Time passed quickly.
On Halloween, the Great Hall of Hogwarts was filled with floating bats.
Jack-o'-lanterns glowed warmly above the long tables, casting flickering orange light across the enchanted ceiling.
Then Professor Quirrell stumbled in, pale and shaking.
"Troll—in the dungeons!" he shrieked before collapsing onto the floor.
Panic exploded like wildfire.
Students screamed. Benches scraped. Prefects shouted for order.
Amid the chaos, Lucian sat calmly at the Ravenclaw table, a silver knife still resting between his fingers.
"A crude script," he murmured.
The golden threads in his perception had already revealed where events would flow.
When the troll began lumbering toward the girls' bathroom, Lucian rose to his feet. Ignoring the prefects attempting to herd students, he blended into the crowd and cast a subtle Confundus Charm.
Moving against the tide of fleeing bodies, he slipped through a side corridor and disappeared into shadow.
....
Third-floor girls' bathroom.
Hermione Granger crouched beneath the sinks, tears long dried, leaving only raw fear behind.
The troll stood at the entrance.
Its stench arrived first—rotting flesh and damp stone—followed by its massive, gray-skinned form and the enormous wooden club dragging along the tiles. Its tiny eyes scanned the cramped space with dull confusion.
It saw her.
The troll roared and raised its club.
Ceramic shattered as it smashed the sinks. Hermione screamed and scrambled backward. Shards sliced her cheek.
Every spell she had memorized vanished from her mind.
The club rose again.
Death loomed.
Then a calm, detached voice spoke from the doorway.
The tone did not belong in a scene like this. Hermione looked up through blurred vision.
Lucian Ashford stood in the doorway, wand in hand.
The troll sensed the threat and turned, sweeping its massive club horizontally at Lucian's waist.
The strike could have crushed stone.
"Look out!" Hermione cried hoarsely.
But in Lucian's vision, the troll moved slowly.
"Center of gravity leaning forward. Uneven load on the right arch. Lower stance unstable."
He stepped diagonally forward.
The club passed so close it brushed the hem of his robes, yet he had already moved into the blind angle of the attack.
The club smashed into the doorframe instead, sending debris flying.
Lucian extended his wand.
He tapped lightly at the outer side of the troll's knee joint—its structural weak point.
"Kneel."
A sickening crack echoed.
The troll's right leg buckled inward at an unnatural angle. Its massive body lost balance and collapsed with a thunderous crash that shook the floor.
Hermione stared in disbelief.
He had merely touched it.
The troll thrashed weakly, still clutching its club. The weapon flew from its grip and struck the ceiling, raining dust and fragments down.
Lucian glanced upward at the falling club.
"If you insist on throwing things."
°Wingardium Leviosa°
The heavy club froze midair as if seized by an invisible hand. It rotated.
Then it plunged straight down.
Thud.
The club connected perfectly with the troll's skull.
Silence followed.
Lucian lowered his hand and turned toward Hermione.
"Miss Granger," he said evenly, "while I admire intellectual curiosity, contemplating life in a filthy bathroom is not advisable."
Hermione's heart pounded violently.
Gratitude and awe surged through her.
In that moment, Lucian was no longer the distant, strange boy from Ravenclaw.
He seemed precise, composed—like a principle of logic made flesh—overpowering brute violence with clarity and efficiency.
"How… how did you do that?" she stammered as she stood, still shaking. "You severed its ligament?"
"Find the correct leverage point," Lucian replied calmly. "A few ounces can shift several tons of stupidity."
His gaze paused briefly on the cut along her cheek.
A soft thread of magic brushed against her skin. The sting vanished. The wound closed smoothly.
"Let's leave. The air quality here is unacceptable."
At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Harry and Ron burst into the bathroom, wands raised and breathing hard.
"Hermione! Don't worry, we're—"
Ron stopped mid-sentence.
They saw the unconscious troll. They saw Lucian standing unruffled, not a strand of hair out of place.
They saw Hermione looking at him with an expression bordering on reverence.
"Oh," Ron muttered, lowering his wand. "Looks like we missed the whole show."
A strange resentment stirred in him, as if something important had been taken away.
Harry felt his stomach churn again.
While he and Ron had struggled to muster courage, Lucian had treated the troll like discarded trash—efficient, cold, effortless.
Was that even Hogwarts magic?
Before anyone could speak further, Professor McGonagall arrived, followed closely by Snape and Quirrell.
McGonagall gasped at the destruction. Snape strode forward and examined the troll carefully.
After a moment, he straightened and fixed Lucian with a piercing stare.
"No sign of direct spell impact," Snape said quietly. "Pure structural collapse. Shattered knee joint. Precise concussion."
He approached Lucian, robes billowing.
"Explain yourself, Ashford."
"Self-defense, Professor," Lucian answered evenly. "And a basic application of anatomy."
"If your colleague who smells perpetually of garlic had secured his... pet... this floor would not have endured unnecessary stress."
Quirrell twitched violently, pain flashing briefly in his eyes.
Hermione suddenly stepped forward.
She stood in front of Lucian.
"It was my fault, Professor!" she said, her voice trembling but firm. "I went looking for the troll. I thought I could handle it. If Lucian hadn't saved me, I'd be dead!"
It was the first time she had ever lied to a teacher. She did it without hesitation.
For him.
Lucian looked at the brown, frizzy-haired figure shielding him. Surprise flickered through his thoughts.
He had defied the script again. Yet the correction had not come.
Not this time.
__________
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