"Because Professor Dumbledore and I forbid it!"
That simple sentence instantly swept away Lucious Malfoy's fear. For a moment, he actually forgot how terrifying his former master once was.
What Voldemort? What Dark Lord?
In the end, he was nothing more than a pitiful wretch dancing in other people's hands.
He couldn't even resurrect himself without being part of someone else's plan—so really, what was there for Malfoy to be afraid of?
"I'll get right on it," he said quickly.
"Good."
Once Malfoy was sent off, Charles didn't pursue the matter further.
As for Quirrell, he had suddenly taken several days off in a row, which secretly pleased Snape—because in his absence, Dumbledore had temporarily assigned Snape to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.
It had to be said: as a teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape was indeed far more capable than Quirrell.
Not that Quirrell lacked skill—but when there's a human face growing out of the back of your head, it's hard to focus on teaching.
"This feels strange," Hermione said, frowning. "We ran into a dark wizard in the Forbidden Forest, and right afterward, Professor Quirrell took a leave of absence."
"You mean you think Quirrell was that dark wizard?" Ron asked, astonished.
But even so, Harry stubbornly insisted the dark wizard that night had to be Snape.
After all, that dark wizard had left the scene completely unharmed. If it had been Quirrell, there'd be no reason for him to disappear like this—especially at such a critical time.
And most importantly—
"Don't tell me you really think Vol—"
"Please, Harry!" Ron pleaded with wide eyes.
"Fine—You-Know-Who!" Harry huffed, correcting himself. "I might sound rude, but honestly, do you think You-Know-Who would choose Quirrell as his right-hand man?"
He scoffed.
It wasn't that he had anything personal against Quirrell, but the man's skills were… frankly pathetic.
Ron nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Remember last Christmas? Fred and George almost knocked him out with a couple of snowballs. And he couldn't even handle a Pokémon."
"Right! If not for that, Dumbledore wouldn't have had to add that extra school rule afterward."
"All right, you've got a point," Harry admitted. "But still, why did Professor Quirrell suddenly take leave?"
"You didn't hear?" Ron asked in surprise. He thought everyone in Gryffindor knew. "They say the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed. Every teacher who takes it suffers some kind of misfortune."
Such rumors were incredibly popular among the young wizards at Hogwarts.
"People are saying Professor Quirrell was cursed this time," Ron sighed. "Poor bloke. First vampires, now curses…"
"It's just a rumor, Ron," Hermione said flatly. "If the curse were real, don't you think Dumbledore would have canceled the class or at least changed the name?"
In truth, Dumbledore kept the Defense class partly because the curse wasn't that dangerous—if carefully managed, it rarely caused real harm—and partly because it helped him confirm whether Voldemort was still alive.
But with Charles around now, that precaution was no longer necessary.
By next term, this "urban legend" would finally fade into myth.
"Well, if the curse is real," Harry said, "then I hope Snape's the one who gets unlucky next. As for Quirrell, I think Snape probably did something to him."
"Snape's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone for You-Know-Who," Harry declared firmly. "He must have forced Quirrell to reveal the secrets of the enchantments guarding it."
"Speaking of which," Ron added, "I wonder if Hagrid ever managed to get that Sphinx."
Replacing the three-headed dog with a Sphinx had been their idea after learning Hagrid had accidentally revealed the creature's secret.
Originally, Harry hadn't thought of it until the last moment, but Hagrid, being in high spirits after acquiring two dragon eggs, had ended up spilling everything.
"I heard he did," said Ron. "Word got around from the Ministry—apparently our professor's got some influence there."
That last part came through the Slytherin grapevine.
Hermione sighed. "Well, I'm sure the professors will handle it. We should be focusing on our exams—finals are coming up."
"Coming up?" Ron's eyes widened. "We've still got two whole months before finals!"
But no matter what he said, Hermione was already in full study mode. Harry, too, stopped obsessing over Snape, distracted by Quidditch and Pokémon battles.
He had already earned all his badges. Ever since Professor Charles had forbidden Snape from entering battles himself, Gryffindor students had been winning a lot more.
Meanwhile, Snape had gradually grown skilled at Pokémon battles—unsurprising, since Poison-types suited him perfectly.
"Do you think the Hogwarts Cup will be before or after finals?" Ron wondered aloud.
"Before, obviously," he said quickly. "Otherwise, the seventh-years will already be gone!"
"No! It's definitely after the N.E.W.T.s," Hermione countered. "Think about it—professors wouldn't hold a tournament during exams. They wouldn't distract seventh-years like that."
"Well, seventh-years have their N.E.W.T.s, fifth-years have O.W.L.s, so that means our biggest rivals are the sixth-years," Ron concluded.
"I think we've got a real shot at winning," Harry said.
Sure, the upper years had stronger magic and knew more spells—but he and Harry had an edge: their Pokémon.
They had more Pokémon than anyone else, and their partners had fought through plenty of battles. In terms of Pokémon levels, they actually surpassed many sixth- and seventh-years.
Time passed, day after day.
After a week's absence, Quirrell finally returned to Hogwarts—disappointing both Harry and Snape in equal measure.
Snape was disappointed to lose his Defense class again; Harry was disappointed Snape hadn't met with any misfortune.
During this time, Harry would occasionally sneak by the corridor on the third floor or attend the weekly Pokémon Master Club gatherings every Saturday.
Many students' Pokémon had evolved through battle—though most were Raticates or Bug-types.
The subject of Pokémon evolution itself became a fascinating topic after Professor Charles took the class to witness hundreds of Metapods evolving into Butterfree at once—a breathtaking sight.
By May, everything seemed to have settled back into routine.
Except for one thing—Harry's scar began hurting again, more often and more severely than before. It made him irritable and restless.
He told Ron and Hermione about it, but after a while they grew tired of hearing it. Harry complained constantly, yet refused to visit the infirmary.
But today, the pain was clearly worse than ever.
"Ah—!"
"Harry, you have to go to the hospital wing," Hermione said sternly. "We're worried about you!"
"No!" he snapped. "You don't understand, Hermione! I'm not sick! I think Snape's up to something again—but no one will believe me!"
"Then go to Dumbledore—or Professor Charles," Ron suggested, frowning. "He always believes us, and he's… well, kind of amazing. Maybe he'll know what to do."
"…Fine."
Moved by his friends' concern, Harry finally relented.
"Let's go find the professor."
Between the headmaster and Charles, Harry naturally chose the one he felt closer to.
But when they reached his office—it was empty.
The door wasn't locked, but Charles was gone. A massive Charizard coiled lazily inside, its fierce eyes half-closed, ignoring them completely.
"Where could he be? Maybe he's teaching another class?" Hermione wondered.
"You—are you looking for the professor?"
Neville suddenly emerged from the reserve area, surprising them.
"Neville! Why are you here? Where's Professor Charles?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"I'm practicing swordsmanship," Neville said quietly.
"Oh—we forgot about your wand…"
Back in the Forbidden Forest, he had broken his wand saving Malfoy. Though Malfoy had promised to replace it with an even better one, Neville refused.
To him, that broken wand held deeper meaning.
But his grandmother, surprisingly, hadn't scolded him this time. She was proud—because courage, not magic, was what he had inherited from his parents.
"It's fine," Neville said with a small smile. "The professor said he'd make me a new one himself."
He tilted his head. "You're looking for him? He got an owl earlier and left in a hurry."
"An owl?"
The trio froze.
"Yeah—he said he might not be back until tomorrow, and told me to lock up after he left." Neville nodded.
Ever since the Forbidden Forest incident, Neville had experienced a small magical surge—and even his memory had improved since then.
"Well, I guess we'll have to go to Dumbledore," Hermione sighed.
They hurried off toward the headmaster's office—only to run straight into Professor McGonagall coming out.
"What are you three doing here?"
Her sharp tone made them jump. There wasn't a single Gryffindor who wasn't afraid of their head of house—except Hermione.
"We wanted to see Professor Dumbledore," she said quickly.
"See Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall repeated, her tone wary. "Why?"
Harry froze. He couldn't tell her about his scar—it'd only get him sent straight to the hospital wing.
Thinking fast, he blurted out the worst excuse possible:
"It's… a secret."
He instantly regretted it. McGonagall's nostrils flared.
"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent message from the Ministry and flew to London immediately."
"He left? At a time like this?"
"Professor Dumbledore is a very busy man," she said crisply. "If there's something urgent, you can tell me instead. I handle certain matters in his absence."
"Uh—no, that's all right, Professor."
"In that case," she said, her lips tightening, "I suggest you three go outside and get some sunshine." With that, she walked away.
"What do we do now?" Ron whispered. "Dumbledore's gone, Professor Charles is gone—maybe you should tell Professor McGonagall about your scar. Or… how about Sirius? Write to him?"
"But by the time the letter reaches him and comes back, it'll be days," Hermione groaned.
Harry didn't answer. He was thinking hard.
"This doesn't add up."
"What doesn't?" Ron asked.
"I mean—don't you think this is all too much of a coincidence?" Harry said, his voice low. "My scar suddenly hurts worse than ever, then both the professors most likely to stop Snape are called away at the same time… It's like someone wanted them out of the castle."
All three of them immediately pictured Snape's greasy-haired smirk in their minds.
"Tonight," Harry said grimly, "Snape's going to go through the trapdoor. He's got everything he needs—and now he's cleared the way."
"But how can he get past the Sphinx?" Hermione asked.
"He doesn't even know we replaced the dog with a Sphinx. That's our advantage. But we can't be sure—what if he does solve its riddle?"
"But what can we—"
Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron turned.
Snape was standing right behind them.
"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.
"In weather like this, you shouldn't be indoors," he remarked, a strange twitch crossing his face that might have been a smile.
"We were just—"
"You'd better watch yourselves," he interrupted silkily. "Wandering around like this, people might think you're up to no good." His eyes glinted. "And one more thing, Potter—if I catch you sneaking out after curfew again, I'll personally see to your expulsion. Have a pleasant evening."
He swept away with a smug sneer.
Watching his back retreat, Harry hissed, "He's forbidding me to go out at night—because he doesn't want me interfering!"
Hermione and Ron exchanged uncertain looks.
But Harry's mind was already made up.
"I have to get to the Philosopher's Stone before he does."
He said it firmly.
Hermione drew a deep breath. "Then it's we. We'll go together."
"Yeah," Ron agreed, nodding hard. "We're not letting you go alone."
(End of Chapter)