The Great Hall.
The holiday banquet was always the most anticipated event at Hogwarts, even on the eerie night of Halloween.
To celebrate the occasion, the Great Hall had been lavishly decorated. Professor McGonagall had used Transfiguration to extend images of skeletons and ghosts across the walls. Professor Flitwick had released thousands of live bats that now fluttered between the walls and ceiling. Hagrid had "grown" a batch of enormous pumpkins, hollowed and carved into glowing jack-o'-lanterns.
If not for the giant candles flickering inside them, more than a few couples might have tried sneaking in for a pumpkin date.
Tver, too, had added his touch—he cast a spell that filled the upper air of the hall with all sorts of strange and whimsical ghosts. Unlike the castle's usual spirits, these looked more like the sheet ghosts from Muggle films, their faces drawn with exaggerated expressions. Rather than frightening, they were downright adorable and funny.
"These little ghosts contain your rewards! Just like in a light-ball game—hit them with a glowing spell, and they'll drop candy!"
The moment he finished speaking, colorful lights shot from the long tables toward the ceiling.
But within seconds, the young wizards realized their mistake.
As soon as the little ghosts burst apart, candy began to rain down like hailstones, pelting their heads with loud clatters.
Students yelped and ducked for cover, holding their schoolbags over their heads like frightened mice cornered by a cat.
Except for Quirrell, the professors at the staff table sat watching with barely restrained amusement, their laughter echoing through the hall.
After a while, when every last ghost had been shattered, the candy finally stopped falling.
"Ha!" Dumbledore stood up, laughing heartily. "Many thanks to Professor Fawley for that delightful little pre-dinner game. And now—let the feast begin!"
Ron, still bent over to pick up candies, finally noticed that the long tables, once covered in scattered sweets, were now overflowing with an array of sumptuous dishes, just as grand as the opening feast.
Harry picked up a few candies but stopped, choosing instead to taste them.
"These candies are actually soft—kind of like jelly gummies."
Ron stuffed his armful of sweets into his bag and patted it with satisfaction.
"I'm saving these. This might be the only time I ever get a reward from Professor Fawley."
At that, the students around him froze mid-unwrapping. The older ones, in particular, began frantically grabbing every piece of candy they could find, even arguing over who got what.
In their minds, these were candies Professor Fawley had made especially for them.
"I'd actually rather have one of those little ghosts—they were so cute~"
A Slytherin upperclassman clutched two candies tightly, her prize from shattering one of the adorable ghosts.
Once the last candy disappeared, the students finally turned their attention to the feast itself.
"Now that annoying Granger won't just miss the dinner—she won't even get any sweets," Ron said smugly.
Hermione's roommate, Lavender Brown, frowned in disapproval.
"Don't say that about Hermione. She's still in the girls' bathroom crying!"
Ron scratched his head, puzzled. "Crying? Why would she cry?"
"Because of you lot," Lavender replied sharply. "You've been talking about her behind her back all the time. She's never looked happy in the dorm."
"But with that mouth of hers, it's hard not to get annoyed."
"Uh…" Lavender faltered. "She just means well, that's all. She's... a bit blunt."
"You call that—"
"BANG!"
The massive doors of the Great Hall burst open with a thunderous crash that rattled the ceiling.
Quirrell stumbled inside, scarf askew and nearly revealing the back of his head. He sprinted toward Dumbledore, straightened his hat, and stammered in panic, "There's a troll in the dungeons—I... I thought you should know."
He then cast a fleeting glance at Tver before collapsing to the floor with a thud.
The Great Hall erupted into chaos. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, and before either could speak, someone else shouted exactly what they were both thinking.
"Hermione's in the girls' bathroom down in the dungeons! What do we do?!" Lavender cried, clutching her face in panic, leaving red marks where her nails dug into her skin.
Ron and Harry didn't laugh—because they were just as terrified as she was.
"Professor! We need to find a professor!" Harry blurted out suddenly. "Professor Fawley's powerful—he can handle the troll and save Hermione!"
Ron agreed immediately. The two pushed their way through the panicked crowd toward the staff table, where Tver was watching Quirrell with narrowed eyes.
Gasping for breath, Harry said urgently, "Professor Fawley! Hermione—she's still in the dungeons!"
"You have to save her! She'll die if you don't!"
"Don't worry," Tver said calmly. "Hermione will be fine."
He stepped up beside Dumbledore, who was trying to maintain order, and leaned in to whisper, "Headmaster, I'd like to take some of the students to the dungeons. I'll use the troll as a teaching opportunity."
Dumbledore turned, startled. "Dealing with a troll is one thing, but can you guarantee the students' safety?"
Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons often involved dangerous creatures, but using a troll as part of a class exercise was unprecedented.
"I won't let a single student come to harm," Tver assured him. "Besides, facing an opponent like this is a rare experience—they might never get another chance in all seven years here."
After a moment's hesitation, Dumbledore asked, "In that case, are you taking the upper-year students?"
Tver gestured toward Quirrell, still sprawled unconscious on the floor.
"Better not. Aren't the upper years supposed to be under Professor Quirrell's care?"
Dumbledore gave a helpless smile. "Very well. I'll have Percy lead the students below third year to the dungeons."
Satisfied, Tver nodded and turned to leave. He still needed to make preparations—at the very least, to make sure the troll would behave.
...
Stepping out of the Great Hall, Tver strode briskly toward the dungeons.
They were as dark and cold as ever—just as they had been when he first arrived at Hogwarts.
Along the way, he conjured a line of torches, their flames flickering to life and lighting the corridors and staircases, driving away the damp chill that clung to the air.
No sooner had he finished than a terrified scream echoed through the halls.
The troll had made its entrance.
Following the sound, Tver arrived at the girls' bathroom. The door had been completely smashed apart, and the sound of spellcasting carried clearly from inside.
Peering in, he saw the massive creature standing in the doorway, gripping an equally enormous wooden club.
It loomed nearly twelve feet tall, its skin a dull, stony gray that looked as solid as granite. Its head, however, was absurdly small—like a jelly bean perched on top of a boulder.
Its flat, thick, calloused feet seemed weighed down by an invisible force, each step forward slow and heavy.
In the corner, Hermione crouched low, both hands gripping her wand tightly as she fired spells at the creature again and again.
Whether from fear or exhaustion, her determined little face had turned pale, and beads of sweat rolled steadily down her forehead.