The grey heir

Halloween had always been a strange day for Harry Potter.

For most of the wizarding world, it was a festival—of magic, mystery, and merriment. It was also the day they celebrated their victory in the last great war, the night Voldemort fell. To them, it marked peace, triumph, and freedom.

But for Harry, it was the anniversary of his parents' death. A silent memory buried beneath layers of noise and glowing pumpkins. He said nothing of it. Let them celebrate. He would not.

The castle bustled with excitement from early morning. Floating jack-o'-lanterns hovered in the corridors, and ghosts zoomed by overhead with extra flair. Even the suits of armor jingled with anticipation.

But Harry remained distant.

In the Slytherin common room, muted green and silver decorations floated quietly through the air. He sat with Daphne and Tracey near the fire, pretending to review transfiguration notes while his mind churned elsewhere.

Daphne gave him a look. "You're not even pretending to care about tonight."

"I don't," Harry replied flatly.

She didn't press. She knew enough now not to.

Classes passed by slowly. The last before the feast was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Quirrell was twitchier than usual, flinching at every sound, voice nearly inaudible.

"Dark creatures," he mumbled. "We… we… we'll… learn about trolls… tomorrow."

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. Trolls. Of course.

Evening fell. The Great Hall shimmered with hundreds of floating candles. Pumpkins bigger than cauldrons bobbed above the tables. The food was spectacular, the atmosphere jubilant.

Harry sat quietly, pushing pumpkin tart around his plate. Iskaris, hidden beneath his robes, shifted slightly. His presence was a comfort.

Dumbledore rose.

"Another Halloween, another year of celebration," he said warmly, arms spread wide. "Today we remember not just the magic of the season, but the night that brought our world peace. Many of us lost dearly—but we also gained the gift of freedom. Let us honor that victory with laughter and unity."

His voice softened, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

Harry caught the Headmaster's eyes briefly. He was ready. He pushed forward thoughts of simple curiosity about the food, excitement about flying lessons, and a soft hum of boredom.

Dumbledore looked away.

Then, chaos.

The doors burst open. Quirrell stormed in, wild-eyed.

"T-Troll! In the dungeons! Thought you ought to know!"

He collapsed.

Screams erupted. Students rose in panic. Prefects tried to herd them out of the Great Hall.

Harry stood, calm as ever. He followed the Slytherin line, sticking close to Daphne and Tracey.

Daphne muttered, "You saw that twitch. That wasn't fear. That was rehearsed."

Harry gave a small nod. "Let's do our things.Let's the adults deal with there problems."

They returned to the common room.

Ron was already spouting nonsense about how he'd fight the troll with just a wand and a bar of chocolate. "If I'd been there," he said loudly, "I'd have cast a Blasting Hex right between its eyes. Trolls aren't even that hard to beat if you know what you're doing. Bet I'd be made a hero."

Neville rolled his eyes, his patience thinning. "You weren't even calm during the Sorting, Ron. You nearly tripped over your own feet getting to the stool."

"I was just excited," Ron huffed.

"Excited? You looked like you were about to wet yourself," Neville shot back. "And now you think you can take on a full-grown mountain troll?"

"Better than hiding behind others!" Ron snapped.

"I'd rather hide smartly than charge in with big words and no skill," Neville muttered.

The surrounding students chuckled. Ron flushed a deep red but had no witty retort this time.

The laughter silenced Weasley.

That night, Harry sat in bed with his black journal in hand.

Troll loosed. Quirrell's move. I will not act yet. Dumbledore watches.

He closed it, looked at the enchanted ceiling above, and whispered to Iskaris:

"Let the fools play. The real game hasn't begun."

To be continued...