The library was quiet, filled only with the faint scratch of quills and the rustle of parchment, broken now and then by a cough or the shuffle of feet. Cain sat near the entrance, his wand resting beside him, parchment spread out before him.
Oliver was hunched over his Potions notes, frustration etched across his face.
"Snape's assignment makes no sense," he muttered. "He wants us to explain the stabilizing properties of the Wiggenweld Potion, but the textbook barely mentions them."
Cain leaned closer, deciphering Oliver's messy handwriting.
"It's about balance," he said. "The potion restores stamina, so the ingredients have to counteract fatigue without overwhelming the body. Take dittany—it heals, but it also strengthens the body. That's why it's included."
Oliver blinked, then scribbled furiously.
"Right… balance. That actually makes sense." He glanced up, relief clear in his eyes. "Thanks. This might save me from another detention."
Across the table, Sue and Morag were working on their Transfiguration assignment. Sue's handwriting was neat and clearly understandable unlike Oliver's, while Morag's parchment was covered in diagrams of beetles and buttons.
"I still don't understand why intent matters so much," Morag muttered, tapping her quill against the desk. "If you cast the spell correctly, shouldn't it just work?"
Sue shook her head.
"Professor McGonagall said it's about visualization. You have to picture the button clearly, or the beetle won't change properly."
Cain spoke without looking up.
"She's right. I tried it earlier my button turned half-finished for a second before changing back because I wasn't focused enough. When I simplified the image no patterns, no extra details it worked immediately."
Morag sighed.
"Fine. I'll try again tomorrow. I'm too exhausted for this today."
At the far end of the table, Roger worked on his Levitation Charm essay. His parchment was covered in notes, half of them crossed out.
"Uses of the Levitation Charm…" he muttered. "Transportation, cleaning, dueling… what else?"
"Construction," Sue said promptly. "Moving heavy objects. And placing fragile items carefully without breaking them."
Roger's eyes lit up.
"That's brilliant. Thanks, Sue." He began scribbling again, his quill scratching furiously.
The library's hush wrapped around them, broken only by their low voices.
As the candles burned lower, Sue stretched and set down her quill.
"We should probably stop talking before Madam Pince throws us out."
Oliver nodded.
"At least I won't fail Potions now."
Roger grinned.
"I've got enough uses for Levitation to fill two parchments. Oliver and I have History of Magic next, so we should head out."
Oliver groaned.
"Maybe Professor McGonagall will finally stop glaring at me."
Cain smiled faintly.
"At least she glares at you for being wrong. She looks at me and says, 'Your mastery of spellcasting won't help if your mind still works like a blockhead, Mr. Riven.'"
He gathered his things and stood.
"Anyway, I should get going too. McGonagall's class starts in ten minutes."
---
The Transfiguration classroom was quiet, filled only with the occasional scribble of quills and whispered incantations. Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the room, her sharp gaze sweeping across the class from time to time.
Cain raised his hand.
"Professor, may I ask something?"
McGonagall turned her gaze toward him.
"Go on, Mr. Riven."
Cain straightened and asked, "What would happen if we tried to transfigure a… large living creature into something inanimate—say, a chair? Would the creature still be alive inside the object?"
The classroom fell silent.
McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but in careful consideration.
"That is a dangerous question, Mr. Riven. Transfiguration alters the outer form of an object, but the essence of life resists such changes. Attempting to force a living being into a lifeless object would not succeed with standard magical spells. That is precisely why such transformations are strictly forbidden."
Cain nodded in understanding.
"So it's about limits. A spell can change the form of small living things, but the fundamental nature of a living being—especially one larger than oneself—makes it impossible."
McGonagall inclined her head.
"Precisely. Although in ancient times, witches and wizards did manage to transfigure others into inanimate objects. Those were darker times, and the results were often catastrophic."
Cain hesitated, then asked, "What about permanence, Professor? If I transfigure a beetle into a button and keep it that way for a long time, does the spell eventually fade? Or can Transfiguration be made permanent?"
"Most Transfigurations are temporary," McGonagall replied. "They revert when the caster's magic weakens or their focus breaks. Permanent Transfiguration requires mastery far beyond your years. You may have seen wizards attempt Transfiguration during duels, but such spells are usually unstable or short-lived. A true master can reverse such changes—or resist them entirely."
She fixed Cain with a sharp look.
"Enough questions. Back to your work, Mr. Riven. Your curiosity, while commendable, is distracting the class. If you have further questions, you may seek me out after the lesson."
Cain nodded respectfully and lowered his gaze back to the beetle in front of him, its tiny legs twitching faintly beneath his wand.
.
.
.
The Great Hall glowed beneath hundreds of floating pumpkins, their carved faces flickering with candlelight. Platters of roast chicken, pies, and sweets crowded the long tables, filling the air with rich, comforting scents.
"You should've seen it," Draco said, clearly relishing the retelling. "Granger ran out of Charms crying. Weasley said something don't know what but it was enough to send her off. It was really hilarious."
Draco took obvious pleasure in other people's misery.
Further down the table, Pansy was scolding Crabbe and Goyle.
"You didn't finish Snape's assignment? Honestly, do you want him to skin you alive?" she snapped. "How hard is it for you to copy off someone?"
Crabbe muttered an apology while Goyle stuffed another tart into his mouth. Pansy rolled her eyes. She'd told them twice already, it wasn't her fault they never listened.
Cain, meanwhile, was focused entirely on the cake in front of him, enjoying every bite of the soft, chocolatey delight.
When suddenly.
The doors to the Great Hall burst open.
Professor Quirrell stumbled inside, his face deathly pale with terror. He clutched the doorframe, gasping for breath.
"T-T-Troll!" he cried. "In the dungeon!"
His voice cracked, echoing across the hall.
"Thought you ought to know—"
And with that, he collapsed onto the stone floor.
The Great hall erupted into chaos the moment Quirrell collapsed on the floor. Children started screaming, shouting, rushing towards the exit blindly.
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore shouted as his voice thundered across the hall. "Prefects, lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately. Professors—with me."
The prefects steadied themselves and started barking orders, gathering their groups. The older students tried to sound calm, but their voices carried urgence and hinted at them too being scared. First-Years hurdled together, some pale, some ready to cry, some almost fainting. They were children after all and the thought of a troll roaming the castle was terrifying.
Cane following the rest of Slytherins and blended into the crowd as they headed towards the doors.
As the crowd made its way towards the dorm, Cain let himself drift away from it. The prefect's attention was fixed on keeping the group together and reaching the dorm as soon as possible. In between the panic Cain slipped away, vanishing from the corridor.
The noise of the Great Hall faded behind him as he made his way through the Castle silently.
As far as he remembered the troll attacked Hermione when she was in the lavatory before she got saved by Harry and Ron, how they beat him he didn't remember.
The Castle was silent except for the faint drip of water echoing through the corridors. As Cain turned a corner, he froze.
A troll lumbered down the hallway, its massive club dragging against the floor. Its foul stench filled the air. He glanced around quickly. Against the wall stood an old armor stand, its weapons still shining due to magic. His gaze fixed on a mace, iron head glinting faintly in the torchlight.
"This will do," Cain muttered.
He gripped the weapon, testing the weight in his hand. Nodding once to himself, he broke into a run. The troll turned sluggishly, confused by the sudden sound. Cain leapt, descending from above with momentum.
The mace struck the troll's skull with brutal force. Tearing though its Skull, shattering it, the creature collapsing instantly, its roar cut short. The body hit the stone floor with a crash, the club falling uselessly beside it.
Cain pulled the mace free as he stood over the mushed remains of the troll's head.
From the corner of his vision, he saw two figures huddled against the wall. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, both wide-eyed, staring at him in shock.
Cain's gaze flicked toward them, but before they could speak, he vanished from the spot.
"Wait!" Harry's voice rang out, but the corridor was already empty.
Cain moved quickly through the castle. The noise of prefects gathering students reached his ears. He slipped back into the crowd of Slytherins just as they were being lead into the dormitory.
No one noticed his absence. To them, Cain had been there all along.
He sat quietly among the others, the green glow of the common room washing over his face as he thought what will Potter and Weasley do now that they had seen him.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, frustrated. Why did I do that? It wasn't like him to give in to impulse. He had always been cautious. Yet tonight, he had leapt without thought.
Cain sighed, his gaze drifting to the green glow of the Black Lake outside the window. He thought back to his journey before this world—the endless fighting, the killing, the ceaseless march toward a goal that had consumed him. He had been so close, so near to the end, when suddenly he was here, thrust into another world entirely.
The nightmare had unsettled him, stirring his frustrations. The storm, the shadow, the voice it had left him uneasy, restless. And when the troll appeared, it was as if all that tension demanded release. He had run forward, not to save anyone, but to let go of the weight pressing against him.
Cain exhaled sharply. If Potter and Weasley hadn't seen me… He pictured the troll's body crushed beyond recognition, without witnesses, the troll would have been nothing but mush.