirror was smashed." I shrug.
"What were you thinking?" She looks at me furiously. "You could have been killed!"
"The key word being 'could'." I say defiantly. "Hermione would certainly have been killed had I not shown up when I did, no offence." I add, looking at the shaken girl. She nods.
"I think that, given the circumstances, Mister Potter has performed admirably." Flitwick says, attempting to diffuse the situation. "But I must ask, why were you in here during the feast, Miss Granger?" We all turn to the dust covered Gryffindor; She looks at her feet.
"Ronald Weasley." She mumbles.
"What was that, Granger?" Snape sneers at the pair of us.
"She said Ronald Weasley." I say for her, she looks at me gratefully. "I don't believe they get along well, sir." I emphasize the last word, returning his glare. The man is insane. "Might I suggest medical attention for Hermione?"
"Absolutely." McGonagall steps towards us. "Come with me Miss Granger."
"Filius, Mister potter, Perhaps we should retire to my office?" Albus suggests. "Severus, if you could assist Professor Quirrell in transporting our guest." He gestures to the troll.
"Of course, Headmaster." Snape glares at me as I follow them out of the toilet. Completely off his rocker.
"Are your feet unharmed?" Albus asks me. "The mirror was shattered all over the floor."
"Impervious charms, sir." I look down at my feet and wriggle my toes. He nods as I look back up and we resume our walk.
"I trust you used more than your nose to locate the troll?" Albus asks without turning to me. I glance at Flitwick.
"Sir?"
"Filius is aware of your talents."
"Oh." Nice being told things. Better late than never I suppose. "I was following Professor Quirrell's footsteps, logically he had to have seen the troll, but once I found the troll's footprints I switched target, this lead me to Hermione." We walk in silence for the rest of the journey.
"Chocolate frogs." Albus intones to the gargoyle. I think it's odd that he needs a password for his own office. I see the stone statue dancing with magic as we walk past.
Each time I visit the Headmaster's office, I notice more and more things. With my huge progress in my ability to see magic, the whole room lights up like a Christmas tree. I take up my usual seat as Flitwick stands beside the desk. I didn't know Albus had a brother. Aberforth. "This is why I call you Albus." I tell him. "If I said 'Dumbledore' then it could mean Aberforth too." I settle comfortably into the chair. "Although to most people, you are 'The Dumbledore'."
"'The Dumbledore'?" He pauses. "Yes, I suppose they do." He shakes his head slightly, dispelling the thought. "I want to thank you for saving Miss Granger. If not for you, I fear we would have been too late." He says gravely. "Could you describe the method in which you tracked the troll?"
"I was just outside the Great Hall when Professor Quirrell ran past me ..."
I retell the gripping tale.
"... And that leads us up to the point when you arrived." I finished. "Although I must ask, How did a troll get into the school?" I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
"At this point, I cannot say." Albus smiles warmly.
"Which means it's none of my business." I laugh. "I'll even avoid following the trail for a while, I'll leave that to you." I take a lemon drop. "I can only hope that nobody finds out about my 'heroics'."
"'Harry Potter – Troll slayer'." Tonks reads from the Daily Prophet at breakfast.
"Just kill me now." I groan, slapping my forehead against the table as Tonks cackles. Over the past few weeks, I've taken to sitting at the Hufflepuff table a few times a week.
"Oh, Harry." I look up at Tonks, who now has the back of her hand pressed against her forehead. "Save me from the troll, Harry Potter!" She cries dramatically.
"Tonks." I deadpan. "You are, without a doubt, the least damsel-like person I had ever met." Her mask cracks as she grins and starts to laugh. "I didn't even kill the troll anyway. Just … bashed it over the head a bit."
"Maybe you knocked some sense into it." She holds up her fists. "Trolls aren't to mess with the fearsome Harry Potter!" She laughs.
"You're impossible, dya know that?" I smile.
"And you wouldn't have me any other way." She says ambiguously. My head returns to the table.
"Harry! Come in, come in." Albus beckons me into the classroom. "How are you this morning?"
"Fine." I say. "But incredibly confused as to why you insisted on me coming here in place of my morning run." He had gotten Linter ( the house elf ) to pin a note to the inside of my door. Professor Flitwick is also here, wearing much less baggy clothes than his norm.
"Filius has kindly agreed to assist us in carrying out a test, it will soon become clear as to why I am unfit for this task." Albus explains.
"A test? At six in the morning?" I ask. "Has Snape spiked your lemon drops?"
"They are no less sharper than any other day." He chuckles. "Perhaps it would best best to pass over to you." He says to Flitwick.
"Mister Potter. The Headmaster and I have devised this test to further understand your unique abilities." Flitwick paces a couple of steps. "Albus was initially against the idea, but I have faith in you."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you you explain-" He interrupts me by throwing a large stick as me. I instinctively reach out and catch it, quickly learning that it is a wooden practice sword, Flitwick often throws it when he is about to – I snap the sword up to block his attack aimed straight for my head.
"Good." He nods, swinging at my leg. I take a step back and parry the next attack as he whirls around. This is the sword he gave to students when he trained amateur duellists, sometimes a sword would be used. He quickly thrusts his own sword towards my face, I barely manage to move my head sideways before batting the sword aside and taking a step towards him, transferring into an offensive stance.
A couple of minutes of dancing later, he delivers a sharp blow to the top of my head. I drop the sword and fall over. Much of his sparring ends like this, the student being hit in the head by the tip of his sword.
"Urgh." I groan, touching my fingers lightly to the lump.
"A stunning success." Albus claps from his chair.
"Stunning." I laugh. "Very funny." He smiles and helps me to my feet. "But what if that hadn't worked? And why not just ask me?"
"Then I would have hit you in the head a lot sooner." He says happily, ignoring my second question.
"Oddly enough, that doesn't really make me feel any better." I wince as my fingers brush the bump. "This definitely woke me up; I assume this was about something more than a game of 'Hit Harry with a stick'?" Albus takes the lead.
"If we were to hand you a bow, a used one, could you shoot straight?" He asks, I nod. "And an axe, could you chop wood?"
"Assuming it's been used, then yes. Where is this going?" I ask.
"If we were to give you say … a wand, could you duel?" He peers over his glasses at me. My eyes widen slightly.
"I mean, I suppose I could, but could we not start throwing spells at me just yet?" I joke nervously. "You fight dark lords." I turn to Flitwick. "Actually, I'm not sure which of you frightens me more." They chuckle.
"Not to worry." Albus smiles. "You will perhaps get a moment's warning."
A momen- wait, what?"
"Does the term 'muscle memory' mean anything to you?" Albus ignores my question.
"I know what it means, yes, but if you're asking me if it applies to me, then I'd say only partially. You've both seen my handwriting?" They both nod. "Very good looking, if I do say so myself, but thanks to an old pen I found amongst a dozen bad ones in an antiques shop. A man, Liam something, used it an I adopted his style through that pen."
"And the same with the sword?" Flitwick asks, I nod.
"Partially. I think I had to sift through the bad stuff to find the correct forms, but it still felt natural."
"Interesting." Albus nods slowly. "Whilst Lily and James were adept duellists, I don't believe either of them ever fought a troll. That seems to have been your own ingenuity. Have you inspected their duelling via the wands?"
"Just fort he spells. I didn't think using magic to fight would be the same as holding a pen so I didn't bother." I say honestly.
"I see." He appears to be in deep though. "Do you wish to test the theory?"
"I'd prefer to give their wands a quick look again if that's ok?" He nods. "Do you want me to go and grab them? Or can Linter do it?"
"Linter?" Flitwick asks.
"My 'personal' house elf." I smile. "I suspect Albus asked her to attend to my room alone rather than the other house elves in an attempt to limit my exposure or something."
"And did it?" Albus smiles.
"Er, yes actually. Thank you." I say, suddenly uncomfortable. A soft pop signals the arrival of Linter with a pair of wands wrapped in cloth.
"Thanks you, Linter." Albus accepts the package, Linter turns to leave.
"Uh, Thanks for cleaning up after me." I add. She blushes at the praise and vanishes on the spot. All the bedsheets I've burnt are whisked away promptly, apparently she hasn't mentioned them to either Albus nor Flitwick. I unwrap the wands after Albus hands me them, taking James' first.
11 inches of mahogany around a Norwegian Ridgeback heartstring. Just a pain, run of the mill wand, no secret destinies or brother wands. Just a lifetime, albeit a short one, of James Potter. One year of service as an Auror. Lots of fighting and a few deaths. Great form, very quick and hard hitting.
"Much better than the first time." I smirk. I wasn't hospitalised this time. I switch wands.
10 and a quarter inches of willow and a phoenix feather from 'K-nackthvar'. A far greater range of magic used through it's life. A much more supportive style of fighting than James. Designed to keep her opponents off balance until there is a big enough opening for her to finish them off, or for someone else to. She also developed a strange technique that enabled her to fire off spells at three times the normal rate, but she couldn't move whilst doing so.
"Bloody hell." I say, replacing the wand carefully beside it's partner. I shake my head to reconnect with reality as I draw my own wand, twirling it in a very James-like manner, a smile spreading across my face. "On with the games."
A/N: I had originally called the story 'Copycat' due to this mechanic of Harry's power. Grab someone's wand - Learn a lot. Or if a witch has been naughty with her wand, but we'll leave Harry to discover that in his own time.
Ejnoy!