The Halloween Feast

The Great Hall had been decorated more lavishly.

Jack-o'-lanterns hovered in midair, while countless black fabric bats fluttered about.

Swarms of these fabric bats would dive into the jack-o'-lanterns, fly to the window frames, and then return, repeating the cycle.

Unlike the Start-of-Term Feast, the Halloween Feast was far more relaxed, with fewer tedious rules.

Dumbledore did not deliver a feast speech either; instead, he raised his goblet and chatted merrily with the other professors.

The students only needed to sit on the benches to begin enjoying the meticulously prepared delicacies.

Halfway through the feast, Ron and Harry finally made a belated appearance.

Both were drenched in sweat, their faces filled with gloom.

Seeing his younger brother sit down beside him, Percy asked curiously, “Ron, why are you so late?”

“Fred and his lot haven't arrived either... You haven't been up to no good, have you? Whatever you do, don't copy Fred and George!”

“We haven't, we were just looking for someone...” Ron’s expression was highly unnatural, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Neville was stuffing lamb chops into his mouth, mumbling indistinctly, “Harry, did you find Hermione?”

“Hermione is missing?” Percy frowned slightly. “What on earth happened?”

Ron and Harry exchanged glances, and in the end, it was Neville beside them who clarified the situation.

“In other words... you've searched the castle for ages and still haven't found her?” Percy’s brow furrowed deeper. “Did you try... the girls' bathroom?”

“Eh?” Harry and Ron were taken aback. “Hermione is in the girls' bathroom?”

“I heard it from one of your classmates—Miss Patil,” Percy said. “She said Hermione has been in the girls' bathroom crying all afternoon, and they couldn't comfort her no matter what they tried.”

“Which girls' bathroom?” Ron pressed. “On which floor?”

“At the far end of the marble staircase, there is a secluded corridor,” Percy recalled. “I caught Fred and George there just two days ago!”

As a Gryffindor prefect, he knew of many such secluded passages, largely thanks to his “troublesome” younger brothers, Fred and George.

“Then let's head over there!” Ron and Harry exchanged glances. “Wizette was right... we should have a proper talk with her.”

Bang!

Just then, the heavy doors of the Great Hall were slammed open.

Quirrell came sprinting in, panting heavily. He was in a dreadful state, his face entirely devoid of color, his clothes soaked through with sweat.

“Troll! Troll!” he shrieked in terror, running frantically straight toward Dumbledore. “Troll in the dungeons... you should know...”

Before he could finish his sentence, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the floor.

A Troll could stand up to twelve feet tall, possessed decent magic resistance, was highly temperamental, and often launched unprovoked attacks.

This magical creature possessed immense strength but extremely low intelligence, making it notorious in the wizarding world.

Even in academic grading, “Troll” was used as the lowest mark, meaning “your performance is so poor it equates to a Troll's intelligence.”

Because of this, every student at Hogwarts knew of Trolls and understood how dangerous they were. The Great Hall instantly erupted into chaos.

They jostled one another, screaming and running in all directions to escape.

“Silence!”

A firework exploded in the air above the Great Hall, its dazzling light and deafening bang instantly silencing the students.

“Do not panic! There is still time,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed in the ears of every student like a tolling bell.

He continued to instruct, “Prefects, lead the students of your respective houses back to their common rooms.”

“Go and take a look! Do not reveal yourself too quickly,” Dumbledore walked over to Snape and whispered.

“Yes! *Disillusionment*!” Snape drew his wand and tapped his arm, his figure gradually turning transparent.

Hearing Dumbledore’s instructions, the prefects sprang into action.

Percy shouted to the panicked Gryffindor students, “Everyone follow me! Back to the common room immediately! Hurry!”

With time being of the essence, he quickly led the students back to the eighth floor.

Upon counting heads, he suddenly realized something was amiss. “Neville, where are Ron and Harry? Where did they go?”

Neville shook his head in a panic, while Seamus beside him spoke up, “They seemed to head toward the back just now, mumbling about warning someone of the danger...”

Percy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Those two! They must have gone to find Hermione! I must inform Professor McGonagall!”

On his way, he ran into the Ravenclaw prefect. “Penelope? Are you looking for someone too?”

Penelope nodded hurriedly. “Yes, Wizette has vanished... He didn't show up at the Halloween Feast at all!”

...

Rewinding the time by a dozen minutes.

At this moment, the Great Hall was completely deserted. Quirrell groaned on the floor and struggled to climb to his feet.

“*Disillusionment*!”

With the aid of the Disillusionment Charm, Quirrell’s transparent form immediately slipped out of the Great Hall, hurrying up the marble staircase toward the fourth-floor corridor.

From above came the voices of prefects directing students. Quirrell let out a soft sigh of relief, gripping his wand tightly.

A sliver of hope even arose in his mind: if he could smoothly pass this hurdle, perhaps he could fulfill Voldemort’s command tonight.

In that way, he could leave Hogwarts far behind, and his days of constant anxiety would finally end...

Quirrell forced himself to think this way, doing his best to comfort himself.

“A pity... I won't have the chance to teach Wizette what I have learned...”

He muttered, then sprinted toward the large door at the end of the corridor.

Whoosh!

A sharp whistling sound tore through the air as a brilliant silver light shot toward him.

“*Protego*!” Quirrell materialized, his wand hand twitching rapidly as a transparent shield materialized beside him.

He quickly counterattacked, pointing his wand in the direction of the silver light. “*Bombarda*!”

A blinding orange-red flame erupted from his wand tip, flying straight toward the other end of the corridor.

Snape also materialized, lightly flicking his wand to dissolve the Blasting Curse into nothingness.

His voice was icy as he said slowly, “Quirinus Quirrell, as a professor, why are you here instead of searching for the Troll?”

As Snape stepped closer, Quirrell feigned terror, backing away while stammering out an explanation: “I... I was just worried someone might come here!”

“Headmaster Dumbledore told me that... someone has ill intentions toward the school's treasure. I felt the Troll's... escape was highly suspicious, so I came to check!”

“A perfect explanation, what a fine professor indeed.” Snape stood before the large door. “I am right here. You may leave.”

“Why are you... standing there?” Quirrell, drenched in sweat, gritted his teeth and asked suspiciously. “Could you be the one... with the ill intentions?”

“An interesting theory.” Snape’s voice grew even colder. “Perhaps I should fetch Dumbledore so you can tell him that yourself.”

“Very well! Then I shall go find... find Headmaster Dumbledore!” Quirrell took a step back, and in that split second, flicked his wand.

“*Avis*!”