Got Hisoka template in Harry Potter World - Chapter 18

Chapter 18: The Monster Who Hunts Monsters

The panic was a living thing.

It slithered between the house tables, coiled around ankles, and seeped into lungs as students scrambled to their feet. Plates of half-eaten Halloween feasts rattled, abandoned goblets of pumpkin juice tipped over, staining the enchanted cobwebs crimson. A first-year Hufflepuff screamed as a floating jack-o’-lantern burst into flames above them, showering embers like dying fireflies.

Dumbledore’s voice cut through the chaos, amplified but calm—the eye of the storm.

“Prefects, please escort your houses back to the dormitories. Teachers, with me.”

His blue gaze swept the room, lingering for half a heartbeat on the Slytherin table—where Jack Fletcher had already vanished.

—

Gemma Farley’s voice rang out like a silver blade as she marshaled the Slytherins into formation.

“First-years in the middle! Keep your wands out and do not—”

Her command died as she turned, realizing three figures were missing.

Draco Malfoy—usually clinging to the safety of Crabbe and Goyle like a limpet—gone.

Theodore Nott—who never broke rules unless they bored him—gone.

And Jack Fletcher—

Gemma’s stomach dropped.

“Oh, fuck me.”

—

Jack Fletcher moved through the castle like a knife through silk.

The suits of armor didn’t creak as he passed. The portraits didn’t stir in their frames. Even the dust motes hung still in the air, undisturbed by his breathing.

His pulse was a war drum in his throat.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

The rhythm matched his footsteps. Matched the distant boom of something massive shifting in the bowels of the castle.

Somewhere behind him, two sets of footsteps faltered.

Draco Malfoy’s whisper cut through the dark: “He’s not—he can’t actually be—”

Theodore Nott’s fingers closed around Draco’s wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise. “Shut. Up.”

They watched from the shadow of a stone archway as Jack rounded the corner—toward the thunderous snorts and the stench of wet fur and old blood.

Draco’s lips peeled back from his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “He’s mad.”

Theo didn’t disagree.

—

The abandoned Transfiguration courtyard had become a shrine to violence.

Moonlight poured through the shattered glass ceiling, painting the three trolls in silver and shadow. The smallest—a mere six and a half meters—was gnawing on the remains of a suit of armor, its yellowed teeth shrieking against the metal. The largest sniffed the air, its club dragging grooves in the flagstones.

Jack walked out, and the nearest troll’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring.

And Jack—

Jack smiled.

It wasn’t a human expression.

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His aura burst out of his body, and tiles under the ground started to cracks.

The largest troll roared.

—

Draco’s back pressed against the cold stone, his lungs burning with the effort of staying silent.

Theodore’s wand was out, but his hand shook—not with fear, but with the terrible understanding of what they were seeing.

“He’s not running,” Draco breathed.

“No,” Theo agreed, voice hollow. “He’s waiting.”

Somewhere above them, Gemma Farley’s furious shouts echoed through the corridors—too distant, too late.

The first troll charged.

Jack’s laugh rang out like a struck bell.