Elias waited until the tremor left Hermione’s hands, then laid it out.
Unlike every other victim of the Imperius Curse, he remembered every second.
The resistance had been building from the moment Quirrell’s spell first brushed his mind — a quiet, stubborn thing, like scar tissue forming under repeated pressure.
Quirrell never noticed.
He gave one instruction at a time, never once suspecting his puppet was watching back.
The plan, Elias explained, had been to Obliviate him afterward.
Clean slate.
No loose ends.
“I have to release the troll now,” Elias said, reaching for the pouch at his waist.
“Quirrell’s patience won’t last.”
Hermione’s voice went tight.
“Why release it at all? It’s a troll. The Department of Magic classifies them as XXXX. Releasing one inside the school is—”
“All the students are in the Great Hall.” Elias cut her off, not unkindly.
“No one’s wandering the corridors.”
“That’s still not necessarily true—”
“This can’t end like this.” He said it fast, the words running together.
“I have to turn the tables. And I can control the troll, so you don’t need to worry about me. Go back. When I fetch a professor from the Great Hall, Quirrell won’t come with them. Watch him from a distance — see what he does, but don’t follow directly. He’s not as harmless as he looks.”
Hermione’s jaw worked.
Then she nodded, once.
“Be careful.”
She hurried up the stairs, and Elias waited until the sound of her footsteps faded.
Then he cast a Bubble-Head Charm, opened the pouch, and upended it.
The troll hit the stone floor with a sound like a boulder dropped from a height.
Twelve feet of grey, granite-textured flesh unfolded itself, a thick wooden club clattering beside it.
The stench hit a moment later — rot and damp and something sour that clung to the back of the throat.
Elias chanted over the troll’s cocoa-bean-shaped head, lifting the Imperius.
The creature’s eyes swam, unfocused, its jaw slack.
He turned to leave.
Then stopped.
He’d told Hermione all the students were in the Great Hall.
But Hermione herself hadn’t been.
Why take the chance?
Elias turned back, recast the Imperius, and put the troll to sleep.
Only then did he make his way to the feast.
The Halloween banquet was in full roar.
Floating pumpkins bobbed among the candles, and the air tasted of cinnamon and roasted meat. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
At the staff table, Quirinus Quirrell sat inside a giant pumpkin head, flanked by Severus Snape with Albus Dumbledore directly opposite.
Quirrell’s insides were twisting.
He was supposed to be securing the Philosopher’s Stone tonight, and Dumbledore’s proximity scraped at his nerves like sandpaper.
Every minute stretched into an hour.
His eyes kept darting to the enchanted clock on the wall.
Snape, who hadn’t touched his food despite the holiday, turned to him with a sneer so practiced it barely moved his lips.
“Professor Quirrell, you’re so extraordinarily busy, even on holidays. No wonder you never have time to bathe.”
Quirrell opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Fifteen minutes past the agreed time.
Something had gone wrong.
He was still scrambling for an excuse to slip away when a figure burst through the pumpkin’s opening.
“Professor!” Elias’s voice cut through the hall.
“The dungeons — there’s a troll!”
Quirrell’s face contorted into a mask of cultivated horror.
“Ah! Good heavens!” He slumped back, head lolling, and went perfectly, conveniently limp.
Silence crashed down.
The professors exchanged bewildered glances.
All except Dumbledore, whose eyes rested on Quirrell’s unconscious form for exactly one second longer than the situation required.
McGonagall was already on her feet.
“I’ll have the prefects escort the students back to their dormitories.”
Dumbledore raised a hand.
“There’s no need to disturb them. Let them enjoy the holiday.” He turned to Elias.
“Mr. Sorenson, please lead us there as quickly as you can.”
“Yes, Professor. Follow me.”
Elias led the professors out.
Students whispered, craning their necks.
Hermione, a cup of hot milk raised to her lips, counted the departing figures.
Quirrell, exactly as Elias had predicted, had found a reason to stay.
She set the cup down.
A long pause.
Then Quirrell’s head peeked cautiously from inside the pumpkin.
He avoided the student clusters, slipping out of the Great Hall in the opposite direction.
Hermione followed at a distance.
She never let him stay in sight — just the echo of footsteps in the stairwell, the faint scuff of shoes on stone.
She tracked the sound until it stopped.
The fourth floor.
Something hidden there.
Something Quirrell was trying to steal.
She retreated to the Great Hall to keep watch.
Down in the dungeons, the Heads of House stood well back from the prone troll, noses wrinkling.
Everyone except Snape had eaten, and no one wanted to get closer to that smell.
Snape’s voice was pure displeasure.
“Elias, what is the meaning of this troll?”
“I was brewing potions before the feast and couldn’t leave the work unattended. On my way to the Great Hall, I found this troll wandering around. I knocked him down.” Elias layered truth with convenient omission.
[Sloth +1]
Snape’s eyes narrowed.
“You mean to tell me a troll blithely wandered the castle without causing significant damage, and you, a first-year, subdued it without leaving a trace of struggle? I’d almost think you shared a brain with the creature.” His lip curled.
One of his previously promising students, devolving into a blatant attention-seeker.
McGonagall’s lips twitched.
“Mr. Sorenson, we need the truth. What exactly happened?”
Dumbledore’s deep blue eyes, magnified by his half-moon spectacles, gave nothing away.
Elias nodded, as if he’d expected the challenge.
He cast the Bubble-Head Charm again, woke the troll, and knocked it back into unconsciousness in one fluid sequence.
[Transfiguration LV.4 — 389 EXP]
Snape went silent.
McGonagall looked genuinely surprised.
Flitwick clapped his small hands together.
“Excellent spell mastery, Elias! If this were class, I’d certainly award extra points.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.
“I think it’s quite remarkable that a first-year student single-handedly subdued a troll that wandered into the castle. I should award Slytherin fifty points.”
Snape stared at him.
A troll had wandered into the castle?
Could he say that with a straight face?
Even if the points were nominally for Slytherin, this wasn’t about House points — it was about student safety.
McGonagall clearly didn’t agree with Dumbledore’s assessment, but she seemed to decide against discussing it in front of the students.
Dumbledore, however, beckoned Elias forward.
“Mr. Sorenson, would you accompany me to the Headmaster’s office? I’d like a word.”
“Uh? Yes, Professor.” Elias’s pulse gave a single, sharp kick.
Had Dumbledore already pieced something together?
A faint buzz of anticipation shot down his spine.
[Pride +1]