The first-floor corridor fell quiet and empty after the students had all gone. The only comfort came from the faint, warm glow of jack-o'-lanterns in the Great Hall. Everything else was silence and darkness.
A strange sound echoed through the corridor.
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
Then Warren suddenly materialized out of thin air. He looked at the space beside him, speechless.
"What are you shaking for?"
"I am scared, okay? Did you not hear? It is a troll."
The air beside him spoke in Ron's nasal, tearful voice.
"Thanks for the reminder, Ronald, but I was the one who warned you about the troll. Did I not promise to keep you safe? Did I not just cast a Disillusionment Charm on you?"
As he spoke, Warren glanced toward the Great Hall. The flickering lights from within danced in his eyes, lending them an uncertain gleam. He had never intentionally set out to change anything. However, he knew that his very existence was already disrupting Harry's destiny. Events at Hogwarts were already unfolding differently from the books he remembered.
Warren was also aware that while some events were easily influenced, others were inevitable. One such inevitability was Voldemort's attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone.
As long as the Stone remained at Hogwarts and Voldemort sought it, trouble was bound to occur on Halloween. It was the perfect night for chaos. The entire student body would be gathered in a single location, making them easy to corral. Dumbledore and the professors would feel secure enough to leave them behind while handling an emergency. Quirrell would not let such an opportunity pass.
As Warren had predicted, the troll had indeed been allowed into the castle. The real question now was whether Quirrell had the nerve to head up to the fourth floor.
He waited a moment longer. Finally, a figure slipped out of the Great Hall. It was Quirrell, the very man who had been feigning unconsciousness. That turban of his was impossible to miss. He glanced around furtively, ensuring the professors were no longer present, before hurrying up the staircase.
Warren let out a soft breath. He needed confirmation for two reasons. First, he wanted to see if there was an opportunity to approach the Stone himself. Second, he had to assess Voldemort's current state, considering he had not yet obtained any unicorn blood.
As Quirrell vanished up the stairs, Warren was about to speak to Ron when he heard a terrified, trembling whisper beside him. "How are you going to protect me from something like that?"
Warren turned. At the corner of the corridor ahead, a massive creature had emerged. It stood at least twelve feet tall, with dull gray, rock-like skin, and carried a club. The behemoth had a powerful body akin to a moving mountain. Its tiny head, perched upon its shoulders, looked almost comical. But its sheer size was overwhelmingly intimidating.
"Merlin's beard. I think I might actually die this time." Ron felt like crying. He knew it. Every time Warren smiled like that, it meant trouble. He should never have given in to wishful thinking and agreed to Warren's plan. His only comfort was that he had at least told Harry his last will and testament at lunch.
"Not so lucky, are we?" The chattering of teeth beside him grew louder, enough to draw the troll's attention. Warren sighed. "Honestly, Ronald, maybe you should not call me brother anymore." He drew his wand slowly.
The troll had spotted him. It snorted with excitement and lumbered forward. Given its size and stride, calling its approach lumbering was an understatement. It closed the distance in moments, raising its massive club high. A scream built in Ron's throat. Then he saw Warren raise his wand. That face, the one Ron had always feared, showed no hesitation and no fear.
"Reducto."
A deafening boom echoed. The club shattered in mid-swing under the force of the curse. Two more spells followed immediately.
"Diffindo."
"Diffindo."
Bolts of magic flashed through the darkness like lightning. They slammed into the troll, kicking up clouds of dust and debris. The sudden gust made the torches on the walls flicker.
The troll finally reacted, opening its mouth to roar. But in that instant, Warren's voice rang out sharp and clear. "Confringo."
Some invisible, hidden force shot forth. The air itself seemed to grow cold for an instant. Then Ron watched as the troll's teeth and tongue exploded.
The moment the soft, pulpy mass erupted, another identical spell struck its now-vulnerable mouth. The fragile bones of its palate could not withstand it.
Thud. A dull sound. The troll's upper jaw, along with half its head, flew into the air. Foul, fetid blood sprayed everywhere.
Thud. The troll's head hit the ground and rolled to a stop near them. Its confused little eyes blinked a few times, as if only just realizing what had happened. Then its pupils dilated, and the light faded from them.
Gulp. Ron's throat worked. He instinctively squeezed his legs together. In the space of a few seconds, the emotional whiplash had been too much. His mind was completely blank.
Killing a troll was not particularly difficult for Warren. These dim-witted creatures were tough, with skin resistant to some spells, but that was their only redeeming quality. If he had wanted to handle it quietly and quickly, he had plenty of ways to make short work of it.
He waved his wand, canceling Ron's Disillusionment Charm. The moment it lifted, Ron collapsed onto the floor with a thud. Warren looked at him. "Did you wet your pants?"
His dignity on the line, Ron managed to stop himself from nodding just in time. He stammered, his face flushed, trying to puff out his chest. "No."
Warren ignored him. He plucked a hair from his own head, murmured a brief incantation, and the hair burned to ash. He rubbed it into Ron's neck. "This charm will last about an hour. Go keep watch at the dungeon entrance. If any professors come out, whisper my name. I will know."
Ron felt his brief moment of pride collapse entirely. He looked at Warren hopefully. "Where are you going?"
Warren did not wait for an answer. Ignoring Ron's yelp of pain, he plucked a hair from Ron's head. Then he repeated the ritual, rubbing the burnt ash into his own throat. "The professors are not coming out. If you hear me whisper your name, go find Dumbledore."
Ron simply nodded, resigned to his fate. With everything ready, Warren patted his pocket and headed upstairs, following the route Quirrell had taken. Keeping Ron as a lookout was purely a force of habit. He did not actually expect it to be of any use. His true confidence in trailing Quirrell, or more accurately Voldemort, was tucked safely away in his pocket.
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