Harry's guess seemed correct; Professor Quirrell was certainly much braver than they thought. In the weeks that followed, he did look increasingly pale and thin, but he didn't appear to be completely broken down.
Everything seemed to be moving in a good direction, but unfortunately, campus life isn't always wonderful; there are also exams.
Ten weeks before the final exams, Hermione started worrying. She began making a study plan and marking all her notes with different colors. And she kept nagging others, suggesting they do the same.
"I thought our main mission was to protect the Sorcerer's Stone," Kevin calmly pointed out.
"Life isn't just about adventure, and every student's main task is taking exams," Hermione retorted bluntly.
"The exam does sound a little more serious than the Dark Lord's return," Kevin deadpanned.
"The difference between real life and literature is that there are always reliable adults in reality. Professor Quirrell is not as weak as he seems. Moreover, Hogwarts has so many highly skilled professors and Headmaster Dumbledore personally overseeing things."
"Then at least we should relay our speculations to the professors. They probably don't know yet that Snape is evil," Kevin said in a final attempt to explain.
"If You-Know-Who takes any action, Dumbledore will definitely notice, and he will do something about it. After all, he is the only person You-Know-Who fears." Hermione had great confidence in the headmaster.
"But Dumbledore is just one person. He could be ambushed, or diverted, or sleeping, or attending some international conference he can't refuse."
"You can try going to Professor McGonagall, but I still have Transfiguration assignments to do—and so do you." With that, she got up and left the common room.
Complaining about one's teacher didn't sound like a good idea, but Kevin went to Professor McGonagall's office anyway.
"Excuse me, Professor McGonagall, but I find a certain professor's behavior a bit strange, and I feel it's necessary to report it to you."
"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Professor McGonagall said quickly, not looking up from her paperwork. "You should remember that the headmaster told all the students not to complain to the professors about trivial matters."
"Of course, but the problem is huge now. We've made some deductions..."
"Mr. Goldsmith," Professor McGonagall said very formally, finally looking at him over her square spectacles, "if you discover anything interesting about the professor, please don't tell me or anyone else."
This was unbelievably irresponsible. Kevin stared at Professor McGonagall in astonishment. Professor McGonagall's serious and earnest image in his mind crumbled completely. In the end, he left without saying a word about Snape.
McGonagall breathed a sigh of relief after Kevin left. She thought to herself, "This must be another student complaining about poor Quirrell's stutter. Don't they know that teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts is a cursed position, and finding a suitable candidate is becoming increasingly difficult?"
Last February, Professor Anita Black was caught... indisposed in a closet with at least three fifth-year Slytherins. The year before, Professor Salah Had was such a failure as a teacher that her students mistook a Boggart for a piece of furniture.
McGonagall was determined to ignore all complaints until the end-of-year exams were over. Otherwise, they might have to hire a thief or a conman as their teacher next year.
Is this the reliable adult Hermione was talking about?Kevin thought resentfully. If things continue like this, not a single professor will be present when the Sorcerer's Stone is stolen.
Then he noticed that seven Hufflepuff boys were huddled together in a corridor, looking panicked, as if they desperately wanted to do something but couldn't. This was perhaps related to the fact that five older Slytherin students were surrounding another little boy on the other side.
As expected, the child they surrounded was Neville Longbottom.
Kevin rushed over and saw them laughing and joking as they pushed Neville's head back and forth like a Quaffle.
"Stop!" Kevin tried to pull Neville out of the crowd. But one of the tall Slytherins grabbed him by the neck and wouldn't let go.
"You feel a sense of accomplishment from bullying a younger child? I bet it's because you can't compete with any of your peers, so you have to resort to this pathetic way to find confidence."
A Slytherin swore and shoved Kevin hard, but he didn't back down.
"They were just standing up for someone. That little pervert was lying on the ground just now, probably trying to peek under my skirt." A disgruntled voice came from behind the tall Slytherin.
A blonde, doll-like girl emerged from the crowd. Her skin was as white as porcelain, and her silver-gray eyes exuded a confident yet arrogant expression. Her tightly pursed lips seemed to indicate that she was angry.
As soon as Kevin saw her outfit, he knew what Neville meant when he said she was dressed "very differently."
She was wearing an incredibly short sailor-style uniform, with the hem pulled up high to her chest, deliberately exposing a strip of skin between her top and the skirt. A small black leather belt was tied around her waist, and below the belt was a skirt so narrow it resembled a wide belt more than a garment.
Unfortunately, her chest was as flat as a mirror—so flat that there was absolutely no friction. If you put a small slider on it, it would probably move in a straight line at a constant speed forever.
"I didn't! I was lying on the ground because the stairs suddenly started moving!" Neville struggled to defend himself, the large hand on his neck making it hard for him to breathe.
"It seems you were the one who bullied Neville last time. And if I may be frank, if someone really wanted to see your... you know, down there, they wouldn't need to be kneeling down at all," Kevin said, refusing to call the strip of cloth a skirt.
"I said spying, and I meant it. You seem to sympathize with this little pig so much, so you're probably an accomplice," the porcelain doll said calmly.
"I have a great way to deal with a Peeping Tom," the tallest Slytherin said through gritted teeth. "How about I accidentally break all your fingers?"