Halloween Dinner

The Great Hall had been transformed into a spectacle of festive delight.

Pumpkin lanterns floated above, their flickering candlelight casting eerie yet warm glows upon the long tables. Bats, fashioned from black cloth, darted and swirled in the air, occasionally plunging into the hollowed pumpkins before bursting out again in playful, synchronized flights.

Unlike the formality of the Start-of-Term Feast, the Halloween banquet was relaxed and informal. Dumbledore, instead of addressing the students with a grand speech, simply raised his goblet, laughing and chatting with the professors. Students needed no encouragement to tuck into the lavishly prepared feast.

Midway through the meal, Harry and Ron arrived — sweaty, breathless, and looking thoroughly out of sorts.

Percy, noticing his younger brother's disheveled state, frowned. "Ron, why are you so late? And where on earth are Fred and George? You haven't been up to something, have you? I sincerely hope you're not taking after those two."

Ron hesitated, his face slightly red. "We weren't doing anything! We were just —"

"Looking for someone," Harry finished, throwing Ron a glance.

Neville, between bites of lamb chop, mumbled, "Did you find Hermione?"

Percy's frown deepened. "Hermione's missing?"

The conversation quickly drew attention, and after some back and forth, the whole story spilled out — how Ron had made an unfortunate comment, how Hermione had disappeared, and how they had spent the past hour searching for her to no avail.

"So you searched the entire castle and still couldn't find her?" Percy looked troubled.

"We checked the library, the common room, even near the classrooms," Ron muttered.

Percy sighed, rubbing his temples. "Have you tried the girls' bathroom?"

Ron and Harry blinked. "The girls' bathroom?"

"I overheard Parvati Patil telling Lavender Brown that Hermione had locked herself in there this afternoon," Percy explained. "Apparently, she's been crying all day, and no one could convince her to come out."

"Which bathroom?" Ron asked urgently.

Percy thought for a moment. "The one at the far end of the marble staircase. Down the remote corridor —" He exhaled sharply. "Merlin's beard, I caught Fred and George lurking there just two days ago!"

Ron and Harry didn't need to hear more.

"We need to find her," Ron said firmly.

"Vizet was right," Harry agreed. "We should talk to her properly."

At that moment —

BANG!

The doors to the Great Hall burst open.

A pale, trembling figure stumbled in, gasping for breath.

"TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"

Professor Quirrell's terrified scream echoed through the hall.

"though you ought to know —"

His eyes rolled back, and with one final, feeble gasp, he collapsed in a dead faint.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then — chaos.

Shrieks erupted from every table. Students leapt to their feet, pushing and shoving in blind panic, desperate to flee. Some scrambled onto benches, others cowered beneath tables, and a few bolted toward the doors, only to be trapped in the crush of panicked bodies.

"SILENCE!"

A thunderous explosion of purple sparks erupted in midair, crackling and flashing like a firework.

The spell, cast by none other than Albus Dumbledore, had its intended effect — hushed awe fell over the hall. Every student froze, attention snapping to the Headmaster.

"Do not panic," Dumbledore's voice rang out, steady as a church bell. "Prefects, lead your houses back to their common rooms. Now."

As the students scrambled into line, Dumbledore stepped toward Snape, speaking in a low, urgent tone.

"Check on it. Quietly."

Snape gave a single nod. Withdrawing his wand, he tapped his forearm and murmured an incantation.

The Disillusionment Charm took effect immediately. His form faded into the background, in a manner like that of raw egg cracked onto his head, as the charm travelled down them — only the faintest distortion of air marked his passage as he slipped from the hall.

Meanwhile, Percy took charge of the Gryffindors, barking orders. "Stay together! Quickly, follow me! Straight to the common room!"

Despite the initial panic, the students moved swiftly. The seventh floor soon swarmed with chattering, nervous Gryffindors, and as Percy did a quick headcount, a frown settled on his face.

"Where's Ron? And Harry?"

Neville shook his head helplessly, while Seamus hesitated before speaking. "They, uh… walked off the other way. I heard them muttering something about someone being in danger."

Percy groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Those two absolute —! They've gone after Hermione, haven't they?"

There was no time to waste.

"I need to tell Professor McGonagall," Percy declared.

Just as he turned on his heel, he nearly collided with another prefect — Penelope Clearwater of Ravenclaw.

"Penelope?" Percy blinked. "You're looking for someone too?"

"Yes," Penelope said breathlessly. "Vizet is missing. He never came to the Halloween feast!"

------------------------------

Around ten minutes ago

The Great Hall stood eerily empty.

On the stone floor, Quirrell groaned, his body stiff as he struggled to rise. His limbs trembled, his breath came in ragged gasps.

Hide!

The command rang in his mind like a whip crack.

With a flick of his wand, Quirrell activated a Disillusionment Charm. He wasted no time — his feet barely made a sound as he hurried from the hall, slipping past the vast wooden doors and darting up the marble staircase toward the third-floor corridor.

Above him, the voices of prefects echoed as they guided students back to their dormitories.

Quirrell exhaled shakily, clutching his wand in a white-knuckled grip.

A reckless thought flickered across his mind.

If I can pass the tests — if I can reach the treasure — then perhaps tonight will be the night…

Perhaps I will finally fulfill the Dark Lord's command.

If he succeeded, he could escape this wretched school. He could rid himself of the ever-present fear. The suffocating weight of Voldemort's presence would be lifted, and he would no longer have to endure the whispers curling against the back of his skull like a coiled snake, waiting to strike.

Quirrell tried to hold onto that thought, to convince himself that freedom was near.

"Such a pity..." he murmured under his breath. "I never got the chance to teach Vizet what I've learned..."

His voice was barely more than a whisper before he steeled himself, rushing toward the heavy wooden door at the corridor's end.

WHOOSH!

A sharp hiss of air split through the silence — something fast, something deadly.

A silver flash.

Quirrell barely had time to react.

"Protego!"

His wand snapped forward, and a translucent shield shimmered to life, deflecting the incoming streak of silver light. The moment it rebounded, he retaliated —

"Expulso!"

A blast of concussive energy exploded from his wand, streaking like a meteor toward the source of the attack.

The air rippled from the force —

And Snape stepped into the light.

With a casual flick of his wand, the Potions Master dispelled the explosion midair, snuffing it out as if it had never existed.

His black robes billowed as he advanced, voice colder than the dungeon air.

"Quirinus Quirrell."

Each syllable was measured, deliberate.

"Why, as a professor, are you loitering here instead of searching for the troll?"

Quirrell froze, his pulse hammering in his ears. His lips parted, but no sound came. He took a step back, heart pounding against his ribs.

"I — I was only ensuring no one came here," he stammered.

Snape said nothing. He merely took another step forward.

Quirrell swallowed. His mind raced for an excuse — something believable, something that would throw Snape off the scent.

"I — I spoke to Headmaster Dumbledore," he blurted. "He told me that s-someone — someone with ill intentions — might target the school's treasures! I thought… I thought the troll's escape seemed suspicious, so I came to investigate!"

Snape halted at the entrance of the forbidden corridor.

There was an unbearable pause.

Then —

A slow, deliberate smirk curved Snape's lips.

"Perfect explanation."

The words dripped with mockery.

"What a truly devoted professor you are."

Quirrell's stomach twisted.

Snape didn't believe him.

The Potions Master tilted his head, his black eyes unreadable. "I'm here now," he said smoothly. "You may leave."

Quirrell hesitated.

The corridor suddenly felt suffocatingly narrow.

His grip on his wand tightened.

Why wasn't Snape moving? Why was he just standing there?

A bead of sweat trickled down Quirrell's temple. His voice came out thin, forced — "W-why are you blocking the entrance?"

Snape's smirk vanished.

The air seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Interesting question." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a blade.

Quirrell's breath caught in his throat.

Snape took another step forward.

"Perhaps I should fetch Dumbledore," he murmured, "and let you explain these concerns to him directly."

Quirrell's stomach lurched.

No.

No, no, no!

If Dumbledore got involved — if Snape dragged him in now — it was over. Voldemort's wrath would be swift, merciless.

His thoughts screamed for a way out, an escape.

His fingers twitched. His lips moved before he could think.

"Then I'll go find him myself!"

And in the same breath, he struck.

"Avis Lumina!"

A flash of blinding white-gold light erupted from Quirrell's wand —

And from it, a flock of radiant birds burst forth, shrieking and diving straight for Snape.