The thought of pushing Snape any further lasted less than a second.
The man really might strip Gryffindor of every point it had earned.
Ivan did not care about the house cup for its own sake, but he was not going to cost the entire house simply to farm Academic Points.
For the next several days he kept his head down in Potions.
The only private work he did was quietly collecting the ingredients he needed for a powerful sleeping draught.
Nothing else.
The preparations finally ended on the eve of Halloween.
Ivan opened the system panel and allowed himself a small nod of satisfaction.
[Ivan Hals Occupation: Wizard Charms: Fear Curse – Level 2 (265/400) Levitation Charm – Level 2 (97/400) Transfiguration Charm – Level 2 (382/400) Splitting Charm – Level 2 (84/400) Full Body-Bind – Level 2 (191/400) Shrinking Charm – Level 1 (74/200) (others omitted) Theory: Magical Item Crafting – Level 0 (435/500) Potions – Level 3 (1/800) Basic Charm Principles – Level 2 (218/400) Magical Items: Wand (yew, unicorn hair, eleven and three-quarter inches) Magic Power: Medium Compatibility: 72.5% Academic Points: 107] Nearly half a term of work had pushed every spell he knew to Level 2—except the newly learned Shrinking Charm.
Power and stability had both jumped.
Potions was the first skill to reach Level 3.
Magical Item Crafting remained stubbornly stuck at zero; he still had no idea how to advance it.
The Academic Points he had banked were enough for one more Top Student Experience Card if something went wrong.
The Great Hall had already been decorated for Halloween.
Pumpkin lanterns hung everywhere, each one filled with a soft blue light that Dumbledore himself had cast to last the entire night.
Peeves had taken up residence inside one of them.
Whenever an unsuspecting first-year walked past, the poltergeist would explode out of the pumpkin with a shriek, then dive laughing into the next lantern while the victim swore at him.
Harry and Ron had learned their lesson.
Any glowing pumpkin now sent them automatically edging away.
At the Gryffindor table Harry watched Ivan turn scraps of wood into ugly half-ring thorns of iron, each spike long, thin, and coldly gleaming.
“Ivan, what are you making all these thorns for?” “Halloween entertainment, of course.” Harry and Ron exchanged a look that said they did not believe a word of it.
Ivan waved the concern away.
“I’m joking.
Just practising Transfiguration.” His wand did not stop moving.
He tapped each finished spike, applied the Shrinking Charm until the pieces were only a few centimetres long, and dropped them into a small bag.
Metal clinked against metal.
He tied the bag shut and slipped it into his robes.
“Where’s Hermione?” he asked, glancing around the table.
Ron’s ears went pink.
He opened his mouth, closed it again, and managed nothing coherent.
Harry finally explained that Ron had been complaining about her behind her back and she had overheard every word.
“I wasn’t wrong!” Ron insisted, face still red.
“She is like that!” Ivan frowned.
He had not expected the usual friction to flare up even with him around.
He stood, took his wand, and started toward the doors.
“The feast hasn’t started yet,” Harry called.
“Where are you going?” “To find Hermione.” He left them with only his back.
Outside the noisy Hall he slipped into a secret passage and headed at speed for the abandoned girls’ bathroom.
The original plan was simple: get her out of the way so she would not interfere with whatever came next.
Halfway there he changed his mind.
He had no idea how long it would take to talk her down, and no idea exactly when the troll would be released.
If the creature trapped the two of them together inside the bathroom there would be no room to fight and even less room to run.
Better to deal with the troll farther away, on ground he had already chosen.
Earlier scouting paid off.
He found a suitable stretch of corridor, dropped several of Hagrid’s rock cakes into the centre of the floor, and stepped back.
Each cake had been soaked in a sleeping draught strong enough to put several adult wizards under.
Why rock cakes?
Trolls ate anything.
The cakes were easy to carry.
Leaving them in the dormitory would only have invited insects.
And if a half-giant like Hagrid enjoyed them, there was a decent chance a troll would too.
Ivan retreated into a side passage and waited.
The easiest method was always the best method.
He had no intention of trading spells with something that size if he could avoid it.
A person only got one life; when the situation called for caution, caution was the correct answer.
Less than a minute later the floor began to vibrate.
A familiar, foul stench drifted down the corridor.
Ivan went completely still.
A twelve-foot bulk appeared at the far end.
The first thing he saw was a massive, leathery foot.
The waist above it was swollen and barrel-like, the skin the colour of rotting green paint.
The head perched on top was almost comically small—barely larger than Ivan’s own—and looked absurd against the rest of the body.
In one huge hand the creature dragged a thick wooden club that scraped along the stone with a continuous, ear-scraping screech.
Ivan swallowed.
He finally understood why Dumbledore had chosen a troll as one of the defences for the Philosopher’s Stone.
The sheer size alone would force any adult wizard to treat it with care.
For a first-year who had not even finished a full term, it was a walking nightmare.
He was very glad he had decided against a direct confrontation.
One solid hit from that club and he would be transmigrating all over again.