Time passed in a blink.
Halloween. Hogwarts Great Hall floated with bats; jack-o'-lanterns cast atmospheric glows across the long tables.
Professor Quirrell staggered in, shouting "Troll in the dungeons!" before collapsing. Panic spread like plague.
Amid screams and shoving, Lucian sat at the Ravenclaw table, silver knife still in hand.
"Crude script."
Golden threads had already spoiled the plot's direction.
As the troll lumbered toward the girls' bathroom,
Lucian stood. Ignoring the prefects' shouts to maintain order, he slipped through the chaos, cast a Confusion Charm, and vanished into the shadows of a side door.
…
Third-floor girls' bathroom.
Hermione Granger huddled in the shadow beneath a sink, tears long dried, leaving only terror.
The monster stood in the doorway.
First came the troll's nauseating stench, then its granite-gray skin and the enormous club dragging across the tiles. Its coconut-sized head swiveled; tiny, stupid eyes searched the cramped room.
"ROOOAR—"
It spotted Hermione.
The troll raised its club and smashed down on a row of sinks.
Hermione screamed and scrambled backward. Porcelain shards flew, slicing her cheek. Her mind went blank; every spell she'd memorized so perfectly failed her.
Death's shadow loomed again as the reeking club lifted once more.
A calm, cold voice—completely out of place amid the carnage—spoke from the doorway.
Hermione raised tear-blurred eyes.
There, framed in the entrance, stood the solitary black-haired boy, wand in hand.
The troll sensed the threat and halted. It swung its massive club in a horizontal arc toward Lucian's waist—strong enough to shatter stone.
"Watch out!" Hermione croaked.
But in Lucian's vision, the swing moved in slow motion.
"Center of gravity forward, uneven load on right arch, unstable base."
He stepped forward-left.
The instant before the club grazed his robe, he slipped precisely into the troll's blind spot.
The club smashed the doorframe; stone chips exploded.
Lucian simply thrust his wand forward,
tapping lightly against the outside of the troll's thick knee joint—the Achilles' heel of this colossal frame.
"Kneel."
Crack.
A sickening, crisp sound of bone dislocation.
The right leg—meant to bear weight—folded inward at an impossible angle. The troll bellowed in agony; its massive body lost balance and crashed down.
The floor groaned under the impact.
Hermione stared in shock. She forgot to cry. She forgot to breathe.
She watched the boy stand beside the fallen monster.
He had… just poked it?
The troll wasn't finished. It thrashed in pain; the club flew from its grip, hurtling toward the ceiling and bringing down a shower of dust and debris.
Lucian glanced up at the falling weapon.
"Since you like throwing things."
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The heavy club froze mid-air, seized by an invisible hand. It reversed direction—
and slammed straight down.
BOOM!
The club struck the troll's pitifully small head with perfect accuracy.
The world went quiet.
Lucian lowered his hand and turned to the girl cowering in the corner.
"Miss Granger,"
"While I understand your thirst for knowledge, contemplating life in this filthy bathroom is hardly wise."
Hermione stared at him, heart pounding so hard it threatened to leap from her chest.
A sensation she had never felt before swept through her—gratitude and awe intertwined, almost trembling.
In her eyes, the boy was no longer the cold freak. He was the embodiment of truth stepping out of a book: powerful, precise, elegant—crushing brute force with absolute intellect.
"How… how did you do that?" Hermione asked, legs shaking as she stood. "You severed its tendon?"
"Find the right fulcrum, and a few ounces of force can topple tons of stupidity." Lucian cut her off, gaze pausing on the blood on her cheek.
A gentle thread of magic brushed across her face.
The stinging vanished; skin knitted seamlessly.
"Come. The air quality here is unacceptable."
At that moment, hurried footsteps and panting breaths echoed.
Harry and Ron burst in, wands raised.
"Hermione! Don't worry—we're—"
Ron's words died.
They saw the troll foaming at the mouth on the floor, saw Lucian standing pristine—not even a hair out of place—and saw Hermione staring at him with something close to reverence.
"Oh…" Ron lowered his wand, looking as though he'd swallowed a fly. "Looks like we missed the whole show."
A strange, indefinable anger twisted inside him—as though something precious had been taken from him.
Harry stared at the scene. That familiar stomach-churning revulsion rose again.
While they were still patting themselves on the back for working up the courage to face the monster, Lucian had dealt with it like disposing of garbage—cold, efficient, absolute.
Was that really magic Hogwarts taught?
Before they could speak, Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell finally arrived.
McGonagall gasped, hand to her chest at the wreckage. Snape strode forward, bent to examine the troll.
After a moment he straightened, eyes locked on Lucian.
"No traces of spell impact," Snape said softly, surprise in his tone. "Pure physical destruction. Shattered knee joint… and precisely induced cerebral concussion."
He advanced on Lucian, black robes billowing like storm clouds. "Ashford. Explain."
"Self-defense, Professor." Lucian's voice remained level. "And a basic application of anatomy. If your garlic-scented colleague had kept better watch over his pet, this floorboard wouldn't have had to endure unnecessary impact."
Quirrell twitched violently; pain flashed in his eyes.
Hermione suddenly stepped forward, placing herself between Lucian and the professors. Her voice still trembled, but it was fiercely determined:
"It was my fault, Professor! I came 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 lied to a teacher—for the sake of protecting that boy.
Lucian looked at the messy brown head now shielding him and felt a flicker of surprise.
He had defied fate so openly—yet no correction had come?