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Thursday, October 31st, 1991 - Night
7:21 PM - Second Floor Corridor
[Extraction successful. Hologram disengaging to conserve power. Battery level: 73%.]
The disguise flickered and faded, leaving Darius looking like himself again. He slowed to a normal pace, checking his robes for obvious damage, trying to calm his breathing.
Behind him, he could hear raised voices—professors arriving, students being questioned, organized chaos as the faculty tried to understand what had happened.
Outside the Destroyed Bathroom
Professor McGonagall stood before the four students, her expression severe enough to freeze fire. Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Neville were lined up against the corridor wall, still covered in soot, spider web residue, and various other evidence of their near-death experiences.
"Now," McGonagall said, her voice dangerously quiet, "would one of you care to explain why you are standing here, covered in debris and having apparently fought both a mountain troll and a nest of acromantulas, when you were explicitly instructed to return to your dormitories?"
The four students exchanged glances. Nobody wanted to be the first to speak.
"Well?" McGonagall prompted. "I'm waiting."
Hermione, predictably, broke first. "It's my fault, Professor. I—I was in the bathroom crying because—" her voice wavered, "—because I was upset about something Ron said earlier, and I didn't hear the warning about the troll."
"And you, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall's gaze shifted. "Why were you not with your house?"
Ron's ears turned red. "I went to warn Hermione, Professor. I felt bad about what I'd said, and I knew she didn't know about the troll, and—"
"And you thought it appropriate to leave the safety of your group to wander the castle alone during a crisis?"
"I couldn't just leave her!" Ron protested. "She could've been killed!"
McGonagall's expression didn't soften, but something flickered in her eyes. She turned to Harry and Neville. "And you two?"
Harry straightened. "Neville was lost, Professor. He'd gotten separated from the group earlier when Trevor ran off again, and I found him on the third floor. We were trying to get back to Gryffindor Tower when the troll found us."
"Trevor?" McGonagall's voice rose slightly.
"My toad, Professor," Neville said miserably. "He got out again during the feast, and I went looking for him, and then everything happened so fast—"
Professor Sprout, who had been tending to minor injuries, looked up from where she'd been applying a salve to Hermione's spider-bite. "Minerva, they're children. Frightened children who made poor decisions but survived because they looked out for each other."
"Survived because a mysterious stranger with advanced magical devices intervened," McGonagall corrected sharply. She looked back at the students. "A stranger who appeared at both crisis points, used what Mr. Potter describes as 'magical devices' against a fully-grown mountain troll, and then proceeded to fight off eight acromantulas with combat magic well beyond N.E.W.T. level."
Professor Flitwick, who had been examining the destroyed bathroom, emerged looking troubled. "The spell work is indeed remarkable. Precise, powerful, but also... controlled. Whoever this person was, they were very careful not to harm the students while eliminating the threats."
"That doesn't excuse the fact that we have an unidentified individual wandering Hogwarts during a crisis," McGonagall said. "An individual who fled when questioned."
"He saved our lives, Professor," Harry said quietly. "Both times. If he hadn't been there—"
"If he hadn't been there, you would have followed instructions and been safely in your common room," McGonagall interrupted. But her voice had lost some of its sharp edge. She sighed, suddenly looking very tired. "However, Professor Sprout is correct. You are children, and you survived a situation that should never have occurred in the first place."
She straightened. "Fifty points from Gryffindor. Twenty-five each from Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, and—"
"But Professor!" Ron started.
"Do not interrupt me, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said coldly. "You directly disobeyed prefect instructions during a crisis situation. You could have been killed. Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom, while your situations were less deliberate, still represent serious lapses in judgment. Ten points each."
Hermione looked like she might cry again. Neville's face had gone pale.
"However," McGonagall continued, and her voice softened fractionally, "I am awarding twenty points to Gryffindor for your concern for your fellow students, your quick thinking under pressure, and your survival instincts. The net result is still a loss, as it should be, but I would be remiss not to acknowledge your better qualities alongside your foolishness."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said quietly.
"Do not thank me yet, Mr. Potter. All four of you will serve detention with Mr. Filch next week. Now—" she gestured down the corridor, "—I expect you to return to Gryffindor Tower immediately. Percy!"
Percy Weasley appeared from around the corner, looking harried and worried. "Professor McGonagall?"
"Please escort these four back to Gryffindor Tower. See that they actually arrive this time."
"Yes, Professor." Percy's expression darkened as he took in the state of his brother and the others. "Come on, you lot. Now."
7:35 PM - Gryffindor Common Room
Percy's tirade lasted the entire walk back to Gryffindor Tower.
"—completely irresponsible! Do you have any idea how worried we all were? When I did a head count and realized Harry and Ron were missing—"
"We're sorry, Percy," Harry tried.
"Sorry? SORRY? You could have been killed! Neville, you at least have the excuse of being lost, but Harry, Ron—"
"I said I was sorry!" Ron snapped. "What more do you want?"
"I want you to use your brains for once!" Percy's face was nearly as red as his hair. "Fifty points! We were in the lead for the House Cup! Now we're—"
"We're alive," Hermione said quietly. "Isn't that worth more than points?"
Percy stopped mid-rant, some of the anger draining from his expression. "Yes," he said finally. "Yes, it is. But that doesn't mean what you did was acceptable."
They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Oh my!" she exclaimed, taking in their disheveled state. "What happened to you lot?"
"Long story," Percy muttered. "Caput Draconis."
The portrait swung open, and they climbed through into the warmth and light of the Gryffindor common room.
The moment they entered, conversation stopped. Every student in the common room turned to stare at them.
"They're back!" someone shouted.
"What happened?"
"Are you okay?"
"Is the troll really dead?"
"Percy, can you—" someone started.
"Everyone back to your dormitories!" Percy commanded. "It's late, and the crisis is over. First and second years, bed immediately!"
There were groans and protests, but Percy's prefect authority, combined with the obvious exhaustion of the returning students, won out. Slowly, reluctantly, the younger students began filing toward the dormitories.
But the older students remained, clustering around Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville with concerned expressions and urgent questions.
"Give them some space," a sixth-year girl said. "Can't you see they're exhausted?"
Fred and George Weasley pushed through the crowd. "Ron! Are you alright?"
"Fine," Ron said, though he didn't look fine. "Just tired."
"We heard you fought a troll," Fred said, eyes gleaming with interest.
"And giant spiders," George added.
"How did you even—"
"Later," Percy interrupted firmly. "They've had a traumatic evening. They need rest."
"Actually," Hermione said slowly, "I don't think I can sleep yet. Too much adrenaline."
"Same," Harry admitted.
"Me too," Neville said quietly.
Ron nodded agreement.
Percy sighed. "Fine. But sit down before you fall down. I'll get you some hot chocolate from the kitchens."
As Percy disappeared through the portrait hole, the four students claimed a corner of the common room, settling into the comfortable chairs near the fireplace. The remaining older students had the sense to give them privacy, though more than a few curious glances were directed their way.
"I still can't believe it," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around herself. "Giant spiders. In the castle. How did they even—"
"The troll was worse," Neville said, surprising everyone by speaking up. "It was so big, and its eyes were so small, and it just kept coming—"
"But then that stranger appeared," Harry said, leaning forward. "Did anyone else notice how he moved? It was like he knew exactly what to do. Professional."
"The magical devices were brilliant," Ron added. "That light that blinded the troll? I've never seen anything like it."
"Combat magic like that doesn't come from a textbook," Hermione said thoughtfully. "The precision, the control—Professor Flitwick was right. That was N.E.W.T. level work at minimum. Maybe higher."
"So who was he?" Neville asked. "He looked too young to be a professor."
"Fifteen, maybe sixteen?" Harry guessed. "But the way he handled himself—"
"—was like someone who'd done it before," Ron finished. "Multiple times."
They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts about their mysterious rescuer.
"He saved all our lives," Hermione said softly. "Both groups. If he hadn't been there when the spiders had us—" She shuddered.
"We'd be dead," Ron said bluntly. "No question."
Another silence.
"There's something else," Harry said slowly. "Something I noticed earlier, before all this happened."
The others looked at him.
"I saw Professor Snape during the feast. His hand was bleeding."
Hermione frowned. "What? When?"
"When he got up to follow the other professors to the dungeons. His hand was wrapped in a bandage, but I could see blood soaking through."
"So?" Ron said. "Maybe he cut it on something."
"Or maybe," Harry said, his voice dropping, "he got it trying to get past that three-headed dog on the third floor."
Neville's eyes widened. "You think Snape—"
"Think about it," Harry continued, warming to his theory. "We know something's being guarded up there. Snape's been acting suspicious all year. He hates me. And now he's injured? Right after Halloween, when there's a troll attack that conveniently pulls all the professors away from the third floor?"
"Wait," Ron said, sitting up straighter. "Are you saying Snape let the troll in? As a distraction?"
"Maybe he orchestrated all of it," Harry said. "The troll, the spiders—what if it was all meant to keep the professors busy while he tried to steal whatever's being guarded?"
"That's a serious accusation, Harry," Hermione said, but she looked troubled. "Professor Snape is a teacher. A member of the staff. Dumbledore trusts him."
"Dumbledore trusts everyone," Ron muttered. "Even that tosser Quirrell, and he's obviously useless."
"No," Neville said firmly, surprising them all with his certainty. "Not Professor Snape."
They turned to look at him.
"I mean," Neville continued, "he's mean, and he's unfair, and he's terrifying, but—but he's not evil. My gran knows him. She says he fought against You-Know-Who during the war. She says he's brave."
"That doesn't mean he's not trying to steal something now," Harry argued. "People change."
"Not like that," Neville insisted. "Not from fighting dark wizards to becoming one."
"I have to agree with Neville," Hermione said slowly. "I know Professor Snape doesn't like you, Harry, and he's definitely biased against Gryffindor, but I can't believe he'd endanger students like this. The troll could have killed someone. The spiders nearly killed Ron and me. A teacher wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't what?" Ron challenged. "Risk students for personal gain? Maybe he didn't think it would go this far."
"Or maybe," Hermione said firmly, "his hand got injured doing something completely ordinary, and we're jumping to conclusions based on Harry's personal feelings about him."
"My personal—" Harry started, indignant.
"You do hate him," Ron pointed out. "To be fair, he does hate you first, but—"
"But that doesn't make him a dark wizard," Hermione finished. "We need evidence, not suspicions."
"The bleeding hand is evidence," Harry said stubbornly.
"It's circumstantial at best," Hermione countered. "And even if he was trying to get past the dog—which we don't know—that doesn't mean he let the troll in. The two things might not be connected at all."
"Or they might be," Harry said. "I'm telling you, something's not right about Snape."
Percy returned with four mugs of hot chocolate on a tray. "Here. Drink these, then straight to bed. All of you."
"Yes, Percy," they chorused, though none of them moved immediately.
As Percy retreated to give them space, they sat in silence, sipping their chocolate, each lost in their own thoughts.
"I still want to know who that stranger was," Neville said finally. "He saved our lives, and we don't even know his name."
"Maybe he's a curse breaker," Ron suggested. "Or an auror trainee doing some kind of work at Hogwarts?"
"Or a seventh year who's really advanced," Hermione offered, though she sounded doubtful. "Though I can't think of anyone who fits that description."
"Whoever he is," Harry said quietly, "I'm grateful. We all should be."
They nodded in agreement.
"We should tell Dumbledore about Snape's hand," Harry added. "And about our suspicions."
"We should tell Dumbledore about the stranger," Hermione corrected. "About someone unknown wandering the castle with advanced combat capabilities. That's more immediately concerning than Professor Snape cutting his hand."
"Why not both?" Ron suggested.
"Because," Hermione said patiently, "one is a verifiable fact—an unknown person saved us—and the other is speculation based on an injury that could have a dozen innocent explanations."
Harry looked like he wanted to argue, but a jaw-cracking yawn interrupted him.
"Bed," Percy called from across the room. "Now. Before I make it an order."
"He's right," Hermione said, standing. "We're all exhausted. We can think more clearly in the morning."
Reluctantly, the others stood as well.
"Happy Halloween," Ron said dryly.
Despite everything, they smiled.
7:42 PM - Castle Corridors
Darius moved quickly through the empty corridors, his mind already three steps ahead. While Gryffindor Tower buzzed with speculation about mysterious strangers and dark professors, he had more immediate concerns.
[PRIORITY ALERT: CAM-QUIRRELL-QUARTERS shows unexpected activity.]
What? I thought he was unconscious in the Great Hall—
[Correction: Subject Quirrell no longer in Great Hall. Hospital wing records indicate he was transported there by Madam Pomfrey at 7:03 PM. Current camera feed shows subject regaining consciousness and departing hospital wing. Current time: 7:42 PM.]
Wait. He's been "unconscious" this whole time? But he just woke up and left?
[Affirmative. Subject's departure trajectory suggests... analysis complete. Subject Quirrell heading toward castle exit. Direction: Forbidden Forest.]
The forest. The unicorn hunt. He's going now, while everyone's distracted by the chaos he created.
[Probability assessment: 94%. Subject utilizing troll and spider attacks as distraction cover for forest incursion. Optimal timing—all professors occupied with crisis management, castle security compromised, attention divided.]
Son of a—he planned this. The whole thing. Creating chaos so he could slip away.
[Assessment: Correct. Partner should note: Subject Quirrell's strategic planning exceeds initial estimates. Willingness to risk student casualties for tactical advantage indicates high-level threat mentality.]
Darius's hands clenched into fists. His mind raced through options, probabilities, consequences.
He could go back to Ravenclaw Tower. Maintain his cover. Let Quirrell hunt his unicorn. Preserve the timeline.
Or—
[Partner's elevated stress indicators suggest decision conflict. Query: Does Partner intend to intervene in forest operation?]
The unicorns. Innocent magical creatures. About to be murdered so Voldemort can sustain his half-life existence.
[Accurate summary. However, Partner should note: Forest intervention significantly more dangerous than castle operations. No backup available. No professor oversight. Subject Quirrell will be prepared for potential interference given failed previous attempt.]
I know the risks.
[And yet Partner is already calculating pursuit trajectory.]
Darius checked his supplies. Both devices used during the troll battle, but he'd made spares—two more flashbangs, one more confusion grenade. Wand secure. Magical reserves at 89%. Physical condition: exhausted but functional. Holographic disguise available but battery intensive.
The smart choice was to return to the tower. Be safe. Be smart. Let the adults handle it.
But when had he ever made the smart choice?
[Partner has decided on intervention course. Recommend immediate action—Subject Quirrell's lead time increasing. Optimal interception point: Forest perimeter near Hagrid's hut, before subject reaches deep woods where tracking becomes difficult.]
How much time do I have?
[Subject departed hospital wing 20 minutes ago during initial crisis confusion. Current estimated position: Approaching forest tree line. Partner's current position to interception point: 6 minutes if moving at enhanced speed.]
Then I need to move. Now.
[Affirmative. Partner should note: This operation significantly exceeds previous risk parameters. Forest terrain unfamiliar. Subject Quirrell at full capability. Voldemort's consciousness actively involved. Centaur patrol patterns unpredictable. Unicorn location unknown. Variables exceed safe operational thresholds.]
Noted. Going anyway.
[Anticipated response. Holographic disguise recommended for forest operation—subject Quirrell must not identify Partner as second-year student. Battery consumption acceptable given tactical necessity.]
Agreed. And Nano?
[Query?]
Thanks for the hologram. Even if you should have mentioned it earlier.
[You are welcome, Partner. Though Partner should note: Numerous capabilities remain undisclosed pending appropriate circumstance revelation. Complete capability manifest would require extensive briefing.]
...we're definitely having that conversation later.
[Anticipated response. Recommend Partner commence movement toward forest perimeter. Time constraint critical.]
Darius moved.
Through corridors still echoing with distant chaos. Past professors rushing toward the crisis points. Down staircases and through passages he'd memorized during his midnight surveillance preparations.
Out a side door near the greenhouses that students weren't supposed to know about but he'd discovered during his forest reconnaissance days ago.
Into the cool night air.
The castle behind him blazed with light and activity. Ahead, the Forbidden Forest loomed—a wall of darkness against the star-filled sky.
And somewhere between here and there, moving with purpose and malicious intent, Professor Quirrell headed toward his prey.
[Subject detected: 150 meters ahead, approaching forest tree line. Holographic disguise activating. Partner advised: Maintain maximum distance, observe until clear intervention opportunity presents itself. Subject Quirrell extremely dangerous in forest environment.]
Understood. Let's go hunting.
[Correction: Partner is not hunting. Partner is preventing hunting. Important distinction.]
Right.
[Though outcome may involve combat regardless of semantic accuracy.]
Probably.
[Definitely.]
Darius allowed himself a grim smile, then followed his target into the darkness.
The forest noted them both—hunter and guardian, professor and student, monster and the boy who refused to look away.
Halloween night was far from over.