Snape's office was shrouded in an eerie silence.
The candle flames flickered, casting his upside-down figure onto the stone wall like a bat pinned inside a specimen frame, his messy black robes serving as its bat wings.
To be honest.
Being hung upside down is really, truly miserable.
Because of this bizarre posture, Snape felt both humiliated and furious; he rather regretted not wearing long trousers, so that in this upside-down state his pale ankles and those sunlight-deprived, skinny calves were all on display.
Yes, his face was very red, but not because of any shameful reason; it was flushed from the blood rushing to his head, and his black hair hung toward the floor like a tangled spiderweb.
All of Hogwarts.
Seemed about to be flooded with a thick, choking resentment.
How could there not be?
"That person is not an ordinary student! He's not a student at all!" Snape was now utterly certain of this; he suspected that Ririm was Grindelwald disguised as a student.
Yes.
With all that blood pouring into his head, his brain was working unusually fast—if it were Voldemort, Snape might survive, but Hermione absolutely wouldn't.
If Voldemort had a chance to cast Avada Kedavra, would he just not use it?
Any Voldemort who doesn't use Avada Kedavra is a fake Voldemort!
Besides.
No matter how damaged Voldemort's brain might be, he would never stoop to humiliating Snape in such a way. After all, Snape did count as one of the very few talents at Voldemort's side.
If Voldemort learned his secret, he'd go straight in with Avada Kedavra; he wouldn't leave Snape the slightest room to maneuver. At most, before killing him, he might ask why he'd betrayed him.
Thinking of it that way.
The possibility that that bizarre Ravenclaw student was Voldemort could naturally be eliminated at once—the only person left who could both humiliate him to this degree and wield such Magic Skill and Great Magic Power was that Grindelwald locked away in prison.
It made sense.
It was entirely possible Grindelwald had been watching Dumbledore all along, and when Dumbledore disappeared, he seized the chance to break out—that also lined up perfectly with the time Snape had encountered Ririm.
That person had to be going to check the place where Dumbledore had vanished last. Thinking along those lines, everything suddenly fell into a neat, reasonable pattern; as for the Ririm who had originally enrolled.
Either he'd been locked away.
Or he was already dead as a doornail.
In any case, Snape refused to believe that a first-year Little Wizard could render him so utterly helpless—even his monstrous nephew probably didn't have that kind of power back in his first year!
"Should we go inform the other professors?"
Hermione nodded, her expression deeply troubled.
She suddenly realized a terrifying fact: whoever was posing as Ririm, the Magic she'd used far surpassed anything Hermione—or even the professor in front of her—understood.
And worse—if this Wizard could trap Snape with a simple prank Spell, what could she do to Dumbledore and Ian, who had already stepped through the Bronze Gate? In the office fireplace, the flames crackled softly. Outside, the first strands of dawn over Hogwarts were just beginning to creep across the sky.
"I think we need to."
Hermione stood to the side, fingers nervously twisting a lock of her hair, her eyes darting to the door again and again, as if weighing whether she should hurry off to warn the other professors.
"No!"
Snape cut the Little Witch off at once.
"You'll only get the other professors killed—that person is beyond what we can handle, anyone except Dumbledore." At this moment, Snape seemed completely convinced that Ririm was the original Black Demon King.
All one could say was.
His head might be full to bursting with blood.
But his imagination was still not quite up to the task.
"How did it turn out like this…"
Hermione had never imagined her Magic journey would be this dangerous; wasn't Hogwarts supposed to be the safest place in the world? Why did it feel like something horrifying lurked around every corner?
"You have to help me."
Snape had no intention of letting Hermione leave.
"Professor…" Hermione blinked, a little stunned. She spoke tentatively, "But I can't help you. I can go find the other professors to help you, how about that?"
It was a very reasonable suggestion.
However.
This was exactly why Snape didn't want her to leave—even letting the other professors see him like this was something a man with his psychological scars simply could not accept.
Snape didn't answer; he just swung his Magic Wand with a dark, stormy look.
The books on the shelves jerked as if tugged by invisible hands, rustling through the air toward Hermione and piling up in front of her like a small hill. One particularly thick black leather tome nearly crushed her toes.
"Until Dumbledore comes back,"
Snape's voice was as cold as the stone walls of the dungeons.
"You are not to leave."
Hermione widened her eyes, her expression full of hesitation. "But—"
She wanted to say she still had classes today; judging from the time, it was nearly time to get up for lessons. She hadn't finished her sentence before Snape shot her a glare.
"No buts!"
Snape cut her off, a dangerous light flashing in his black eyes. "Unless you'd like the whole of Hogwarts to know that your dear Professor of Potions is currently dangling from the ceiling like a slab of cured ham?"
He stated his concern outright.
Just in a tone that was almost mockingly threatening. Snape was genuinely worried that if Hermione went back, word of his current predicament would spread all over Gryffindor.