Chapter 51 — The Halloween Commotion
"Avada Kedavra? Sounds… mildly interesting. Explain it to Me in detail," Morgan asked, clearly intrigued.
"Avada Kedavra is called the Killing Curse. When cast, it produces a flash of green light. Anyone struck by it dies instantly. No spell can block it."
"What if you use something physical? A wall, a shield—something with substance?"
"Uh…"
Russell thought about it.
It was true that magical shields couldn't block it… but Voldemort had never shot it through a wall or murdered someone through three layers of stone.
"…Yes. Solid barriers work."
"Can the Killing Curse chain?" Morgan wrote.
"…Chain?"
A bad premonition crept up Russell's spine.
"Yes. As in—can a single cast affect multiple targets at once?"
Her handwriting had turned messy, as if she were losing patience.
(So magic quality nowadays has fallen this low?)
"Of course it can only hit one target."
"So you're telling Me," Morgan replied slowly,
"that the so-called 'most powerful spell' can only hit one target at a time, and can be blocked by something as trivial as a wall?"
"…I guess?"
When phrased like that, the Killing Curse suddenly sounded embarrassingly mediocre.
"No—wait," Russell snapped back to attention.
"The curse's biggest feature is instant death! You can't just skip that part!"
"Instant death?" Morgan sounded unimpressed.
"In My era, any halfway competent wizard possessed at least some form of undeath or immortality. Instant death was hardly frightening."
Her tone sharpened.
"Besides, if a spell is coming at you, why not simply conjure a wall with Transfiguration and block it?"
Russell was speechless.
The logic was flawless…
The execution was another story entirely.
"Regardless," Morgan continued,
"instead of teaching you some large, flashy spell, it is wiser to first teach you healing magic. Survival precedes slaughter."
"That's fine," Russell replied.
He wasn't picky. Sooner or later, he intended to learn everything anyway.
"This spell is called [Sanare Integrum]
—'Restore Flesh and Life.'"
---
The Night Before Halloween
On the eve of Halloween, the moment they woke up, a warm, sweet scent of baked pumpkin drifted through the corridor.
Today happened to be the heaviest class day of the week: Herbology and History of Magic in the morning, then Charms and Transfiguration in the afternoon.
The moment Transfiguration ended, the famished young wizards stampeded toward the Great Hall for the Halloween Eve feast.
"I'm starving. I swear I could eat an entire roasted cow right now," James complained.
"Professor McGonagall is too strict— I only fell asleep on my desk for a moment, and she kicked me out."
"Be glad it was McGonagall. If you dared try that in Snape's class, you'd probably end up in the hospital wing for a week."
"I don't believe it. He wouldn't dare lay hands on me," James huffed, looking offended.
"Of course he wouldn't," Russell said. "But he would make you drink your own potion."
"…Yeah, I'd drop dead on the spot," James admitted without shame.
He was extremely confident in his terrible potion-making skills.
The Great Hall was fully immersed in Halloween decorations. A thousand bats fluttered across the walls and ceiling, while another thousand hovered low like drifting dark clouds over the tables, making the candle flames in the pumpkins flicker wildly.
Russell was slicing his steak when a sudden shriek erupted from the Gryffindor table—followed quickly by laughter.
"LOOK! It's the Hulk!" James yelled excitedly, smacking Russell's shoulder.
"The Hulk? Really, James—this is the wizarding world, not the Muggle—"
Russell stopped mid-sentence.
He looked up—
And his fork slipped from his fingers.
Because James wasn't wrong.
A Gryffindor boy had turned completely green.
Bright, vivid, radioactive green.
His mouth hung open in horror as his body continued to grow larger and larger.
"Oh Merlin—WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!" he shrieked.
Russell recognized him.
Eron Ackerly.
As Ackerly grew, the laughing Gryffindors around him began to back away—because a putrid smell suddenly spread through the hall.
It was the stench of socks unwashed for a month, left to ferment in a locked bathroom.
The odor swept across the tables. Russell could smell it too.
"Scourgify."
He flicked his wand, clearing the air—though his face slowly darkened.
He thought of the Troll Transformation Potion he'd hidden in the dorm.
Ackerly's appearance…
Looked exactly like someone who had drunk it.
Someone stole my potion…
And wants to frame me?
That was Russell's first thought.
But then he dismissed it.
His stash was hidden extremely well. And even if someone wanted to frame him, why use something so blatant and stupid?
And with Dumbledore around, such a scheme would fail instantly.
As Russell pondered, Ackerly—now a small troll—completely lost control.
If it were another transformation potion, his mind might have remained mostly intact.
But a troll's mind was simple—primitive even.
He now behaved exactly like a real mountain troll.
With a guttural roar, Ackerly flipped the entire Gryffindor table, sending food flying everywhere. Students screamed and fled.
The professors were instantly alerted.
Especially Snape, whose eyes flicked toward Russell with a complicated look.
Russell: Why is he looking at ME!? I didn't do anything!
A few brave Gryffindors drew their wands and fired off spells—
Colorful jets of magic shot toward the troll.
None worked.
They only made him angrier.
He crouched down, ready to grab the nearest student—
But the professors were already moving.
Professor McGonagall struck first.
The overturned table transformed into ropes that shot forward and bound Ackerly's arms tight.
Almost simultaneously, two spells streaked from Flitwick and Snape:
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Stupefy!"
The combined force hit Ackerly squarely.
His eyes bulged.
His arms snapped rigid against his sides.
And he toppled backward like a felled tree.
McGonagall even conjured a cushion behind him so he wouldn't hit the floor too hard.