"Erm... is that enough?" Kane asked softly.
"Yes, I believe that explains everything perfectly. Perhaps we should award Mr. Heath so points? Let's say... ten points," Dumbledore said, a look of genuine delight on his face.
"And this is exactly how the little wizards of Hogwarts beco so mischievous," Professor McGonagall sighed. She turned her gaze to Hermione.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley inford us that Mr. Heath ca looking for you.
So, why were you here? Was it a personal adventure, or were you trapped here for so unknown reason? Are you being bullied?"
It was a fair question. Ever since Hogwarts was founded, the girls' bathrooms seed to have the highest mortality rate in the castle. From ancient, naless ghosts to the more recent Moaning Myrtle, every spirit told a tale of bathroom-related resentnt.
And here was Hermione, playing a high-stakes ga of hide-and-seek with a troll. If Kane hadn't been there, Hogwarts might have added another tragic legend to its plumbing system.
"So, Miss Granger," McGonagall pressed, "did another student or perhaps a professor lure you here, or lock you in?"
Hermione shook her head frantically. She had co here purely to shed her "little pearls" in private. Her roommates knew her hiding spots, but they weren't capable of smuggling a troll into the school—nor were they that kind of people.
"Well, it seems clear enough now, Minerva. Pure coincidence. Go and lead the students back; the Halloween feast shall proceed."
Dumbledore ushered the others away, remaining behind to repair the bathroom, which the troll had reduced to scrap tal.
Unlike Professors Flitwick and Sprout, who hurried back to their houses, Snape and McGonagall lingered, their paces slowing.
Snape wanted to know if the purple at Kane had pocketed had any alchemical use, while McGonagall was determined to extract more details about the troll's entry point.
She didn't have Dumbledore's iron nerves; knowing there was a hole in Hogwarts' security—be it physical or human—ant she wouldn't sleep a wink.
Snape eventually won the silent standoff of persistence.
"If Dumbledore isn't going to tell you, what use is pestering these two? Are you going to rely on their expert analysis of troll breeds?"
McGonagall fell silent for a mont, finding a sliver of logic in Snape's biting remark. She shifted into Deputy Headmistress mode: she would go straight to the source and demand to know what the "Greatest Wizard of the Age" was actually doing to protect his school!
The four students noticed nothing until Snape's voice drifted over them like a cold fog.
"Mr. Heath... those purple chunks you harvested from the troll... what are they for?"
Kane stopped. The other three took one look at Snape's face and decided to keep walking for a few more paces before stopping to watch from a safe distance—well out of range of any "acidic spit" or verbal venom.
"Do you really want to know?" Kane raised an eyebrow. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what Monster at was good for in this world, other than cooking.
"I wouldn't be asking otherwise."
The mont Snape finished his sentence, Kane moved with terrifying speed. In less than a second, he had produced his portable cauldron and four chunks of Monster at.
Snape's eyes widened. A mory he had suppressed flashed back to the surface. "No! Do not use the—"
"Too late," Kane's hands were a blur. Three chunks were already in. Only the last one remained.
"No, no, no, Heath. You wouldn't. If you dare—"
Plop!
The final piece of Monster at slipped from his fingers into the pot.
Kane pressed his lips into a thin line. He swore, he really just had "slippery hands" and a fast reaction ti... really.
As the at hit the bottom, Snape squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to watch. It was a literal pollution of his ntal database of "proper" potion-making.
However, hearing the cauldron's increasingly frantic bubbling, he opened his eyes with the grim resolve of a man facing execution.
Maybe this ti it's different? Maybe it's not food? Maybe it's a rare reagent?
None of the above. With a cheerful Ding!, a platter of Monster Lasagna—which looked surprisingly appetizing—appeared in the cauldron.
Snape took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let out a sharp, hysterical "Ha!"
He was so angry he had circled back to being amused. He forced his facial muscles to relax and commanded himself to stop thinking about the damn cauldron.
"Give one piece of the raw at for study," Snape said slowly, fighting for composure. "Then take your cauldron and that... 'Lasagna' and vanish from my sight."
"Oh." Kane shrugged, handed over a raw chunk, and turned to leave. Suddenly, he heard the sound of heavy breathing behind him.
"Wait! I haven't had a bite yet!"
It was Dumbledore, moving at a speed that a hundred-year-old shouldn't be capable of. McGonagall was struggling to keep up with him.
Snape's temper flared again. He whipped his robes around and stord off in a huff.
"Ah, I slled that aroma from the other end of the corridor," Dumbledore said, transfiguring a set of cutlery. "Is this the 'Mille-feuille' you promised ?"
He raised a forkful to his mouth. Kane reached out to stop him. "Wait... if you eat this, there might be... a small side effect."
"I understand," Dumbledore said grandfatherly. "But I hope you realize that in the face of minor, tolerable side effects, taking a brave step toward a new experience makes life far more colorful."
He took a large bite... then fell silent. His face tightened. He stood up abruptly and began walking briskly in the direction Snape had gone.
He needed an antidote. Fast.
"Is it really that special?" McGonagall asked, watching the Headmaster retreat. She looked at the Lasagna in the pot with curiosity.
"Perhaps you'd like a try?" Kane offered, pushing the cauldron forward.
McGonagall thought for a mont. Dumbledore was right; life was short, and a little variety never hurt.
Monts later, McGonagall was also chasing after Snape, shouting for an antidote.
"Weak stomachs," Kane comnted. He polished off the rest of the Monster Lasagna himself. Aside from feeling his "health" tick down slightly, nothing happened. He began walking toward the Great Hall, losing HP with every step.
?? Why won't the health drain stop? Oh well, I'll just eat so normal food later.
The Great Hall was magnificent. The trio... no, quartet now, sat down. Harry and Ron were badgering Hermione with questions: What was it like? Why were you there? Was the troll as scary as the one Dumbledore made? Did so evil Slytherin lock you in to get you killed?
Hermione's face was beet-red. She was desperately trying to find a "literary" way to explain that she'd just been crying.
Kane decided to be the voice for his socially awkward classmate.
"Hermione was just hiding in there due to so 'unavoidable circumstances' to shed a few strings of little pearls," he announced.
Hermione turned a shade redder. But the culprit's attention was already elsewhere. Hugin was flying in through the high windows of the Hall.
His Purple Gem from Gringotts had finally arrived!
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