Snape, the Double Agent

Faced with this scene, the students not tangled in vines were utterly stunned.

Ernie's eyes went wide, his voice trembling: "Charlie, I've never seen that move before!"

"This is large-scale Transfiguration."

Justin's jaw nearly hit the floor.

Transfiguration?

He'd never been into Transfiguration, thinking it was less direct than charms.

What use was spending all day learning to turn a stick into a needle?

Professor McGonagall always stressed the importance of basic Transfiguration, but he thought that stuff had no practical value.

And now you're telling me this insane move is Transfiguration?

The upper-year students from Gryffindor and Slytherin, who hadn't joined the brawl, were also stunned at the sight.

Victor Mars, a seventh-year Gryffindor, clicked his tongue in amazement. "This kind of large-scale Transfiguration..."

"If an adult Wizard pulled it off, I wouldn't be surprised," his companion chimed in.

"But Charlie's just a First Year!"

"A First Year can do this?"

"How long has he even studied magic?"

"He's from an ordinary Wizard family—he shouldn't have had any formal magical education before eleven."

"Is he pure-blood, then?"

"Give me a break. You're pure-blood too. Can you pull off this move right now?"

Murmurs spread among the upper-year students.

Percy, as Prefect, felt his scalp tingle.

He'd started off trying to get everyone to stop, but the students from both Houses wouldn't listen at all.

When spells were flying everywhere, he'd almost been hit himself.

Now the Great Hall was in this mess—could he even keep his job as Prefect?

Sweat beaded on Percy's forehead.

Malfoy, dangling upside down from the vines, was pale, with blood still dripping from his nose.

He twisted his body, trying to break free, but the vines only tightened.

"Let me go!" Malfoy's voice came out strange from being upside down. "Charlie, I didn't mess with you—why are you coming at me!"

Charlie ignored him, focusing on the food on his plate.

Hermione, meanwhile, was studying the structure of the vines.

"Charlie cast complex Transfiguration on dozens of objects at once, and he's precisely controlling the strength of each vine..."

"How strong is his Magic Power?"

Ron struggled a few times: "These vines are awesome."

Neville looked at Charlie with admiration, his fist still stained with Malfoy's blood.

At that moment, he felt a rush of adrenaline, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

It was a thrill he'd never felt before—all because of Charlie's words: "The tougher you are, the less people dare to mess with you."

Just then, the doors of the Great Hall swung open.

Professor McGonagall walked in, froze, then closed the door and opened it again.

Finding the scene exactly the same, she gave up all hope.

Gryffindor and Slytherin students were tangled in all kinds of bizarre vines.

Around the Hufflepuff table, everyone was gathered around Charlie.

The situation was crystal clear.

"Charlie!"

"Are you trying to tear down the school?!"

Professor McGonagall let out a sharp shriek.

In the Deputy Headmistress's office.

The main participants in this incident stood before the desk.

Professor McGonagall listened to the whole story from start to finish, the anger on her face gradually fading.

She set her quill down heavily on the desk, a few black ink spots splattering out.

"Gryffindor loses one hundred points."

"Slytherin loses one hundred points."

Her voice was cold enough to freeze.

Harry and Malfoy's eyes went wide at the same time, their mouths gaping open wide enough to swallow a Golden Snitch.

One hundred points—Professor Snape is going to kill me, Malfoy thought, on the verge of tears.

One hundred points—we just lost ninety, Harry thought, his eyes glazed over.

Professor McGonagall turned to Charlie, her gaze complicated.

"Couldn't you have been... a little gentler in how you stopped them from fighting?"

Charlie hung his head.

"Sorry, Professor. I was too impulsive at the time."

His attitude was so sincere it left no room for criticism.

Professor McGonagall's anger eased a bit more.

When dealing with a teacher, an elder, or a woman, it's best not to argue—arguing is pointless—and Professor McGonagall was all three.

So Charlie decisively apologized and admitted fault, with an excellent attitude.

This was also why Charlie often got into trouble, but the professors all had a good impression of him.

Oh, except Snape—he thought Charlie was a pure demon seed.

"Given that the Great Hall is a complete mess and the professors have to eat dinner in their offices, but since your intentions were good, I won't deduct points. One month of detention."

Detention was no big deal; Charlie was long used to it. If he didn't get locked up a few days a week, he'd feel off.

"Next time you encounter a situation like this, find a professor to handle it first." Her tone softened.

"But your Transfiguration... truly left an impression."

Professor McGonagall marveled inwardly.

That kind of large-scale, precise control—she herself had barely managed it in her fifth year.

If the Great Hall hadn't been turned into such a mess, she would have wanted to give Charlie a hundred points.

"I understand, Professor."

Charlie nodded obediently.

"You may go."

Charlie turned and left.

The door closed softly behind him.

Leaving the despairing students of the Lion House and Serpent House to face the lioness's fury.

Professor McGonagall looked at the closed door and couldn't help shaking her head.

Good thing Charlie wasn't a Gryffindor student.

Otherwise, those few House points wouldn't be enough for him to lose.

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, dead branches and withered leaves carpeted the ground.

Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the earth.

The night wind carried a damp, earthy smell, occasionally accompanied by the distant hoot of an Owl.

Snape stood beneath a sturdy Oak tree.

His black robes swayed slightly in the night breeze.

His face was hidden in shadow, only those deep black eyes glinting coldly in the moonlight.

"Come out."

His voice was low.

A rustling sound came from behind the tree shadows.

Quirrell slowly stepped out, his purple turban standing out starkly in the darkness.

His hands kept rubbing together nervously in front of him.

"Severus..." Quirrell's voice carried its habitual tremor.

"You came."

Snape stepped forward.

The moonlight illuminated his sallow face and that prominent hooked nose.

"Has the three-headed dog problem been resolved?"

His tone was so cold it sent shivers down the spine.

Quirrell shrank his neck.

"Not... not yet. That beast is too ferocious. I'm... I'm working on a way."

"Stupid enough to pass for a troll, you fool!"

Snape cut him off.

"Since you've decided to serve the Dark Lord, you should do your duty properly. If you can't even handle this small difficulty, are you even worthy of being a Death Eater?"

Quirrell's body trembled.

Snape was an old subordinate of the Dark Lord; how could he, a new recruit, dare to argue with him?

He forced a flattering smile.

"I'll do my best, Severus."

"See that you do."

Snape snorted coldly, turned, and prepared to leave.

"Wait!" Quirrell suddenly called out to him.

"The master says... says you're to cooperate with my actions."

Snape's footsteps halted.

"I know my limits."

He left those words behind, his black robes billowing as he vanished into the night.

Quirrell stood alone, his purple turban trembling in the night breeze.

He raised a shaking hand to stroke the back of his head. A piercing pain throbbed there.

"Master... Snape, he..."

"Quiet, Quirrell."

A cold, sinister voice echoed from the depths of his mind.

"Snape's loyalty is beyond doubt. But his arrogance... will take time to correct."

Quirrell quickly nodded.

"Yes, Master."

"Focus on your task. The Philosopher's Stone must be obtained."

"I understand, Master."

On his way out of the Forbidden Forest, Snape's face was grim.

The night wind tousled his black hair, but couldn't hide the complex emotions in his eyes.

This term had just begun when Quirrell approached him, saying the Dark Lord needed his help.

He had to show loyalty before Voldemort—this was a plan he and Dumbledore had long agreed upon.

So he had to obey the Dark Lord's demands, outwardly helping Quirrell find the Philosopher's Stone.

But at the same time, he had to inform Dumbledore that the Dark Lord had possessed Quirrell.

Let Dumbledore be on guard, and never let the Dark Lord get the Philosopher's Stone.

Thankfully, the Dark Lord was still very weak now.

Too weak even to have the strength to appear before him directly.

Snape quickened his pace.

The castle's silhouette flickered in and out of view through the night.

His black robes rustled loudly in the wind, like a giant bat sweeping across the night sky.

Ten thousand words~ hehe~ Ten thousand words~ So sweet~

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