Before he knew it, Halloween Eve had arrived.
Loren realized that when life fell into a steady rhythm, time passed quickly. In the blink of an eye, nearly two months had gone by since term began.
That morning, after his usual run, Hogwarts Castle looked as unchanged as ever. But by the time he returned, the halls were already decorated for Halloween. The smell of roasted pumpkin drifted through the corridors from the jack-o'-lanterns.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick tested their Levitation Charms. Thanks to the curriculum reforms, lessons were ahead of schedule, and nearly everyone could now perform the spell. It was the last Levitation class before moving on to a new topic.
But most of the students weren't interested in practicing anymore. Their minds were fixed on the evening's feast, wondering what the house-elves might prepare for such a day.
Professor Flitwick wasn't bothered. He had something else to handle—Loren's persistent question.
Back in the first lesson, Loren had latched onto Flitwick's story about the wizard Baruffio mispronouncing a spell and accidentally summoning a buffalo.
Loren hadn't doubted the warning about clarity in casting—but he was intrigued by the idea of a variant spell.
Out of respect, he hadn't pressed Flitwick in class. Instead, he'd tried in private, only to discover he couldn't reproduce the "error."
Thanks to his gift of universal language comprehension, "Wingardium Leviosa" always sounded clear to him. No matter how he tried, he couldn't force it into a flawed pronunciation to summon a buffalo.
So at last, Loren confronted Flitwick directly.
Flitwick hadn't expected such a dogged student. The story was made up—there was no "f" in the incantation, and no way it could ever turn into a buffalo-summoning charm. He quickly pulled Loren aside and explained, thankfully unnoticed by the rest of the class, whose thoughts were far from schoolwork.
Later in History of Magic, not one student listened. They whispered about the feast while the ghostly professor droned from the textbook, oblivious to their inattention.
In Transfiguration that afternoon, Professor McGonagall gave a serious lecture. Her research had reached a new stage, and she began testing a grading system for Transfiguration spells—using her students as subjects.
After class, most students spilled out excitedly, still chatting about the coming feast.
Loren, however, led Hermione down to the kitchens. He handed the elves a new menu and told them to follow it for the feast.
He had a special surprise planned for Hogwarts tonight.
When he and Hermione returned, the Great Hall tables were covered in macabre dishes: severed limbs, organs, brains, eyes.
It was said you could piece together ten people's bodies from what sat on each table, with plenty left over.
As the feast began, many eager Hufflepuffs froze in horror. But once a few overcame their fear and tasted the food, they found it delicious.
Still, no matter how tasty, the grotesque appearance turned most stomachs.
There were exceptions. Neville stood out most of all.
The boy famed for his timidity now looked like a demon feasting on flesh. Terrified but driven by hunger, he devoured dish after dish, face twisted by the grotesque presentation. To Gryffindors watching, it made him appear monstrous.
Some even sought out George and Fred, wanting to adjust the betting pool—sure that Neville's appetite by year's end would be unimaginable.
Loren also drew stares when he loudly crunched a "finger" between his teeth. The sound made nearby students shiver, as if their own bones were being bitten.
At his side, Hermione kept pace, deftly plucking up "eyeballs" with her chopsticks. The realistic spheres burst between her teeth with crisp pops, sending waves of nausea through onlookers, who quickly averted their eyes.
At the staff table, nearly every professor's face was dark—except Dumbledore's, who sipped contentedly at a goblet of "blood," in truth a special drink.
"Dumbledore," McGonagall said flatly, staring at his red-stained teeth, "I think you owe us an explanation."
Every professor turned to glare at him—none more fiercely than Snape, before whom sat a severed female head, disturbingly similar to Lily's. Of course, only those who knew her well could tell. Loren had spent hours in the kitchen crafting that detail.
Under their stares, Dumbledore calmly finished his drink before speaking.
"The house-elves informed me in advance. A certain student specially prepared this feast for us. Isn't this perfectly in the spirit of Halloween?"
He glanced toward Loren, who was gnawing on a "hand."
Following his gaze, the professors realized who was responsible. With sighs, they let it go.
Such was the privilege of an exceptional student—Loren alone could skip homework for every subject, and no reasonable professor doubted his brilliance.
Sensing the eyes on him, Loren looked up briefly at the staff table, then returned to his meal.
In truth, Dumbledore had approved the change to see how Loren would react.
He'd noticed him back on the Hogwarts Express, pulling pranks on Draco, and been reminded of a young Tom Riddle—though sharper in method.
For a moment, Dumbledore had feared another Tom.
But the Sorting Hat had surprised him by placing Loren in Gryffindor. When asked why, the Hat had snapped:
"As I probed his nature, the Sword of Gryffindor practically leapt out and struck him on the head!"
Since then, Dumbledore had dug into Loren's background: a Muggle-world prodigy, happy family, a childhood sweetheart. In every way, the opposite of Tom.
And yet, Loren's temperament was so similar. His talent exceeded even Tom's, though. Tom had impressed his teachers—Loren made them yield in admiration.
Still, Loren often baffled Dumbledore. Though hailed by Gryffindors as the Lion King, he spent much of his time alone or with Hermione, ignoring most others unless approached. When he did, he was cordial, winning friends easily, yet beneath it all lay a cold detachment.
From this feast, Dumbledore concluded that Loren acted without strong purpose. He simply did as he pleased, caring little for the wider world, investing only in a few close friends.
If Dumbledore had played certain games, he'd recognize the type—someone who followed the story when necessary, but never passed up a chance to stir chaos.
That was Loren's core. He had power enough to protect his family, so he did as he liked.
Had he not been a Harry Potter fan in his past life, he might not even care about the story at all. He might simply have taken Hermione to Ravenclaw, quietly absorbing magic, and later swept aside obstacles.
After all, Loren knew from the system he could travel to other worlds. For now, Hogwarts was a safe place to grow stronger. Given time and freedom, being the "Sword God of Ten Mile Slope" was not a bad option.
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