Troll Omake: Premediated murder is okay, sometimes. (Patreon)

Halloween: Premeditated murder is okay, sometimes.

Hogwarts, Great Britain

Today was Halloween. Samhain, for the pure, uncorrupted youths of Magical Britain who had yet to be exposed to the siren song that was free candy. It was also the first major milestone in the plot of the Philosopher’s Stone, Quirrell’s first attempt at reaching into Dumbledore’s very own chamber of sec-

Yeah, that sounded revolting to me too.

I for one had much to do. I woke up in my personal suite, fuck you, Theo, and spent an hour in meditation with my crystal ball. By now, it was tradition, born partially out of greed and partially out of self-preservation. Slytherin really was the house of snakes and I needed that extra edge to keep on top of the myriad plans my housemates plotted in the shadows.

Sure, they were teenagers, amateurs in the scheming ways, but that made them oh so unpredictable in some ways. I’d already been burned by a “cunning” plan before.

Today being Halloween, I had a bit more on my mind than who was cheating on who or what black market items were worth trading in. After all, today was the day I planned to commit murder. Compared to nipping the plot of the first book at the stem, the Hogwarts rumor mill could take a backseat for a day.

I went about my day normally. There wasn’t anything special I needed to prepare, but that didn’t mean my palms weren’t sweaty. Despite the comparisons, I wasn’t my mother.

Knees weak, mom’s spaghetti… Eminem wouldn’t start his debut until the turn of the century. Huh, I’d have to reflect on that. Maybe become a songwriter or author or something before someone else could strike it big. That would truly make me a dark lord.

Thankfully, the other thing I’d been concerned about didn’t end up being an issue. Leontes was as brilliant as Hermione, but he wasn’t quite the pushover she’d been when she was eleven. Perhaps that was because he was a boy and his parents, like most in this time, had taught him to stand up for himself rather than get bullied, even if it meant taking a swing, or because he was fifteen and not twelve.

Whatever the case, when Ron called him a know-it-all, he just insulted him back rather than go cry in a bathroom. It’d be a stretch to say Leontes gave as good as he got, but he wasn’t about to commit suicide by troll in this life.

With no one missing from the Hallowee feast, I was free to do as I pleased.

I waited outside the great hall until I saw Violet and Parvati coming my way. The two of them had really hit it off since that initial meeting on the train. Really, it was like the Chosen One was destined to imprint on whoever she met first, like a cute little duckling, but with her body weight in sass and vinegar.

They had the interesting effect of rubbing off on one another. The two tamed one another’s worst habits until they struck something resembling a happy medium.

Violet wore a bit more makeup and actually had hobbies outside of quidditch and the dueling club. Under Parvati’s tutelage, she familairized herself with such occult topics such as fashion and charms that weren’t related to kicking ass. Hell, she’d even made a few friends in the other houses through Padma.

For her part, Parvati was less of a vapid gossipmonger. Or rather, she got better at parsing out useful gossip that was helpful to her best friend rather than just what was interesting to her. She’d never be an action heroine, but no one would say Parvati Patil was incompetent with a wand either. Zacharias Smith learned that lesson the hard way.

There was no “Golden Trio” in this timeline. The pair often hung out with Lavender, but the blonde wasn’t as readily willing to engage in Violet’s more active hobbies. A few tried to interject themselves into their friendship, but they’d developed an aura of exclusivity that made Violet seem unapproachable from the outside.

There were exceptions, of course. For obvious reasons, Padma was one. Nevile, as one of the few boys who didn’t try to impress the Girl Who Lived, was the second. I, already the “Seer of Hogwarts,” suck it, Sybil, was the third.

Which was why I drew a fair bit of attention when I tucked my cane under my armpit and grabbed them by the hand, dragging them into the hall behind me.

“Why, hello to you too, Zabini,” Violet drawled out, a bit glumly. Admittedly, if the world celebrated my parents’ deaths with a giant feast, I’d be pretty sad about it too. Well, if I had a dad. And a mom who wasn’t an unrepentant serial killer.

Really, were I in Violet’s shoes, I’d probably understand. I shrugged with a carefree smile. “Hello, Potter, lovely evening we’re having.”

“Get bent, you tosser.”

“Oh, if only my life was so simple. Alas, I do need you tonight.”

“Whatever.”

Despite her grumbling, Violet didn’t pull her hand from my grasp as I continued to tug them towards the Ravenclaw table. It had only been two months since the start of term but I’d grown rather fond of them. Tonight would hurt, but… but it had to be done. The future was better this way.

And maybe, maybe if I made a production of it, I could divert some of the attention from Violet, or at least, share in the limelight of judgment with her.

I stopped at the edge nearest to the door and waved the seventh years to scoot over.

“Mind if we sit here?” I said with a disarming smile.

One of them looked up with a dismissive grunt. “Sod off, firstie.”

“And they say we Slytherins are rude,” I mused. I leaned forward to look him in the eyes. “Alright, let’s try this again. Dominic Montgomery, seventh year. Muggleborn. You can move, or your girlfriend can find out just what kinky shit you’re into.”

“I don’t know what you’re tal-”

I made a show of turning to the Hufflepuff table. “”Oh, Helen~”

“Fucking tosser,’ he swore, getting up with a dirty glower. His friends eyed me for a moment but joined him in the end.

“Oh, send Padma our way, please,” I told him with a cheery grin, “and happy Halloween!”

Violet and Parvati studied me with disapproving frowns. They didn’t protest too much when I pulled them to their seats though.

“You’re getting way too good at that,” Violet said.

“Hmm?”

“That. The smiling thing.”

“I’m told I have a rather nice smile,” I said innocently. And it was true. Mom wouldn’t be the infamous black widow seven times over if she wasn’t drop dead gorgeous and I very much took after her in the appearance department. I’d never pull off the rugged manly man aesthetic, but I could easily give boy band idols or male models a run for their money.

Parvati rolled her eyes and kicked me lightly under the table. “You know what she’s saying, Zabini. You’re really good at threatening someone while you smile. Like, uncomfortably good.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? Slytherin gives me lots of practice.”

Just then, Padma arrived and sat down with a frown, next to me, across from her sister. She drawled with dripping sarcasm, “I have arrived to answer thy summons, oh great one. Impart upon me thy sage wisdom.”

“Lovely, I just wanted the chirpy one to have her sister with her tonight.”

“Dare we ask why?”

I leveled the three girls with that same smile, the kind that, by this point, made most seventh years in my house walk the other way from sheer exposure. “Because she’ll probably have nightmares and I figure we may as well distribute the terror four ways instead of just dumping it all on Potter at the end of the year.”

Padma looked nervous but did her best to mask it under her characteristic sass. “You’re making me worried. You can see how you might make me worried, can’t you?”

“Don’t worry, no one’s going to get hurt…” I paused. “Okay, no one that matters is going to get hurt.”

“Zabini,” all three girls hissed in chorus.

I held out my hands defensively. “Relax, I just wanted to be center stage for this and the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables are to the sides, that’s all.”

“I was having a nice conversation with Su, you know,” Padma grumbled.

“Should I tell you the rest of that conversation? I don’t mind, you know.”

“Oh goodie, I can have friends vicariously.”

“Ehh, she’s a friend, but Parvati’s your twin. We both know you’d do a lot worse for your sister. Have I ever led you wrong?”

“Shall we count the ways?”

“I want to change my bet. They’ll get together before the end of the year,” Violet snarked.

Parvati shook her head. “Nope, you said Davis.”

“It’s not like that!” Padma yelped. She flushed so hard the dark blush could be seen even through her copper skin.

“You can’t fool my twin senses, sis.”

“We don’t have twin senses! What even are twin senses?”

I sighed but otherwise tried not to react to Parvati’s goading. Unfortunately, being the Girl Who Lived’s bestie couldn’t totally remove Parvati’s obsession with relationships. I was hardly the first boy she’d made betting pools for, just one of the more frequent subjects of her needling.

It wasn’t because she actually cared about who I dated. She found out early on that the subject of my love life made me uncomfortable and took vicious delight in trying to coax a reaction from the seer who, in her mind, “should’ve seen it coming.”

She was right, it did make me uncomfortable, but more because I saw them as children and students to care for and guide rather than because I was shy or into men. In a few years, perhaps, but right now? I did consider myself an educator of sorts in my past life. It’d just be all kinds of weird.

Eventually, Padma managed to whine enough for her twin to take pity on her and change the subject. The three of them talked about dueling; Violet had figured out early on that combat would be vital in her future and insisted on joining. Parvati, loyal friend that she was, tagged along and dragged her sister into it. I was only an occasional visitor to the club, but the word on the grapevine was that Violet was quite the hellion.

“So?” Violet asked, her messy, raven tresses bouncing against her shoulder. She wore a savage grin that would have cowed most people in our year.“You in?”

I blinked. I hadn’t realized they were talking to me. “Sorry, what? I was distracted.”

“Stop singing and listen, you prat. You’re the one who dragged us here so you may as well be part of the conversation,” Padma said, jabbing me in the side.

I barked out a helpless laugh. I was ticklish. “Alright, fine. What were you saying, Potter?”

“Yearly tournament. They’re taking sign-ups before winter break.”

“I could… Or I could just manipulate the betting pool and make a killing.”

“Oh, come on, Zabini! Live a little! Join. I want to fight you.”

“That’s not encouraging,” I said with a wry smile. “I hear you’ve got quite the reputation.”

Parvati laughed gleefully. “Hehehe, yeah, well, McLaggen shouldn’t have tried to sting her bum. You should join, Zabini. Vi’s not the only one with a reputation, you know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar. I hear you’re also undefeated.”

“False. I’ve lost once. Greengrass sent me flying.”

“When you were a cripple stumbling around on a cane. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count.”

“It counts; she’s very quick with her wand. Honestly? She’d be your biggest competition. As for me, I occasionally visit the dueling club but that’s nothing compared to your ridiculous win streak. What is it now? Forty-two? No, forty-three.”

Padma shrugged. “Seers. I’m fine with Zabini skipping the tournament. Someone in Ravenclaw would have a better chance at winning. Maybe Corner? He’s pretty fast on the draw..”

“Nope. I reject the possibility that a raven wins, even without Potter dominating.”

“And why’s that? You said you’re not interested.”

“I’m far from invincible,” I drawled. I told them about the Omega InForce once and they suddenly thought I was untouchable. No matter what I called it, it was a far cry from the bullshit of the original. “Besides, I was thinking about either Bones or Greengrass. Bones was taught by her aunt and is unexpectedly dangerous.”

“And Greengrass? You’ve got a deal with her of some sort, right?”

“Not telling. As for her wandarm, she’s hungry. She’s ambitious and desperate and has a lot to prove so practices a lot more than others in our year. She’s not just an entitled princess. If I had to guess, she has the biggest repertoire in our year when it comes to actually dangerous spells.”

“What about Nott then? He’s pretty good too.”

“Only about as good as Smith in Hufflepuff. Nott’s a political beast; he’s not too interested in being good in a fight. So yeah, I’d rank our year at Potter, Bones, Greengrass, and then the rest. Maybe throw in Granger if he’s used that big brain of his to pick up some unexpected spells and could be convinced to participate.”

Padma hummed in thought. “Good point about Granger, didn’t even think about him. Yeah, Corner’s kinda screwed isn’t he?”

“Not necessarily, but he’ll have it rough if he wants to win it for the ravens. He’s going to need to rely on tactics and quick thinking over simple raw power or spell knowledge because he’s kinda outmatched in both. Our year’s just stacked with really strong students, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but none of them are precogs. You haven’t included yourself in that ranking,” Parvati complained. I considered it a minor victory that I’d gotten them to use the term.

“I’m a mystery and I like it that way.”

“I heard you beat up Higgs,” Padma said. “Something about how pissed he was that you did nothing to stop Violet from becoming the new seeker?”

“No comment.”

“You’re as good as a third year. At least.”

“No one saw that.”

“Your housemates saw it and they gossip too, you know.”

I shrugged guilelessly. “You can’t prove anything. As far as anyone knows, Blaise Zabini only occasionally dabbles in dueling.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Violet poked her friend. “No offense, but the club’s kinda boring without Zabini around. Greengrass and Bones are good too, but I’m used to them.”

“Is that why you keep picking fights with older years?” Padma questioned.

The two shared a weird dichotomy. Most other people were perfectly happy to never duel me after what I did to Terence. My spells weren’t strong, I probably didn’t even make the top ten in our year in terms of stopping power, but that meant nothing. Combat precogs were our own special brand of bullshit. It didn’t matter whether I called it Ultra Instinct or Color of Observation or the Omega InForce. In the end, I was notorious for “making up stupid names that aren’t spells” and being disgustingly hard to hit.

After a few minutes of talking about which student would beat who and whether charms or transfiguration was the better branch of magic for use in high-level duels, Padma nudged me on the shoulder. “So, did you just want to feast with the ravens today or was there a reason you’ve pissed off the seventh years? Really, I’m the one who has to live with them, you know.”

I nodded and swallowed a mouthful of perfectly roasted prime rib. “Don’t worry, it should be happening right about no-”

Just then, Quirrell burst into the hall. He flung the doors wide and stumbled up the aisle like a drunkard, gasping for breath.

“TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!” he shrieked. He then collapsed forward as if dead. “Thought you ought to know…”

“Roll credits~” I muttered under my breath. CinemaSins was a classic and I’d die on this hill. I laughed and held Padma steady as she yelped with surprise. Turning to the silent hall, I put on my best shit-eating grin and said, “Actually, professor, I’m with the ravens tonight… Oh, wait, that troll.”

“You’re such a wanker, Zabini,” Padma glared. “I can’t believe you called us all here just to watch this.”

Then we couldn’t even hear ourselves think. The hall erupted into noise. Some screamed. Others looked around frantically as though the troll was going to apparate on top of them instantly.

“SSIILLEENNCCEE!!” Dumbledore roared. His voice carried throughout the hall, making us all turn to the headmaster. It wasn’t just his voice. I could see with my third eye a vibrant corona of magic that flooded the room. He glowed like a bonfire, a miniature sun that shone protectively over us all. The old man was anything but frail. “Everyone please, do not panic. Now, prefects will take everyone back to their dormitories. Teachers will follow-”

I stood, sliding my plate loudly against the table to draw attention to myself. If nothing else, me being a shameless attention whore wasn’t entirely unexpected at this point.

The school had come to the general understanding that the Weasley twins were dicks, Nymphadora was her own tripping hazard, and I would do something seemingly nonsensical that made sense in hindsight, purely so I could laugh later. I was proud of the way I’d embedded myself into the greater Hogwarts zeitgeist.

“For a start, I live in the dungeons, headmaster. So do the puffs, actually.” I turned to their table with a warning finger. “Yes, I know where you live. Shut up, you still don’t matter. Respectfully, between a nice, comfy hall with dozens of wands and the place where the troll is, I’d like to stay and finish dinner if you don’t mind.”

“That… is well considered, Mister Zabini. Very well, heads of houses, with me. The rest of you… carry on…”

“Potter, mind helping me drag Professor Quirrell to Madam Pomfrey?”

Violet looked confused at the situation for a moment but once she had a second to process, she joined me without complaint. As acerbic as she usually was she was a good person deep down, a chivalrous Gryffindor through and through. The idea that she might not help didn’t even cross my mind.

Which was why I genuinely felt terrible about this.

Violet was a girl who loathed attention. She put up a strong front, with a devil-may-care attitude, but I knew by now that the whole punk aesthetic was a facade. She’d once confided in me that, maybe, if people saw her as “Violet the punk,” they’d stop seeing the Girl Who Lived.

They wouldn’t. Not now, not when she’d be named “Heir of Slytherin,” not when her name would come out of the goblet, and not when Voldemore finally bit it. Violet Potter was doomed to be the Girl Who Lived, and if I had anything to say about it, the Woman Who Conquered.

I made a note to come up with a better fucking epithet than that or so help me, I’d make the reporter who writes that eat every quill in Diagon Alley.

Violet Potter hated attention. But maybe, that attention could be a good thing. Maybe, the second Wizarding War shouldn’t be fought in the shadows.

It was wrong, forcibly binding the Patils to Violet like this. It was wrong, manipulating them via shared trauma. It was, without question, a scumbag thing to do. But the future was better this way. Fast friends. Truths that the school could not ignore. The danger that would weigh on the students and teachers, the incentive to prepare themselves for the worst.

And, a seer’s declaration of war.

I picked up the “unconscious” professor and balanced him on my shoulder. Carefully, I turned his face towards Violet so Voldemort’s ugly mug wouldn’t beam bad juju into her scar or whatever he’d been doing for the past two months.

Then, I tripped.

I stumbled on an imaginary crack in the brickwork, tumbling forward. More importantly, I angled the professor’s head towards Violet’s. It took a few tries to find the perfect angle, but that was the beauty of precognition: I could gauge Violet’s reaction and adjust accordingly.

“Woah, Zabini!” she yelped.

She did what everyone would do. With the quick reflexes of a seeker, she raised her hand to catch the professor. Her hand came up, met the man’s face and… there was smoke. The scent of brimstone and ash filled the air, making the nearest students recoil.

“AAAHHHH!!!” the professor shrieked as the love of Lily Potter scorched him like the fires of Hell. His skin took on the color of ash and smoldering embers seemed to flicker beneath before it began to flake off into dust, scattering all over the aisle.

Violet gasped in horror and tried to step back, not that that’d save Quirrell at this point. The man was missing half his face.

Then again, people had survived worse.

I’d better make sure.

Just in case, I too screamed like a bitch and stumbled backwards. At the same time, I made a show of shoving Quirrell's soon to be corpse away from me. If that conveniently pushed him towards Violet again, even better.

That did it. The sight of a half-dusted professor “lunging” towards her made Violet shriek, maybe the first outright feminine response I’d ever heard from her. One day, far in the future, I’d get blackout drunk and laugh about this. Hopefully, she’d be alive to laugh with me.

But right now, her palm came up in a swift slap to try and shove him away.

Fortunately for me, she failed. Or succeeded too well. Her hand met Quirrell’s face again and, his face already being more or less wet sand, slapped clean through his head in a shower of gore that turned to dust mid-flight.

The spirit of Voldemort shrieked in agony. It was a primal sound of unimaginable pain that I knew would stick in everyone’s nightmares. The disembodied head emerged from Quirrell’s turban. It circled the great hall before fleeing elsewhere, too weak from being assaulted by weaponized LOVE to do much else.

The hall was quiet save for the panicked gasp of the Chosen One.

She loathed attention, but it had to be this way. I truthfully didn’t know how Violet’s trek to the mirror would go without Ron or Hermione. I didn’t know if this Potter would defeat Voldemort, or if this Quirrell wouldn’t toy with her and kill her outright.

I wasn’t delusional. I couldn’t do everything myself. Precognition allowed me some leeway, but I wasn’t some master planner like Aizen. I was just a librarian with a love of fiction in the end.

So I’d force people to act. This time, the Chosen One’s adventures wouldn’t be with minimal support in the shadows. She needed to be the one to end Voldemort? Fine. But she could receive help. The horcruxes were free game for all. His followers were public knowledge and needed to be crippled or culled.

I refused to let the world bury its collective head in the sand. I refused to let them dismiss her until it became convenient. Wizarding Britain needed to make a choice, as I had. I truly believed Voldemort wouldn’t have been half the problem he became without the willful ignorance of the country at large.

But that didn’t mean she had to be in the spotlight alone.

I was already a notorious attention whore, so I may as well use that to deflect some attention. This was my declaration of war, an open letter to Voldemort for all to hear. Perhaps the world could ignore a Chosen One, but a seer as well?

No one sane ignored a seer.

For the stupefied hall, I sang, “And this time, Don't get me wrong, I'm just a human. In this life, I'm not the one to tell you to live right. But the saints are gone and the eyes are closed, And the words we speak are the last we'll know~

“Thank you, thank you!” I said, letting my final notes trail off. I walked back to my table and picked up my plate, already loaded with a delicious serving of prime rib, jus, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. I strolled to the end of the hall and twirled my signature pimp cane. Then, with a practiced snap that echoed in the silence, I sank into a flourishing bow. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ve changed my mind. As the late professor said: The troll is in the dungeon.”

Author’s Note

Would Blaise ever do this? Ehh, probably not. This is a pretty OOC omake.

Leon’s age is not a mistake. Hermione’s birthday is in September, meaning she’s almost a year older than Harry, which might explain why she’s noticeably more mature than most students (or because JKR uses her as an exposition machine).

The reason Dumbledore seemingly forgets that Slytherins and Hufflepuffs live in the lower levels of the castle is because JKR genuinely hadn’t marked the locations of the common rooms. The Slytherin common room only becomes relevant in book 2, creating this odd plot hole turned meme.

The song is “Love is a Weapon” by Letdown, a decent-enough pop-rock that I had some appropriate lyrics.