Erwin strode down the corridor, the stench growing thicker with every step. A massive shadow loomed on the wall ahead. There it was: the troll.
He halted, flicking his wrist to summon his wand, and waited patiently. The pounding footsteps echoed closer until a hulking figure emerged—greyish-white skin, tiny head, and a club the size of a small tree gripped in its meaty fist.
Erwin waved a hand in front of his nose. "Hello, big guy."
The troll froze for a split second, clearly caught off guard by the boy around the corner. Erwin watched closely, hoping his Magical Creature Affinity might smooth things over.
No dice. The beast let out a guttural roar and swung its club in a wild arc.
Erwin dodged back as the weapon crashed into the stone floor, sending a thunderous crack through the hall. So much for affinity. This brute wasn't swayed by his commanding presence—it was just slow on the uptake.
Disappointment flickered through him, but the experiment was over. Time for the next one.
"Reducto!" Erwin barked, the spell slamming into the troll's chest. The creature staggered back two steps, shaking off the blast with a furious bellow. Its skin was tough, nearly impervious to magic. Perfect.
The troll charged again, club raised. "Can't have you making all that racket," Erwin muttered. "Not until I'm done testing."
He flicked his wand silently: Nonverbal Expelliarmus. The club tore from the troll's grasp and clattered against the far wall.
The beast stared at its empty hand, then at the weapon, confusion etching its dim features like a question mark over its skull. Erwin grinned. "Right, round two."
He unleashed a barrage: "Reducto! Reducto!" Five crimson bolts streaked out, targeting limbs and head. The troll howled as they struck, reeling but unyielding. The skull seemed especially resilient, shrugging off the hits while the softer spots—arms, legs, torso—took the brunt.
Erwin stroked his chin thoughtfully. Thin skin on the head? No, the real shield was that hide. His hunch was spot on: trolls had natural magic resistance from their tough pelts. If he could harvest and enchant the material... bulletproof vests for wizards. A goldmine, especially against low-level curses or hexes. Hogwarts rules cramped his style—no full dissections here—but holidays would fix that. He'd bag one in the wild and test it against the Killing Curse.
For now, he cast Wingardium Leviosa on the club, levitating it high before releasing the spell. It plummeted straight onto the troll's head with a sickening thud. The beast's eyes crossed, and it toppled like a felled oak, out cold.
Erwin could've ended it cleaner with Sectumsempra—a swift decapitation—but this was Hogwarts. He had a reputation as the thoughtful type. No need to splatter blood and shatter that image. Harry and his lot had stunned the troll in the books; crude, but it worked.
Footsteps echoed in the distance—chaotic, approaching. Erwin wasn't sticking around for applause. He had a real show to catch. Poor Sirius, probably nursing a nasty bite from that massive three-headed dog. Ouch—a chomp on that shaggy head must smart.
With a snap of his fingers, Erwin Apparated to the third-floor corridor.
Moments after his swirl faded, Professor McGonagall arrived with Flitwick and Sprout in tow. She froze at the sight of the unconscious troll. "Who on earth took this thing down?"
The others shrugged, scanning the shadows. No clues. McGonagall sighed and got to work containing the beast. Another Hogwarts enigma: the troll's mysterious vanquisher.
Erwin, oblivious to the fuss, reoriented himself in the dim corridor. Eerily quiet, shadows clinging to the stones.
Then, a voice slithered from behind: "Looking for me, godson?"
Erwin jumped, spinning around. "Godfather! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
His godfather lounged against a pillar, black robes blending him into the gloom. A ghost in the dark—chilling.
Snape chuckled dryly. "No one's mentioned it? When you Apparate, you can delay the arrival. Scout the area first."
Erwin blinked. "Really? That explains why no one in the books pops out mid-duel or crashes into a wall."
The System hadn't covered that trick—typical. "Got it. I'll remember next time."
Snape's gaze sharpened. "So, what brings you here in the dead of night?"
"Just wandering," Erwin said airily.
A scoff. "You know more than you should. Struck some bargain with Dumbledore? Apparition privileges at school in exchange for tutoring that Potter boy?"
"Not exactly," Erwin replied. "Headmaster asked me to help Harry after the corridor mess. I traded for the skill—figured it'd save my skin in a pinch."
Snape nodded curtly. "Heed this: never trust Dumbledore fully. Not with everything."
"I know," Erwin assured him, though a faint metallic tang hit his nose—blood. "Are you hurt?"
"It's nothing. A scratch. Head back to bed."
Snape's tone brooked no argument; he wasn't pulling Erwin into whatever scrape he'd dodged. Fine by him—some secrets stayed buried, unspoken between them.
Erwin nodded and vanished in another swirl, leaving the shadows to their guardian.
...
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