“Will someone explain what in Merlin’s name happened here?” Professors arrived in a rush.
McGonagall reached the ruined bathroom first and stopped dead at the sight of shattered stalls, flooded floors, and an unconscious mountain troll.
Styx stood in the doorway.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione knelt nearby, soaked and dishevelled.
“Professor Styx—did you deal with this?” Relief coloured her voice for half a second, then hardened as she turned on the three first-years.
“And what, exactly, are the three of you doing here?” “Easy, Minerva.” Dumbledore stepped forward, as calm as if the situation involved nothing more serious than a broken teacup.
“Perhaps let them catch their breath first.” Harry’s eyes flicked past the gathered staff and caught on the last arrival.
Snape’s black robes were slightly disordered.
His left leg moved stiffly, and a dark stain showed beneath the fabric.
“It was me—” Ron began.
“It was my fault, Professor McGonagall.” Hermione cut across him before he could finish.
“I read about trolls and thought I could handle one alone.
I was wrong.
Harry and Ron only came to save me.” Ron and Harry exchanged a quick glance and stayed silent.
McGonagall looked at Styx.
“Is that accurate?” Styx shrugged.
“I came to use the bathroom.
When I walked out I found the troll and the three of them.
That’s all I know.” McGonagall studied him for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose.
“Very well.
Miss Granger, recklessness has a price.
Ten points from Gryffindor.” She paused, then added, “However, given the courage shown by Mr Potter and Mr Weasley in coming to her aid—ten points to Gryffindor.
Now get back to your common room and clean yourselves up.
You look like you’ve been dragged through a swamp.” The three of them exchanged looks of pure relief and left before anyone could change their mind.
McGonagall turned a sharp glare on Dumbledore.
“The cost of repairing this bathroom is coming out of your sweet budget for the rest of the year.” “Oh, Minerva, you know I rely on the occasional lemon drop to manage stress.” McGonagall’s expression suggested she had strong opinions about what kind of stress required that much sugar.
— Later, in a quiet corner of the Gryffindor common room, the three survivors finally waved away the last of the curious classmates.
Ron scratched the back of his neck.
“Sorry, Hermione.
I shouldn’t have called you an insufferable know-it-all with no friends.” “It’s fine.” She pushed damp hair out of her eyes.
A small smile appeared.
“You came to save me.
We’re even.” Harry waited until the awkwardness settled, then lowered his voice.
“Did either of you notice Snape’s leg?
He’s injured.” Ron leaned in.
“So?
Maybe the troll clipped him with a rock.” “No.” Harry shook his head.
“I think he let the troll in on purpose.” Hermione frowned.
“Why would a professor do that?” “Trolls are too stupid to open doors by themselves.
Someone had to bring it inside to create a distraction.
And the only thing worth distracting people from is whatever that three-headed dog is guarding.” Ron’s eyes widened.
“So the bite on his leg—Fluffy got him?” — Poor Snape became the prime suspect almost overnight.
Given how he treated Harry in class, the conclusion felt natural to the three of them.
The panic caused by a troll loose in the castle was quickly replaced by a far more interesting story.
Three first-year Gryffindors had joined forces and defeated a mountain troll that most adult wizards would hesitate to face alone.
The rumour spread through every corridor by morning.
The source was, of course, Professor Styx.
Tired of being stopped every five minutes and asked for details, he had simply handed the entire credit to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Harry was already the Boy Who Lived; adding “troll-slayer at age eleven” to the legend seemed appropriate.
Styx assumed the matter was finished.
He was wrong.
After a full day of classes he was finally heading toward the Great Hall and the prospect of a proper meal when a portrait on the wall spoke.
“Professor Styx, the Headmaster requests your presence in his office.” Styx’s expression went flat.
By the time he reached the stone gargoyle he was already resentful.
“Lemon drop.” The door opened.
He walked in and launched straight into it.
“Headmaster, I understand a professor is expected to follow your instructions, but could you at least check the time before summoning me?
I taught five classes today.
I haven’t had a single sip of water.
You call me the exact moment I was about to eat.
I want a good reason.” Dumbledore regarded the visibly irritated man in front of him and decided immediate diplomacy was required.
“Sit down, Styx.
Have some tea.” Styx dropped into the chair with poor grace.
“Talk.
What do you need?” “I am Headmaster, and above me sits the Board of Governors.
The troll incident has reached both the Board and the Ministry.
They require an explanation.” “And this involves me how?
I find it hard to believe the greatest wizard of the century is intimidated by a few governors and Ministry clerks.” Dumbledore looked at him for a moment as though seeing someone else entirely.
“Power does not solve every problem, Styx.
I am asking you, as someone directly involved, to accompany me when I meet the representatives.” “Now?” “Now.” Styx opened his mouth to suggest they at least eat first.
Dumbledore’s hand settled on his shoulder.
Apparition took them both.
The office fell silent except for Fawkes, who tilted his head on the perch and considered where he might go for a quiet evening flight.