A Trolls fear.
The atmosphere in the staff room was tense.
A lingering chill clung to the air, despite the roaring fireplace at the far end of the room. The professors sat around a long wooden table, their expressions ranging from concern to deep contemplation. At the head, Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his usual twinkle absent from his eyes.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, setting down her teacup with an audible clink. “First and foremost, I must say I am relieved that no student was harmed,” she said briskly. “However, I must ask, how did a fully grown mountain troll get inside the castle in the first place?”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
Severus Snape, sitting in the shadows near the end of the table, let out a slow exhale before speaking. “That,” he drawled, “is not even the most disturbing part of this entire situation.”
Several heads turned toward him.
Snape leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “When I went to the dungeons, I found the troll.” His lip curled slightly. “It was cowering in the corner, trembling like a frightened child.”
A beat of silence followed.
Filius Flitwick, who had been absently stroking his beard, blinked in confusion. “Cowering? That can’t be right. Trolls don’t cower.”
“They don’t,” Snape agreed, his voice low. “But this one did.”
The weight of his words settled over the room.
“I must admit,” McGonagall said slowly, “that is… odd.” She pursed her lips. “When I arrived at the scene, I found Miss Granger and Mr. Potter in the girls’ lavatory.” She turned to Dumbledore. “Harry was the one who went looking for Hermione, knowing she hadn’t heard the troll announcement.”
Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully.
Snape’s dark eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Potter was there,” he repeated.
McGonagall nodded. “Indeed.”
Snape leaned back in his chair, gaze shadowed. “And the troll—one of the most mindless creatures in existence—was terrified.”
The room fell into silence again.
Then Quirrell, who had remained quiet for most of the meeting, cleared his throat. His hands were slightly shaky as he clasped them in front of him. “I… I c-could feel it,” he muttered. His voice was even weaker than usual.
“Feel what, Quirinus?” McGonagall asked sharply.
Quirrell swallowed hard. His pale face seemed even more drained than usual. “When the troll was brought in, I—I could feel something in the air. Dark. Twisting. It wasn’t the troll.” He hesitated. “It was something else. Something around the boy.”
Several professors stiffened.
Snape’s fingers tapped against the table. “You are suggesting,” he said coolly, “that there was some sort of… magic radiating from Potter?”
“I don’t know,” Quirrell whispered. “But it was unnatural.”
A quiet fell over the room.
Dumbledore, who had remained silent throughout the discussion, finally spoke. His voice was calm, but there was a strange weight behind it.
“We must be careful,” he said. His blue eyes moved slowly across the room, lingering on each professor. “Harry Potter is a remarkable child. But I do not believe we fully understand his circumstances.”
McGonagall hesitated. “Do you believe it has something to do with his unusual upbringing?”
Dumbledore nodded slightly. “Perhaps.” He sighed. “For now, we watch. We observe. But we do not let fear guide us.”
Snape’s expression remained unreadable.
Flitwick still looked puzzled.
And Quirrell… Quirrell said nothing.
Because deep inside his mind, Voldemort had heard every word.
And he, too, had felt it.
The darkness that clung to the boy.
It was not his own.
And that was what disturbed him the most.