It wasn't really Hermione's fault that she looked so utterly dumbfounded.
After all, Snape's attitude toward Harry had always been obvious—it was hard to believe he'd ever try to help him.
Anyone who heard what Harry just said would find it hard to accept.
But instead of arguing, Hermione's concern only deepened.
"Then who exactly is trying to hurt you?" she asked urgently.
Harry shrugged nonchalantly.
"I've known for a while now."
Hermione blinked.
"You WHAT?! Then we have to tell Dumbledore right away!"
She grabbed his arm, ready to drag him straight to the Headmaster's office.
But Harry sighed, forcing a bitter smile as he pulled her back.
"Relax, Hermione. No rush."
No rush?
If they told Dumbledore now, then the dragon egg, the Mirror of Erised, and the Philosopher's Stone would all be out of the picture.
And honestly?
Watching Quirrell and Voldemort play dumb every day was kind of hilarious.
If they exposed him too early, Voldemort's wandering soul would just flee, recruiting more followers from the shadows—and that would be a much bigger problem.
It was safer to let him stay here at Hogwarts—right under his watch.
That way, Harry could keep track of his every move without any real danger.
More importantly—
As long as Voldemort stayed put, Harry had a chance to get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone.
This was just like that old saying—
"The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind it."
Harry was the oriole.
…But Hermione didn't see it that way.
"How can you not be worried?!" she huffed. "There's literally someone in Hogwarts trying to kill you! If you won't do anything about it, then I will!"
Harry groaned, rubbing his forehead.
He regretted everything.
Why did he even bring this up?!
Letting her misunderstand Snape would've been so much easier.
It's not like Snape would lose a limb or something—so why bother explaining?!
Damn his big mouth.
Harry firmly grabbed Hermione's hand.
"Look," he sighed, "I promise you—I'm not in any danger. I'm not an idiot. I'd never let myself walk into a trap."
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"You're sure?"
Harry nodded furiously, like a chicken pecking rice.
"Positive! Swear on my life!"
Hermione still didn't look convinced.
"I still don't feel right about this… maybe I should just go tell Dumbledore anyway—"
"Okay, FINE!" Harry blurted out.
He looked so stressed and desperate that Hermione couldn't help but giggle.
"Relax, I was just messing with you," she teased. "But you have to tell me who it is."
Harry hesitated.
If he told Hermione it was Quirrell…
Would she impulsively run straight to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and confront him?!
Probably.
But looking at her face—that stubborn expression that said, 'I won't let this go until you tell me'—
Harry sighed.
"Fine. But you have to promise me something."
Hermione nodded eagerly.
"Okay!"
"You have to pretend you never heard this."
"Got it!"
"And no more questions."
"Fine!"
Harry took a deep breath.
"It's Professor Quirrell."
Just as expected—Hermione froze.
Her brain completely shut down.
"…Him?"
She was utterly baffled.
In her mind, Quirrell was nothing but a timid, stuttering coward.
How could he possibly be the one plotting against Harry?
But at the same time…
Hermione trusted Harry.
If he said it was true—then it was true.
Harry had always given her the impression that he knew everything—but never told her anything.
Every time she asked, his answer was always the same—
"You'll find out later."
And it drove her insane.
Hermione hesitated for a moment before asking, "But why would Professor Quirrell do something like that?"
Harry turned to her with a sly smile, his eyes glinting with amusement.
Hermione instantly realized her mistake.
She had just promised not to ask any more questions.
Her cheeks flushed pink.
"Fine," she huffed. "If you don't wanna say it, then don't."
Harry's expression grew serious.
"Listen, Hermione. No matter what, you cannot act differently around Quirrell. And you absolutely cannot try to investigate him. It's too dangerous."
His voice carried a weight that made Hermione pause.
She crossed her arms, pretending to be unimpressed—but deep down, a warm, unexplainable feeling bubbled in her chest.
She wouldn't admit it, but she liked that he was worried about her.
The Great Hall—That Evening
That night, the atmosphere at dinner was completely different.
The Gryffindors were ecstatic, celebrating their long-overdue victory.
The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws—while not directly involved—also shared in their joy.
After all, they'd all been trampled by Slytherin for years.
Tonight, it felt like justice had finally been served.
The Great Hall was lively—Gryffindors and their allies eating and drinking heartily, raising their goblets of pumpkin juice like warriors celebrating after a great battle.
But the Slytherins?
They sat in silence.
Their faces were stormy, their mood thunderous.
Even though their table was filled with delicious food, no one had the appetite to eat.
Especially with Gryffindor's rowdy laughter echoing across the hall—a harsh reminder of their humiliation.
If it weren't for Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall sitting at the head table, there might've already been a full-blown war.
"Harry, you were amazing today!"
"That was insane!"
"Gryffindor's strongest player, hands down!"
"Do you think Slytherin's players will have PTSD after this?"
"HAHAHAHA!"
The compliments and jokes kept coming.
Harry took them in stride, nodding and smiling politely—but Hermione could tell he just wanted to enjoy his food in peace.
Still—
Watching him squirm uncomfortably under all the attention…
Made her feel a little bit better.
Consider it payback for keeping secrets from her.
Then the doors swung open.
A group stormed in.
Flint. Higgins. And the rest of the Slytherin team.
Their arrival immediately killed the mood.
But they didn't go to the Slytherin table.
They were heading straight for Gryffindor.
The Hall fell into tense silence.
"Are they here to fight Harry?!" someone whispered.
Several Gryffindors immediately stood up, blocking their path.
Wood frowned.
"Flint," he said coldly, "whatever you're here for, save it for tomorrow. If you wanna fight, do it outside."
Internally, though, he was panicking.
He hadn't brought his wand.
If things went south, he could only pray the professors intervened fast enough.
Flint, still rubbing his stomach from earlier, smirked.
"Relax, I'm not here to waste my time fighting a bunch of brainless idiots," he sneered.
"I just want to have a little chat… with the legendary Harry Potter."
His words were dripping with sarcasm.
Instantly, every Gryffindor's temper flared.
Harry sighed internally.
Flint… even if it's true, you can't just say that out loud.
If you already know they're brainless, why provoke them? You're just as bad.
And worse—you insulted all of them at once.
The second the words left Flint's mouth, he regretted it.
But apologize?
Never.
The Gryffindors were furious.
But what could they do?
Pulling out their wands and hexing him would be too extreme—too serious.
So both sides just stood there, locked in a tense, awkward stare-off.
Neither backing down.
Until—
A voice—smooth as honey—cut through the standoff.
"Flint, did you need something from me?"
Flint and Wood both exhaled in relief.
Then Flint immediately cursed himself.
Why was he relieved?!
Harry was his enemy!
The Slytherins stepped forward.
Higgins moved to the front.
His appearance was… well.
A thick white bandage was wrapped completely around his head, covering his broken nose—leaving only two beady little eyes and a mouth full of shark-like teeth.
He lifted a finger, pointing it inches from Harry's face.
His voice, nasally and stuffed, croaked out a warning:
"You better watch your nose!"
At least, that's what he meant to say.
But with his mangled, broken nose, it sounded more like "Yoo betta wosh yoo noze!"
The effect was ruined.
A few quiet snickers echoed around the hall.
Higgins realized it.
He was supposed to sound threatening!
Not like he had the world's worst cold!
Harry instantly understood the situation.
They were here to 'save face.'
A last attempt to reclaim their dignity.
Six of them.
All taken down by one first-year.
If they couldn't at least intimidate him, they'd become Hogwarts' biggest joke.
Harry smiled.
With a casual motion, he brushed Higgins' finger aside and said—
"Sorry, mate. I know you're into me, but I'm not into guys.
Maybe you should try Flint instead?"
Silence.
Total silence.
No one had expected that.
Higgins almost spat out blood.
"I'M NOT INTO YOU! THAT WAS A THREAT!"
This was supposed to be their moment to reclaim their pride.
Now?
Now they just looked even more pathetic.
Originally, all they needed was for Harry to look the slightest bit nervous.
Just a tiny flicker of fear.
That would've been enough to win back some dignity.
But—
They had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
They stood there, awkward and defeated.
Harry—smiling like an angel—tilted his head and gently reminded them:
"Are you guys done? You can leave now."
"Oh. Uh. Okay."
They actually turned and walked away.
The moment they left, they could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes burning into their backs.
It felt like they were being roasted over an open flame.
The most humiliating moment of their lives.
It was like being trained dogs.
Harry told them to leave—so they did.
…
Turning back now?
No way.
That would just make it even worse.
So, in complete silence, the defeated Slytherins disappeared into the night.