"The troll was killed!"
That very night, the news spread throughout Hogwarts like wildfire.
By the next morning, even students who normally loved to sleep in didn't bother washing their faces. Still half-asleep, they hurried outside with the crowd, desperate to see for themselves.
November had arrived at Hogwarts.
Frost coated the ground, crunching beneath every step, and the cold wind cut straight through robes and into bone.
But none of that dampened the excitement.
In the courtyard lay the troll's body—headless, stiff with frost—surrounded by a dense ring of students. Argus Filch stood nearby, hammering a wooden notice into the ground. The plaque gave a blunt, official account of the previous night's events.
"…Mr. Vaughn Weasley and Mr. Ron Weasley are each deducted ten points for leaving the Halloween Feast without permission. However, upon encountering a Mountain Troll, both displayed exceptional bravery and composure. Ultimately, Mr. Vaughn Weasley, with assistance from Mr. Ron Weasley, defeated the troll using advanced spellwork.
Therefore: Slytherin gains thirty points. Gryffindor gains twenty points."
The dry wording did little to satisfy the students' curiosity.
Fortunately, today was still Halloween—no classes, and plenty of time to gossip.
Gryffindor, never one to miss an excuse for celebration, had begun preparations the night before. By morning, the Tower was hosting a jubilant "victory breakfast." The Weasley twins enthusiastically sent invitations to every House.
Every person they met was greeted with the same shout:
"Our little brother killed a troll!"
By the time students from other Houses arrived, Percy Weasley—his Prefect badge gleaming—stood at the entrance, positively radiant.
"Thank you all for attending my brothers' celebration," he announced proudly.
"Yes, yes—Vaughn and Ron are both excellent, just like me. The pride of the Weasley family!"
The Gryffindor common hall had been cleaned with impressive efficiency. Long tables were pushed together, and Hogwarts' house-elves outdid themselves, conjuring a feast of pies, bread, and hot dishes.
One table, in particular, was packed tight.
At its center sat Ron Weasley, red-cheeked and glowing with excitement, vividly recounting the battle.
"…It was at least twenty feet tall—don't interrupt! I know trolls are only twelve feet. I'm talking about perspective. When something that big charges at you, your sense of scale goes completely out the window!"
Ron's eyes sparkled as he gestured wildly.
"And then—BANG! 'Confringo!' Vaughn blasted its club to bits! Splinters everywhere—everywhere! The skin was as thick as a mountain, but it exploded, flying everywhere! Dust filled the air, the troll screamed—AAARGH—"
Several students jumped in fright, then immediately leaned closer.
Even older students listened raptly—those spells were ones they had learned.
Though… the way Ron described their effects was a bit hard to imagine.
A younger student stared at him in awe.
"Ron… what spell did you use?"
"Oh, something incredibly powerful," Ron said without missing a beat.
"Right when it mattered, the troll suddenly went blind."
Satisfied with that contribution, he smoothly transitioned back to Vaughn's explosions.
According to Ron's version, the battle was apocalyptic—earth-shaking, sky-darkening. The troll's attacks were terrifying, and only after immense struggle, with Ron's crucial assistance, did Vaughn finally unleash a devastating spell that blew the creature apart in a shower of blood and flesh.
As for why the troll in the courtyard looked relatively intact?
Obviously, the professors had pieced it back together.
The proof?
It had no head.
Because—according to Ron—
"An enraged Vaughn blew its head into fragments. Completely unrepairable."
In a far corner, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger sat quietly.
They'd only just returned that morning from Madam Pomfrey, who had forced Harry to drink a large dose of Calming Draught to ease any aftereffects from the intense pain he'd suffered the night before.
Harry listened with interest at first—until Hermione leaned over and said flatly:
"Ron is exaggerating."
Harry frowned. After checking that no one was listening, he whispered back,
"You saw it too. Vaughn and that dark wizard—those spells were insane."
"Exactly," Hermione replied. "Which is why the troll fight couldn't have been like this. Vaughn wouldn't struggle back and forth like Ron says."
That finally sank in.
Harry lost interest in the story. He chewed his bread quietly, rubbing his forehead. After a long pause, he asked:
"Hermione… why do you think Albus Dumbledore told us to hide what happened on the fourth floor?"
He'd thought about it all night.
He had so many questions.
Who was the man in black?
Why did seeing his back make Harry's scar hurt?
Who was the "master" he screamed about?
And why could Harry sense his thoughts?
He suspected Dark Magic.
But Madam Pomfrey had examined him thoroughly—no trace of curses, no lingering spellwork.
She believed it had all been fear-induced hallucinations.
Harry wasn't convinced.
Hermione closed her book and thought carefully.
"Dumbledore probably doesn't want to cause panic. He's investigating quietly."
"But why?"
"Think about it, Harry. If an intruding dark wizard entered the castle, Dumbledore would order a full search for student safety—unless…"
She hesitated.
"…unless he suspects the dark wizard is already inside."
Harry went pale.
A professor?
The idea felt wrong—but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made.
Names flashed through his mind.
And somehow, unwillingly, he landed on Severus Snape.
When he told Hermione, she immediately shook her head.
"Impossible."
"You always treat professors like saints," Harry argued. "Snape's never been nice to you."
"But last night, Snape went to the dungeons with Dumbledore," Hermione insisted. "How could he also be on the fourth floor?"
"McGonagall said the dungeons are complicated. They could've split up. And Snape was the last to arrive at the Headmaster's office."
"I said it's impossible!" Hermione snapped.
Then she hesitated, clutching her books.
"…Do you remember the spell Vaughn used last night? Sectumsempra."
Of course Harry remembered. It had punched straight through the man's Shield Charm. It had been incredible.
Hermione lowered her voice.
"Vaughn told me something he probably shouldn't have."
She stood.
"Snape taught him that spell."
With that, she packed her bag and stormed off.
Harry scrambled to his feet.
"Where are you going?"
"To check on Vaughn. One of you is busy bragging, the other is busy accusing professors—and no one's thought to see if he's okay!"
Ashamed, Harry grabbed a piece of bread and hurried after her.
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