Troll in the Dungeons

A/N: Based in the great and mighty and perhaps slightly more magical than I Zeplerfer's excellent (and, as of right now, being revised!) Potteralia AU Quidditch House Rivals. All characterizations and the AU itself was written with her permission. Once you are done here, if you have not done so already, go and swarm her with lovely reviews and faves. Her Pottertalia is honestly the best I have ever read. Slythern!Alfred x Gryffindor!Arthur has never been written so well.

This AU is based on a favorite scene of mine from the original Harry Potter books and the first movie: the troll scene. Who doesn't love a good troll scene? I love a good troll scene! In fact, I especially love a good troll scene with a Hetalian twist!

For those of you already enjoying Zeplerfer's fanfiction, this does take place during the All Hallow's Eve chapter, but you can read it as an alternate ending. So an AU of an AU? AU-ception. Either way, please enjoy!

Summary: Thought you ought to know...

Pairings: USUK to the max, Franada (Fem!Canada)

Honestly, he was beginning to think that he had misread his tea leaves from earlier. They had said, quite clearly, that he would be having an enjoyable night. Naturally, Arthur assumed that meant he would finally have the peace and quiet he deserved after he had so handily caught the frog and his idiot friends right in the middle of their planned "Mischief Night". The way Francis looked when he found black bats flying out of his nose was well worth the sleep he had lost as a result of having to lie in wait for the three to strike.

But of course, he forgot about something. Or in this case, someone: Alfred F. Jones, Slytherin Seeker, Potions prodigy, and master of getting under Arthur's skin. The American had been noticeably missing during the Prefect ambush- not that Arthur had been looking for him, of course- and the Gryffindor Prefect had briefly hoped that perhaps the American had changed his ways somehow. Perhaps, despite the fact that he was a Slytherin, he had finally realized the error of his ways and would finally turn around and shed the silver and green? Then again, Arthur was simply going through an unhealthy amount of wishful thinking; once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, and Alfred was the worst of them all.

So, it had to be said, when the bigger male tore through the hall at the sight of Arthur walking down the hall, there was definitely something wrong.

"Jones?" he called, slowly opening the door to the classroom. Honestly, what was with Hogwarts students and hiding in classrooms? They didn't protect you from anything, save a few dust-motes. "Are you in here?"

A slight noise answered him, obviously the sound of a breath being let out and tense shoulders relaxing. Arthur rolled his eyes and silently illuminated the tip of his wand, making his way towards a desk in the back of the room. No doubt the American was hiding behind it, possibly with a prank of some sort ready to go. Arthur was ready, though. After all, he did memorize a great deal of counter-jinxes over the years in preparation for his inevitable future success.

Green eyes peeked beneath the desk, the bright light at the tip of his wand illuminated the figure beneath. Alfred looked quite the sight: his glasses were askew, his golden hair was even more disheveled than normal, and his black robes looked like they had seen better days. Blue eyes, the kind that pierced any sort of darkness, flicked upwards to meet his. They were filled with some unspoken fear. The American was pale and trembling, but nonetheless, he was still as... good-looking as ever. Arthur found himself staring at this new, vulnerable Alfred, his mind a storm of worry and confusion.

"Jones?" he finally asked when he found his voice again. "Are you alright?"

The reaction was immediate; Alfred launched himself right into his arms, shaking in a most uncharacteristic way. Arthur found himself holding onto the younger wizard, gently tracing circles upon the Slytherin's back. He made a few soothing noises as the other male continued to shake, saying nothing else to allow Alfred to gather his thoughts.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked gently after counting to five.

"My g-ghost-be-gone broke," came the unexpected reply. Before Arthur could answer, or think of some snarky remark about such a thing, Alfred had let him go and pulled out a little charm from a pocket in his robes. Arthur studied the item for a few moments, noting that it was a rather well-made one, and probably worked very well too. But from the looks of things, contrary to what Alfred claimed, it didn't look broken at all. In fact, it would probably take only a moment to fix it.

He gave the American a quick nod. "It's not broken, it just needs a bit of a spell recharge. Four ghosts on Halloween was too much for it, I'm guessing."

Alfred turned to him, sky blue eyes pleading. The pout upon his face was enough to send a slight fluttering through Arthur's chest, but the Briton held his expression, not wishing to give anything away. "Can you fix it?"

Arthur wet his lips. "I think so." without another word, he set the charm upon the desk and restored its power with a simple twirl of his wand. He examined it for a moment before deeming it worthy of being called a ghost-be-gone charm once again before he turned and handed it to the waiting American. In spite of himself, he found a smile crossing his features. "There, right as rain."

The grin the American returned was blinding, but not unpleasantly so. It suited his finely chiseled face much better than any sort of frown. Arthur caught the faintest indentations of laugh-lines around the American's eyes as he smiled and pocketed the precious charm. "Thanks."

Arthur's thoughts soon turned back to the feast. Surely Alfred was awfully lonely without his three idiotic friends to laugh along and stuff his face with candy with. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if the American would be opposed to dining with him this evening. After all, it wasn't every day that your idiotic friends were caught trying to play some equally as idiotic pranks and therefore banned from a feast that ought to be celebrated amongst friends, right?

"We should head back to the feast," Arthur suggested. As soon as the words left his mouth, he became fully aware of a rather large amount of extra weight on his arm. Alfred had latched himself onto the Gryffindor once again, shaking his head so rapidly that Arthur feared it would fall right off. Evidently, no amount of candy would sway the American's obvious fear of ghosts. Arthur allowed a bit of amusement to creep into his tone. "Or perhaps not."

Arthur's slim fingers reached out and gently patted the wheat-gold locks, marveling slightly at how soft they were. The cowlick that constantly plagued the American was held down for a moment, before Arthur's hand was gone and it sprang up to attention once again. Arthur would have been lying if he insisted that it wasn't at all cute. Afterwards, they sat together, Arthur ducking under the desk, and said nothing for a long while. Arthur shot Alfred occasional glances to reassure the lad that there was nothing to fear. He was happy to note that, not much later, Alfred's heart rate began to slow.

"I'm sorry," Alfred said, breaking the silence. "It's stupid. You should go back."

Arthur shrugged, knowing that the other was referring to his fear of ghosts. "I've seen six years, it gets a little old. And you don't need to apologize. It's irrational, but emotions often are." a small smile formed upon his face as he thought of the irony of the statement; his own desire for the loud, obnoxious, devastatingly handsome American was already quite irrational as it was. Without thinking, he snaked an arm around Alfred's shoulder, his heart rate increasing as the American leaned into the embrace, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder. A soft sigh escaped Arthur's lips at the contact, but luckily for him, Alfred did not seem to notice.

"There was a ghost in my house growing up," Alfred's voice was a soft, yet not fearful, whisper. "He didn't have a form, just a soft voice. Sometimes, you wouldn't even know he was talking."

Arthur stayed silent, only wincing slightly as the American tightened his iron grip upon the Slytherin's arm. If there was anything Arthur could say about Alfred, it was the fact that the lad definitely had a terrible hold. He would hate to be on the receiving end of it if Alfred was mad.

"My parents never believed me, because they never saw or heard him," Alfred continued. Arthur noted that his gaze was downcast. "Then one day he told me to ask about my twin. We moved after that, but every ghost reminds me of him."

Oh. Oh. Well, that definitely explained the fear of ghosts.

"You have a twin?"

Alfred nodded. "His name was-"

"TROLL! TROOOLLLLLL! UNAWESOME TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"

The voice was loud, brash, and heavily accented. It snapped the two blondes out of their reverie immediately. Acting on instinct, Arthur rolled out from under the desk and leaped to his feet, his wand already in hand. He whirled to the door just as Alfred's wand came out as well, and took aim as the owner of the voice burst into the room.

Gilbert Beilschmidt was a mess; he was panting hard and leaning against the doorframe, his silver hair awry and slicked with sweat. He seemed much paler than usual as he raised his scarlet gaze and looked at both Alfred and Arthur at once. Much to the Gryffindor Prefect's shock, the usually reckless gaze of the albino was clouded in fear.

"Thought you ought to know…" he wheezed, shivering in obvious fear and exhaustion.

Alfred was the first to speak, immediately striding forward and grasping his friend's shoulders as his knees buckled. Arthur followed suit, never putting away his wand, ready to fire any sort of spell should the troll be foolish enough to come their way. Gilbert shook off the American's help and simply ran out of the room, gesturing for the two to follow.

"What the hell is going on here, Gilbert?" Arthur demanded as they ran. It was definitely not every day that there was news of a troll wandering about the dungeons. In fact, the last troll-at-Hogwarts sighting was years ago, and the school had been made significantly more troll-proof after that incident.

"Didn't you hear my awesome yelling?" Gilbert snapped back. "Some unawesome person let a troll into the castle! He attacked Francis, Toni, and I as we were about to sneak into one of the secret passageways-"

"You WHAT!?"

"Wait, without me, Gil? Aw man, come on! You three should've said something!"

Gilbert groaned. "You two can yell at me later. Right now, there's a fucking grown mountain troll tearing up the dungeons and Francis and Toni are all alone in there! You two better be able to help, or this Halloween's gonna end up being the least awesome ever!"

They ran all through the hallway, past the Great Hall, and down numerous staircases, plunging deeper and deeper into the school. Faintly, Arthur could hear the panicked shouts of students as news of the beast lurking within the dungeons reached them, and the desperate yelling of teachers trying their best to restore order. The Englishman's thoughts turned to his dear friend, Kiku, wondering if the Ravenclaw Prefect was amongst those panicking or if he was amongst those trying to keep order.

It was not long until Arthur became aware of a deep rumbling; the footsteps of a terrifying beast. The deeper they plunged into the school, the louder the rumbling became. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt a pang of fear; as powerful of a wizard as he was, was he capable of taking on a fully grown mountain troll? Sure, he was amongst allies, but would he be able to keep everyone alive and take down the troll without harming the school itself?

A warm hand snaked into his and squeezed. Arthur looked up and met large eyes that promised him a cloudless sky. Alfred's face, for once in his lifetime, was set in a determined, serious line. There was no laughter, no reckless abandon, in those eyes now. There was simply determination, loyalty, and trust; there was simply the need to jump in and be the hero that the school desperately required in this fearful time.

"How much longer, Gilbert?" Arthur asked. He was lithe, agile, and athletic, but even he had his limits. He was built to fly for hours on a broom, not run for miles. "How did a bloody troll get in so deep?"

Before Gilbert could answer, an earth-shattering roar split the air. The three skidded to a stop, Alfred still grasping onto Arthur's hand, as a large shape loomed before them. Though it was not nearly tall enough to block the high ceilings of the dungeon, the troll towered over them, its ugly face set in a grotesque mask of rage. Twelve feet tall and smelling of rot, the pale-gray creature wore ripped trousers and a vest of animal hide, wielding a large club in its hand. It was swinging around this powerful weapon wildly, as if trying to catch some poor wizard off-guard.

Shorter figures ran around this behemoth, firing curses and jinxes at every bit of exposed skin possible. Arthur immediately recognized the golden tresses of Francis Bonnefoy and the brunette locks of Antonio Carriedo, Gilbert's two best friends and fellow Chasers on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Normally, Arthur would be greatly opposed to helping out the three banes of his existence at any time, but now was not one of those times. All the Gryffindor saw at the moment were fellow classmates that desperately needed his help, and by God, he was damned if he did not give it.

Alfred leaped into action first, firing hex after hex at the oncoming troll. They bounced off easily; this troll seemed to have especially tough skin. But while Alfred's spells did little to harm it, they did manage to catch the troll's attention. With yet another roar, the troll spun around, his swinging arm just barely missing Antonio as the Spanish wizard leaped away. Francis shot yet another spell at the troll, obvious a Confundus Charm, but missed terribly, hitting the ceiling instead. The troll, undeterred, charged towards Alfred, its club swinging in wide, deadly arcs.

Arthur had to do something. There was just no way he was going to simply stand there and allow the American boy to be crushed. Bracing himself, the Gryffindor leaped in front of the oncoming monster and aimed his wand.

"LUMOS MAXIMUS!"

He wasn't all too sure why he chose that spell; it was simply the first to come onto his tongue. Nevertheless, the bright light that illuminated the tip of his wand was enough to blind the troll, causing it to thrash wildly. So off-course did it veer that Arthur was able to get Alfred away just in time, smirking as Gilbert's arrow-shooting spell peppered the troll's legs. Putrid-smelling blood leaked from the minute wounds, angering the troll even more. It flailed about now, swinging wildly, its movements so erratic that the wizards began dodging more than actually casting spells.

"Avifors!" Francis cried desperately, only to be forced to duck to the side to avoid one of the massive fists. Arthur wanted to curse the Frenchman out, but held his tongue. He could lecture about the uselessness of bird-transforming spells later.

"Baubillious!" Alfred shouted, shooting a bolt of white light from the tip of his wand. It struck the troll right in the chest, singeing it. The disgusting stench of burnt troll flesh filled Arthur's nose as he wordlessly cast Confundus Charm after Confundus Charm, all aiming for the troll's tiny eyes.

"Amigos, it is too much!" Antonio cried over the troll's continued roars. "The more we throw at it, the angrier it gets! We cannot aim for his head if we do not stop his flailing or avoid it in some way!"

As much as Arthur hated to admit it, he was right; the hallways were high, not wide. The troll's girth was so massive that the four barely had time to dart in-between his thrashing limbs, let alone dodge the blows from the massive club. Antonio's Bombarda Maxima did little to deter the troll, and Arthur's Confundus Charms were missing nonstop. Gilbert and Alfred were alternating between Confrigo and Defodio. The latter, the Gouging Curse, only seemed to serve to take chunks of cloth off of the troll's clothes.

The smell was unbearable. Arthur's eyes began to water as his nose was overwhelmed by the terrible stench. His aim was slowly but surely deteriorating; he was having trouble breathing and shouting orders. His latest curse bounced off the wall, hitting Gilbert squarely in the chest. The self-proclaimed Prussian wavered, his own aim quite off now, and rather than hitting the troll, his spell hit Francis instead. Arthur watched numbly as Antonio ran to his fallen friend, shaking him and desperately shouting his name. Meanwhile, Alfred was on his own, desperately shouting off every spell he knew, hoping against hope that the troll would simply drop dead...

"OVER HERE!"

He saw a flash of gold, then felt something land in his lap. Automatically, his hand reached out and grasped the object, feeling it in an attempt to identify what it was. Clarity returned to the young Gryffindor Seeker as he realized what this was.

His broomstick.

Alfred's friend, the girl from Hufflepuff, had given him his broomstick. And she was running around now, throwing broomsticks to the rest of the males. The Gryffindor didn't care how she managed to get a hold of these precious brooms, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that he now had a broomstick in his hand, a clear mind, and of course, a nice, high ceiling to fly under.

He mounted his broom and kicked off.

The same magic that affected him seemed to affect the others as well. Four blurs of black and green joined him in the air as the three Chasers and the Slytherin Seeker took off as well. Arthur briefly noted that the Hufflepuff was sitting on Francis' broom, slim arms hugging the Frenchman's waist as they flew straight for the troll.

There seemed to be a formation about them; Gilbert swung to the right, Antonio aimed down, Francis flew left, and Alfred flew up. That left Arthur with simply flying straight towards the middle. Five wands, six if Alfred's friend's was counted, aimed right at the troll and released a powerful spell. The troll was thrown clear across the hall, slamming painfully into the wall on the other side. In spite of this obviously painful experience, the troll was fighting again, and it foolishly charged at the broomstick-mounted wizards, its ear-splitting roar filled with the intent to consume their flesh raw.

Arthur was in his element; wind whipped through his golden locks as he flew around the troll, easily dodging the desperate swings of its arms. Gilbert flipped and twisted around the flailing limbs, cackling as his Confundus Charms found their marks: the tiny eyes of the troll. The albino then flew around the other side of the troll, blasting numerous curses to harm its neck and possibly take off its head, what from the slightly murderous intent shining in the Slytherin's eye.

Meanwhile, Antonio was circling the troll's feet, brandishing his wand as ropes flew out from its tip. He circled around rapidly, with the speed of an experienced Chaser, and bound the troll's feet together. Now immobilized, the troll pitched forward, its arms flailing, falling hard upon the dungeon floor. Its club rolled out of its hand.

Francis flew forward now, his wand and his female companion's wand slashing and twirling as they summoned more ropes to bind the troll to the ground. Strong as the mountain troll was, it could do little to remove the bonds that were now holding it down. Francis and his partner grinned at each other and high-fived, the young girl's face flushed pink in giddiness.

"Yo, Artie!" Alfred shouted as he flew alongside his fellow Seeker. "Ready to finish this?"

The glint in the American's eye was exhilarating, handsome even. It made him seem more dashing, more daring, and all around more heroic than he ever was before. Arthur found himself staring, drinking in the large, yet muscular frame leaning upon the broomstick, the golden hair whipping about as he flew around, the blindingly white smile, the thrill in his eye as the two flew side-by-side...

Arthur raised his wand and aimed it at the troll's fallen club. Alfred copied the movement, his grin never wavering. Once the two were sure they were ready, their voices spoke as one.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The troll's club was lifted into the air and guided to hover over its former master's head. Exchanging a grin with the American Seeker, Arthur deactivated the spell with a flick of his wand. The weapon came crashing down upon the troll's head, knocking the beast out cold.

For a long while, the five males and one female simply hovered there on their brooms, not saying a word. They were watching, of course, for any sign of movement from the troll. When it became clear that the beast would not wake for a long while, they each lowered one by one, not feeling safe until their feet touched the ground.

"Kesese! That was AWESOME!" Gilbert cackled. He ran over and pulled Antonio into a hug. "We just beat up a fully grown mountain troll! Wait until everyone hears about this!"

Antonio laughed. "Si, amigo! But we'll have to make up for this later. We have reputations to keep up, after all!"

Francis dismounted his broom and helped the young woman off, a coy smile playing on his features. "Ma chère, vous vous battez avec la férocité d'un tigre et la grâce d'un cygne," he purred as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Alfred's friend let out a soft giggle before pulling her hand back, blushing all the while.

Arthur was the last to dismount, too busy checking every inch of the troll in order to make sure that it was indeed out cold. Before Arthur could so much as catch his breath, however, a pair of strong arms wrapped around him from behind. The next thing he knew, he was being swung about as a loud laugh rang in his ears.

"Artie! We were great out there, weren't we? And damn, I knew you could fly, but I didn't know that you could fly! You have to teach me how to fly like that, Artie! You just have to!" Alfred set him down on the floor, Arthur still disoriented. "You will, won't you?"

Caught up in the thrill of the moment, of the giddiness of having defeated a Class 4 Threat, Arthur nearly kissed his blue-eyed American then and there. But before he could do anything overly reckless, his Prefect side asserted itself and he calmed his nerves. It was for the best; they were still house rivals, after all.

"Y-Yes… well, that is all well and good, but we ought to report to the teachers, you know," Arthur said evenly. His fellow classmates groaned. "Oh, don't give me any of that, you five! I will have you know that it is for the best, otherwise, they might accuse one of us of allowing this troll into the school."

"Yeah, yeah, Eyebrows," Gilbert groaned. "But… awesome celebration first, then we go do shit!"

It was already quite obvious that the three Slytherin Chasers were lost. They were shouting and hugging each other and Alfred's female friend, who was trying her best to slip away. Arthur shook his head as he turned to Alfred, ready to watch the American turn to his friends and celebrate along with them. Much to his surprise, however, Alfred reached out and gently took his hand.

"Well, while they're partyin', why don't we go tell the teachers that everything's taken care of?" Alfred asked, lovely blue eyes twinkling. "Then… how about we head back to the feast?"

Arthur smiled back, silently cursing the blush that was creeping up his cheeks. "I-I… think that would be quite lovely, Alfred."

And so they left, still holding hands.

Madeline waited until the two left before she (reluctantly) detached herself from a rather affectionate Francis and faced the trio, crossing her arms. She felt a small bit of pride welling up within her as the three boys seemed to shrink under her stare. She did not know them quite as well as she wished she did, but nonetheless… it felt good to know that in the short time that she did know them, she was reckoned to be a formidable force.

"And what did we learn today, eh?" she asked carefully.

The answers came out in separate mumbles.

"Do not sneak out with our amigos on Halloween and leave the broomstick shed unlocked…"

"Do not chase a troll into the dungeons without first letting the professor know, no matter how… pas romantique it is…"

"And don't piss off unawesome Norwegians at the bar, especially when they say that they're friends with a troll."

Ma chère, vous vous battez avec la férocité d'un tigre et la grâce d'un cygne. - My dear, you fight with the ferocity of a tiger and the grace of a swan.