"Alright, that's all for today's class." Professor McGonagall closed her book and reminded the students, "Make sure to review the material for the next lesson."
"Hey, Harry," Rimuru called out as he walked over. "I heard you've got Quidditch practice soon?"
"Yeah, want to come watch?" Harry smiled. "You could even fly with us if you're interested." He had grown quite fond of this new transfer student—kind, gorgeous, and already popular with everyone.
"Bestie, I'm starving," Milim groaned as she clutched her belly and shuffled over pitifully. "Let's go eat!"
"Ah, sorry Harry," Rimuru said apologetically. "We'll join you after we grab some food."
"No problem," Harry replied cheerfully.
"Let's go!" Rimuru huffed, grabbing Milim by the collar and dragging her toward the Great Hall.
Harry watched the two of them walk away, completely dazed.
"What are you doing just standing there? They've been gone for ages," Hermione said, exasperated. "Come on, practice is about to start!"
"Oh—right!" Harry snapped out of it, cheeks flushing as he rushed off to the pitch.
Just like in the original timeline, they ended up running into Malfoy—and as usual, the air immediately turned tense.
"Harry," Malfoy sneered, "I'm going to show everyone what a loser you really are. I'll crush you like the nobody you are."
Harry's temper flared, and just as he was about to snap back, Hermione stepped in sharply, "Oh please. At least Harry made the team based on skill, unlike someone who bought their way in."
Malfoy's smug look twisted into a snarl as he marched forward. "Who asked for your opinion, you filthy Mudblood?"
"You wanna say that again?" Hermione's eyes burned with fury, no longer hiding the rage within.
"What, this?" Malfoy taunted. "Mudblood!"
"Die!"
The voice exploded like thunder, filled with blood-chilling rage.
Before Malfoy could even react, a tremendous force slammed into him, launching him like a cannonball straight into the stone wall. Blood spurted from his mouth as he collapsed in a heap.
"Who's there?!" the surrounding students shrieked, backing away in panic.
Milim stood there, fists clenched, eyes locked on the rest of the Slytherin team like a predator eyeing prey. If they didn't give her a good reason not to, she'd ensure none of them saw tomorrow's sunrise.
"Milim?!" Hermione exclaimed, stunned but relieved.
"Oh?" Milim turned at the sound of her voice and relaxed her glare.
"You okay, Hermie-chan?" she asked, walking over. Milim had just finished lunch and was coming to find Harry when she saw the scene unfold. Having seen the Harry Potter movies, she knew exactly what that word meant—and exploded instantly.
"I'm fine… thanks to you," Hermione said, eyes misting with emotion. "Thank you."
"Of course! We're friends!" Milim beamed. "If anyone bullies you, they'll have to deal with me—and Bestie won't let it slide either."
"She's right." Rimuru appeared beside them, face calm but expression serious. Despite his small frame, an overwhelming pressure radiated from him, making everyone nearby instinctively shrink back.
"Rimuru…" Hermione's tears spilled over. "You idiots…"
"There, there. No more crying," Rimuru gently wiped her tears away. "We're your friends. Of course we'd protect you."
"Hey, you guys ready to die or what?" Milim growled, fists raised again as she marched toward the remaining Slytherin players.
Moments later, the courtyard echoed with pained screams. The sound traveled across campus—haunting, unforgettable.
"Whew, that felt good," Milim said, dusting off her hands. The Slytherin team lay on the ground, swollen beyond recognition—each face puffed up like a balloon.
Gryffindor students nearby stared, stunned speechless, jaws hanging wide open. Several subconsciously swallowed hard just watching Milim strut away.
"Don't you think that was… a bit much?" Hermione asked uncertainly, frowning down at the beaten Slytherins. As satisfying as it was, this was still a school. Attacking students meant disciplinary action.
"You really see us as normal students?" Rimuru said, half amused. "Not to brag, but I could solo the so-called Dark Lord, his whole army, and toss in the Ministry of Magic too, with one finger."
"Uhh…" Hermione broke into a nervous sweat. Right. Why was she worried about them? If anything, she should be worried about Hogwarts still being in one piece after they were done. Dumbledore might be powerful, but these two…
"Are we practicing or not?" Milim frowned at Harry and the others, still frozen in place.
"The practice field was… well—never mind. Let's go!" their captain quickly changed course, initially about to protest that Slytherin had reserved the field. But seeing their unconscious forms on the ground, he wisely shut up.
"Should we take them to the infirmary?" Rimuru asked, showing a hint of sympathy. "They're brats, but still just kids."
"Why bother?" Milim waved it off. "Just leave them here. No point wasting time!"
Rimuru sighed, then cast a gentle green healing spell to stabilize their injuries—nothing life-threatening, at least. Then he turned and left with the others.
"Just who are they…?" murmured a voice from a nearby tower.
Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts and widely hailed as the most powerful wizard alive, stood in the shadows, observing the scene with a thoughtful look.
"There's no official record of their enrollment… yet somehow, their presence feels entirely justified. This isn't something ordinary people can pull off."
A glint of wisdom flickered in his eyes as he lifted his wand. With a soft glow, both he and the battered students vanished from the courtyard.