The last few days of October at Hogwarts seemed perfectly ordinary on the surface—but beneath that calm exterior, every young witch and wizard was buzzing with restless excitement.
In History of Magic, first-years began peppering Professor Binns with questions about ghosts and the origins of spectral beings, completely derailing the ghostly professor's already meandering lectures.
"I will not answer another foolish question about poltergeists or banshees!" Binns thundered one morning, his eyes flaring with translucent irritation. "Put your hand down, Sean Panic! Hufflepuff—five points lost!"
"I'm not Sean Panic!" Seamus Finnegan protested, nearly in tears. "And I'm not in Hufflepuff—!"
Before he could finish, Harry and Ron lunged across the desk and clamped their hands firmly over his mouth.
Outside of History of Magic—and Potions class, where no one in their right mind dared ask Snape about ghosts—most professors were unusually lenient. After nearly two months of classes, they seemed content to let students burn off excess energy.
Even the ever-strict Professor McGonagall conjured a cluster of dancing skeletons, using her desk as a makeshift stage.
Professor Flitwick delighted his class with a tale of a Halloween he once spent with a vampire and a werewolf—who, after a few Butterbeers, turned out to be a surprisingly graceful dancer.
Amid all the excitement, October quietly slipped toward its final day.
The weather, unfortunately, did not share the festive spirit.
Sometime in recent weeks, the mountains surrounding Hogwarts had been dusted with snow. The sky remained a constant grey, and the early-morning frost grew thicker by the day.
Hagrid could often be seen trudging across the grounds in his mole-fur coat and floppy rabbit-fur hat, bundled up like some enormous, shaggy creature as he swept ice from the paths with a broomstick.
October 31st arrived without ceremony.
Vaughan, a book tucked under one arm, greeted Hagrid in the courtyard before heading toward the Great Hall—only to find it completely transformed.
The usual torches and fire pits had been replaced by hundreds of floating jack-o'-lanterns, their warm glow reflecting off the enchanted ceiling. Long ribbons streamed down from above, shimmering in the colours of the four Houses. Students clustered everywhere, buzzing with speculation about what surprises the Halloween Feast might bring.
Fred and George Weasley insisted that the previous year, Dumbledore had invited a ghost band whose shrill performance had lulled half the Hall to sleep.
Percy Weasley, now a Prefect and brimming with self-importance, claimed no official announcement had been made. That probably meant nothing special was planned.
Speaking of Percy—ever since Vaughan had been sorted into Slytherin, his older brother had kept a noticeable distance.
That was, until Percy realised Vaughan had somehow managed to make friends across multiple Houses. One afternoon, he finally approached with a stiff smile.
"Dear brother, terribly sorry I've been so busy lately. No one in Slytherin's been bullying you, have they?"
Vaughan responded with a perfectly neutral, noncommittal sound.
"Heh."
Elsewhere, Harry leaned toward his friends and whispered, "I bet there won't be any big show this year. Dumbledore's been keeping something secret… no way he'd let outsiders into the school right now."
Hermione looked impressed. "I thought you'd be the one complaining it's not festive enough."
"I've got enough excitement in my life already," Harry muttered, slouching.
As Quidditch season drew closer, Oliver Wood's obsession reached new heights. If the entire team hadn't threatened open rebellion, he'd probably have scheduled practice on Halloween night.
As it was, he still managed to squeeze in one final afternoon session.
"Ron, d'you want to come with me—er, I mean, watch me train?" Harry asked hopefully.
When he turned around, Ron hadn't spoken in ages. He sat rigid, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, looking as though he were preparing to bid farewell to the mortal world.
"Ron… what's wrong with you?"
Ron seized Harry's hand, face brimming with emotion.
"Harry, look after yourself. When you grow up, earn lots of money… and if you ever get anything delicious, fun, or rare… remember me, yeah?"
Before Harry could respond, a Silencing Charm struck Ron squarely in the face.
Harry glanced up to see Vaughan calmly reading his book while sipping soup, smoothly tucking his wand away.
No one else even looked up.
It was just Ron being bullied by his older brother again.
Perfectly normal.
Harry sighed and turned away, pretending he hadn't just watched Ron flail silently in despair.
That evening, Harry staggered back into the Great Hall after a brutal Quidditch practice. His hair—now resembling a windswept Mohawk—was the result of two solid hours of high-speed loops.
The Hall had transformed yet again.
Pumpkin lanterns glowed in dozens of colours under the professors' enchantments. Bats fluttered beneath the starlit ceiling, weaving between golden ribbons. Below, the long tables groaned under the weight of food.
Harry slid into his seat and looked around.
"Seen Ron?" he asked Hermione.
She shrugged, mildly disgusted. "He was here earlier, stuffing his face with roast meat until his chin was dripping. Then Vaughan called him away."
Harry didn't ask further. Ron had been muttering all week about how he'd made a deal with the devil and regretted it deeply.
Probably just more brotherly bonding.
Half-starved, Harry attacked the feast.
But only a few bites in—potato halfway to his mouth—the Great Hall doors burst open.
Professor Quirrell stumbled inside, face white with terror. He ran across the silent Hall, robes billowing, and collapsed against the staff table.
"Troll!" he gasped at Dumbledore. "In the dungeons!"
The Hall froze.
"In the dungeons!" he cried again. "Thought you ought to know—"
Then he collapsed flat on the stone floor.
No one noticed the peculiar look Dumbledore gave Quirrell. The Hall erupted.
Older students went pale. First-years screamed—some in fear, others purely for enjoyment.
Fred and George were already conjuring illusions of trolls dancing on tables.
Chaos reigned.
Dumbledore rose and lifted his wand.
"Silence!"
The Hall fell quiet.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that the Halloween Feast must be paused. Prefects, please escort your Houses back to their common rooms in an orderly fashion."
"Professors—follow me to the dungeons."
Order gradually returned as the Heads of Houses issued commands and followed Dumbledore out.
Harry climbed the stairs with Percy and Hermione, surrounded by anxious whispers. Students from magical families debated trolls—their size, strength, and stupidity.
Halfway up, Harry stopped short.
He grabbed Hermione's sleeve.
"Ron and Vaughan!"
Hermione went pale. "They—they don't know about the troll! I'll tell Percy—"
"No!" Harry hissed, pulling her back. "Percy's useless in a crisis. He'll just look for a professor—and they're all heading to the dungeons. Ron and Vaughan are probably still nearby…"
He swallowed.
"We should check upstairs first."
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