The sun hadn't even properly risen, and Hogwarts was already different. The air was colder, wrapped in a fine mist that crept through the cracks in the windows, winding along the corridors as if the castle itself were breathing. It was Halloween, and it seemed that everyone—students and ghosts alike—had conspired to turn the day into a parade of scares.
Noah woke up to a scream that wasn't his. The moment he opened his eyes, an illusory bat shot out from under his pillow, scattering orange sparks before vanishing into thin air. Across the dormitory, a third-year boy was still leaping from bed to bed, trying to fend off a pumpkin with iron teeth that was snapping at his blankets.
"I swear that thing winked at me!" the boy shouted, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Noah sighed and sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He didn't even need to check—this had the Weasley twins written all over it, or at least some devoted imitator. Since dawn, Hogwarts had been bubbling with pranks and harmless curses. In the corridors, doors locked themselves and would only open after answering a morbid riddle. Portraits whispered ghostly threats in cavernous voices. And the armor suits, as if possessed, burst into metallic laughter whenever someone passed.
On his way down to the Great Hall, Noah had to dodge a curtain that suddenly transformed into a giant spiderweb. From the middle of it, a dog-sized spider lunged at him—an illusion, of course, but convincing enough to almost drag a curse out of his mouth.
"Happy Halloween!" a Slytherin laughed from the other side of the corridor.
Noah only raised an eyebrow, adjusting his cloak.
"Great. If this is just the morning, by nightfall they'll probably try to boil me in a cauldron for fun."
Inside the Great Hall, the chaos escalated. Hundreds of pumpkins floated under the enchanted ceiling, some carved into grotesque shapes, winking and grinning with fiery teeth. Cauldrons on the tables exhaled violet smoke, spitting out wrapped sweets that scrambled away the moment someone reached for them. A Hufflepuff girl tried to bite into a caramel, but the candy stretched like rubber, pulling her half off the bench before exploding into glitter.
Noah couldn't help but smile. There was a certain charm in the madness. Halloween at Hogwarts wasn't just scary—it was alive, as if the castle itself had decided to join in on the fun at the students' expense.
He strolled between the tables, distractedly chewing a stolen slice of pie, when his eyes caught something at the Ravenclaw table. Terry and Michal leaned over the wood, arms locked, faces red with effort, sweat dripping down their temples.
An arm-wrestling match.
Noah paused in the corridor, narrowing his eyes, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile that promised trouble. He stood there for a moment, calculating some secret mischief. Then, calmly, he tucked the book under his arm, wiped his fingers on his cloak, and approached.
"I'm next," he announced with the calm of someone asking for another cup of tea.
Terry looked up and let out a short laugh.
"Ha! Hope you've got a spare arm, Noah. We're betting on this one."
Noah raised a brow.
"Betting what?"
Michal, still rubbing his sore shoulder from losing, chimed in:
"Loser has to scare or prank one of the professors."
"Hm." Noah rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "Risky. I like it."
He sat across from Terry, set his elbow on the table, and locked hands with him. Michal raised his arm like a referee.
"Three… two… one!"
The match began. Terry's muscles bulged like taut ropes, his face flushed with effort. Noah, on the other hand, looked more interested in flicking away a stray crumb at the corner of his mouth.
Then a sharp crack echoed.
Everyone nearby fell silent at once. Noah's arm bent backward at an impossible angle—then, with a grotesque tug, his hand tore clean off, flying through the air.
"AAAAAHHHHH!" Noah screamed, collapsing from his chair as blood gushed like a fountain.
Students recoiled in horror. Michal went pale. Terry's eyes widened as the severed hand landed squarely in his palm. Red liquid dripped between his fingers, pooling on the table.
Without thinking, he raised it closer—then froze.
The blood tasted… sweet.
Cherry.
Terry blinked in confusion and turned to Noah. The supposedly mutilated boy sat perfectly intact on the floor, wearing a devilishly calm smile.
"What the—"
The severed hand on the table burst apart in a sticky explosion of sugary syrup, splattering both boys' faces.
"You really need to rethink your idea of a prank…" Terry grumbled, spitting out the sweet taste.
And yet, despite his irritation, a crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"Besides… you lost."
Noah sighed, feigning defeat.
"Very well, very well. A promise is a promise."
He waited a few minutes, letting the Great Hall return to its breakfast chatter. Then, under the table, he made a nearly imperceptible gesture with his hand. Magic condensed into a sharp green flare, and a small bird of emerald flames was born in silence.
With a flick of glowing wings, it soared above the hall. Conversations faltered, all eyes following the dazzling creature.
Violet spotted it and discreetly widened her eyes. Green fire or not, that style was unmistakable. Her gaze immediately cut toward Noah, who pretended to be entirely innocent, chewing on a piece of bread.
Suddenly, the bird dove. Its target: Helen Parker of Slytherin.
PLOP!
The fiery creature smacked her square on the backside, leaving behind a trail of sparkling green flames. Helen shrieked, leaping as if she'd been shocked, sprinting down the aisle with the bird chasing her.
The entire hall erupted in laughter.
Snape shot up from his seat, expression darker than usual. With a sharp flick of his wand, he cast a spell at the creature. It struck true—yet instead of vanishing, the bird split into two.
Now two emerald birds circled defiantly.
Snape's brows knitted in irritation. Another curse. More sparks, more fire—this time creating four birds, all diving toward him.
"What—?" he muttered, startled.
The birds kept multiplying with each attempt to destroy them, until dozens of smaller versions swarmed like furious bees, zipping straight toward the staff table. McGonagall batted away those tugging at her hat, while Flitwick hid beneath the table entirely.
The Great Hall shook with laughter. Students clutched their stomachs, tears streaming as they howled.
It wasn't until Dumbledore rose—eyes twinkling with amusement behind his spectacles—that the spectacle ended. He raised his palm, and with a resonant whoosh, all the fiery birds dissolved into drifting sparks that winked out one by one.
Silence.
Then the hall exploded again, this time in applause and roaring laughter. Hardly anyone knew who was behind the prank.
But they'd remember it until next Halloween, when the trick would be even bigger.