Chapter 13
Once they were out of the library, Hermione finally stopped and turned to Gabin, speaking in a rush.
"During the Quidditch match just now—Snape put a dark curse on Harry. He almost fell off his broom."
Exactly as expected.
Gabin's mind clicked back into the plot of *Philosopher's Stone*.
He drew his wand at a leisurely pace; glowing words drifted up from the tip.
"Is Harry all right?"
"He's fine. I set Snape's robes on fire with a Fire-Making Spell—he had to stop the curse. Harry still caught the Snitch in the end. Gryffindor beat Slytherin."
"Sounds like a good outcome. No one hurt, and we won."
"Yes—but that's not the important part anymore." Hermione's expression was more serious than Gabin had ever seen.
"Snape dared to use dark magic on Harry. I didn't want to believe it before, but now I do. He must be working for You-Know-Who—helping him steal something."
Gabin looked at her and found the whole thing oddly amusing.
Reading about it in books hadn't felt this way, but experiencing it firsthand—especially with Hermione still just a twelve-year-old—gave the entire situation the flavor of a children's fairy tale.
What she was saying now was a bit like a child insisting their teacher was building a bomb to destroy the world, and they had to stop the evil teacher from stealing the final ingredient.
That "ingredient" was locked away by the headmaster in a heavily guarded place, protected by layer after layer of obstacles.
In reality, the so-called dangerous material was probably just sugar. The tight security existed only to stop students from sneaking sweets and ruining their teeth.
But to children whose minds weren't yet fully mature, it felt like the grandest adventure in the world—saving everything. That excitement made them willing to break rules they'd normally never dare touch.
Seeing Gabin's calm, almost amused expression, Hermione realized she hadn't explained yet.
"Oh—I haven't told you any of this before. I was too busy, and I didn't want to bother you with it."
She quickly recounted everything.
Hagrid and Harry had collected something from Gringotts on Dumbledore's behalf while getting money. Gringotts was broken into the very same day. One night they'd seen a three-headed dog in the fourth-floor corridor, and a trapdoor beneath it. Snape had been limping earlier—with what looked like a bite wound.
And now—today—Snape had tried to curse Harry during the match.
"So here's what it adds up to: Dumbledore is hiding something extremely valuable on the fourth floor, guarded by that three-headed dog. Snape has been trying to get it all along. Whatever it is must be useful to You-Know-Who. Snape is his agent inside the school. I've heard he has a criminal record—I don't understand why Professor Dumbledore still lets him teach here."
Hermione finished her summary with conviction.
But Gabin's thoughts had wandered somewhere else entirely.
What would a three-headed dog's life circuit look like? Would three heads make it fundamentally different from ordinary creatures?
And the Philosopher's Stone—what would *its* magical circuit be? If it could turn metal into gold, and he could understand the circuit inside, wouldn't that mean he could learn alchemy himself?
The Stone could also produce the Elixir of Life. If he mastered that circuit, could he simulate immortality with magic?
So many fascinating questions.
Ever since discovering his unique magical perspective, Gabin had made a habit of examining anything new and interesting (except Quirrell). Whether he could fully understand or replicate it didn't matter—he simply found the process endlessly captivating.
It was a bit like a child with a kaleidoscope, turning it over and over just to see how many patterns it could make.
"Gray? Gray! Are you even listening?" Hermione's voice snapped him back.
"Yes, listening," floating words appeared.
Hermione continued, undeterred.
"I didn't want to drag you into this before, but things have changed. If Snape was willing to curse Harry today, he might break into the fourth-floor room tomorrow. We have to stop him before that happens."
Gabin understood what she was asking.
"So—you want me to tell Professor Dumbledore everything?"
Dumbledore had personally ensured Gabin's admission to Hogwarts. A lot of people assumed the headmaster had a special regard for him.
"Exactly. I just told Hagrid, but he wouldn't listen. He says Snape is a teacher—he'd never hurt Harry."
Hermione's voice rose with frustration. "But I saw it with my own eyes. There's no mistake. I want you to tell Professor Dumbledore—make him take it seriously. Ideally he should arrest Snape and force him to reveal where You-Know-Who is hiding."
Gabin studied her. For a twelve-year-old girl, she was already showing real ability to analyze a situation logically and seek a practical solution.
If it had been Harry or Ron, they'd probably have jumped straight to confronting Snape themselves in some dramatic showdown.
Still—she was only twelve. Not fully mature yet. She could use a little guidance.
With that thought, Gabin raised his wand again. Glowing words appeared.
"Sorry, Hermione—I'm going to have to say no."
Hermione froze. Her amber eyes widened in shock; her mouth fell slightly open. She stared at him as though she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.
"Professor Snape is still a Hogwarts teacher," Gabin continued. "I don't believe he would use dark magic on Harry. As for him being Voldemort's spy—that's only a guess on your part."
"But I saw it!" Hermione's voice rose. Her hands clenched into tight fists.
"What you see with your own eyes isn't always the truth. It could be a misunderstanding."
Gabin pulled out the sheet of parchment he'd taken from the library—Hermione's History of Magic essay. The title read:
Yelth had collapsed because of a catastrophic misjudgment by the magical prince Hiyesh. Hiyesh had seen the grand mage dissecting corpses in his tower and slicing open a living person's arm. Convinced the mage was studying dark magic, he ambushed him during a celebration and publicly accused him.
In reality, the grand mage had been searching for a cure. The king of Yelth had contracted a deadly contagious disease and was dying. He had ordered the mage to dissect victims of the same illness in hopes of finding a treatment.
Hiyesh had not been present at court during those experiments.
In the end, the grand mage died. Research into the plague slowed. The king perished. With their two most powerful wizards gone, the remaining wizards could not suppress the human uprising. The magical empire fell.
All wizards were slaughtered. No one was left to continue studying the disease. Years later, the plague claimed every last human on the island.
That was the true cause of Yelth's destruction: nothing more than a single misunderstanding.
Hermione stared at her own essay. As usual, Gabin had already marked areas for improvement in neat annotations.
"The fall of Yelth teaches us that what our eyes see isn't always correct. We need our own judgment."
Taking the opportunity, Gabin tried to offer a gentle lesson.
But Hermione shot him an angry look, cheeks puffed out in frustration, turned on her heel, and ran off down the corridor.