The rest of the day dragged on painfully slow. Without Rose and Hermione around, things felt… off.
Transfiguration was first, and despite my usual excitement for the subject, I couldn't muster any enthusiasm today. We were supposed to be turning a beetle into a button—an exercise that was supposed to teach us about precision and control.
I barely had to try.
"Mutatio Forma."
With a smooth flick of my wand, the beetle on my desk shimmered and transformed instantly into a perfect, shiny brass button.
McGonagall's sharp eyes landed on me almost immediately, and I felt the weight of her gaze.
"Very good, Mr. Carter," she said, her tone as crisp as ever. But there was something… off in her expression. I could tell she wasn't pleased. Not entirely.
Her lips pressed together into a thin line as she watched me.
"Now try it again," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of something… disappointment? Concern?
I blinked but did as she asked. Another flick of my wand, another perfect button.
McGonagall nodded, but her expression didn't change.
"Excellent control," she murmured, almost to herself. "But magic isn't just about results, Mr. Carter. It's about understanding the why behind the transformation. I expect more than just precision from my students."
I knew what she meant. I wasn't really paying attention—I was just… going through the motions. My mind wasn't here. It was somewhere else entirely.
"Understood, Professor," I murmured, looking down at the button as if it suddenly held the answers I was searching for.
McGonagall gave me one last look before moving on, but I could still feel her disappointment lingering in the air.
Ron wasn't doing any better. His beetle hadn't changed in the slightest, and he was poking at it with his wand as though sheer willpower might force the transformation. But unlike his usual grumbling and jokes, today he was quiet. Too quiet.
Ron was clearly still beating himself up about what had happened in Charms. I could see it in the way he avoided looking at me, his jaw tight and his eyes downcast. He hadn't said more than a handful of words since that moment in class.
Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't any better. Professor Quirrell's stammer made it hard to follow along, and he seemed more nervous than usual—constantly glancing toward the door as if expecting someone to barge in at any moment. I didn't miss the slight tremor in his hands when he dropped his wand midway through his lecture on counter-jinxes.
Rose and Hermione's absence hung over everything like a dark cloud. Hermione had skipped every class after Charms, and Rose was nowhere to be seen either. I'd expected her to at least be in Transfiguration, but when she wasn't there, a pit formed in my stomach.
Where were they?
Even lunch had been strangely quiet. Ron and I sat at the Gryffindor table, but he barely touched his food. I wasn't much better. Without Hermione chattering about her notes or Rose quietly teasing me about my handwriting, the silence was deafening.
By the time classes ended, my nerves were frayed. I didn't want to admit it, but I was starting to worry.
Ron and I headed toward the Great Hall for dinner in silence. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller. The guilt was eating at him, but I didn't know how to make it better.
As we walked down the corridor, the faint, warm scent of pumpkin spice filled the air. It was subtle at first, but as we got closer to the Great Hall, the smell grew stronger, mixing with the enticing aroma of roasted meats and freshly baked bread. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten much all day.
And that's when it hit me.
Oh, bloody hell…
Today was Halloween.
How could I have forgotten?
The moment we stepped into the Great Hall, it was impossible to miss. The entire room had been transformed into something straight out of a fairytale—or a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it. Thousands of floating pumpkins hovered above the tables, carved with grinning faces that flickered with an eerie glow. Each one cast a warm, orange light that danced across the stone walls.
Bats fluttered overhead, swooping and darting between the floating candles, their wings making a soft, rustling sound. Cobwebs, enchanted to shimmer like silver threads, stretched across the ceiling, giving the illusion that the stars beyond were tangled in their delicate webbing. The enchanted ceiling above reflected a stormy night sky, filled with drifting clouds and the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the hall in ghostly light.
The tables were overflowing with food. Roast beef, roast chicken, sausages, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pasties, and cauldron cakes—all piled high, steam still rising from the dishes. Golden goblets were filled to the brim with pumpkin juice, their surfaces reflecting the flickering candlelight.
The whole hall felt alive, buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Students were chattering animatedly, laughter echoing off the walls. Even the ghosts seemed more lively tonight—Nearly Headless Nick was floating near the Gryffindor table, engaged in an animated conversation with the Fat Friar, while the Bloody Baron drifted silently near the Slytherins, his cold, piercing gaze enough to keep most students from getting too rowdy.
But despite the festive atmosphere, something felt… wrong.
My eyes scanned the Gryffindor table, searching instinctively for Rose's red hair or Hermione's bushy curls.
Nothing.
They still weren't here.
A knot formed in my stomach as I sank onto the bench beside Ron, who was just as quiet as he had been all day. His gaze flickered toward the entrance every few seconds, his foot tapping anxiously against the stone floor.
"Do you think they're okay?" he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
I didn't answer immediately. I didn't want to lie to him—but I didn't know the truth either.
"They're probably fine," I said softly, though the words felt hollow. "Rose wouldn't let anything happen to Hermione."
Ron's jaw clenched, and he gave a small nod, but he didn't look convinced.
My mind was racing. Where were they? Rose had gone after Hermione right after Charms, but that had been hours ago. Had Hermione gone to the library? Or maybe the girls' bathroom? But even then… Rose should've been back by now. She wouldn't have left us in the dark like this.
I tried to focus on the feast as the food appeared on the table, but I barely tasted it. Ron pushed his food around his plate, looking just as distracted.
And then—
The doors to the Great Hall burst open.
Professor Quirrell stumbled inside, his turban askew, his face pale as a ghost.
"T-troll!" His voice echoed through the hall, high-pitched and terrified. "T-troll in the dungeon!"
A gasp rippled through the students.
"Thought you ought to know…"
And then, with a dramatic flair that would've been funny if it wasn't so terrifying, Quirrell collapsed in a heap on the floor.
For a moment, there was dead silence.
Then the Great Hall erupted into chaos.
Students screamed, chairs scraped against the stone floor, and several first-years looked like they were about to faint. The noise was deafening, panic spreading like wildfire.
"Silence!" Dumbledore's voice rang out across the hall, amplified by magic.
Instantly, the chaos died down. The Headmaster stood tall at the front of the Great Hall, his expression calm but commanding. His piercing blue eyes swept over the students, and despite the panic in the air, his presence was enough to settle the room.
"Prefects," Dumbledore said, his tone firm but steady. "Lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately. Do not panic. Stay together."
The prefects sprang into action, their voices cutting through the lingering tension as they began gathering their respective houses.
I was already on my feet, my mind racing.
The troll.
My blood ran cold.
I remembered this. I knew what was coming.
Memories from my past life flooded my mind—the scene from the books, the movie, everything. The troll wasn't in the dungeon.
It was in the girls' bathroom.
Where Hermione might be.
A sharp jolt of fear shot through me.
"We have to find them," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the noise.
Ron's head snapped toward me, his eyes widening. "What?"
"Rose and Hermione," I said urgently, my heart pounding. "They're not here, Ron."
Realization dawned on his face, and his expression turned pale.
"Oh no…"
I didn't wait for him to say anything else. My mind was already made up.
We had to find them.
Before it was too late.
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