"You don't say!"

"I think we should be quiet," Victor murmurs, "the troll's right outside..."

And approaching, if these approaching footsteps can be trusted.

She mimes zipping her lips closed.

Victor holds perfectly still and hopes very hard for the troll to go away.

If hopes were horses...

The troll's definitely approaching the bathroom, now. Dayo looks around, and darts for a stall, hiding in it and gesturing for the other two to do the same.

Yes that seems like a good plan. Victor does the same.

As does Ron.

The troll walks into the bathroom and grunts, sniffing around. They can see its feet, flat and horny and thicker than tree trunks, if they look through the gap between the stall door and the floor.

He really hopes Professor McGonagall was nearby.

Not nearby enough.

The troll swings its club—it has a club, and it's huge—removing the upper half of all stalls. Ron screams, and now that they have an unimpeded view they can see the troll in all its... trollness. Twelve feet tall, its skin's a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. The legs are short and knobby, and the horny feet start abruptly.

Victor ducks when the club goes through the stalls, then peers up at the troll from behind his upraised arms.

...yes, that's a troll all right. If he saw that creature out of context and had to put a name to it, 'troll' would probably be the first word he reached for. It's so trollish.

He freezes up for a moment - but then he tries to switch tracks and think. Fine, it's a troll: what can be done about it? He's heard of spells to make fire and water, but he doesn't know either of them. It is not a door he can lock or unlock. It is not a broken object he can repair.

And the troll has definitely noticed them. It roars, and starts swinging its club with more murderous intent. Not much aim, though. Dayo tries to roll to dodge its club but ends up pinned between it and the wall.

- an object he can levitate -

"Wingardium Leviosa," he says, and the club rises straight out of the troll's hand. It's heavy; keeping it in the air is hard. He has no idea what to do next.

The troll looks extremely confused by its sudden lack of club.

"—drop it on its head—" Ron yells.

Oh. Yes, of course.

He wobbles the club up and to the left a bit, and drops it.

It hits the troll's head with a sickening crack, then clattering (if the noise that tree trunk makes could be called that) to the floor. The troll sways a bit on the spot—thick skull, for all that it's so tiny compared to its body—before falling flat on its face, with a thud that makes the whole room tremble.

"—well that was a close one."

"Are you utterly, completely, barking mad?"

"Dayo," says Victor seriously, "I think maybe you should make a habit of asking someone else what they think of your ideas before trying them, in case they are dangerous and will get you eaten by trolls."

"I just wanted to get a look at it! This is, like, some D&D stuff!"

"What's D&D?"

"You could have died," says Victor.

"Well I hadn't been planning to get so close to it."

There's sudden slamming and loud footsteps. A moment later, Professor McGonagall comes bursting into the room—

—closely followed by Snape—

—with Quirrell bringing up the rear. He takes one look at the troll, lets out a faint whimper, and sits quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bends over the troll to peer at it.