The first-floor corridors fell rapidly into silence after the students were herded away.
Only the faint orange glow of jack-o'-lanterns from the Great Hall lingered, casting thin ribbons of warmth across the otherwise cold, shadowed passage.
A sound echoed through the corridor—
Thud… thud… thud…
Then the air shimmered.
Vaughan stepped out of nothingness and shot an exasperated look at the empty space beside him.
"Why are you trembling like that?"
A thick, nasal whisper answered him.
"I'm scared… Didn't you hear? It's a troll!"
"Thank you for the reminder, Ronald," Vaughan replied dryly. "But I'm the one who told you about the troll, remember? I also said I'd protect you—and I cast a Disillusionment Charm on you."
As he spoke, Vaughan leaned forward slightly, peering toward the Great Hall. The flickering lantern light caught in his eyes, making them gleam like molten metal.
He had never deliberately tried to change anything.
But Vaughan knew better than anyone that his very existence had already disrupted Harry Potter's original fate.
The course of events at Hogwarts had begun to diverge from the story he once knew. Some things were easy to influence. Others, however, felt disturbingly inevitable.
For example—Voldemort stealing the Philosopher's Stone.
As long as the Stone remained at Hogwarts, and as long as Voldemort needed it to survive, Halloween night would unfold one way or another.
After all, Halloween was the perfect opportunity. Every student gathered in one place. The staff distracted—or absent.
Quirrell would never waste such a chance.
Sure enough, Vaughan soon spotted a figure slipping out of the Great Hall.
Even in the dim light, that oversized turban was unmistakable.
Quirrell—who had conveniently collapsed earlier—was now creeping toward the stairwell. He glanced around nervously, then hurried up the steps.
Vaughan released a slow breath.
He had stayed behind for two reasons.
First, to see whether he could approach the Philosopher's Stone—or at least learn something about its defences.
Second, to observe Quirrell's condition.
Without unicorn blood… just how weak is the parasite now?
As Vaughan turned to update Ron, a terrified whisper reached his ears.
"H-How are you supposed to protect me… against that?"
Vaughan looked ahead—and saw it.
From around the bend in the corridor, a massive shadow emerged.
At least twelve feet tall. Dull grey skin like mottled stone. A huge wooden club dragging along the floor.
The mountain troll had arrived.
Its body looked like a walking boulder. Arms thick as tree trunks. Short, powerful legs. And a tiny head perched awkwardly atop massive shoulders—almost comical, if it weren't so horrifying.
Ron's mind short-circuited.
I'm going to die… I'm actually going to die right here…
He knew it. The moment Vaughan had smiled like that earlier, it had been a bad sign. He should never have trusted him. Not even for Halloween gifts.
At least… he'd said goodbye to Harry during lunch.
"…Unlucky," Vaughan muttered.
Ron's chattering teeth gave them away.
The troll turned, sniffing the air, then let out a grunt.
Vaughan sighed. "Honestly, Ronald—maybe stop calling me brother."
He raised his wand.
The troll spotted him and charged—its version of running—club swinging overhead.
Ron looked seconds away from screaming.
Then Vaughan spoke.
"Confringo."
CRACK!
The troll's club exploded into splinters. The blast shook the corridor.
Before the dust settled—
"Diffindo!"
"Diffindo!"
Twin arcs of magic tore through the air, slamming into the troll's chest and shoulder. Stone-like hide split. Debris burst outward.
The troll finally realized something was wrong.
It opened its mouth to roar.
Vaughan whispered, almost gently,
"Detonatus."
For a heartbeat, the air seemed to freeze.
Then—
The troll's mouth detonated.
Teeth shattered. Tongue ruptured. Flesh tore apart.
Before the blood could hit the floor, Vaughan cast it again.
The second blast hit the soft inner jaw.
BOOM.
The troll's upper skull disintegrated. Its head snapped back violently.
Blood splashed across the walls.
THUMP.
What remained of the head hit the ground and rolled toward them.
Ron stared as the troll's tiny eyes blinked… then dulled.
The light went out.
He swallowed.
Hard.
For a brief, undignified moment, Ron considered the state of his trousers.
It had been too much. Too fast.
His mind went blank.
Killing a troll wasn't particularly difficult for Vaughan.
Aside from thick hide and partial spell resistance, trolls were slow, stupid, and disastrously vulnerable once their weak points were exploited.
If he hadn't been aiming for speed and silence, he could have ended it dozens of other ways.
He flicked his wand and removed the Disillusionment Charm.
With a pop, Ron reappeared and immediately collapsed.
"Did you pee your pants?" Vaughan asked calmly.
Ron's dignity barely recovered in time. He froze mid-nod, face blazing red.
"N-No! I didn't!"
Vaughan let it go.
He plucked a strand of his own hair, whispered an incantation, and watched it burn to ash. Pressing the residue against Ron's neck, he murmured,
"This Ash-Bond Tracking Charm will last an hour. Go to the dungeon entrance. If the professors return, whisper my name—I'll sense it."
Ron puffed his chest out… then immediately deflated.
"Where are you going?"
Vaughan didn't answer.
Instead, he yanked out one of Ron's hairs.
"Ow!"
Same process. The ash went to Vaughan's throat.
"If you don't see the professors, and you hear me whisper your name—go straight to Dumbledore. Understood?"
Ron swallowed and nodded.
Vaughan patted his pocket—where his true trump card rested—and headed up the stairs, following Quirrell's trail.
He hadn't left Ron behind because he expected heroics.
It was simply caution.
Because Vaughan never walked blindly into a trap.
And the reason he dared follow Quirrell—
or rather, Voldemort—
was waiting quietly in his pocket.
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