Chapter 56 All Hallows' Eve Tonight

The wand pointed at the floor beneath the troll's feet, but much like Filch’s office, the flooring here had been specially treated. The spell flew forward, only to be deflected instantly!

"Aha!" Paying no heed to the tiny creature's actions, the troll swung its club with brutal force.

Roger rolled away in a desperate scramble, the massive cudgel whistling just inches above his head. With the stone wall merely three inches behind him, the Grim had already raised its life-reaping scythe at his back. Perhaps at this very moment, it was whispering: *My scythe reaps souls and brings them home.*

Realizing its prey had nowhere to run, the troll let out a joyful roar, filling the entire corridor with a stench reminiscent of dirty socks mixed with rotten eggs. Roger wrinkled his nose; had his willpower not been exceptionally strong, he would have already been knocked unconscious by the toxic fumes.

Lifting the heavy wooden club with both hands, the troll smashed it downward toward Roger’s head. Trapped in this perilous, life-or-death situation, Roger's mind grew increasingly calm. He stared intently at the incoming club, gripping his wand ever tighter.

Like a lone knight facing the battlefield, his wand was his only weapon. Putting his absolute trust in it, he channeled every ounce of his magic into the core. The unicorn hair felt its master’s intent, emitting a radiant crimson glow.

The magic surged through the double-helix sandalwood, returning to his body as a wave of intense heat. The magical power stat on his interface skyrocketed from 3.5 to 15. Feeling this surging power, he straightened his spine, lifted his head high, and fixed his gaze firmly on the troll.

"Softcotton!" Roger shouted the spell aloud, reinforcing it further with the Will-A spell.

A powerful crimson beam erupted from the wand. Its target wasn't the troll, but the club moving at near-supersonic speed. Under the troll's bewildered gaze, the club in its hands instantly transformed into a mass of soft, fluffy cotton.

"It worked!" Roger exhaled a breath. The battle was over; he had won!

The brute force of the troll's strike caused the cotton club to explode and disintegrate in mid-air. Flurries of cotton drifted everywhere, falling like a heavy snowfall of goose feathers. More importantly, the troll lost its balance due to excessive momentum. Its massive, heavy body could no longer be supported by its feet, and it toppled forward entirely.

Crack!

The sound was so crisp and melodious that it made one's back teeth ache in sympathy. The troll's ankles snapped at nearly a right angle. Before it could even register the pain, its body slammed heavily onto the floor.

Boom!

Like a minor earthquake, Roger felt the entire corridor vibrate. The floating white cotton was blasted outward, swirling down in gentle, graceful, and slow-moving streams like a light rain of feathers—a scene both breathtaking and terrifying.

"Sectumsempra!" Facing the temporarily unconscious troll, Roger did not show a shred of mercy. He was no Harry; there were no caretakers watching over him at every corner of the school.

The Dark magic flew with pinpoint accuracy into the troll's eye socket, bursting out through the back of its skull. Its already modest brain capacity leaked out entirely in an instant. Stepping over the troll's corpse, Roger walked out of the corridor, the blood behind him staining the floating cotton a vivid crimson.

With his magic and stamina completely exhausted, he leaned against a fractured statue to rest. A flurry of footsteps echoed from the stairway as Headmaster Dumbledore and the other professors hurried over.

"Cops are always the last to show up," Roger joked weakly.

"Happy Halloween, and may magic ever be with you." Battered and covered in grime, Roger bowed gracefully to the headmaster and professors, offering his holiday greetings.

"Roger!" Hermione cried out, rushing forward and throwing herself straight into his arms.

"Cough, cough..." Roger smiled wryly, looking at Hermione as he teased gently, "Hermione, I’m starting to think your strength is on par with a troll's."

Headmaster Dumbledore looked down at the dead troll. A layer of cotton had settled over its body, resembling a shroud. The hole in its head was still spurting blood, bubbling like a spring.

"Roger, what is the meaning of this?" Dumbledore was profoundly shocked; he had never expected a first-year student to slay a full-grown mountain troll.

"As you can see, Headmaster." Roger shrugged, gently pulling Hermione back so she could stand up. "Hermione and I were in the library checking references this afternoon, and we ran into this big galoot on our way back."

"And then? This is a troll! Couldn't you... couldn't you have gone to find a teacher?" Professor McGonagall pressed a hand to her chest, thoroughly shaken by the ruined corridor and the troll's carcass.

If a student had suffered misfortune because a troll had wandered in, she... McGonagall grew increasingly anxious at the thought.

"Professor, the troll was blocking the entrance to the Great Hall. We couldn't avoid it..." Hermione quickly explained, "Then the troll walked toward us. Roger lured it away, which gave me the chance to go find you all."

"Actually, this fellow is quite dim-witted, as comical as a circus monkey." Seeing that Hermione was about to cry again, Roger deliberately spoke in a lighter tone, only for Hermione to weep even harder.

"Really." Meeting the headmaster's skeptical gaze, Roger added, "I originally intended to use a Transfiguration charm to turn the floor into a swamp to trap it, but the school's anti-magic floor enchantments are just too strong. My spells simply bounced right off."

"A Transfiguration charm?" Headmaster Dumbledore nodded. "A clever idea. And then?"

"Then it was quite simple. I turned the big guy's wooden club into cotton," Roger said, demonstrating as he spoke. "It swung it like this, staring stupidly as the club exploded in mid-air."

"I didn't want to kill it, but I had no choice at the time. There was a solid wall right behind me, and the Grim was standing right there." Roger sighed, a trace of genuine regret over killing the troll crossing his face.

"Thank goodness I'd just learned Sectumsempra, otherwise..." Roger put on an expression of lingering fear, staring imploringly at Snape as if saying: *Head of House, you simply must back me up on this.*

Having finished inspecting the troll, Snape nodded at Dumbledore. "I was the one who taught him that spell."

Dumbledore pondered for a moment, then said earnestly and gravely, "Ending a life is never an easy matter. I understand the circumstances under which you killed the troll."

"But remember, we do not become the darkness in order to conquer it; we do so to protect the light." Dumbledore found no flaws in the scene or in Roger's description, yet he still felt a lingering sense that something was amiss.

"Roger, you demonstrated remarkable strategy; five points to Slytherin," Dumbledore praised, before turning to Hermione. "Hermione, your loyalty to your friend also earns five points for Gryffindor."

"Children, Happy Halloween, and may magic be with you always." Headmaster Dumbledore flicked his wand, instantly restoring the troll-devastated corridor to brand-new condition. The cotton clinging to their bodies conveniently lost its enchantment, turning into harmless, prickly wood shavings.

"Head of House, this troll is my spoils of war, isn't it?" Roger asked Snape hopefully. Snape said nothing, merely giving a silent nod.

"Brilliant! This troll is completely intact." Roger completely forgot the terror of the troll as he began ticking items off on his fingers: "Troll bogies are potion ingredients; its eyeballs can be used as specimens; and its skin possesses high anti-magic properties, making it a marvelous research subject. Who knows, I might even be able to..."

"That's quite enough, you two should be heading back!" Professor McGonagall frowned. How long had the term even been started, yet Snape was already leading a perfectly good child astray?

Prompted by her words, Roger suddenly remembered that he was reeking from head to toe. He dry-heaved like a regurgitating cat, nearly vomiting up his bile.

Without Harry and Ron's involvement, the Gryffindor golden trio was currently making zero progress. However, owing to the secret hidden beneath the trapdoor, Harry and Ron frequently broke curfew, forcing Hermione to keep a strict eye on them for the sake of her house points.

"Sigh, if only Hermione were in Slytherin," Roger muttered, closing his book. Even on a Sunday, Snape showed no mercy, sending a message demanding his presence in the dungeons. Needless to say, it was undoubtedly to gather ingredients by the Black Lake.

"Head of House, I wish you a colorful and vibrant life!" With a slightly sinister smile, Roger sought a bit of petty revenge by leaving a letter for Madam Pince penned in Snape's name.

"Where is today's potion?" Snape glanced at Roger, asking with a gloomy scowl.

"Ah!" Roger froze for a moment. "Professor, I seem to have... should have... well, truly not made it."

Meeting Snape's increasingly menacing glare, Roger swallowed hard. He was required to brew twenty vials at a time now; wouldn't this routine kill him from exhaustion?

Snape spared him the usual sarcasm, instead flicking his cloak and setting up a cauldron. Roger hurriedly watched with rapt attention; this was one of the rare occasions where Snape would deign to teach hands-on.