The Great Hall was already glowing with floating candles when Noah walked in, whistling softly, hands in his pockets and a satisfied look on his face. Halloween dinner always carried a festive atmosphere, but after the morning's pranks, everything tasted even sweeter to him.
His eyes swept over the tables until they stopped at Gryffindor's. Hunting for new prank targets.
A grin spread across his face when two identical heads immediately turned his way: Fred and George Weasley.
"Well, well, if it isn't the artist of the night!" one said, raising his goblet in salute.
"Or should we say… Ravenclaw's butcher?" the other added with a laugh.
Noah strolled over and dropped onto the bench in front of them, snatching a bread roll without a second thought.
"The severed hand, is that it? You saw it?" he asked, biting into the bread.
"Front row seats!" George replied, eyes sparkling with amusement.
"When the hand flew and Terry went pale, we swore it was real. Brilliant!" Fred added, pounding the table.
Noah tried to look modest, but his grin betrayed his pride.
"Oh, nothing special… just a little imagination and cherry syrup."
The twins burst into laughter, trading a knowing look. Rarely did they meet someone who could match them trick for trick.
"So, where's Violet?" Noah asked casually, glancing around the table.
The twins exchanged a quick look, their faces suddenly suspiciously guilty. George scratched his neck, Fred cleared his throat.
"Ah… about that…" Fred began.
"Well, you see, Violet and Hermione…" George paused dramatically. "They kind of tripped one of our little pranks before dinner."
Noah raised a brow, intrigued.
"And?"
Fred grinned ear to ear.
"Their ties got… let's say, artistically altered."
"Artistically, as in…?" Noah pressed, already holding back a laugh.
George sighed, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes gave him away.
"They went to the bathroom to fix it. Hermione was fuming, Violet was about ready to explode from embarrassment."
Noah chuckled, leaning over the table.
"You two have the guts to mess with Violet? You really must have nerves of steel."
The twins laughed in unison, slapping the table.
"Worth it," Fred said.
"Their faces were priceless," George finished.
Noah shook his head with a smile.
"Well… in that case, I'll catch her later."
He headed back to the Ravenclaw table, chatting with Terry and Michal, who were still praising his morning prank. His stomach was starting to growl when the doors burst open.
A panicked Quirrell stumbled in, shouting about a troll in the dungeons.
"No way—too early?" Noah muttered, startled by the shift. But after glancing around, it made sense. Dinner had barely started, yet most of the students were already gathered here. The perfect setup for Quirrell's move.
Moments later, the hall was in chaos.
Noah's gaze darted to the Gryffindor table, searching for Violet and Hermione. He didn't see them.
And then, all at once, he caught sight of Harry and Ron sprinting toward the corridor—not the dormitories.
"Shit," he cursed.
Before anyone could stop him, Noah bolted after them.
The moment he heard about the troll, it was like his whole body was electrified. The world was diverging from the story he remembered.
Ron hadn't mocked Hermione in Charms class this morning. In this world, he'd never been cruel to her. The five of them were friends. But now, as if fate itself was forcing the same scene, Hermione was in danger again. And Violet was with her. Both of them, in the path of a troll.
While Noah had been joking with his housemates, Harry and Ron had overheard that Hermione and Violet were stuck in the girls' bathroom.
Harry ran first. Ron followed without hesitation. Noah wasn't far behind—no, in fact, thanks to his fitness, he quickly passed them both.
The boys looked at him in shock, confused as to why he was there—but secretly relieved. Noah was their best classmate, their friend. If anyone could help, it was him.
He knew these corridors well, but tonight they seemed endless, stretching and twisting, refusing to let him reach the bathroom in time. His chest pounded, his palms were slick with sweat. He wasn't used to fear clawing at him like this, but he couldn't stop it. He had to make it.
The hallway stretched forever. His footsteps hammered the floor, yet he wasn't closing the distance.
"Faster," he growled to himself.
With a surge of focus, Noah unleashed the new magic he'd been training with. Energy coursed through his body, making him lighter, quicker. Every stride carried him meters ahead, like leaping across invisible steps in the air.
Harry and Ron were left behind, and Noah felt a surge of hope.
But then—he heard it. Screams. Smashes. The thunder of destruction.
Screams again. And then—only one voice.
Violet or Hermione. One of them was gone silent.
And then came the worst sound of all.
Silence.
Noah rounded the corner, his eyes going wide.
A hulking troll stood before him, uglier than the word itself could hold, clutching two massive clubs that could crush a man in a single swing.
The troll's out here? Then…
A crash from the bathroom made his blood run cold.
There was another troll inside.
For a heartbeat, his body locked up, needles of fear stabbing his skin. Then his pulse thundered, adrenaline flooding every nerve.
No time to hesitate.
Noah charged the first troll, wand in hand, his mind racing through strategies, his pupils locked on every twitch of the monster's movement.
The troll swung down with brutal force.
BOOM!
The floor shook. The sound echoed across the castle. Anyone who hadn't known where the troll was, knew now.
The beast lifted its club, expecting to find a broken boy beneath. But there was nothing there.
Confused, it looked around, failing to spot him.
Harry and Ron, a few meters back, froze in horror. They'd seen Noah sprint straight at the troll.
But unlike the troll, they knew where he was—sliding beneath its massive legs, sprinting toward the bathroom, wand flicking even as his back turned.
Ropes erupted from thin air. One looped around the troll's neck, yanking tight. Another coiled its right arm, pulling it behind its back. A third lashed its legs, tripping the monster with a thunderous crash.
More ropes surged from the ground, winding around the beast, pinning it to the floor. Every thrash only made them constrict tighter, the sound of its flesh creaking under pressure.
Within moments, the troll was a wrapped mummy of muscle and fury, writhing helplessly. Its pained groans were almost like sobs.
Harry and Ron swallowed hard, pale, but the crashing from the bathroom jolted them back to action. Noah was already at the door.
He stepped inside—and froze.
Blood pooled across the tiles, mixing with water spilling from shattered sinks.
In the corner, Hermione clutched Violet in trembling arms, desperately pressing her hands against her friend as if sheer will could keep her alive.
Hermione looked unharmed—so the blood wasn't hers. It was Violet's.
One glance told Noah everything. A jagged wooden shard—half a door splintered into a spear—was buried deep in Violet's lower abdomen. Thick as her arm, nearly half a meter long, it had torn through her body, and the dark, fast-spilling blood screamed fatal wound.
Noah's mind calculated everything in less than a second. Adrenaline drained away, leaving behind a cold, razor focus.
The troll roared, oblivious to the atmosphere, eager to smash its prey.
Hermione could barely move. She tried, but her mind was already collapsing.
Am I going to die? she thought, staring at the descending club.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the end. But the blow never came.
When she opened them, the massive club hung frozen a meter above her, straining but unable to move closer.
"Sorry for the delay. You held out well," a familiar voice said.
Noah.
He didn't even look at the troll. He walked past it as though it didn't exist.
A simple flick of his hand, and the club was ripped from the monster's grasp. Noah clenched his fist, and the wood shattered into four jagged spears. They shot forward like arrows, piercing the troll's limbs and pinning it to the far wall.
The beast bellowed, straining, but every move only deepened its pain.
Noah reached Violet. Hermione still clung to her, trembling, refusing to let go. Only when his hand brushed hers did she loosen her grip.
He didn't pull Violet away. Not yet. Removing the shard would only worsen the bleeding. He placed one hand on her wound, the other pressing against her back.
"This will hurt," he murmured, knowing she couldn't hear.
Behind him, Harry and Ron froze. The blood, the smell—it paralyzed them. Ron gagged and vomited. Harry's face went pale, eyes wide, staring at his sister's limp form. He wanted to help—but what could he do?
Noah's hands glowed with searing golden light. Pressing down, the heat scorched the wound shut. Violet convulsed, pale lips parting in a silent scream. The troll pinned to the wall screamed too—the magic burning its own wounds as well.
The stench of scorched flesh filled the air. Noah didn't flinch. Only when the bleeding stopped did he release her.
His right eye glimmered faintly as he checked her condition. The magic had stabilized. She wasn't safe—but she wasn't dying.
Relief washed through him, like a weight lifted. Now the troll's screams grated on his nerves.
"Shut up," he said flatly.
Instantly, a gag clamped over its mouth. It still writhed, but silent now.
"Is she okay?" Harry asked, tearing his eyes from the troll to his sister. Her breathing was steadier, the blood flow stopped.
"She'll live," Noah replied without looking back.
He turned to Hermione, gently taking her hand as he slid his arm beneath Violet. "I've got her now."
Hermione met his eyes, hesitated, then slowly released her grip.
Noah rose with Violet in his arms. His gaze lingered on Hermione. She was pale, fighting to stay strong, but her swollen ankle betrayed her. The moment she let go, her exhaustion slammed into her. She collapsed forward, but didn't hit the ground—Noah caught her mid-fall with a flick of magic, holding her aloft.
"Stay here. Wait for the professors," he instructed. Then he strode out, Violet cradled in his arms, Hermione floating beside him like a fragile shadow. His steps were almost weightless, each stride carrying him meters ahead.
Harry and Ron could only stand frozen, powerless once again.
"Madam Pomfrey! To the infirmary! Two injured girls—now!"
Noah's voice thundered through the corridors.
Harry's knees buckled. He fell, hands sinking into blood-stained water, tears dripping into the red.
"There was nothing we could do," Ron muttered, as if to comfort him. But the tension in his clenched fists betrayed his rage.
Harry didn't answer. That was exactly the problem.
"Without Noah… Violet would have died ?"