Chapter 72: Conflict in the Corridor

In the dungeon,

Professor Snape’s gloomy gaze slowly shifted to a corner where Seán hadn’t looked.

The truth was so simple, and yet so… bitterly ironic.

No conspiracy, no greed—only the clumsy effort of a frail young wizard striving to learn.

Verifying this was equally simple, so simple that Professor Snape fell silent for a long while.

Seán pondered, staring at the open notebook, and in an instant understood what had happened.

Well, Quidditch was indeed sensitive to Professor Snape; he hadn’t noticed it himself.

Seán quickly reflected on his recent slightly deviant behavior and realized it all began on that warm afternoon—

when Professor McGonagall had listened to him with a smile.

Next time, he’d bring a new notebook,

Seán thought.

At that moment, the Swelling Potion had reached its final stage.

Seán unhesitatingly performed the modified ritual, his mind and body immersed in the thick potion,

he felt the subtle magical currents within the cauldron become clear again, and carefully guided them toward fusion,

and then—

【You have successfully brewed a Swelling Potion to a Skilled standard, Skill +10】

Seán’s face turned pale in an instant, but he did not rest—he transferred the potion into a crystal vial and extinguished the flame.

Before leaving the dungeon, Seán had ten Jin Jin Jialong in his hand.

He blinked in surprise, then carefully counted out seven Jin Jin Jialong and placed them in Professor Snape’s hand.

“You’ve given too much, Professor. A standard-quality Swelling Potion doesn’t sell for more than five Jin Jin Jialong on the market.”

Seán finished speaking and began packing his small bag.

The black bag had slightly faded, like old clothes bleached by the sun, its edges whitened gray, as if dusted with a thin layer of grime.

Its surface had once been smooth, but now it was fuzzy, some areas even slightly cracked, revealing pale fibers beneath.

This was the bag given to him by Nainai Milán, and Seán had used it ever since.

…

In the corridor.

Seán quietly organized his plan: his Water Stream Spell and Summoning Spell were already mastered; next came the Floating Charm.

According to plan, it must be completed within this week.

After all, only a week and change remained before the month ended.

Time was tight, but still under control—he could now cast over a dozen Skilled-level Floating Charms at once, and with Professor Snape’s Restorative Potion, he could gain no less than six hundred skill points per day.

Skilled level required nine hundred skill points; Seán guessed Expert level wouldn’t exceed three thousand.

If he spent the entire day immersed in charms and potions, Seán estimated he could gain no less than nine hundred per day.

The Quick-Notes Quill fluttered, recording Seán’s thoughts.

What he didn’t notice was that, not far behind him in the shadows,

there had long been a grim-faced wizard.

Just verifying the truth of that fellow’s words…

Snape slipped back into the shadows.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the corridor.

Hermione moved swiftly beneath the slightly quiet portraits, clutching a letter, hurrying toward the large knight’s armor.

To make up for the fright of that night, Harry earnestly shared his theory about the three-headed dog and said that if Hermione wished, they could talk.

“If that package is connected to Headmaster Dumbledore, then those two must know how dangerous this is!

They might even sabotage Headmaster Dumbledore’s plans!”

She muttered to herself as she walked faster.

A strange sound suddenly echoed through the corridor; Hermione turned her head—it was Theodore and his group.

Seeing him, she immediately recalled what had happened in Charms class that morning.

As usual, Professor Flitwick posed a difficult question,

she and Theodore both raised their hands; the professor, of course, called on her and awarded Gryffindor one point.

But this fellow had glared at her bitterly, persistently competing to raise his hand; Hermione didn’t care—she simply lowered her hand when a truly difficult question came.

The result? He couldn’t answer the difficult question at all, and when Professor Flitwick called on him, he stood there awkwardly.

“Oh, look who it is—the arrogant Granger, just out of the library, ready to answer the next question no one asked you?”

Theodore Nott’s voice dragged out, laced with false smiles; his two Slytherin companions let out coarse, mocking laughter.

“If you’d spent your time reviewing Standard Charms: Beginner instead of wandering the corridors looking for trouble, Nott, you wouldn’t be standing there like a squashed slug this afternoon.”

Hermione crossed her arms, forcing her voice to remain calm, though her rapid speech betrayed her irritation.

Theodore Nott’s face darkened instantly; he stepped forward.

“What did you say? You think you’re so great, don’t you?

Just because Flitwick favors bookworms like you—especially you, this kind of…”

He sized her up, searching for a derogatory term.

“If you dare say the rest, I guarantee my fist will land on your face.”

At that moment, Jia Jia Siting appeared from the corridor’s corner, standing alone before Hermione, his gaze icy as he faced the three Slytherins.

“Let me see, hmm, another one…”

Theodore was momentarily startled by his presence, but upon seeing he was alone, he resumed his sneering, mocking expression,

“Mud—blood—”

The word froze the air; Hermione’s cheeks flushed red with fury, and Jia Jia Siting—

before Theodore could finish speaking, his fist struck Theodore’s face with full force, twisting his features.

Theodore stumbled backward and fell to the ground, blood streaming from his nose.

“You dare—”

His shout echoed through the entire corridor.

“My mother told me: for trash like you, who have neither courage nor character, force is the only way to achieve equality.

My father told me: for vermin like you, I can take on three.”

Before the other two could react, Jia Jia Siting’s fist struck Theodore’s face again, leaving him dazed.

Only then did the two Slytherins raise their wands—but then—

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

Watching their wands fly into the air, Jia Jia Siting exclaimed in delight:

“Seán!”

“Oh, Seán,”

he hurried over, suddenly nervous,

“we might have broken school rules.”

Seán glanced at the three Slytherins.

“It’s fine.”

He said, then pulled away the furious Hermione, who had raised her wand and was watching the remaining two warily.

“Come on, let’s go.”

He urged.

For a man in a black robe and cloak had emerged from the shadows.

His gaze looked ready to kill.