Quirks in Wizarding World

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- Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle -

- October 5, 1991 – Dinner -

Weeks passed in a steady rhythm. Days were filled with classes, assignments, and the usual chaos of Hogwarts life. Nights, however, were different—at least for Arthav.

Under the cover of darkness, he made his way to the Room of Requirement, where he honed his skills away from prying eyes. Spells, dueling techniques, potion-making—each night, he pushed himself further. His fingers traced the intricate lines of ancient runes, embedding them into small artifacts, testing their effects. Some fizzled out, others reacted violently, but little by little, he Improved.

In class, he was a genius student—focused, competent, and drawing admiration and attention to himself from professors and students alike. Harry, meanwhile, had finally learned the truth. Hermione had explained the Quidditch incident to him, and he had taken it in stride, grateful for friends who had his back. Yet, despite the logic, his distrust of Snape only deepened.

"He's always glaring at me," Harry muttered one evening in the common room.

"He's probably just annoyed that you exist," Ron added, lounging in a chair. "Typical Slytherin."

Arthav, sitting across from them with a book, while eating his breakfast, glanced up but said nothing. It was an argument he didn't care to join.

Ron, for his part, still kept his distance from Arthav. Guilt gnawed at him—he knew he had been harsh, but his stubbornness wouldn't let him apologize. He still believed he was more experienced in the magical world. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't make him right either.

And so, the days rolled on.

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- Charms Classroom -

- October 31, 1991 – Late Afternoon -

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sat together as Professor Flitwick stood on his pile of books, explaining the intricacies of the Levitation Charm.

"Remember, it's Wingardium LeviOsa, not LeviosA!" Hermione's voice rang out as she corrected Ron's clumsy attempts.

The moment played out just as it did in the movies—Seamus's feather exploded, Hermione demonstrated a perfect levitation spell, and Ron, feeling embarrassed, muttered insults under his breath.

But this time, something was different.

After class, as they walked through the halls, Ron didn't just grumble—he let his frustration get the better of him.

"No wonder she doesn't have any friends," he scoffed, voice laced with annoyance. "She's a nightmare, always acting like she's better than everyone."

Harry frowned. "Ron—"

But before he could say more, Hermione had already heard him. She froze for a second, her face unreadable, before turning sharply and walking past them.

Harry watched as she disappeared down the corridor, shoulders stiff, head low.

Ron shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

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- Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle -

- October 31, 1991 – Dinner -

Night had settled over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall was bathed in the flickering glow of hundreds of floating candles. The ceiling mirrored the stormy night sky outside, and Halloween decorations filled the hall—jack-o'-lanterns grinned from every table, bats fluttered near the enchanted chandeliers, and a rich, warm feast had been laid out for the students. The scent of roasted meats, pumpkin pasties, and spiced cider filled the air.

Arthav entered the Great Hall with his fellow Ravenclaws—Padma Patil, Terry Boot, and Anthony Goldstein—his mind still occupied with the day's lessons and his nightly training schedule. It was only when he took his seat and glanced around at the extravagant decorations that realization hit him like a jinx to the chest.

His blood ran cold.

He turned sharply to Padma, voice lower than usual. "What's today's date?"

Padma blinked at him, surprised by the sudden urgency. "It's Halloween, Arthav. Why?"

For a moment, he didn't respond. His fingers clenched around his goblet as he processed his mistake. His usual routine—class, training, studying—had kept him so occupied, not to mention his usual lifestyle in India where Halloween wasn't celebrated much had brought the condition that he hadn't noticed the time slipping away so fast and the exact date creeping up on him, even though he knew it would arrive soon. And now that it was here, his stomach twisted with dread.

His gaze darted toward the Gryffindor table. Instinctively, his eyes searched for a familiar bushy-haired figure—but Hermione wasn't there.

That's when he knew.

Turning back to Padma, he asked quickly, "Have you seen Hermione?"

Padma hesitated, concern flickering in her expression. "My sister told me Ron did something stupid again. Apparently, he insulted Hermione after Charms, and she's been crying in the bathroom ever since."

Arthav's jaw tightened. "And no one's gone to get her?"

"We tried," Padma said, looking guilty. "She said she'd come soon, but… she hasn't."

His pulse quickened. The pieces were falling into place.

Hermione was alone. In the bathroom. On Halloween.

He had been too focused on his own goals to remember.

His chair scraped against the stone floor as he stood up abruptly, fully intending to go get her—before it was too late.

But just as he turned, the doors to the Great Hall burst open.

Professor Quirrell stumbled inside, his face pale with terror. His eyes darted wildly across the hall, and in a trembling voice, he gasped out the words:

"Troll—in the dungeon!"

A collective gasp rippled through the hall.

Quirrell swayed on his feet before his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.

The hall erupted into chaos. Students screamed, some standing in panic, others frozen in shock.

"Silence!" Dumbledore's voice rang through the Great Hall, instantly commanding attention. "Prefects, lead your houses to the dormitories immediately! Professors, follow me!"

Arthav clicked his tongue in irritation. He had no time for this.

Turning back to Padma and the others, he ordered, "Go with the rest."

"But—" Padma started.

"Now." His tone left no room for argument.

His attention shifted immediately, scanning the dispersing students—until he found them.

Harry and Ron had slipped away from the Gryffindor table, moving swiftly toward the side door. They weren't heading to the dormitories.

They were going to Hermione.

Arthav pushed through the crowd, catching up to them in seconds.

"Where do you two think you're going?"

Harry nearly jumped. Ron paled.

Arthav's glare landed on Ron, who visibly shrank under his gaze.

Ron knew what he had done.

And Arthav wasn't going to let him forget it.

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Arthav wasn't exactly angry at Ron—not really.

He had long since realized what sort of person Ron was. Hot-headed. Stubborn. Immature. It wasn't worth wasting emotions on him anymore. No, his anger was directed at himself.

How could he have let time slip away like this? He had known what day it was, known what was supposed to happen, yet he had been so wrapped up in his routine that he had forgotten. And because of that, Hermione had been left alone—hurt, upset, and unaware of what was coming.

He clenched his fists, pushing the frustration down. It wasn't the time to dwell on mistakes.

"Stop standing there," he snapped, turning towards Harry and Ron. "We don't have time."

Both of them jolted into action, falling into step beside him as they hurried through the dimly lit corridors. Their footsteps echoed against the cold stone floors, the only sound apart from the distant murmurs of panicked students moving toward their dorms.

The castle felt different now. Shadows stretched unnaturally in the flickering torchlight. The air carried an unsettling stillness, like something wrong had seeped into its very foundations.

Then, as they neared the girls' bathroom, a foul stench hit them.

A mix of rotting meat, damp fur, and filth.

Arthav stopped dead in his tracks.

Harry and Ron nearly crashed into him before noticing what he was staring at.

Up ahead, moving with slow, lumbering steps down the corridor—were not one, but two trolls.

Twice the size of a grown man. Thick, grayish skin. Tiny, beady eyes. Muscular arms that dragged crude wooden clubs along the stone floor, leaving deep scratches in their wake.

And they were heading straight for the bathroom.

Harry's breath hitched. "There's—"

"I see them," Arthav muttered, mind racing. One troll was bad enough. Two?

His heart pounded.

Hermione was still in there.

And time was running out.

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