The morning sun washed over the gardens of Dursley Manor and caught the pumpkins lined along the hedge, their carved faces burning in small, even flames. Behind them, the private pitch was already in use.
Petunia sat at a wrought-iron table near the edge of the grass, a steaming porcelain teacup resting between her hands. Beside her, Sirius Black leaned back comfortably in his chair, his long legs stretched out over the lawn as his eyes tracked two figures darting through the sky above.
High above the grass, Abigail and Ginny were zipping past the high golden hoops on their brooms. Abigail pulled up into a tight, breathtaking spiral, diving low to catch a thrown Quaffle before tossing it smoothly over her shoulder to Ginny, who caught it without breaking stride.
Sirius let out an appreciative whistle, taking a sip of his tea. "Look at that turn. I'm telling you, Petunia, those two have serious talent. Give them a few more years, and Abigail will have scouts from professional League teams knocking down your front door and Ginny is bound to give her mother heart attacks."
Petunia watched her daughter perform a graceful banking turn, a mixture of maternal pride and quiet anxiety softening her sharp composure. "As long as she doesn't break any bones before her O.W.L.s, Sirius, she can play for whichever team she pleases."
"Fair enough," Sirius chuckled. "Though if James were here, he'd already be drafting her contract for the Chudley Cannons just to save them from embarrassment."
Heavy footsteps crunched against the gravel path as Vernon walked out toward the patio, wearing a crisp charcoal suit, his hair neatly combed. He carried a fresh, thick parchment envelope sealed with a heavy, ruby-red wax stamp depicting the Gringotts crest.
"Morning, all," Vernon said, pulling out a chair beside Petunia and nodding toward the flying girls. "They're up early."
"Sirius was just telling me we have two future professional Quidditch players on our hands," Petunia smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "What's that you've got there?"
Vernon set the envelope on the iron table, tapping the crest with a fingernail. "Official notice from Gringotts. It arrived by owl just a few minutes ago. It's addressed to me as Harry's legal guardian."
Sirius sat up, his grey eyes sharpening with interest. "Gringotts? Is it regarding the family vaults?"
"Precisely," Vernon replied, taking a sip from Petunia's tea. "The head manager for the main Potter accounts has finally arrived in London from the goblin high council in Zurich. This letter is to inform me that he's ready to schedule a formal audit and hand over the active ledger review." Vernon shook his head with a low, amused chuckle. "I wonder what that little monster is going to do with the Potter fortune once he gets his hands on the primary ledgers."
Sirius burst out laughing, leaning his elbows on the table. "Calling your own son a monster, Vernon?"
Vernon shook his head, though the grin ruined the effect.
"An eleven-year-old Apparates out of Hogwarts like the anti-Apparition wards are optional. Comes home for tea. Tells us about late-night dim sum in Chinatown. Goes back before curfew." He looked at Sirius. "Yes. Little monster is accurate."
The pride in his voice was unmistakable.
"The boy's talent is terrifying."
"You should keep checking up on his financial accounts regularly, you know," Sirius said, his tone turning slightly more practical. "Goblins are sharp, but Harry is young. He might know advanced spatial magic, but navigating ancient family estate contracts is a different beast."
"Oh, I intend to," Vernon said smoothly, crossing his arms. "I'll be attending the initial audit alongside him when he schedules the meeting."
Petunia set her teacup down with a quiet clink, looking between her husband and Sirius with a subtle frown. "Remind me again why we are letting an eleven-year-old manage an entire ancestral fortune, Vernon?"
Vernon offered her a warm, reassuring smile. "So he gets proper hands-on experience, Pet. Wealth management is a muscle; the earlier he learns how to use it, the better. Besides, what's the worst he's going to do? Knowing Harry, he'll just occasionally buy a few rare, absurdly expensive books or invest in some quiet personal projects. We'll be completely fine."
The autumn sunlight filtered brightly through the high arched windows of the Great Hall as students trickled out after breakfast. Harry walked along the stone corridor, his eyes scanning the freshly delivered parchment in his hands. The Gringotts seal at the top glistened under the torchlight, confirming that his account manager had officially arrived from Zurich.
Walking beside him, Ron was still trying to untangle a stubborn knot in his cloak clasp, while Hermione carried a thick stack of notes on inanimate transfiguration.
"So," Ron said, glancing over. "Are we going down to the courtyard before the feast decorations are fully up, or what?"
Harry folded the letter smoothly, slipping it inside his dark jumper pocket. "You guys head up to the common room without me. I'm taking a quick trip to Gringotts. I have a meeting to attend."
Hermione looked at him, "Gringotts? What kind of meeting do you have at Gringotts of all places?"
"I have business to settle with the new Potter account manager," Harry replied calmly, continuing his steady, leisurely pace down the corridor. "If anyone asks, tell them I'm tucked away in the Restricted Section or something, or just sleeping. I doubt anyone would want to know where I am since we don't really have any classes today."
Ron opened his mouth to argue, but remembered the sheer ease with which Harry had side-along Apparated them to Chinatown just a week prior. He simply shook his head with a breathless chuckle. "Right. The library excuse. Good luck mate, try not to break any wards of Gringotts while you're there."
Hermione sighed, though a small smile cracked through her stern posture. "Just be back before the Halloween feast begins, Harry. Please."
"I will," Harry said smoothly.
He turned down a quiet, empty corridor near the side entrance of the castle. Checking his surroundings to ensure no portraits or wandering students were watching, Harry didn't even pause his stride. Mid-step, his boot touched the stone floor, and the air around him folded without a single sound.
There was no uncomfortable squeezing, no violent crack, and no rush of wind.
One instant he was stepping across the cool stone flagstones of Hogwarts, and the next, his boot descended onto the polished white marble steps leading up to Gringotts Wizarding Bank in Diagon Alley. The transition was completely seamless. Harry kept walking without breaking his rhythm, adjusting the collar of his jumper as he pushed open the towering silver doors of the bank.
Inside, the grand marble hall was bustling with goblins sitting at high desks, weighing gold coins and inspecting precious gems. Harry approached the central desk, where a elderly goblin named Bogrod looked down through silver spectacles.
"Good morning," Harry said politely. "I am here to see Victor Burleigh regarding the Potter estate."
Bogrod blinked, shifting his gaze over his desk to inspect the eleven-year-old boy. The goblin knew quite well that Mr. Potter was supposed to be tucked safely away at Hogwarts.
"Mr. Potter," Bogrod said slowly, his sharp ears twitching. "Mr. Burleigh is currently at his London residence finishing his morning routine. He was not anticipating your arrival today. However, as the legal heir, your presence takes precedence. Please follow me."
Bogrod led Harry down a quiet, carpeted hallway far from the main hall, opening the door to a luxurious private waiting room. The room was furnished with deep leather armchairs, a roaring fireplace, and a mahogany side table.
"Mr. Burleigh has been summoned via floo," Bogrod informed him, bowing slightly. "He will arrive shortly. Would you care for refreshment while you wait?"
"Black coffee, no sugar, please," Harry replied, taking a seat in one of the plush armchairs.
Within minutes, a steaming silver pot of coffee and a fine china cup were set beside him. Harry poured himself a cup, pulled out his personal notebook, and quietly began reviewing his financial outlines, completely unbothered by the wait.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, the heavy oak door of the private room swung open.
Victor Burleigh stepped inside, smoothing the front of his tailored, dark charcoal Muggle suit. He was twenty-four years old, lean, and standing a bit too tall for how still he kept his posture. He had a clean-shaven face, sharp blue eyes, and light blonde hair styled with precise, modern care. Under his right knuckle, a faint, pale scar stood out against his skin, a minor habit from his student days of perpetually tapping his knuckles against desk corners when thinking deeply.
Victor carried a light leather briefcase and wore a wide, youthful smile. When he had accepted the position of primary account manager for the Potter estate, he had considered himself the luckiest young wizard in Britain.
Managing an ancient, tier-one ancestral portfolio meant he would step into a system that had already been perfectly structured by the previous generations. His job, as he saw it, would be blissfully easy. He would sit in a plush London office, draw a generous salary, authorize the occasional eccentric purchase or broom upgrade for a wealthy eleven-year-old, and enjoy a comfortable, stress-free life. He hadn't turned into a cynical, hardened banker just yet.
"Mr. Potter! What a pleasant surprise," Victor said warmly, his voice brimming with easy, youthful cheer as he extended a hand. "I must apologize for keeping you waiting! The goblins informed me you had arrived in person. I was under the impression you were at school, but I am delighted to meet you!"
Harry stood up, shaking Victor's hand with a firm, composed grip. "No need to apologize, Mr. Burleigh. I arrived unannounced. Please, take a seat."
"Call me Victor," the young man grinned, setting his leather briefcase on the mahogany table and pulling out a small stack of preliminary ledgers. "I figured today would just be a light introductory chat! Getting to know each other, going over your general allowance, and making sure you have everything you need for your time at Hogwarts."
Harry took a slow sip of his black coffee, his green eyes locking onto Victor with calm, absolute focus.
"I am glad you are here, Victor," Harry said softly, setting his coffee mug down with a quiet clink. "Because we have a tremendous amount of work to do."
Three hours later.
The heavy oak door of the private room swung open.
Harry Potter stepped into the carpeted hallway first, adjusting his dark wool jumper. He looked entirely undisturbed, his posture relaxed as if he had just spent the morning turning pages in a quiet corner of the library.
Behind him, Victor Burleigh practically stumbled over the threshold.
The tailored charcoal suit jacket that had looked so crisp three hours ago was unbuttoned and crooked. His tie hung loose against a wrinkled collar, his blonde hair sticking up where he had clearly dragged a hand through it repeatedly.
Victor's fingers twitched continuously against a towering stack of parchment ledgers clutched to his chest. His sharp blue eyes were wide, fixed on the back of the eleven-year-old's head with a look that flickered wildly between sheer disbelief and a strange, breathless spark of adrenaline. He looked less like an account manager and more like someone who had just voluntarily stepped onto a runaway dragon.
"Mr. Potter..." Victor began, his voice dropping an octave as he swallowed hard, his throat audibly dry. He took a fast, uneven step to catch up. "The... the four centuries of European real estate. The goblins are going to lose their minds when they see these liquidation drafts."
Harry paused near the archway leading back to the grand banking hall, turning back with a calm, faint tilt of his head. "They will respect the numbers, Victor. So don't worry about it."
Victor let out a single, sharp laugh that cut off as quickly as it started. He tapped his right knuckle against the top ledge. "Right. Of course." A strange, manic grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, completely replacing his earlier polished composure. "And the Scottish castles?"
"Unless you can turn them into commercial ventures that turn a net profit after expenses, put them on the market," Harry said smoothly. "I won't pay upkeep on monuments."
Victor stood frozen under the archway, his knuckles white against the heavy stack of parchment. The quiet, effortless career he had envisioned three hours ago was thoroughly shattered, scattered across the floor of that waiting room. Yet as he stared at Harry, his chest rose and fell in a deep, steady breath, the trembling in his hands settling into a tight, eager grip on the ledgers.
"I'll have the first round of liquidation drafts ready by the middle of next week, Mr. Potter," Victor said, his tone dropping into a crisp, razor-sharp focus.
"Excellent," Harry smiled, stepping into the sunlight of the main hall. "Have a wonderful afternoon, Victor and also call me Harry."
Stepping out through the silver doors onto the grand marble stairs of Gringotts, Harry gave a subtle, effortless flick of his intent. A translucent, perception-blurring glamour washed over his frame, making his presence slide right out of the peripheral vision of the bustling crowds in Diagon Alley. Without breaking his stride, his boot touched the cobblestones, the air folded around him without a sound, and he vanished.
Appearing directly at home, Harry updated his mother and father about his visit to Gringotts. Then he spent most of the afternoon with his sister and Ginny before Apparating straight to Hogsmeade around 4 in the afternoon. Walking up the winding road toward the castle, he stepped out of his disillusionment as he reached the edge of the Black Lake, adjusting his dark wool jumper as he strolled toward the courtyard.
He spotted Ron and Hermione sitting on a stone bench near the perimeter wall. Hermione had a thick volume on Charms theory rested across her knees, while Ron was leaning back against the sun-warmed stone, lazily watching a few third-year Ravenclaws attempt to conjure tiny snowstorms above their palms.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Ron called out with a wide grin as Harry walked over. "Where've you been all afternoon, mate? Hermione was about two minutes away from a panic attack."
"Just settling a few administrative details at the bank and then I decided to head back home for lunch," Harry replied smoothly, leaning against the perimeter wall beside them. "How was your afternoon?"
"Well," Hermione said, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck as she closed her book, "I was planning on reviewing my notes for Charms. Professor Flitwick hinted that we might be moving on to more advanced charms next week, and the theory is quite dense."
Ron groaned loudly, throwing his head back toward the sky. "Hermione! It's a holiday! On Halloween! We already studied quite a bit in the morning, let's just enjoy the day like we are supposed to."
"It's called preparation, Ron," she replied sternly, though her lips twitched with a hidden smile. "Besides, if I finish my reading now, I won't have to worry about it tomorrow when everyone is recovering from the feast."
"What about you, Harry?" Ron asked, turning for support. "Tell her reading theory on a holiday is unnatural."
"I think Ron is right, Hermione," Harry smirked, catching the triumphant look on Ron's face before adding, "stop worrying about studies on Halloween."
"You spent the whole morning reading anyway" Harry continued smoothly, his green eyes glinting with dry amusement as Hermione turned her stern gaze on him. "Take a break. The books aren't going to run away tomorrow."
Ron let out a loud, dramatic cheer, pumping his fist in the air. "See?! Even the photosynthesis brain says so! Victory for common sense!"
Hermione turned a look of profound, long-suffering disbelief on Ron. "It's photographic, Ron. Photographic memory. Photosynthesis is how plants convert sunlight into chemical energy."
"Same difference," Ron scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Point is, his brain absorbs stuff by looking at it, and even he isn't reading Charms theory on a holiday."
"Give up Hermione," Harry sighed. "I gave up long ago. He does this on purpose."
They spent the next hour relaxing across the grounds as the afternoon light gradually turned from bright gold to a deep, lingering amber. The biting autumn chill grew sharper by the hour, driving the remaining students back inside toward the warmth of the castle.
As five o'clock approached and the autumn chill began to bite, the trio stood up from the stone bench, brushing off their trousers to head back inside toward the warmth of the Great Hall.
Fred and George came jogging down the stone steps from the entrance archway, looking like two men on a mission. Their pockets were noticeably bulging, and Fred had a silver-wrapped Mimic Mint tossed between his knuckles like a coin.
"Ah! There he is!" Fred called out, jogging up to the group. "Partner! We were just looking for you."
"We've been looking for you all around the castle," George grinned, stepping alongside them as they walked toward the castle. "We need to ask a quick favor."
Fred paused mid-stride, squinting at Harry under the fading amber light of the setting sun. He leaned in closer, his brow furrowing as he stared right at Harry's forehead. "Hold on a second... Harry, did you get hit with a glamour charm or something?"
Harry stopped, raising an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"
"Your scar, mate," Fred pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward Harry's fringe. "It looks... weirdly pale. The bright red lines are almost completely gone."
George stepped up, peering closely as well. "Blimey, he's right. It looks like a faint, faded scratch now. Where'd the lightning bolt go?"
Hermione gasped softly, stepping right into Harry's personal space and leaning up on her tiptoes to inspect his brow. "Oh! That's what it was!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in realization. "I've been staring at you all afternoon thinking something looked subtly different about your face, but I couldn't place my finger on it!"
"Me too!" Ron chimed in, leaning over Hermione's shoulder. "I thought you just washed your face with ice water or something, but the red's proper faded out. It's barely even there!"
Harry blinked, reaching up to run his fingers over his forehead. His scar was fading? How? Wasn't he supposed to be the last Horcrux? He hadn't bothered to look closely in the mirror since waking up that morning, but feeling his smooth skin now, a sudden wave of sharp realization washed over him.
Wait... Embera's tap that day, Harry thought, his heart taking a sharp beat. Was this her doing?
"Really?" Harry murmured, letting a subtle, genuine smirk touch his lips as he dropped his hand. "My scar is fading?"
"Fading?" Fred laughed, clapping Harry hard on the shoulder. "Mate, another week and people won't even realize you're the Boy Who Lived! You'll just be 'Harry, that ridiculously rich bloke from Gryffindor'."
"A tragic loss for the history books," George added dramatic regret, shaking his head.
"This is brilliant, Harry!" Hermione said warmly, her face beaming. "Whatever spell or potion you've been using, it's clearly working. That mark must have been a constant reminder of... well, everything."
"I guess I have something better than Halloween to celebrate today!" Harry grinned. "That bloody mark is finally dying."
Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Proper brilliant, mate! Come on then, it's still some time for the feast. Let's just head over to the common room."
It was only half past four, leaving them with an hour and a half before the doors to the Great Hall formally opened for the feast at six o'clock. The crisp autumn air had turned thoroughly biting, driving the remaining students off the lawns and into the castle.
The trio, joined by Fred and George, made their way up to the Gryffindor common room to pass the time. The atmosphere inside was already electric. A few second-year students were attempting to levitate miniature pumpkins near the fireplace, while others were huddled around the sofas, trading rumors about what special dishes the house-elves had prepared for the evening.
Ron sank into one of the plush armchairs near the window, propping his feet up on a footstool, while Hermione pulled out a light parchment scroll to make a few quick notes. Harry settled into the corner sofa, enjoying the simple ice-cold butterbeer, after the twins updated him about their business.
As the grand clock in the corner chimed a quarter to six, the common room began to empty out as Gryffindors of all years streamed through the portrait hole, eager for the main event.
By six o'clock, the Great Hall was completely transformed into a spectacle of autumn magic.
Thousands of live bats fluttered in synchronized waves against the enchanted ceiling, which was currently painted in a deep, midnight-violet sky sprinkled with bright silver stars. Hundreds of giant, glowing jack-o'-lanterns, carved by Hagrid and suspended by charmwork, floated smoothly above the four long house tables, casting a warm, flickering golden light over the heavy silver platters.
The tables groaned under the weight of the feast: mountains of golden roasted pork, platters of sizzling sausages, bowls of buttery mashed potatoes, steaming gravy boats, crisp sweet potato pies, and towering stacks of treacle tarts.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their seats near the middle of the Gryffindor table. The energy in the hall was deafening, filled with the clatter of silver cutlery and bright laughter.
At the High Table, Albus Dumbledore stood up from his central golden chair. He raised his hands, his half-moon spectacles catching the flickering light of the floating pumpkins, and the Great Hall fell into a expectant silence.
"Welcome," Dumbledore said, his voice echoing warmly off the stone walls. "To another Halloween feast! Before we throw ourselves entirely into the noble pursuit of feasting, I'd like to wish all a Happy Halloween! Tuck in!"
The hall erupted into cheerful applause and laughter as Dumbledore resumed his seat.
"Classic," Ron muttered happily, immediately reaching for a platter of roasted pork chop and piling three onto his plate. "The feast is the best!"
For twenty minutes, the feast proceeded in total perfection. Harry poured himself a goblet of iced pumpkin juice, casually enjoying a slice of savory meat pie while listening to Ron debate Quidditch tactics with Seamus Finnigan across the table. Hermione was chatting animatedly with Lavender about something.
Then, the heavy double doors of the Great Hall were slammed open with a deafening, echoing bang.
The festive chatter vanished instantly.
Professor Quirrell came sprinting down the central aisle between the long tables, his purple turban lopsided, his face deathly pale, and his hands trembling wildly. He looked like a man who had just run for his life from the depths of the underworld.
"TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!"
He scrambled frantically toward the High Table, his boots slipping against the polished floor as he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Professor McGonagall stood up from her chair, her brow furrowing in sharp concern. "Quirrell, what..."
He reached the staff table, gasping violently for air, his trembling hands clutching the wooden edge of Dumbledore's podium as he squeaked out in absolute, shrill terror:
"Thought you should know..."
And with that, Quirrell's knees buckled, and he collapsed face-first onto the stone floor, completely motionless.
For two long seconds, total silence hung over the Great Hall.
Then, wild, deafening pandemonium erupted.
Screams echoed off the high vaulted ceiling as hundreds of students scrambled up from the benches at once, knocking over goblets and plates crashing to the stone floor in a frantic surge toward the doors.
"SILENCE!"
Dumbledore's voice boomed through the hall, amplified by a powerful Sonorus charm. The sheer, magical weight of the command froze the panicking crowd in their tracks. The Headmaster stood tall at the staff table, his posture grave and commanding.
"Prefects," Dumbledore ordered clearly, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. "Lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
Percy Weasley instantly puffed out his chest, stepping up onto the Gryffindor bench and shouting at the top of his lungs, "Gryffindors! Follow me! Stick together, first-years! No need to panic, just stay behind me and the other prefects!"
The Gryffindors gathered into a long, dense line, moving in an orderly fashion out through the Entrance Hall and toward the grand staircase.
Harry walked near the middle of the Gryffindor line alongside Ron and Hermione. Underneath his calm exterior, a quiet, furious irritation was bubbling in his chest. A mountain troll? In a castle guarded by a thousand ancient wards? Harry knew precisely who had let the beast inside.
He was even more angry due to the fact that he was celebrating the fact that his blasted scar was finally dying. He wasn't a horcrux. And then Quirrell had to go and let that troll in to ruin his celebration.
As Percy led the long line of Gryffindors down the first-floor corridor toward the staircases leading up to the tower, a foul, nauseating stench suddenly swept down the hallway. It smelled like a mixture of rotting garbage, stagnant swamp water, and unwashed feet.
"Ugh, bloody hell, what is that smell?" Seamus Finnigan gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve.
"Is that coming from the plumbing?" Lavender squeaked, backing up into Parvati Patil.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The stone floor beneath their boots shuddered violently.
Percy stopped dead in his tracks at the front of the line, his red hair practically standing on end as he looked toward the corridor junction ahead. "Wait... everyone stop! Get back!"
Out from the side passage stumbled a twelve-foot mountain troll.
It was a hideous, misshapen brute with granite-grey skin, a tiny, flat head resting atop a massive, hulking torso, and thick, trunk-like legs. In its massive, dirty right hand, it dragged a heavy wooden club along the floor. Its small, dull yellow eyes blinked stupidly at the long line of students crowded in the narrow hall.
The moment the beast spotted the large group of children, a low, guttural roar burst from its throat. Its small eyes widened, and it began charging straight down the narrow corridor, its heavy feet slamming into the stone with terrifying speed.
"Back! Get back into the classrooms!" Percy shouted frantically, drawing his wand alongside the senior female prefect, both of them trying to form a shield charm. But the sheer panic of the younger students pressing behind them left them no room to maneuver, and the charging beast was closing the distance far too fast for a standard Protego to hold against several tons of moving mass.
"It's charging! It's going to hit us!" a second-year boy shrieked.
Harry stepped forward out of the line to deal with it. Annoyed as he was about his ruined dinner, he couldn't really let the brute harm the other students.
"Harry!" Hermione's voice rang out from behind him, filled with worry and desperation. "Get back!"
Percy, his face contorted with urgency, tried to reach Harry amidst the chaos. "Harry, get out of the way!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the din of screams and shouts.
But Harry remained rooted to the spot, his mind calculating with absolute, calm resolve as he raised his right hand. He didn't bother drawing a wand. He simply extended his arm, his finger spreading wide.
Aegis Maximus.
A shimmering blue field materialized before him out of thin air, forming a nearly transparent, massive barrier between himself and the oncoming troll. With a thunderous crash, the troll collided with the magical shield. The sheer impact echoed off the stone walls, but the blue barrier didn't give an inch. The troll's momentum was abruptly halted, and it stumbled backward, dazed and disoriented, clutching its flat nose.
As the troll staggered backward from the impact of the shield charm, Harry seized the opportunity to take decisive action. With a cold flick of his wrist, he sent a powerful stunner at the troll.
Stupor Excidium.
The spell shot forth directly from Harry's outstretched fingers, a shimmering wave of deep blue light streaking through the air with incredible speed.
The impact was instantaneous and absolute.
The twelve-foot monster didn't even have time to grunt. Its small yellow eyes rolled completely into the back of its head, its limbs went totally rigid, and the heavy wooden club slipped from its fingers, shattering against the floor. The massive beast collapsed straight backward like a felled oak tree, hitting the stone floor with a bone-rattling crash that echoed all the way down the corridor.
It lay completely motionless, knocked into a deep, heavy state of unconsciousness.
Silence fell over the first-floor corridor.
The entire Gryffindor house stood utterly speechless. Percy's jaw was practically on his chest, his wand loose in his hand. Lavender and Parvati were staring at the fallen giant with wide, terrifiede eyes, while Ron and Hermione were looking between the unconscious troll and Harry in sheer, breathtaking shock.
"Merlin's beard... " Fred whispered from the back, breaking the silence. "Did he just... without a wand?"
"I think he just knocked out a mountain troll in three seconds," George breathed, looking at his brother.
Then, the wave of foul odor hit the crowd again as the air currents shifted, making several first-years gag and cover their faces.
Then, the wave of foul odor hit the crowd again as the air currents shifted, making several first-years gag and cover their faces.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in sheer disgust. He casually waved his left hand through the air, casting a localized vanishing charm over the surrounding atmosphere. The thick, rotting smell vanished instantly, replaced by cool, clean air.
"Percy," Harry said smoothly, turning back to look at the stunned Head Boy contender. "You might want to go fetch the professors now."
Percy blinked, snapping out of his stupor. "Right! Yes! Nobody move! Stay behind the line! I'm going for the staff!" Percy turned on his heel and sprinted back down the corridor toward the grand staircase as fast as his legs could carry him.
"Harry..." Hermione whispered, stepping closer to him, her brown eyes wide as she looked down at the massive, dazed brute. "What... what was that spell? I've never read that in any standard textbook!"
"Just an advanced stunning charm," Harry replied casually, adjusting the collar of his jumper. "Nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about?!" Ron squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. "Mate, you just dropped a twelve-foot monster with your bare hands!"
Before Hermione could interrogate him further, heavy, frantic footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway.
Percy came rushing back, followed closely by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Headmaster Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall looked completely terrified, her face pale as parchment, her hand clutched tightly over her chest as her eyes landed on the massive, unconscious troll lying in the middle of the corridor. Professor Flitwick let out a sharp gasp, squeaking softly as he pulled his wand, looking around frantically for any other threats.
Dumbledore, however, walked with a calm, measured stride. His half-moon spectacles caught the torchlight, and as his sharp blue eyes swept over the dazed beast and settled on Harry, a small, thoroughly amused smile touched his lips.
"Good heavens!" McGonagall gasped, her voice trembling with intense relief and lingering shock as she rushed toward the students. "Is anyone hurt? Are all of you alright?"
"We're fine, Professor," Percy stammered, trying to regain his composure. "Potter handled the situation before the troll could reach the line."
McGonagall turned to Harry, her eyes wide with sheer disbelief. "Mr. Potter... you... you dealt with a fully grown mountain troll by yourself?"
"It started charging at the students, so I had no other choice," Harry said politely. "But I didn't really hurt it... Well not much at least."
Flitwick scrambled up onto a loose stone step to get a better look at the beast, inspecting its chest. "Remarkable... completely, deeply unconscious! Not a scratch on the students! But... what spell did you use, young man? A standard Stupefy wouldn't even dent a troll's hide!"
Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who was watching him with a light, knowing glint in his eyes.
"I used the Stupor Excidium charm, sir," Harry replied calmly.
McGonagall frowned, her brow furrowing in deep thought as she looked at Flitwick. "Stupor Excidium? I... I am not familiar with that incantation, Filius. Is it a specialized dueling charm?"
Flitwick shook his head, looking equally puzzled. "I must confess, I have not encountered that specific phrasing in any standard European dueling manuals either."
Both professors turned toward Dumbledore for an explanation.
The Headmaster's smile broadened, his blue eyes twinkling brightly behind his glasses. "A rather unconventional choice for a mountain troll, Harry," Dumbledore said smoothly, his voice laced with gentle amusement. "Though I must admit, highly effective. Your choice of magic clearly demonstrates just how deeply you resented the premature conclusion of our Halloween feast."
McGonagall blinked, looking between the Headmaster and Harry. "Albus? What is the spell?"
"Stupor Excidium," Dumbledore explained warmly, turning to his staff, "is a specialized, high-yield subduing curse developed in the late eighteenth century. It was created primarily for dragon handlers to subdue wild, juvenile dragons without inflicting permanent physical harm to their scales or internal organs."
McGonagall's jaw practically dropped. "A dragon-subduing curse?!"
"Indeed," Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Though, if memory serves, the original Ministry safety guidelines dictate that the spell requires two fully trained, high-capacity wizards casting simultaneously to generate enough magical resonance to breach a dragon's natural hide."
Flitwick stared at Harry as if the eleven-year-old boy had suddenly sprouted a second head. McGonagall looked entirely speechless, her sharp gaze darting from the colossal, snoring troll back to Harry's calm, unbothered expression.
"In any case," Dumbledore continued smoothly, clapping his hands together with a light clack, "disaster has been thoroughly averted thanks to Mr. Potter's swift intervention. Fifty points to Gryffindor for exceptional magic and cool-headedness under pressure."
"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry said smoothly.
"Now then," Dumbledore turned to Percy, his eyes twinkling. "Mr. Weasley, please escort your house back to the Gryffindor common room. I believe you will find that the house-elves have taken liberty of transferring the remainder of our Halloween feast directly to your tables up in the tower."
A cheer went up from the Gryffindor crowd at the mention of food, the lingering tension in the corridor evaporating instantly.
Percy puffed out his chest, stepping forward with renewed authority. "Right! You heard the Headmaster! Gryffindors, line up! Back to the common room!"
As the long line of students turned and began marching up the stairs, leaving the professors to handle the unconscious beast, Ron squeezed his way up beside Harry, his face a picture of absolute, bewildered awe.
"Harry," Ron whispered loudly, leaning in so only Hermione and Harry could hear. "How on earth did you cast that spell by yourself? Dumbledore literally just said it takes two fully trained wizards casting together to make it work!"
Harry offered Ron a dry, subtle smirk, his hands resting comfortably in his pockets as they stepped off the staircase toward the seventh floor.
"Because that was a troll, Ron," Harry replied smoothly. "Not a dragon."
Ron blinked, staring at Harry for three seconds before letting out a breathless, wheezing laugh. "Bloody hell, mate. You're brilliant, you know that?"
"He's completely insane is what he is," Hermione muttered under her breath, though a proud, beaming smile was plastered across her face as she walked beside them.
They reached the portrait hole, where the Fat Lady swung open eagerly, having already heard whispers of the encounter from the corridor portraits.
The moment the Gryffindors poured into the common room, a roar of celebration erupted.
The house-elves had outdone themselves. The long wooden tables near the windows were piled high with golden platters of roasted meats, warm pies, sweet potato casseroles, and jugs of chilled pumpkin juice. Glowing jack-o'-lanterns floated gently beneath the high ceiling, casting a warm, cozy light over the roaring fireplace.
Fred and George immediately hoisted Harry onto their shoulders for a brief second before he smoothly stepped down, laughing off the attention as the entire house crowded around to hear Percy dramatically retell the story of how the blue barrier had stopped the charging beast in its tracks.
The Halloween feast continued late into the night, filled with laughter, endless food, and warm camaraderie. Harry sat in his favorite armchair by the fire, a plate of sweet pie resting on his lap, thoroughly enjoying the evening he had reclaimed.