— — — — — —
"That's all for today's lesson," Professor McGonagall said, gathering up her books. "Make sure to preview the material for next class."
"Hey, Harry," Rimuru said as they walked out. "I heard you've got Quidditch practice coming up?"
"Yeah—are you interested? You can come watch us if you want." Harry smiled, clearly happy to invite him along. He had a great impression of this new transfer student—Rimuru wasn't just good-looking, but also kind, and everyone seemed to like him.
"Bestie, I'm starving." Milim suddenly appeared, clutching her stomach dramatically. "Let's go eat first!"
"Ah, sorry Harry. We'll catch up with you guys after we grab some food," Rimuru said apologetically.
"No problem," Harry replied with a grin.
"Come on." Rimuru grabbed Milim by the arm and dragged her toward the Great Hall.
Harry watched them leave, dazed for a moment.
"What are you standing there for? They're long gone." Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, practice is starting soon."
"O-Oh, right!" Harry blushed a little and hurried toward the pitch.
Just like in the original story, they soon ran into Draco Malfoy and his crew—and the shouting match began.
Malfoy sneered. "Potter, I'll make sure you learn your place. You're nothing but trash, and I'll grind you under my heel."
Harry clenched his fists, about to fire back, but Hermione beat him to it. "Really? At least Harry got onto the team with skill—not by buying his way in."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. He strode forward and spat, "Since when does a filthy little mudblood like you get to talk?"
"Say that again." Hermione's voice trembled—not with fear, but with pure, unfiltered rage.
"Oh, I will. Mud~Blood~," Malfoy drawled, smirking.
"You wanna die?!"
The shout came from behind them, laced with a murderous fury that froze everyone in place.
Before Malfoy could even react, something slammed into him with terrifying force. He coughed up blood as he was launched across the courtyard, crashing hard into the stone wall.
"Who's there?!" The crowd of students backed away in fright.
Milim stepped into view, fists clenched tight, glaring at the Slytherin team like a predator eyeing its prey. If they didn't explain themselves, she was ready to make sure none of them saw the sunrise tomorrow.
"Milim?!" Hermione gasped, relief flooding her voice.
At the sound of her friend, Milim turned her head slightly, letting her killing intent fade.
"You okay, Hermione-chan?" she asked, her tone soft but still edged with anger. She had just finished eating and was on her way to find Harry—only to see Malfoy hurling insults at Hermione. Having watched the movies, Milim knew exactly what that word meant. And she snapped.
"I'm fine. Thank you." Hermione's eyes stung as she spoke, gratitude welling up inside her.
"Don't thank me. We're friends," Milim said with a grin. "If anyone bullies you, I'll make them regret it. And bestie won't let anyone hurt you either."
"She's right." Rimuru approached, expression dark, the pressure rolling off his small frame making everyone instinctively shrink back.
"Rimuru-chan…" Hermione couldn't stop the tears that finally spilled over. "You two are such idiots…"
"There, there, don't cry." Rimuru reached out, gently wiping her tears away. "We're your friends. Of course we'd do this for you."
"Alright, you bastards—decided how you want to die yet?" Milim cracked her knuckles, her expression a terrifying mix of cute and deadly, and marched straight toward the Slytherins.
What followed was a chorus of screams so pitiful that it echoed through the entire castle, chilling the blood of anyone who heard it.
"Ahh, that feels better." Milim clapped her hands, looking satisfied. All around her, Slytherin team members lay in heaps, their faces swollen beyond recognition.
The Gryffindor players nearby were struck speechless. Their jaws hung open so wide you could've fit a Quaffle in them, and a few even swallowed nervously just from looking at Milim.
"Don't you think that was… a bit much?" Hermione frowned at the beaten Slytherins. She had to admit it was satisfying, but this was still a school. Beating up classmates was definitely against the rules.
"You actually think of us as students?" Rimuru said with a dry chuckle. "Please. I could squash that so-called Dark Lord with one finger if I wanted. You think we're scared of school discipline?"
"Uh…" A drop of sweat rolled down Hermione's forehead. She suddenly realized she'd been worrying about the wrong thing. It wasn't Rimuru and Milim she needed to be worried about—it was whether Hogwarts would still be standing by the end of term. Dumbledore was strong, sure, but these two… yeah.
"Well? Are you guys training or not?" Milim asked, scowling at the Gryffindor team, who were still standing frozen in shock.
"B-But the pitch was reserved by—uh, never mind, let's go." Their captain had been about to mention that Slytherin had reserved the field, but one look at the groaning, barely-moving Slytherin team on the ground made him quickly change his mind.
"Should we… take them to the infirmary?" Rimuru asked, a little more level-headed than Milim. "They are just kids, after all."
"Why bother?" Milim waved the suggestion away. "Leave them here. Don't waste time—let's go!"
Rimuru sighed and, with a flick of his finger, sent a soft green glow over the unconscious Slytherins—just enough to make sure they wouldn't be seriously injured—then followed the others to practice.
"Just what are they?"
Not far away, an old man had been watching silently the whole time. The headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore—the man known as the greatest wizard of the era—stood deep in thought.
"There's no record of them at all, yet their presence here feels perfectly natural. That isn't something ordinary people can manage." His eyes gleamed with quiet wisdom behind his half-moon glasses. "How did they enter Hogwarts?"
With a flick of his wand, a soft white glow enveloped the unconscious students—and in an instant, they, along with Dumbledore himself, vanished.
.
.
.