The final days of October brought with them a strange undercurrent of excitement at Hogwarts. On the surface, everything seemed normal, but in truth, every young witch and wizard was brimming with barely contained anticipation.

During History of Magic, the first years had taken to bombarding Professor Binns with questions about ghosts and ghouls. This utterly derailed whatever lesson plan he might have had, though no one was sure he ever actually followed one to begin with.

The ghostly professor, usually so detached, finally lost his temper and barked at Seamus Finnigan, who had his hand stretched high in the air.

"Enough with the foolish ghost stories! I won't answer another question about them! Put your hand down, Sean Pannick! Five points from Hufflepuff!"

Seamus blinked in confusion. "But, sir, I'm not Sean Pannick, and I'm not even in Huffle--"

Before he could finish, Harry and Ron dove in, clamping a hand over his mouth and dragging him back into his seat.

Apart from History of Magic and Potions, where nobody dared risk Snape's wrath, most professors welcomed the seasonal mood. Even the stern Professor McGonagall conjured up a small crowd of dancing skeletons from her desk, much to the delight of her class. Professor Flitwick, beaming with glee, shared a wild tale from his youth about spending one Halloween with a vampire and a werewolf in a haunted tavern somewhere in Eastern Europe.

As the days ticked down to the end of the month, Hogwarts was swept into a festive atmosphere. The castle buzzed with excitement, despite the worsening weather outside. Snow had begun to dust the surrounding mountains, the sky stayed gray all day long, and each morning the frost clung thicker to the ground.

Hagrid could be seen trudging through the grounds in his enormous mole-skin coat, bundled in rabbit-fur gloves and hat, waving a battered broom as he scraped frost from the stone walkways like some oversized, fuzzy creature plodding through a winter dream.

October 31st was no exception.

Vaughn, arms full of books, passed by the courtyard and gave Hagrid a cheerful wave before heading into the Great Hall. There, he found the usual braziers and torches replaced with dozens of floating jack-o'-lanterns. Ribbons hung down from the enchanted ceiling like banners in the wind, and students clustered in groups, excitedly discussing the decorations and speculating on this year's Halloween events.

Fred and George boasted that last year, Dumbledore had brought in a ghost band that played such slow, haunting music that half the Great Hall had dozed off before dessert.

Percy, always eager to flaunt his prefect status, informed anyone who would listen that he hadn't been notified of any events this year.

"So, clearly, there's nothing planned," he sniffed.

Speaking of Percy, he had gone suspiciously quiet ever since Vaughn was sorted into Slytherin. For weeks, the older brother seemed to avoid his younger sibling entirely. That changed only when Percy realized his younger brother had somehow become popular across multiple houses.

"My dear brother," he said, in a syrupy tone, "I've just been so busy lately. Slytherin's been treating you well, I hope?"

Vaughn gave him a long, expressionless stare.

Later, Harry was whispering to the usual group of friends. "There won't be any big event. Dumbledore's hiding a secret. No way he'll let outsiders into the school."

Hermione looked at him with mild surprise. "I thought you'd be disappointed it wasn't going to be a big party."

Harry slouched in his seat. "My life is noisy enough as it is."

As the Quidditch season loomed closer, Oliver Wood had grown increasingly unhinged. If not for the team threatening mutiny, he would've tried to schedule training even on Halloween.

Not that Harry was getting off that easy.

"Ron, come with me to practice this afternoon, yeah? Just... be there for moral support," he added hopefully.

But when he turned to look, Ron didn't respond. The boy sat stiffly, staring into the distance with wide, glassy eyes. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He looked like someone staring death in the face.

"Ron? What's wrong?"

Ron clutched Harry's hand with trembling fingers. "Harry, take care of yourself, will you? Make lots of money someday. If you eat something tasty, drink something nice, see something cool... remember me."

Before Harry could respond, a wordless jinx flew silently from across the table. Ron's mouth snapped shut mid-monologue.

Harry turned just in time to see Vaughn calmly sipping stew with one hand and slipping his wand away with the other, as if nothing had happened.

No one else batted an eye. The Hall hummed with conversation, laughter, and clinking cutlery.

Ron getting hexed by his brother? Frankly, it wasn't even newsworthy.

Harry sighed and turned back to his plate, pretending not to notice Ron flailing beside him like a silent, furious mime.

By evening, Harry was completely wiped out. Quidditch practice had left his hair windblown and wild like a makeshift mohawk. He trudged into the Great Hall, half-dead on his feet, only to stop in his tracks.

The hall had transformed.

The jack-o'-lanterns were enchanted now, flickering with multicolored lights. Hundreds of bats swooped and circled beneath the enchanted ceiling, which reflected a starry night sky with a pale, glowing moon. Ribbons glittered like silk as they twisted through the air, and the long tables groaned under the weight of steaming pies, roasted meats, sweets, and spiced cider.

Harry made his way to his usual spot and looked around.

"Hermione, have you seen Ron?"

She pointed toward the far end of the hall, her nose wrinkling slightly. "He was here a minute ago, stuffing his face with roast pork. Then Vaughn came by and dragged him off."

Harry didn't ask further. Ron had been muttering all week about regretting some sort of deal with "a devil" and feeling doomed. Vaughn, apparently, was the devil.

They were probably off "bonding" again.

Hunger won out over curiosity. Harry sat down and tucked in, reaching for a steaming potato when the heavy oak doors burst open.

Professor Quirrell stumbled into the hall, his face pale as parchment and contorted with terror. He staggered between the long tables, gasping for breath, and finally collapsed at the staff table in front of Dumbledore.

"A troll! A troll! In the dungeons - thought you should know--"

With that, he dropped like a sack of bricks.

The hall fell into stunned silence. Nobody noticed the strange glint in Dumbledore's eyes as he stared at the unconscious professor. Students began to panic. Upper years who understood the danger turned visibly pale. First years screamed. Chaos exploded like a popped cauldron.

Some took the opportunity to stir up even more mayhem, just for fun.

Dumbledore quickly rose, his voice magically amplified over the din.

"Silence! Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid our Halloween feast must be cut short. Prefects, lead your students back to their dormitories. Professors, follow me to the dungeons."

As he swept out, the Heads of House sprang into action, leaving the prefects to herd their confused classmates back to safety.

Harry and Hermione fell in behind Percy, listening to the nervous chatter of other students as they climbed the stairs. Some were frightened. Others were oddly excited. One boy from a wizarding family whispered something about trolls eating first years whole.

Then Harry froze. He spun around and grabbed Hermione's sleeve.

"Ron and Vaughn!"

Hermione's face went pale. "They don't know about the troll... I'll tell Percy--"

Harry stopped her. "Percy will just try to find a professor. But they're all in the dungeons. Ron and Vaughn can't have gone far. Let's check upstairs first."