In sharp contrast to Gryffindor's sea of jubilant red stood the silent patch of Slytherin green.
If Gryffindor was ecstatic, Slytherin looked stricken.
Shock. Resentment. Humiliation.
And beneath it all—something dangerously close to fear.
Fifty points.
Personally awarded by Dumbledore.
The first fifty-point award of the year.
Each word felt like a slap across the face of every Slytherin who prided themselves on House supremacy.
And all because of one person.
Lucian Thornwick.
Draco Malfoy looked ready to combust.
His pale face had flushed an angry red; his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, though he felt nothing.
Why him?
Why Gryffindor?
Why not Draco Malfoy—the heir of a noble pure-blood line?
Instead, he stood powerless, forced to watch someone he had mocked receive glory beyond imagination.
Humiliation burned like a brand upon his pride.
Yet not all Slytherins were blinded by jealousy.
Among them stood a girl, quiet and composed.
Long flaxen hair cascading like silk, skin pale as winter, features carved with icy precision.
Daphne Greengrass.
Heiress to an ancient pure-blood family.
The so-called Ice Queen of Slytherin.
Her gaze was not filled with envy.
It was thoughtful.
Assessing.
Intrigued.
She had seen many "prodigies" before—children flaunting inherited advantages and mistaking privilege for talent.
Lucian was different.
Revolutionary potion theory.
Self-created wandless flight.
Either achievement alone would secure a wizard's place in history.
He had accomplished both—at eleven.
For the first time in years, a faint ripple disturbed the still surface of her composure.
Perhaps, she thought, this boy was not like the others.
That night, Hogwarts' Great Hall transformed into a surreal Halloween dreamscape.
Hundreds of enchanted pumpkins floated overhead, their carved faces grinning mischievously.
Black bats swooped between them like living shadows.
The long tables overflowed with roast turkey, honeyed ham, mountains of mashed potatoes, pumpkin pies, toffee apples, and eerie skull-shaped biscuits.
Laughter filled the air.
Until—
BOOM.
The great oak doors burst open with a deafening crash.
Professor Quirrell stumbled inside.
His turban askew, face pale as parchment, eyes wild with terror.
"Troll—in the dungeons! There's a troll in the dungeons!"
His voice cracked in panic.
"Thought you ought to know…"
Then he collapsed onto the stone floor.
Silence.
Three suffocating seconds.
Then chaos.
Screams erupted across the Hall.
Students scrambled from their seats; plates shattered; goblets clattered to the ground.
"Run!"
"A troll?!"
Panic spread like wildfire.
"Silence!"
Dumbledore's voice boomed across the Hall, steady and commanding.
The noise died instantly.
"Prefects, lead your Houses back to your common rooms. Professors, follow me to the dungeons."
Order returned, fragile but functional.
Students regrouped under their prefects' guidance.
But within the Gryffindor crowd, two boys froze.
Harry and Ron.
Hermione.
She had spent the afternoon crying in the girls' bathroom after an argument.
She hadn't attended the feast.
And the bathrooms—
Were in the dungeons.
"She doesn't know," Harry whispered urgently.
"We have to tell her."
Ron hesitated—then nodded.
While Percy shouted instructions at frightened first-years, the two boys slipped away from the crowd and disappeared through a side exit.
They believed no one noticed.
They were wrong.
From a quiet corner of the Hall, Lucian Thornwick had seen everything.
When Quirrell burst in with theatrical panic, Lucian had almost smiled.
The performance was flawed.
The magical fluctuations were wrong.
Too controlled.
Too artificial.
While others screamed, he calmly sipped pumpkin juice.
A troll?
Inconvenient for most.
Convenient for him.
He had been waiting for an opportunity to test something.
A spell conceived two days ago.
A refinement of gravitational matrices inspired by his Windwalking Art.
A manipulation not of wind—
But of weight itself.
He set the goblet down gently.
"Gravity Reversal," he murmured internally.
Perhaps tonight was the perfect field test.
After all—
A mountain troll made for excellent experimental material.