The White King Penitent

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore straightened his spectacles and looked about him at the wreckage of the girls’ toilets. Well, now. I had hoped we could avoid this sort of thing… but maybe it’s for the best. Life isn’t a chess game, and people aren’t pieces. After all these years, I should be used to that.

The three children had clustered in the corner, as far away from the massive wart-covered humanoid figure in its crude loincloth as they could get without leaving the room. There was more than fear alone involved, he knew. Merlin’s stones, he thought, I’d forgot just how awful a troll can smell. He pushed his boyhood memories aside, concentrating on the present. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter had their arms about each other. Ronald Weasley looked as if someone had shoved a pail of reeking fish scraps under his nose. Then again, it might have only been the troll.