Halloween Night.
The Great Hall, Hogwarts.
Thousands of bats fluttered around the enchanted ceiling, candles flickered inside carved pumpkins, and the air was thick with the sweet smell of roasted pumpkin and candied apples.
The students were enjoying the feast, except for Ivan Potter. He sat at the far end of the Slytherin table, staring at the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Quirrell, with the look one gives a dead man.
Quirrell was wrapped up even tighter than usual today. His purple turban covered half his face, revealing only a pair of neurotic, twitching eyes. He glanced furtively at Dumbledore, then fearfully at Ivan, the goblet in his hand trembling slightly.
"He's afraid," Ivan speared a piece of pumpkin pasty and spoke internally to the System. "Tom Riddle's soul fragment is screaming in his head, telling him I'm a threat."
> [System Alert: High-frequency Horcrux reaction detected. Quirrell (Voldemort)'s Hatred toward you has reached 90%.]
"Excellent." Ivan's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Hatred is also a form of emotion."
Just then, the doors to the Great Hall burst open with a bang.
Boom!
A troll, twelve feet tall with skin like grey granite, lumbered in. It dragged a massive oak club and reeked of decay. With one swing, it smashed the end of the Hufflepuff table.
"Ahhh! Troll!"
"Help!"
Students screamed and scattered. Neville Longbottom's legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor, dropping his wand.
Professor Quirrell let out a high-pitched shriek and dove under the table like a frightened girl, shivering violently. "H-help! It's here for me!"
However, the troll ignored him completely.
Its beady, muddy eyes locked onto the figure at the end of the Slytherin table—the only one still calmly eating dessert.
ROAR!!
The troll bellowed, raising its massive club and bringing it down with crushing force toward Ivan's head!
"Ivan! Look out!" Blaise Zabini screamed, squeezing his eyes shut.
Draco Malfoy felt a mix of fear and hidden anticipation: Smash him! Smash this damned Prefect!
Facing the descending club, Ivan didn't even blink.
He simply put down his fork.
"Too slow."
Ivan vanished from his seat.
In the next second, he reappeared between the troll's legs (purely a tactical position, no bad taste intended).
He raised his ebony wand. Without an incantation, he flicked it upwards gently, like swinging a golf club.
"Sectumsempra (Modified) · Thousand Cuts Edition."
This wasn't Snape's half-finished spell that just made a few cuts.
This was Ivan's improved version, combining "Physical Micro-Control" and pure Dark Magic.
Instantly, the air filled with thousands of invisible, razor-sharp wind blades.
Shing! Shing! Shing! Shing!
There was no scream.
Because the troll didn't even realize what had happened.
The massive oak club disintegrated in mid-air, turning into a pile of neat wood chips.
Next went the troll's clothes, belt, and even its body hair...
It took only one second.
The several-hundred-pound troll was transformed into a pile of neatly stacked "sashimi" on the floor.
Meat was meat, bone was bone, skin was skin. Even the internal organs were precisely separated. Yet, not a single drop of blood splashed onto Ivan's shoes.
Dead silence.
Even Professor McGonagall and Snape, who had just rushed in, froze in the doorway.
Is this magic?
This is art!
This is the ultimate butchery!
> [System Alert: Crowd Shocked! Terror Value +500! Worship Value +300!]
> [Professor McGonagall (Jaw Dislocated): Emotion Value +100!]
> [Snape (I can't teach this): Emotion Value +200!]
Ivan tapped the floor lightly with his wand tip.
The pile of sliced troll meat levitated automatically, assembling like building blocks to spell out two giant words:
"HAPPY HALLOWEEN"
"Professors," Ivan turned to the dumbstruck McGonagall and Snape, bowing elegantly. "I believe this is the best Halloween gift of the year. I suggest the kitchen use this for sashimi; let's not waste it."
Snape's mouth twitched uncontrollably.
Sashimi? You call this sashimi?!
But he had to admit, the precision of magical control displayed here surpassed any Auror he had ever seen!
However, it wasn't over.
Ivan turned his head toward Professor Quirrell, who was still shivering under the table.
"Professor Quirrell," Ivan walked over slowly. With every step Ivan took, Quirrell shrank back an inch. "The troll is dealt with. But I smell something... very foul on you."
"D-don't come over!" Quirrell shouted in terror. Under the turban, Voldemort's soul was screaming frantically: Kill him! Kill him!
Cornered, Quirrell suddenly whipped his wand out from his robes, attempting to hit Ivan with a Killing Curse.
"Avada—"
The green light just began to flare.
Ivan snapped his fingers.
"Word Soul · Extinguish."
The green light of death went poof like a candle... and went out.
"Playing with green lights? I can do that too."
A red glint flashed in Ivan's eyes. A stream of pure black flame, carrying the scent of destruction, erupted from him and shot straight for Quirrell's turban!
"NO—!!" Quirrell let out a bloodcurdling scream.
That wasn't ordinary fire; it was a variant of Fiendfyre mixed with Dragon's Breath!
Whoosh!
The turban on Quirrell's head was instantly incinerated.
Then, a scene that would haunt everyone present for the rest of their lives appeared—
On the back of Quirrell's head grew a face!
A face with no nose, just two red slits, pale and hideous like a snake!
Voldemort's face!
"AAAAHHH!!"
Students witnessing this completely broke down; some fainted on the spot.
Dumbledore stood up abruptly, shock flashing in his blue eyes, quickly replaced by deep calculation.
Snape sucked in a cold breath, instinctively clutching his left arm—the Dark Mark was there, but he suddenly felt that the aura coming from Ivan was purer and more ancient than the Mark itself!
The face twisted in pain within the firelight, letting out an inhuman roar, then turned into red smoke and burrowed pathetically back into Quirrell's body.
Quirrell rolled his eyes, foamed at the mouth, and passed out cold.
Ivan dusted the ash off his hands, looked at the stunned crowd, and spread his hands innocently.
"It seems Professor Quirrell's migraines are severe; he's hallucinating. Professor Snape, I suggest taking him to St. Mungo's to check his brain. By the way, that face on the back of his head is really ugly. It drags down the average attractiveness of Hogwarts."
> [System Alert: Voldemort (Main Soul) feels extreme humiliation! Emotion Value +1000! (Critical Hit)]
> [System Alert: Dumbledore (Sees through everything but is greatly shocked): Emotion Value +300!]
Dumbledore looked deeply at Ivan.
He had originally thought Ivan was just a talented little dark wizard, but the aura that exploded just now... actually made him feel a hint of threat!
Not a threat of power, but a suppression of status!
"Mr. Potter..." Dumbledore stood up, his voice booming, silencing the chaotic hall. "Was that... Dark Magic you just used?"
Everyone held their breath.
Snape even gripped his wand tight, ready to grab Ivan and run (though he wasn't sure he could beat Ivan).
Ivan met Dumbledore's eyes without flinching.
"Headmaster," Ivan's voice carried clearly across the hall. "Dark Magic is just a tool, like a knife. Some use it to chop vegetables; some use it to kill. I simply used it... to slice a troll, and help Professor Quirrell 'cool off' a bit."
He paused, flashing a smile so brilliant it was terrifying.
"After all, I am here on a 'pilgrimage'. If Mr. Voldemort's level is merely hiding on the back of someone's head, I would be very disappointed."
Boom!
The sentence dropped like a bomb into a calm lake.
Pilgrimage to Voldemort?!
What was he saying?! Is he a follower of Voldemort? Or... does he want to become something stronger than Voldemort?
Dumbledore was silent for three seconds.
Then, the old bee suddenly laughed, his beard trembling.
"A fascinating speech, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore raised his goblet. "For Mr. Potter's exquisite... 'butchery' skills, ten points to Gryffindor, and twenty points to Slytherin!"
Snape: "???"
Old bee, have you gone mad? You give points for this?!
But Ivan knew Dumbledore was putting him on a pedestal to watch him fall, and also testing him.
Ivan bowed slightly, executing a perfect aristocratic nod. "Thank you for your generosity, Headmaster. Also, if there is nothing else, I will return now. If this pile of 'sashimi' isn't processed, it will start to smell in half an hour."
With that, under the awed, fearful, and worshipful gazes of the entire school, he walked out of the hall with his hands behind his back, like a king inspecting his territory.
Passing Snape, he heard the Professor whisper so only the two of them could hear:
"You didn't just burn a turban; you burned the Dark Lord's dignity. Come to my office tonight. Bring your dagger. We need to talk about the 'advanced version' of Occlumency."
Ivan smirked.
Tonight was a bountiful harvest.
Not only did he reap a massive amount of Emotion Value, but he also casually burned Voldemort's face.
"System," Ivan asked internally, "was that enough to make Tom Riddle lose sleep?"
> [System Alert: Sufficient. Detected Voldemort smashing three trees in a forest in Albania. Reward: Flight Talent (Master Level).]
Ivan looked up at the dark night sky outside the hall window.
"Flight, huh..."
"Looks like tomorrow's Quidditch match will be interesting."