Is There Something Wrong With Your Brain?

Professor McGonagall could not spare the time to continue scolding Harry.

Stepping over the Troll's corpse, she walked into the washroom.

At the far end, Hermione lay motionless on the floor.

Professor McGonagall let out a choked sob, quickening her pace, her voice trembling along with her body: "Miss Granger, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, I'm here." Hermione spoke up, her tone not nearly as weak as it seemed.

This made Professor McGonagall heave a sigh of relief: "How are you feeling now?"

"I feel alright, just a bit of pain in my head and chest. Harry wouldn't let me move." Hermione said dryly.

Professor McGonagall looked relieved: "That's good. I am taking you to the Hospital Wing now."

"If you feel any discomfort, you must tell me."

With a wave of her wand, Hermione floated into the air, and under her guidance, she was carefully flown out the door.

"Mr. Potter." As they exited the washroom, Professor McGonagall glanced at Snape, her tone hurried: "Because of your recklessness, ten points will be deducted from Gryffindor."

Hermione's nose stung, and she nearly burst into tears again.

"But it was brilliant." Professor McGonagall shifted her tone: "A truly excellent piece of Transfiguration. No first-year student has ever managed to reach this level before."

"For your courage, determination, and ability, I award Gryffindor twenty points."

Snape's expression shifted; he frowned deeply, his tone icy: "Professor McGonagall, isn't this being far too indulgent?"

"This will only make Potter even more lawless!"

"I think it would be best to arrange a detention for Mr. Potter, and let me handle it personally..."

"Thank you, Professor Snape." Professor McGonagall politely declined: "But Mr. Potter is a student of my house; it is better if I handle it."

"Get some good rest tonight, and I will see you in my office tomorrow, Mr. Potter."

She hurried away with Hermione.

"Try to keep your wits about you next time." Snape walked up to Harry. The blood and filth covering him made Snape find Harry slightly more tolerable: "Reckless and impulsive—you're lucky to be alive."

"You're not much better than that Troll."

"Perhaps you should have ended up like Miss Granger, with a hand or an arm crushed by the Troll..."

Harry interrupted, meeting Snape's gaze: "It would have been better if it had torn my face off and gouged my eyes out."

Snape's gaze turned dangerous, staring at Harry as a viper stares at its prey.

"Perhaps I should have been firmer and insisted that Professor McGonagall hand you over to me." Snape's voice lowered, but his tone grew more menacing.

Harry walked over to the Troll's corpse: "Professor Snape, which parts of a Troll's body can be used to brew potions?"

Snape paused, looking at the small back hunched over on the ground.

Seeing that Snape didn't answer, Harry turned his head in confusion: "Professor?"

Meeting those amber cat-like eyes pulled his thoughts back, and he curled his lip in disgust: "The whiskers. Only the whiskers of such a creature have any use."

"Oh, the whiskers." Harry clicked his tongue with a complex expression.

Something this massive, and only that tiny bit was useful?

He picked up his sword, severed the Troll's head, and proceeded to skillfully gut it, preparing to skin it.

At the sight of the bloody scene, Ron turned pale, leaving even Snape somewhat bewildered: "Mr. Potter, what are you doing?"

"Has your brain finally stopped working, and you've started taking your frustrations out on a Troll?"

As he spoke, he glanced at Quirrell: "What you should be doing right now is getting out of here."

Kaidō, Harry replied: "Its skin is very tough and has good magical resistance. Perhaps it could be crafted into a set of leather armor. I've already spoken to Professor Flitwick about having him help me contact a master blacksmith. Although I haven't received a reply yet, there's no harm in preparing the materials in advance."

"Tch." Rarely, Snape did not mock Harry for this. He glanced at Quirrell and changed his angle of ridicule: "I didn't expect you to be so proficient at dissection."

"I've already decided what to have you do when I catch you and put you in detention next time."

Harry looked at the foul-smelling entrails of the Troll, unwilling to give up, and asked one more time: "Professor, are there really no other useful materials?"

"Are your ears not working?" Snape sneered: "Or did you have such an intimate encounter with the Troll that your brain has devolved to match its own, and you can no longer understand human speech?"

"There are no effects whatsoever. Perhaps you could eat it, taste that stench, and see if it makes you vomit up last night's dinner."

Harry picked up the head, stood up, and turned to look at Quirrell, who was still sobbing nearby: "Professor Quirrell."

Quirrell's body trembled slightly.

"We are leaving. I think it would be best if you went to check on your classroom." Harry waved at Professor Quirrell.

Quirrell shuddered and opened his mouth.

Ron also wanted to say something but held back. He really didn't want to stay in the same space as Snape; he was so terrified that his body was trembling.

They walked out of the first-floor corridor and into the Great Hall.

"Alright, Potter, I am not your nanny." Snape stopped in his tracks immediately: "Remember to bring your brain with you before you do anything in the future."

"Thank you, Professor Snape. May I ask you one more question?" Harry called out to keep him there.

Snape lowered his raised foot, arched a brow, and said nothing.

"What is the password to the Headmaster's Office?" Harry asked.

Snape frowned and clicked his tongue. "Cockroach Cluster. You should have been able to guess that—what else would he use as a password?"

With that, he flicked his sleeves and hurried away.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I forgot your instructions..." Ron began, his voice trailing off until he changed his tone, waving his arms about to defend himself. "But I discovered something big, something really big."

Harry didn't let him finish, shoving the Troll head and the Sorting Hat into Ron's arms. "We'll talk when I get back. I need to find Headmaster Dumbledore now."

Ron opened his mouth, clutching the two grimy items, at a loss for what to do.

"When you get back, help me wash the hat; consider it your compensation," Harry waved a hand. "And the head, find a clean place to put it until I return to deal with it."

The Sorting Hat muttered, "Hurry back. When you return, I have things to say as well."

Harry raised a hand to rub his temples and nodded.

It was supposed to be a holiday.

Why did it feel... like things were only getting busier?

He ran to the third floor to Dumbledore's office, recited the password, and ascended the staircase to the eighth floor.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, looking surprised to see him. "What happened to you?"

"Had a run-in with a Troll," Harry waved a hand. "That's not important. You must have found something out by now."

Dumbledore flicked his wand, casting a cleaning charm to remove the bloodstains from Harry. "What are you talking about?"

"Quirrell. I mean Quirrell," Harry emphasized.

Dumbledore arched a brow.

Harry arched one back. "Don't tell me you didn't know Quirrell was the one who let the Troll in."

"I am curious, how did you know?" Dumbledore gestured for Harry to sit and flicked his wand again to pour him a glass of milk.

Harry picked up the milk and took a sip. "His performance was too clumsy. Scared by a Troll, yet he managed to run all the way from the dungeons to the Great Hall, finish his speech to you, and only then faint."

"And there's no way he lacks the ability to subdue a Troll."

"He gives me a dangerous feeling, more dangerous than any other professor, second only to you."

In Harry's perception, the most dangerous person at Hogwarts was Dumbledore, followed by Quirrell, then Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape—all three of whom were about equal—with Sprout trailing just slightly behind.

Dumbledore chuckled. "It is quite an honor to be praised so highly by a young man."

Harry frowned.

"Very well, I have indeed discovered some things." Dumbledore looked hesitant, watching Harry, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk. After a long moment, he continued, "I suspect Quirrell may have become a pawn of Voldemort."

"If he's that dangerous, you should expel him from the castle," Harry said bluntly. "And isn't Voldemort dead?"

"I have always suspected he was not," Dumbledore pushed up his glasses. "A powerful wizard, especially a Dark wizard, always has many ways to resist death."

"As for... Quirrell."

"I am afraid I cannot expel him."

Harry arched a brow.

Dumbledore explained, "Quirrell was once a good boy, an excellent Ravenclaw, and a very capable professor of Muggle Studies, but he changed after the start of this term."

"I thought his temperament had merely shifted due to some circumstances, but today, I became certain he was after the Sorcerer's Stone, and I began to suspect he had been controlled by Voldemort."

"I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts; I cannot abandon my dear students, even if they have already graduated."

Harry finished the milk and set the glass down gently. "So, Quirrell is possessed by Voldemort?"

Dumbledore paused. "Why would you think that?"

Harry pushed back his hair and pointed to his scar. "This. The symbol of the Savior, the hero's scar."

"From a certain symbolic perspective, this is the connection between Voldemort and me."

"The only thing that could make it react would be him."

"Aha, I should have guessed it sooner, but I had always assumed he was dead."

Dumbledore picked up his teacup, took a sip, and countered, "Then why couldn't it be a curse Voldemort placed on Quirrell that caused your scar to react?"

"It only happened once," Harry frowned. "If it were a curse, I've had many contacts with Professor Quirrell, so it should have happened many times. But after that night at the start of term, it never reacted again."

"That day..."

"It must have been Voldemort using Quirrell's eyes to spy on me."

At this, Harry stood up expressionlessly and nodded. "Thank you for your insight, Mr. Dumbledore. It seems I shall have to stay away from Defense Against the Dark Arts from now on."

Dumbledore called him back. "Wait, Harry, don't you want to do something about it?"

Harry turned back, looking at him with a blank expression. "What do you need me to do?"

"That is Voldemort," Dumbledore lowered his voice.

Harry sneered. "You know it's Voldemort too, Headmaster Dumbledore. They all think I'm the Savior, that I'm the one who defeated Voldemort."

"But you are well aware that he is not dead."

"And you are equally aware that I possess no special savior-like abilities."

"What makes you think that I—a mere first-year wizard—should have any designs on Voldemort?"

"You are the Headmaster, my dear Mr. Dumbledore."

"Shall I summon Professor Snape? He has a real talent for insults; perhaps he could cure whatever is wrong with your brain."

Thank you all for your recommendation votes and monthly tickets, and thank you to San Geng Wu Xing for the tip.

I have given it some thought.

How about this: the current number of investors is 40, and once it reaches 100, I will immediately release an extra chapter.

I'll also be shameless for a moment—before the book goes on sale, for every cumulative 5,000 Qidian Coins tipped, I will release an extra chapter.

If—and I mean if—it reaches 10,000 in a single day, I will accumulate them; after all, I still need to control the pacing during the new book phase, and releasing 9,000 words a day already feels like a very fast pace.

If there are any accumulated extras, I will release them all at once when the book goes on sale.

I hope for your continued support, QAQ.