No Mercy for the Unseen Danger
"Hurry up, we're going to be late!" Terry said excitedly as he waited for Draco and Harry, who were changing into something more comfortable for the Halloween feast.
"Why are you so excited?" Draco asked, watching Terry, who could barely stand still from impatience.
"It's Halloween. Or rather, the Night of Witches. We're in a school of magic and wizardry where they train witches and wizards. Don't you think it's going to be like our own Christmas?" Terry said, his eyes gleaming as he imagined an epic celebration.
"Actually, no," Draco replied calmly and seriously as he finished adjusting his robes. "Halloween mainly comes from Samhain, an ancient Celtic festival that marked the end of summer and the beginning of winter. They believed that on that night, the veil between the world of the living and the dead became very thin, so spirits could walk among us again. To protect themselves, they lit bonfires and left food offerings. They also wore masks or costumes to drive away evil spirits. Later, when Christianity came to the British Isles, Samhain merged with All Saints' Day, and its name changed to All Hallows' Eve… which over time was shortened to Halloween."
Terry stood frozen, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of information.
"All right, don't tease him," Harry said with a small smile, though there was a shadow of sadness in his eyes. After all, Halloween for him would always be a date marked by the absence of his parents. Every year, Wanda had tried to do something special so he wouldn't think about it… but this year, Wanda wouldn't be there, and that made him feel a little more alone.
"Sorry, Terry. I was just messing with you a bit," Draco added, holding back a laugh when he saw his friend's crestfallen expression. "Wizards really do celebrate Halloween. Though we also have Christmas."
Terry quickly recovered, his enthusiasm renewed. "Then let's go! Michael and Anthony are probably already waiting for us."
The three of them went down from their rooms and joined the other boys and girls who were waiting in the corridor. Actually, it had all been Terry's idea—he wanted to make sure no one got ahead of the group. He looked genuinely thrilled about his first Halloween at Hogwarts.
They walked together through the corridors, chatting calmly as they went.
"Hey, I heard you're planning some kind of club with Professor Flitwick. What's it about?" Anthony Goldstein asked with curiosity as he came closer to Harry and the others.
"It'll be a secret for now," Daphne replied immediately with an enigmatic smile. "But I promise everyone will want to join when they find out."
"Ugh… can't you at least give us a hint?" Terry insisted, intrigued.
"No," Daphne said with a playful grin.
The others just shook their heads, letting Daphne enjoy teasing them with the mystery.
When they arrived at the Great Hall, they realized it was even more decorated than usual: floating pumpkins, bats fluttering between the candles, and ghosts preparing for what looked like their own little party. Everything suggested the feast was going to be special.
Terry looked around with curious eyes, though it seemed he had expected even more. Still, he soon accepted the atmosphere with excitement.
Everyone sat down in their places while they continued their calm conversation.
The food began to appear on the tables, and after a few brief words from the Headmaster, everyone started to eat eagerly.
"Damn it!" Daphne suddenly exclaimed.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, sitting next to her.
"I need to go to the bathroom," Daphne announced with a sigh.
"Manners…" Draco muttered with a resigned look.
"Shut up," Daphne snapped back as she stood up. "Mione, come with me."
"Fine," Hermione agreed, getting up to follow her.
Harry and Draco watched them leave before turning their attention back to their food.
The students continued chatting quietly for a couple of minutes after the girls had left, until someone burst in through the huge doors, looking terrified.
"A troll!" he shouted in a trembling voice.
Everyone turned to look immediately. It was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrell.
"There's a troll in the dungeons… and it's loose. I… I just wanted to warn you," he stammered before collapsing on the floor.
For a moment, absolute silence fell over the hall. Then panic erupted like wildfire: screams, chairs scraping, frantic footsteps.
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore's voice thundered over the chaos. "I ask you all to remain calm. Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories. Professors, help me keep order."
The prefects quickly moved into action, gathering their classmates. Harry and Draco exchanged a look, frowning, before slipping away discreetly as soon as they crossed the Great Hall doors.
…
In Harry's room…
Red, who had been nibbling on the helmet of an armor in the corridor, suddenly froze. He sniffed the air nervously, then raised his head and bolted toward one of the windows. He smacked into the glass, but as he regained his balance, his wings—normally more decorative than functional—unfurled in a faint reddish glow before he launched himself into the night, heading straight toward a very specific place.
…
"Why did we come to the farthest bathroom?" Hermione asked, watching Daphne as she took the chance to fix her hair in front of the mirror.
"It's the cleanest," Daphne replied from inside one of the stalls before stepping out to wash her hands.
"Mmm… did you hear that?" Hermione asked suddenly, stopping in place.
"What?" Daphne asked, confused as she turned off the faucet.
Another dull thump echoed, followed by the scraping of something heavy across the floor. They exchanged a tense look, then carefully approached the door.
That was when they saw it.
A massive troll, its grayish skin covered in warts, lumbering forward clumsily. It wore filthy rags that stank of sweat and decay. Its tiny, dull eyes locked onto them for an instant before it raised its enormous wooden club, ready to smash them.
For a split second, both of them froze where they stood. When they finally reacted, Hermione drew a shaky breath and raised her hand with determination. Her eyes flickered with a faint blue glow as her magic focused on a single thought: protect.
An invisible force burst from her fingertips, shoving Daphne backward with surprising strength. She flew several feet and landed hard on the bathroom floor, just out of reach of the descending club. The blue light vanished as if it had never been there.
"Hermione!" Daphne shouted, scrambling to her feet, her breathing ragged. When she looked up, she saw the club descending in slow motion toward her friend.
Before she could scream again, a red blur shot out from the side and hurled itself at the troll. Red, faster than a heartbeat, launched straight for its throat. His fangs sank deep into the creature's tough flesh, and the monster lost its balance, crashing onto its back with a thunderous impact that made the walls shake.
Hermione stood frozen, her pulse hammering in her ears. Daphne ran to her, searching frantically for any injury.
"Hermione… Hermione, say something!" she pleaded, her voice trembling.
"I… I'm fine," Hermione whispered, though her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, too shaken to move.
Outside, the troll let out a guttural roar as it struggled to shake off the small dragon latched onto it. Between groans and snarls, it managed to lift itself enough to swing its club where Red clung.
But the dragon released his bite at the last instant, causing the club to smash into the troll's own shoulder with a sickening crunch.
Red dropped to the floor and lunged again, this time sinking his teeth into one of its legs. His fangs drove all the way to the bone. Blood gushed out in heavy spurts.
"Aaaaah!" the troll screamed, reeling in pain.
Red took a single step back. His wings unfolded with a soft reddish glow as he planted himself in front of the bathroom door, shielding the girls. His amber eyes glinted fiercely. That look didn't belong to an animal. It was the gaze of a guardian prepared to decide in an instant whether to rip the intruder's throat out.
Hermione and Daphne were left breathless. Even from behind, they could feel the brutal aura radiating from the small dragon. The way he had pierced the hide of a troll—a creature famous for resisting even powerful magic—made it abundantly clear that Red was no ordinary pet.
Only a few seconds passed before hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor. Red turned his head in a swift, precise motion and saw Harry and Draco sprinting toward them. Recognizing them, he lowered his stance a fraction, but kept his gaze locked on the troll.
Draco froze at the sight of the spreading pool of blood on the floor. Harry, on the other hand, barely spared the wounded monster a glance. His expression was calm, as if he had expected this outcome all along.
"Are you all right?" he asked in a steady voice. He didn't sound nervous or surprised—just grave.
Hermione swallowed hard. Daphne nodded slowly. Harry let out a quiet sigh, but his eyes remained fixed on the troll, as if assessing whether it was still a threat.
"Red, come back. You did well," Harry said calmly.
The dragon lifted his head, watched the writhing troll one last time, and finally trotted over to stand beside his young master.
Harry drew his wand.
"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked, still shaking.
"They can't know how dangerous Red truly is," Harry replied, his voice so cold that Daphne shivered. In that moment, something about his presence shifted. He was no longer a child. He was the heir of the Scarlet Witch—a being who would not hesitate if his friends were threatened.
He raised his wand toward the troll. Instantly, all the suits of armor lining the corridor began to rattle. Spears, swords, knives, and shards of metal tore themselves free, lifting into the air as if drawn by an invisible force.
"Harry…" Draco murmured, taking a step back.
Harry's brow furrowed in a severe, almost pained expression.
"I won't allow anyone to endanger my friends," he said in a low voice.
The weapons flew like a storm of blades, impaling the troll's body in a single, deafening impact. The monster convulsed one last time before collapsing, reduced to a twisted heap.
Harry's gaze swept across the entire corridor. For a second, his pupils seemed to glow a deep red, though no one else noticed. The silence was absolute, broken only when several portraits on the walls cracked apart under the pressure of his will.
That was when the professors came running, alarmed by the noise.
"For the love of Merlin…!" McGonagall gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.
Flitwick hurried forward at once, checking the students for injuries.
Snape raised an eyebrow—the only sign of his surprise at the scene before them: a troll slain, pierced by half the arsenal of Hogwarts.
Quirrell arrived last. His eyes widened with something strange before his face turned pale.
But Harry saw it. And for a moment, his gaze turned so cold that anyone who looked into it would have felt a chill down their spine.
"What happened here?" McGonagall demanded, her voice tight.
"The troll wasn't in the dungeons, Professor," Harry said, his tone calm but unyielding. "We came to look for our friends because they weren't in the Hall when Professor Quirrell gave the warning. We were going to return to our dormitories, but we found it here. I did what I thought was necessary before anyone got hurt."
"That was extremely reckless, Mr. Potter. Even if it was to protect your classmates, you should have called for a teacher," McGonagall said, pressing her hand over her heart to steady herself.
"It was," Harry agreed without looking away. "But the speed with which the 'safest school in the world' responded wasn't exactly impressive. If we had waited, they would have been injured. Or worse."
There was no hatred in his voice, but there was a gravity no child his age should have carried.
Flitwick stepped in quickly, his tone gentler. "Minerva, if they hadn't arrived in time, we can't say what might have happened. I think they should be taken to the infirmary, just in case."
McGonagall took a deep breath and nodded. "You're right. It's just… it has been a difficult night. You will each be awarded five points for your bravery. We'll handle the cleanup."
Harry inclined his head slightly. He didn't say anything more, but before he turned away, he fixed Quirrell with one last, icy stare. That kind of danger—the kind that wasn't announced with a shout, but with calculated negligence—he would not overlook.
One thing was Dumbledore and his games of chess, which at least ensured someone was always watching.
Another entirely was putting his friends in real danger without the slightest care.
And that… he would not forgive.