Hogwarts: Please Graduate Soon

After saying that, Snape walked away, leaving Professor McGonagall gritting her teeth—not because of Snape, but because of their own students… fools. They had dared to report Snape, not just one or two young wizards, but nearly the whole house!

Seeing the letters from Dumbledore, McGonagall wished she could melt into the ground. How could Snape be compared to Quirrell? Not to mention that he was the youngest head of Slytherin in history and had good connections with many pureblood families.

Moreover, his potion-making prowess was unparalleled; even if they dismissed Snape, could Hogwarts find another potions professor of his caliber? He was certainly not like Quirrell, who lacked real skills.

For these reasons, even though the other professors were aware of Snape's biases toward his own house, they didn't take it to heart. Therefore, the little lions' decision to report him was like hitting a brick wall.

Their already limited points were severely punished, with Snape mercilessly deducting a whopping 66 points.

Why this odd number? Because Gryffindor had so few points left that, to save face for Professor McGonagall, he only deducted 66 instead of the full amount. Well, it was expected that they wouldn't keep the remaining five points, especially with Potter's potion class coming up the day after tomorrow.

Looking at the nearly empty point board, the little lions were left wanting to cry but had no tears.

"You're still laughing!"

Hermione, exasperated, pinched Wayne, seeing him as enjoying their misfortune. If he hadn't started it, the others wouldn't have followed suit by writing complaint letters.

This guy was truly a disaster waiting to happen.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't act out!" Wayne dodged her delicate hand, knowing that even the prettiest hands could hurt when pinching. "I'm only happy for you all."

"Since you all have no points left, you're free from worry. Now even if Snape wants to target you, there's nothing he can do, right?"

As Wayne spoke, he unexpectedly hit the jackpot. The Weasley twins' eyes lit up, sharing a knowing glance before erupting into amused laughter.

"Looks like we're free, George."

"Oh, now I can finally show my skills!" Quirrell thought, feeling dazed. What kind of subject did I end up with? Everything I do is a disaster! I'm the champion of getting into trouble!

On the fourth floor, inside the office for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Under the protection of a soundproof barrier, Quirrell trembled on the ground, making agonizing cries and moans. "Master, please calm down, it's all a misunderstanding!"

"Please spare me this once. I was just following your instructions and pretending to be incompetent!"

"Who could have predicted that that Lawrence would be so bold to gather so many people to report me?"

At that moment, Quirrell felt intense hatred towards Wayne. If it weren't for him, he wouldn't have been punished by the Dark Lord. He wouldn't be hiding like a rat in the streets, stuck in his office, avoiding trouble.

"Are you implying that it's my fault?" A voice filled with murderous intent echoed in Quirrell's mind. "No, Master." Quirrell quickly defended himself: "It's all Lawrence's fault! That damned Mudblood! He ruined your plans!"

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