Chapter 217 — Suspicions About Snape
After returning to school, they quickly fell back into the grind of intense study. Before long, Gryffindor's next Quidditch match is about to begin, against Hufflepuff.
When they heard that Severus Snape would be refereeing, unease spread through the team. Everyone feared he might take the opportunity to target Harry again—or worse, favor Hufflepuff outright.
Harry had even briefly considered dropping out of the match.
But once the game actually began, they realized Snape was… unexpectedly fair.
The tension eased.
Gryffindor won without much trouble.
Yet after the match, Harry happened to catch sight of Snape speaking with Quirinus Quirrell.
---
"Harry, where've you been? Fred and George are setting up a celebration!"
Ron asked, eyeing Harry's odd expression.
Harry bent over, hands braced on his knees, breathing hard. Sweat dripped from his temples onto the stone floor.
"Don't ask—yet," he said sharply, cutting Ron off while scanning the corridor. The suits of armor lining the walls seemed to loom closer in his tension. "Let's find somewhere private."
The three slipped into an abandoned classroom. As Hermione lit her wand, a few insects scattered into the shadows.
Harry shut the door and leaned against it, then told them everything he had seen.
"Snape grabbed Quirrell by the collar. He was demanding to know how to get past the other protective enchantments."
"You mean…" Hermione's wandlight trembled slightly, illuminating her pale face. "Unless Professor Quirrell can resist him, the Philosopher's Stone—"
A sudden clang of armor from the corridor cut her off.
All three froze, holding their breath.
Only when the distant laughter faded did they dare speak again.
"So you're saying," Ron swallowed, "you saw Snape threatening Quirrell in the Forbidden Forest? He wants the Stone?"
He scratched his head, frowning. "Blimey… I never thought Quirrell had it in him. He always seems so timid. Maybe we should be nicer to him."
"Exactly," Hermione nodded in agreement.
"Should we tell Professor Albus Dumbledore?" she added hesitantly. "I don't think we can rely on Professor Quirrell alone."
"You've got a point," Ron said, glancing at Harry. "What do you think?"
Harry shook his head. "No. Dumbledore won't believe us. Snape hides it too well. He's not going to trust three first-years over him—even if we're telling the truth."
"Then… what about Russell?" Hermione suggested. "If he tells Dumbledore, it might work."
Harry hesitated for a moment—then shook his head again.
"No… I'm not doubting him," he said carefully. "But he gets along with Snape. What if Snape manipulates him?"
Ron immediately frowned. "No way. Russell wouldn't side with Snape."
"Yeah, Harry," Hermione added, "you might be overthinking this."
"That's not what I mean," Harry said quickly. "Of course he wouldn't side with him. But Snape is a professor—what if he misleads him into saying the wrong things?"
That made them pause.
They had all heard that dark wizards were skilled at manipulation.
If Snape deceived Russell… it wasn't impossible.
"So what do we do now?" Ron muttered, ruffling his hair. "Just hope Quirrell can hold his own?"
"Exactly," Harry said. "They're both professors. Even if Quirrell's weaker, he can't be that much weaker. What we should do now… is give him confidence. Be kind to him."
And just like that, they put the plan into action.
During their next class, they deliberately left their protective masks behind and made an effort to answer questions actively. Their behavior drew surprised looks from everyone—including the Slytherin students.
Draco, in particular, found it endlessly amusing. He went around mocking Harry, loudly proclaiming that his judgment must be terrible if he could admire a "third-rate professor" like Quirinus Quirrell.
Over the following days, Harry made a point of giving Quirrell an encouraging smile whenever they crossed paths.
Ron even began persuading others not to mock Quirrell's stutter.
But their efforts were little more than a joke. No one took them seriously—after all, Quirrell's overwhelming smell alone was enough to keep people at a distance.
---
Meanwhile, Russell's days were comparatively relaxed. Aside from practicing magic, he spent his nights wandering the castle with Wednesday. For reasons unknown—perhaps out of fear that Severus Snape or Albus Dumbledore might uncover his secret—Quirrell hadn't approached Russell at all recently.
"Born! They're born!"
Russell stared excitedly at the box in his hands. Wednesday stood beside him, eyes wide with curiosity.
Inside the box lay a plump female rat—Peter's mate.
The reason she was so well-fed was simple: ever since she became pregnant, Russell had taken meticulous care of her, providing the best food and conditions. He had even asked Snape to brew a stabilizing potion for her.
Snape had no idea what Russell needed it for, but he provided it anyway. Russell casually explained that his cat was expecting.
Now, several newborn rats lay inside the box.
They were tiny—barely the size of a finger—pink, hairless, and oddly resembling miniature piglets.
Russell couldn't tell whether these newborns possessed magical traits or were just ordinary rats, so he decided to consult an expert.
After all, Hagrid was practically a master when it came to magical creatures. Identifying a few rats should be effortless for him.
---
That Sunday, Russell and Wednesday headed to Hagrid's hut.
But something felt off.
The windows, usually open, were now tightly shut. Curtains hung inside, sealing the entire place as if it had been deliberately closed off from the outside world.
Russell stepped forward and knocked lightly.
No response.
No sound at all.
For a moment, it seemed as though no one was inside.
Then—
A short bark.
It came from inside the hut, but cut off abruptly, as if someone had clamped a hand over the dog's mouth.
Russell narrowed his eyes.
"Hagrid," he called calmly, "I know you're in there. Open the door."
Seeing this, a memory surfaced in his mind.
It seemed Hagrid had managed to acquire a dragon egg from Hogsmeade.
And something like that…
Was definitely not something you could just casually buy—unless you had far more resources than you let on.
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