She Was Lucky

The Sword of Gryffindor was incredibly sharp.

The Ogre Oil also did its job.

Even though Harry was still young and not very strong, he could cut through the Troll's tough skin and carve out a whole chunk of flesh, leaving it a bloody mess that he flung to the ground.

The stupid thing roared and raised its club high, swinging it down hard at Harry.

The club whooshed through the air!

Harry rolled beneath the Troll's legs. The club smashed into the ground where he had just been, kicking up dust and gravel and cracking the floor.

"Aard!"

Harry raised his hand. Since Axii wasn't working, he would try something else.

But the Sign that had enough force to send Uncle Vernon, who weighed two hundred pounds, flying only made the Troll stumble. The wound on its leg tore wider, and blood gushed out.

Even Aard, which had always worked without fail, was far less effective than usual.

Harry gritted his teeth. Only now did he understand why, despite his excellent physical condition and having passed the Trial of the Grasses and survived the mutations at such a young age, the other Witchers had still insisted on making him wait until he was twenty before allowing him to travel.

It really was...

An extra inch of height and an extra pound of flesh meant another advantage.

"Perhaps you should run now. Its leg is injured, so it might not be able to catch you," the Sorting Hat suggested. "Running away isn't failure. You've already kept it occupied."

Harry snapped, "Shut up! Hermione's still in the bathroom."

"As long as she's alive, Madam Pomfrey can save her," the Sorting Hat continued with its "earnest" advice. "The Troll's attacks have no magical effects."

Harry ignored it, took off the hat, and tossed it aside. He hadn't managed to brew the Witcher potion, and none of the other potions he had learned could help him in this fight.

The hat was useless.

"Oh, you little brat!" the Sorting Hat yelled. "Where have you thrown me? I'm right outside the bathroom!"

Harry sneered. "I'd love to toss you into a toilet and let you cool off—if I weren't busy right now."

As he spoke, he raised his hand.

"Igni!"

Flames surged from his palm and coiled around the Troll like molten gold. This Sign conjured fire directly. Once mastered to a certain degree, its flames grew much stronger and could burn through an enemy's armor.

The Troll roared. The skin wrapped in flames visibly began to weaken.

It worked.

And it worked well.

There was no time to think about why.

Harry stepped forward and brought his sword down in a sweeping slash, cutting into the place scorched by the Sign and carving out another chunk of flesh.

He saw hope.

He could wear the thing down, or hold out until a professor arrived.

The Troll cried out in pain and stomped down hard.

Harry rolled again, slapping his hand against the ground as he did.

"Yrden!"

Pale purple runes appeared on the floor. This Sign could create a small magical trap. Enemies that stepped into it would slow down and become sluggish.

The Troll was barely affected.

Yrden was useless.

Harry spat and swept his hand out, summoning a pale golden magical shield around himself. This was the Quen Sign, which formed a magical barrier to protect him.

Creak—

The bathroom door suddenly moved. A little otter's head poked out. The world outside was so exciting that she couldn't help peeking out to look.

At that moment—

Harry's eyes widened. He cursed under his breath.

The Troll perked up its ears. Its dim little brain figured that this human in front of it was slippery and impossible to hit. It would be better to pick on the newly appeared human instead.

It turned its head toward Hermione and roared.

"Get back inside!" Harry shouted.

Hermione stared blankly at the fearsome Troll charging toward her. She wanted to cry, but she had no tears left. "I... I can't move."

She'd spent half the day hungry and the other half crying. She'd cried out all her emotions and tears, along with all her strength.

The Troll raised its club high, ready to bring it down—

Harry raised his hand.

"Aard!"

The Sign wasn't aimed at the Troll. It targeted Hermione. The tremendous force of his magic couldn't move the Troll, but it was enough to send Hermione flying.

She crashed backward along with the door, slamming hard into the bathroom wall.

The Troll's club came down.

Wood splinters and stone flew everywhere. Hermione lay in the wreckage, completely dazed. Taking the full force of an Aard Sign was more than she could easily withstand, but it was still better than having the Troll smash her head with its club.

"You're a wizard, Harry, not a warrior," the Sorting Hat muttered after the Troll stepped on it. "Finish it off already! Damn, its feet stink. Oh, that's disgusting!"

Harry froze.

The situation was urgent, and the Witcher's skills were ingrained in his bones. But he had more than a Witcher's strength now.

He drew his wand and held it in his left hand.

With his right, he swung his sword at the Troll's wrist, cutting almost to the bone.

The Troll cried out in pain. Harry seized the moment and waved his wand, casting Transfiguration. The club turned as soft as silk and slipped from the filthy creature's grasp. He waved his wand again. The club flew through the air, wrapped around the Troll's feet, and sent its other end into Harry's hand.

"Igni!"

A Fire Serpent surged forward, coiling around the Troll's body and climbing toward its neck.

"Aard!"

Magic surged into the Troll. The impact remained weak, merely making it sway a little—but that was enough. Harry gritted his teeth and yanked on the club, now transformed into silk.

Crash—

The Troll fell.

This was his best chance.

Harry charged forward, planted a foot on the Troll's thigh, and leapt onto its back. He aimed for its neck, gripped his sword with both hands, and drove it down hard.

Blood gushed like a fountain, splattering Harry's face.

The Troll gave a pained groan.

It was still alive.

One more strike!

The Troll writhed in its death throes, trying to throw Harry off. But... it was no use. Even though he was still young, he was still a Witcher.

Harry kept his balance and drove in a third strike.

The Troll's life force drained away, finally fading completely.

It was dead.

Harry let out a breath and walked toward the bathroom with his sword in hand.

Otter Girl lay unconscious on the floor.

"Hermione, Hermione, wake up." Harry gently shook her.

Hermione opened her eyes, still dazed. "Oh... Harry, am I... am I dead?"

"Not yet." Harry held her head still, stopping her as she tried to sit up. "Don't move for now. If you do, you probably will be soon."

The Aard Sign had left her badly injured.

A great many hurried footsteps approached from the corridor—

"The professors are here. Stay lying down. I'll go outside." Harry stood up.

"Oh, a Troll! I saw a Troll!" Hermione cried out in panic, finally coming to her senses.

Harry waved a hand. "It's dead. Don't worry, you're safe."

Hermione froze, still wanting to say something, but Harry had already gone out.

Outside the bathroom, Ron came with McGonagall, Snape, and Professor Quirrell—or rather, it would be more accurate to say that he was being led along by them.

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall saw Harry and noticed the blood covering him. She cried out in shock, nearly choking on her breath.

Snape's expression also changed abruptly, and he quickened his pace.

Only Quirrell, after immediately noticing that Harry seemed fine, passed him by and looked at the Troll lying behind him, collapsed outside the bathroom. He clutched at his chest and began to sob.

"Professor, I'm fine. I'm not even hurt," Harry said gently, reassuring the two professors. "All this blood is the Troll's."

Snape calmed down and looked Harry over carefully. Once he confirmed that Harry wasn't lying, he gritted his teeth. "Potter, what sort of stunt are you pulling?"

"Got a taste for playing the Chosen One?"

"Hogwarts is in danger, and with so many professors around, you still have to be the one to step up—a first-year wizard?"

"Do you just love showing off?"

Professor McGonagall didn't defend Harry. At that moment, she and Snape were united. Her expression was stern, relieved, and full of lingering fear as she stared intently at him.

Harry looked at Ron. "Ron, didn't you tell the professors?"

Ron hunched his shoulders. "Oh... well, I forgot."

"Fine." Harry sighed. "Professors, let me explain briefly. Ron and I noticed that Hermione wasn't at the feast. Maybe it was because Ron had upset her. She'd been crying in the bathroom on the first floor."

"When Quirrell..." Harry glanced at Quirrell. "When Professor Quirrell said the Troll had appeared in the dungeons, I immediately thought of Hermione."

"I told Ron to alert you, and I came to get Hermione out of there."

"Unfortunately, I ran into the Troll, which had blocked the bathroom door, so I had no choice but to kill it."

A muffled voice came from beneath the Troll's body. "Yes, the hat can vouch for him."

"Now, if you'd be so kind, could someone get me out of here? I really can't take this anymore. Trolls stink so much."

Professor McGonagall's face turned green. She looked at the Sorting Hat, which was pinned beneath the Troll and soaked in blood, with only its tip showing.

"Harry, what is..." Professor McGonagall couldn't help clutching her chest.

Harry expressionlessly pulled out the hat and shook it with distaste. "It was too noisy, so I threw it aside. Professor McGonagall, could you please use Scourgify? I haven't learned that spell yet."

Professor McGonagall was about to raise her wand.

The Sorting Hat spoke weakly. "It won't work. I'm immune to spells. You have to wash me by hand, Potter. You have to."

Harry clicked his tongue in disgust.

"Where is Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked, then glanced at the Troll's corpse, her heart rising into her throat. "She isn't under the Troll's body, is she...?"

Harry shook his head. "No, she's in the bathroom. It's just... she might not be in very good shape."

"Was she hit by the Troll?" Professor McGonagall's face went pale.

Harry shook his head again. "No, I hit her."

Huh?

Professor McGonagall was completely confused.

Ron looked thoughtful. Could this be Harry's preference? Before attacking an enemy, did he have to strike an ally first to boost his morale?

"The Troll and I were fighting when she suddenly poked her head out to watch. The Troll noticed her and went after her," Harry explained. "I told her to get out of the way, but she couldn't move."

"I had no choice but to cast a spell to get her out of there. I just couldn't control how hard it hit her."

"I checked her injuries quickly."

"Her left arm's broken, and at least three ribs are fractured, but luckily, her neck is unharmed..."

And that was lucky?!

There had never been an injury this serious on the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch.

McGonagall felt the world go black before her eyes. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyelids in distress. "All right, all right, Mr. Potter. Give me a moment to recover."

Snape let out a scornful laugh.

Standing behind Snape, Ron raised his eyebrows and gave him an anxious look, as if trying to signal something.