Troll at Hogwarts

With a loud explosion, vibrant colors erupted in the air, unfolding into the majestic form of a roaring firework lion. Its golden mane shimmered brilliantly against the darkened ceiling, each strand of firelight flickering with an almost lifelike energy.

Fred and George clutched each other in excitement, their identical faces alight with joy.

"It's perfect!" Fred cheered. "Even better than we imagined!"

"And that gold!" George added, eyes gleaming. "Brighter than a pile of Galleons!"

Vizet smiled at their enthusiasm. The Weasley twins had an undeniable knack for turning even the simplest things into a spectacle of joy.

In truth, he hadn't done much — just ensured the ingredients were fully optimized and their final product shone in the best possible way. But to Fred and George, he was a genius.

Not ones to rest on their laurels, the twins were already diving back into their work, modifying the design for an even larger firework. They scribbled onto a parchment — an official-looking document that bore the words Patent for Weasley's Whiz-Bang Wonders — and, with dramatic flourishes, added Vizet's name at the bottom.

Vizet raised an eyebrow as he looked over the document. "You're seriously planning to submit this to the Ministry of Magic? You can patent magic?"

His knowledge of the Ministry was sparse, most of it coming from Luna's peculiar insights.

For instance, according to Luna, the Aurors — the Ministry's elite magical enforcers — were secretly part of a sinister operation called the Rotten Tooth Conspiracy.

The theory, as Luna described it, suggested that dark forces within the Ministry were using a mix of magic and gum disease to weaken wizarding society from within. It was absurd, surreal, and entirely Luna. Yet, something about the way she spoke of it made Vizet feel it wasn't entirely out of the question.

He wanted to learn more about this Rotten Fang Conspiracy — and by extension, the Ministry itself — so the twins' talk of patents piqued his curiosity.

"There's an actual department for this?" he asked.

"Yep! The Office of Patents for Funny Products," Fred explained cheerfully. "It's part of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, so getting approval shouldn't be too hard."

"Mr. Bagman runs it," George added, miming a Beater swinging a bat. "Used to be a professional Quidditch Beater. He's a bit of a mess, but if you catch him in a good mood, he signs off on just about anything."

Vizet sighed, shaking his head. "You two know an alarming number of Ministry officials."

Fred clapped him on the shoulder. "And now, so do you! You're our official materials consultant, after all."

George grinned, throwing an arm around Vizet's shoulders. "That means our contacts are your contacts!"

Their sincerity was infectious, and Vizet couldn't help but smile.

The conversation drifted in his mind as they stepped out of the secret passage. The first floor was eerily silent.

The usual murmur of students, the clatter of dishes from the Great Hall — gone. A strange stillness settled over the corridors.

Fred glanced around. "Bit too quiet, isn't it?"

Vizet nodded. "Let's check the Great Hall first."

When they entered, they found the massive space abandoned. Only the enchanted bats on the ceiling remained, flitting and swooping as if unaware of the absence of students below.

Then —

A sharp, terrified scream cut through the silence.

The three of them spun toward the source of the sound.

From the far end of the corridor, they spotted Hermione, Ron, and Harry bolting up the stairs to the second floor, their faces pale with terror.

Behind them, a massive shadow loomed.

And then, it stepped into view.

A hulking troll lumbered forward, its grotesque form illuminated by the dim torchlight. Towering and built like a living boulder, its skin was as rough as cracked granite, mottled with patches of moss and festering knots.

With each thunderous step, the floor trembled beneath its weight.

Its arms were absurdly long, thick as tree trunks, one of them dragging an enormous wooden club along the stone floor. The scraping sound was enough to make the hairs on Vizet's neck stand on end.

Fred's eyes went wide. "Blimey! A real-life troll? On Halloween?"

George's face split into a grin. "Now this is what I call a surprise!"

Vizet, however, wasn't smiling. His sharp eyes had caught something the twins missed.

"I just saw Ron." His voice was tight. "Did you notice?"

Fred and George's excitement dimmed, replaced with understanding.

"Yeah," they said in unison, their usual lightheartedness gone.

Vizet's grip tightened. "We need to check on them."

Without another word, the twins turned on their heels and dashed toward the staircase.

Fred called over his shoulder, "Stay here, Vizet!"

George echoed, "We'll handle it!"

Vizet, however, had no intention of staying put.

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

The three first-years had barely scrambled into the room before the troll lunged.

With a deafening crash, its club obliterated the wall, sending bricks and splintered wood raining down. The debris collapsed around them, trapping them inside.

Then, just as suddenly, the troll froze mid-motion. Its nostrils flared, snorting loudly as it sniffed the air.

Something — someone — had drawn its attention.

It turned away from the ruined wall, its heavy feet thudding against the stone floor as it lumbered toward Vizet.

Fred and George raced forward, feet pounding against the floor as they ignited the fireworks in their hands. Sparks fizzled and hissed, trailing behind them like fiery tails.

Things were escalating too quickly. Vizet had no idea where the professors were or why no one had intervened yet. It was clear, however, that staying put was no longer an option.

His grip tightened on his wand. After a brief hesitation, he followed the twins — his senses sharp, his every movement charged with vigilance.

Then —

BOOM!

A streak of fire shot through the corridor, illuminating the walls with a blazing golden hue.

The fireworks erupted, forming two massive lions, their spectral bodies flickering with gold and crimson flames.

They roared as if alive, their fiery manes crackling like a bonfire. With a synchronized leap, they pounced on the troll, consuming it in an explosion of gorgeous, blinding light.

The sudden detonation stunned the creature. It stumbled back, its massive bulk swaying as it crashed against the stone wall.

The wall shuddered under the impact before caving in, sending jagged slabs of rock plummeting down like an avalanche.

A thick cloud of dust and rubble rose into the air, swallowing the troll's hulking form. From within the haze, only its muffled, guttural groans could be heard.

George threw his hands up in victory. "Woohoo! Vizet, the fireworks you helped us improve are incredible!"

Grinning, he flicked his wand, dispersing the dust to get a better look.

As the smoke cleared, the troll's massive body came into view — partially buried under the rubble. One arm still jutted out, its grip around the club unwavering.

Fred laughed, clapping his hands. "Best Halloween surprise ever! Absolutely brilliant!"

Vizet, however, wasn't amused. His expression hardened.

"Can you two be serious for once?! The situation is — Fred, watch out!"

Before he could finish, the troll's exposed arm twitched.

With a sudden, brutal swing, it whipped its club forward — straight at Fred!

"Fred, move!" Vizet shouted, his instincts kicking in. His wand was already raised.

"Accio Fred!"

A surge of raw, unfiltered magic coursed through him. The tip of his wand flared with silver-blue energy, the spell surging outward like a spectral hand.

It latched onto Fred, yanking him backward just as the club smashed into the ground where he'd stood a second ago.

The impact split the stone floor, sending cracks spider-webbing outward.

Fred tumbled onto the ground but scrambled up quickly, shaken but unharmed.

The troll let out a guttural snarl, using its massive limbs to haul itself upright.

"Stupefy!"

George reacted instantly, his wand sending a blazing jet of red light into the troll's broad chest.

The spell hit dead-on — but instead of collapsing, the troll merely twitched, as if brushing off a pesky fly. The red sparks fizzled harmlessly against its thick skin before vanishing.

Vizet felt a chill crawl up his spine.

The troll turned to face him.

Its potato-shaped head tilted slightly, small, beady eyes locking onto him.

Vizet froze.

The troll let out a deep, guttural roar — and then it moved.

Faster than before.

It ripped its club into the air, raising it high —

Then, with a whistling arc, it hurled the entire weapon straight at Vizet!

The club hurtled toward him like a falling boulder, its sheer weight promising to crush anything in its path.

But Vizet had been waiting for this.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The moment the words left his lips, an invisible force seized the massive weapon mid-flight.

It froze in place, hovering suspended in midair — mere inches from Vizet's outstretched hands.

The troll let out a confused grunt, as if its primitive brain couldn't comprehend why the club had suddenly disobeyed it.

Vizet barely paid attention. His mind was already working, piecing together what he had read before.

The head.

That was the troll's weakness.

For all its overwhelming strength, its skull was relatively small — a critical vulnerability if struck correctly.

It wouldn't be easy. With the troll's massive frame, hitting the right spot with precision was a challenge.

But Vizet wasn't relying on chance.

His wand flared.

Not just with ordinary spellwork — but with something far ancient

A second spell wrapped around the floating club, weaving into the Wingardium Leviosa — enhancing it.

Brilliant silver-blue light engulfed the wooden weapon, rippling in waves across its surface.

Then —

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Vizet sent the club rocketing forward.

Primordial Magic: Projectile-Craft!