Troll

The corridor on the first floor quickly emptied as students left. Only the glow of pumpkin lanterns from the Great Hall brought a trace of warmth—everything else was quiet and still.

A strange noise echoed down the hallway—

Then, Vaughn's figure suddenly appeared out of thin air. He looked around, exasperated. "Why are you shaking?"

Ron's stuffy, nasal voice came from thin air: "I'm scared… Didn't you hear it? A troll!"

"Thanks for the reminder, but Ronald, I was the one who told you about the troll, remember? Didn't I say I'd protect you and even cast a Disillusionment Charm?" As he spoke, Vaughn leaned slightly to glance toward the Great Hall.

The flickering lantern light reflected in his eyes, casting sharp shadows across his face.

He hadn't done anything special—hadn't deliberately intervened. But Vaughn knew his mere presence was enough to disturb the track of Harry's fate.

Everything happening at Hogwarts now was already diverging from the Books he once read. Vaughn understood that some events were easily changed, but others were destined.

Like Voldemort's desire to steal the Philosopher's Stone.

As long as the Stone remained at Hogwarts and Voldemort still needed it, the events of Halloween night were bound to happen.

After all, Halloween was the perfect time for chaos. The students were all gathered, the professors were more relaxed, and any real danger would draw their full attention away.

Quirrell wouldn't pass up that chance. Sure enough, as Vaughn had expected, Quirrell had still let the troll in.

Now it depended on whether he had the guts to go up to the fourth floor…

After waiting a moment, Vaughn finally saw a figure sneak out of the Great Hall. It was Quirrell, easily recognized by his oversized turban.

Glancing around to confirm the professors were gone, Quirrell quickly made his way upstairs.

Vaughn exhaled softly. He had two reasons for confirming this. One: to see if there was a chance to reach the Philosopher's Stone. And two: to confirm something else.

Without the unicorn blood… just what state was the noseless man in now?

As Quirrell vanished up the stairs, Vaughn turned to speak to Ron, only to hear his trembling voice beside him.

"How are you gonna protect me… from that?!" Vaughn turned.

At the far end of the corridor, a massive figure—at least twelve feet tall—stepped into view, dragging a club. Its skin was dull gray like stone, its shoulders hulking, its limbs like tree trunks.

The monster's comically small head didn't make it any less terrifying. The troll's sheer presence was like a wall bearing down on them.

Merlin's beard… I'm gonna die… Ron whimpered internally. He knew that look on Vaughn's face—he was smiling again. That terrible, scheming smile.

He really, really shouldn't have said yes to Vaughn's idea. Well, at least… at lunch… he'd already left Harry his final words!

"…I'm so screwed." The sound of Ron's teeth chattering grew louder. It even attracted the troll's attention.

Vaughn sighed. "Honestly, Ronald… stop calling me brother."

He slowly drew his wand. The troll, having now locked eyes with him, snorted and barreled forward.

"Barreled" might be an understatement—with its sheer size, even one step covered nearly half the corridor. The massive club was raised high.

Ron nearly screamed. Then Vaughn lifted his wand, calm, firm, and without hesitation.

"Reducto!"

BANG!

The troll's club shattered with a crack like thunder. Before the debris even hit the ground, Vaughn fired again, twice in quick succession.

"Reducto!"

"Reducto!"

Streaks of light ripped through the corridor like lightning.

They struck the troll's chest and shoulder in rapid bursts, sending stone dust and rubble flying. The magical shockwaves even rippled the candle flames along the walls.

The troll, stunned, opened its mouth to roar—

Only for Vaughn to murmur sharply: "Confringo!"

A wave of compressed, invisible force burst forth—the air temperature seemed to drop.

A second later, the troll's tongue and teeth exploded. Just as the flesh turned to mush, another identical spell landed. Its fragile skull could take no more.

The troll's upper jaw and head detached in a gory spray. 

THUD! Its head fell to the ground and rolled, eyes blinking in confusion, before finally going still, pupils dilating.

Gulp. Ron swallowed hard. And instinctively clutched at his crotch. The past few seconds had been far too intense. His mind had gone completely blank.

For Vaughn, however, handling a troll wasn't difficult.

These dim-witted beasts had little going for them besides their tough skin. If he hadn't been trying to take it down fast and quietly, he'd have had plenty of other ways to play around.

He waved his wand, ending the Disillusionment Charm on Ron. The moment it lifted, Ron collapsed onto the ground with a loud thud.

Vaughn looked at him dryly. "Did you wet yourself?"

Faced with such a hit to his dignity, Ron managed to shake his head before he could nod. Flushing bright red, he stammered, trying to sound proud, "N-no… no!"

Vaughn didn't bother responding. He plucked a hair from his own head, whispered an incantation, and set the strand ablaze.

He clapped the ashes onto Ron's neck. "This charm will last for one hour. Go guard the basement exit. If the professors come out, whisper my name—I'll know."

Ron, who had just straightened his back with a bit of pride, deflated again. He looked at Vaughn in alarm. "Where… where are you going?"

Vaughn didn't answer. Instead, he casually yanked another hair from Ron's head—prompting a pained yelp—and repeated the process, pressing the ashes onto Ron's throat.

Then he added, "If no one comes out… and you hear me call your name, go downstairs and get Dumbledore. Got it?"

Seeing Vaughn still avoiding the question, Ron knew he had no real say in the matter. He could only nod.

Once everything was arranged, Vaughn reached into his trouser pocket, then quietly turned and followed the route Quirrell had taken—up the stairs.

Really, assigning Ron to wait here was just a precaution. Vaughn wasn't expecting him to actually do anything useful.

His confidence in following Quirrell—no, Voldemort—rested in what was hidden inside that pocket.