The Halloween Feast was bustling. Students were in high spirits, and the professors at the High Table chatted with lively interest.
At the Slytherin table, Damian sat with his two roommates.
Geralt was peeling a baked potato. Glancing at Damian, he said, "That hungry? You're wolfing it down!"
Damian was demolishing the food on his plate. If he didn't fill up now, there'd be nothing left later. He frowned, chewing on a particularly tough piece of steak. "I'm especially hungry today."
Jerry shot Geralt a sideways look. "Such an honor to dine on Halloween eve with Slytherin's own lovelorn prince," he said in a deliberately mocking tone.
"Slytherin's lovelorn prince" was Geralt's new nickname around the castle, and it was hardly a compliment.
Geralt's grin faltered. He really had been absent from most meals with his roommates lately, usually opting to eat with Pansy Parkinson instead. "We broke up," he muttered.
Damian snagged a rice pudding from the platter and took a bite. Blueberry. "Details," he prompted.
Geralt took a bite of his potato and spoke slowly. "This time, it wasn't my fault."
Jerry rolled his eyes. "You say that every time."
"Pansy's views are pretty extreme. She's a die-hard pure-blood supremacist," Geralt explained. "I could overlook that, but she tried to sway me." He glanced at his roommates. "She told me to stay away from you two."
Jerry fell silent. Both he and Damian were half-bloods.
Damian stopped eating and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He clapped Geralt on the shoulder just as he spotted Professor Quirrell lingering in the doorway. "The next one will be better."
Damian cared little for blood-purist attitudes. In the end, might made right. If they left him alone, all was fine. If they crossed him, he wouldn't hold back.
Suddenly, Professor Quirrell stumbled into the Great Hall. His purple turban was askew, and stark terror was plastered across his face. Students and staff alike fell silent as they noticed him.
He dashed to the staff table and bent beside Headmaster Dumbledore, gasping for air. "Troll… in the dungeons… thought you ought to know…"
The moment the words left his mouth, Quirrell collapsed face-first onto the floor.
Instant pandemonium broke out. Younger students shrieked in panic.
Dumbledore drew his wand and flicked it skyward, sending a deafening burst of purple firecrackers exploding overhead. The sharp bangs instantly silenced the Hall.
"Prefects," Dumbledore commanded grimly, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
The prefects of all four Houses rose and began shepherding their students out. Outside the Hall, Harry, Ron, and Hermione deliberately trailed at the rear of the Gryffindor line.
Harry's eyes were anxious. "Neville's not back. What if he runs into the troll?"
"Then he's done for!" Ron quavered. "Trolls are terrifying magical creatures—they're incredibly strong!"
Hermione bit her lip nervously. "We should go back and tell the professors."
"There's no time! Neville could be in danger right now!" Harry seized Ron and Hermione by the arms. He glanced at the Slytherin line moving nearby and said firmly, "We'll ask Damian for help."
After their recent dealings, Harry trusted the older Slytherin. Seeing Harry's resolve, Ron and Hermione nodded. They slowed their pace, smoothly slipping out of the Gryffindor procession.
Damian had just been searching for an excuse to slip away when he saw the trio approaching him.
Reaching him, Ron blurted out, "The troll's got Neville!"
Harry clapped a hand over Ron's mouth. "Neville went to find Trevor and hasn't come back. Our last class was Transfiguration, so he could be on the first floor near that classroom. The troll might be there. We need your help, Damian."
Damian raised an eyebrow. So this time it was Neville, not Hermione, who needed rescuing.
He nodded anyway. He had already planned to bleed the troll dry tonight; having an excuse to leave the prefect's sight was perfect.
His roommates paused. "Want us to come along?" Geralt asked.
Damian smiled confidently. "It's only a troll. I can manage."
Jerry and Geralt didn't press the issue. Mountain Trolls were notoriously stupid and full of blind spots. They trusted Damian could handle it without breaking a sweat.
Bidding them goodbye, Damian set off with the golden trio. Far down the corridor, they caught a glimpse of Professor Snape disappearing into another stairwell, heading away from the others.
Harry glanced at Damian and whispered suspiciously, "Why isn't he going to the dungeons with the other teachers?"
Damian read the suspicion in the boy's eyes and answered evenly. "Seeing isn't always believing, Harry. Come on—any later and Neville might be mashed into Longbottom paste."
The three first-years paled at the gruesome image.
They didn't find Neville in the Transfiguration classroom, nor was he anywhere on the first floor. They finally spotted him on the second floor, lingering near the History of Magic classroom and close to the girls' lavatory.
"Harry… what are you doing here? Aren't you at the feast?" Neville beamed, safely cradling Trevor the toad in his hands. "I told you not to wait for me! I found Trev—"
Before he could finish his sentence, he noticed the trio's horrified faces. Suddenly, a foul, eye-watering stench wafted from behind him.
Turning slowly, Neville saw a hulking Mountain Troll squeezing its massive bulk out of the girls' lavatory, its tiny, cruel eyes fixed entirely on him.
The troll lumbered free of the doorway. It reached for Neville with the massive, warty hand that wasn't clutching its wooden club.
"Neville, move!" Hermione shrieked. She whipped out her wand and slashed it through the air. "Stupefy!"
The red jet of light struck the beast squarely in the chest. However, a troll's magical resistance was far too high for a first-year's spell; it merely swayed on its feet and kept coming.
Neville's legs refused to obey him. He stood completely frozen in terror.
Damian calmly raised his wand. "Diffindo!"
A sharp crescent of shearing magical energy slashed across the troll's arm, carving a deep, bloody gash into its thick hide.
Howling in sudden agony, the troll stumbled back and clutched the wound. Taking advantage of the distraction, the trio dashed forward and dragged the petrified Neville backward.
Enraged by the pain, the troll roared, lifting its massive wooden club high into the air and bringing it crashing down toward them.
Damian casually flicked his wand again.
"Expelliarmus!"
A blast of scarlet light slammed into the beast's hand, knocking the heavy club spinning wildly out of its grip. With a sharp downward jab of his wand, Damian seized control of the airborne club, sending it crashing violently down onto the troll's own head.
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