November brought freezing temperatures to Hogwarts.
The mountains surrounding the school were shrouded in icy fog, blanketed in snow, and the lake had frozen over, as hard and cold as tempered steel. Each morning, frost sparkled across the ground.
Bruce, bundled in his black winter cloak and wearing a bright yellow scarf for Hufflepuff, walked with Kathoom perched on his shoulder, the owl sporting a tiny scarf of his own.
Crossing the stone bridge that connected the two towers, Bruce's breath hung in the air, freezing into little crystals as he spoke.
"It's clear—Quirrell was involved!"
Bruce declared with conviction. Over the past few days, he'd reviewed the events of Halloween night repeatedly, and one question refused to go away.
Who let the troll into Hogwarts?
"At the time, aside from the ghosts, only three people were absent from the Great Hall."
Bruce picked up his pace as he walked, continuing his analysis. "Hermione, Hagrid, and Quirrell. Hermione was the victim, so that leaves Hagrid and Quirrell as suspects."
Hagrid usually stayed near his hunting cabin, while Quirrell had run into the Hall later to deliver the news.
Technically, neither had an alibi.
Of course, if you included pranksters, you'd have to add Peeves to the list.
As for the house-elves who worked in the kitchen, Bruce didn't see them as suspects—yet.
He'd recently had a "friendly" exchange with Peeves, and the poltergeist had sworn, trembling in the face of Bruce's powerful wand, that he hadn't brought the troll in.
In fact, Peeves had even helped clear a suspect.
On Halloween, Hagrid had been deep in the Forbidden Forest, calming down some frightened magical creatures.
"Something strange has been happening in the Forbidden Forest," Peeves had explained. "The unicorns are anxious, as if someone's out there trying to harm them. But I swear, that's not my doing either!"
With Peeves's testimony, only one suspect remained.
Quirrell.
Bruce had never been fond of Quirrell.
As the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirrell's teaching was, in Bruce's opinion, entirely inadequate.
"He only teaches useless things," Bruce had once remarked.
Kathoom, hearing this, had given Bruce an approving look and nodded. "Indeed, useless."
And then there was the ever-present stench of garlic around Quirrell. Bruce could barely stand it.
Now he finally had a reason to go after him.
Today was a Quidditch match day at Hogwarts—Gryffindor versus Slytherin—and everyone would be out on the pitch, including Quirrell.
"I've long suspected that Quirrell is Dumbledore's hidden pawn," Bruce muttered to Kathoom. "Otherwise, it doesn't make sense how someone like him became a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Surely a teacher needed to meet certain qualifications, and Quirrell clearly didn't.
So how had he managed to pass Dumbledore's scrutiny?
The answer was obvious.
Loyalty.
Quirrell must've bought Dumbledore's trust with unwavering loyalty, earning him a spot at Hogwarts.
"If I can expose Quirrell, that means Dumbledore's got something to hide, too."
Feeling confident, Bruce made his way to the Quidditch pitch.
---
Quidditch was the wizarding world's most popular sport, but Bruce didn't care much for it.
After reading the rules, he'd found one aspect puzzling.
According to the rules, there were no restrictions against hitting other players, shoving them, or even forcing two players to gang up on one. Injured players weren't allowed substitutes, either.
Unless the match dragged on for days, substitutes were only allowed to come in briefly for rest.
Given this, Bruce couldn't understand something.
Why didn't the two teams just brawl the moment they hit the pitch?
Injure everyone on the opposing team, and the other side would have a free pass to score as much as they liked.
Lost in thought, Bruce arrived at the pitch.
The match was already underway, and the atmosphere was electric, the chill of winter entirely forgotten. Nearly the entire school was packed into the stands around the pitch, with some seats even floating in midair for a better view.
The Gryffindor students were especially fired up because this year, first-year Harry Potter had been allowed to join the team.
Harry was a prodigy, or so they said—able to dive fifty feet to catch a ball mid-flight.
Gryffindor needed someone like him; they hadn't won a championship in four years.
This year was their best shot.
The hopes of the entire Gryffindor house rested on Harry's shoulders.
According to the original storyline, next year Draco Malfoy would join, but he wouldn't receive this kind of hero's welcome.
By then, Slytherin would already be the reigning champion.
Bruce scanned the crowd from the sidelines, his gaze sweeping over the stands until he found Quirrell.
The man was standing next to Snape, muttering to himself while staring intently at the game.
Suddenly—
A wave of gasps rippled through the stands, as if something unexpected had happened.
Bruce looked to the pitch and saw Harry in the sky, gripping his broomstick with both hands, his knees clamped tightly around it.
The broom was bucking wildly, as though trying to throw him off.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "That's a jinx!"
Someone was cursing Harry's broom, trying to make him fall.
The Gryffindor stands were in a frenzy, every lurch of Harry's broom bringing another wave of screams.
They could only worry; there was nothing they could do.
"It's Quirrell!"
Bruce quickly put the pieces together. He'd seen Quirrell casting a spell just moments ago—it had to be him!
He'd only planned to observe, but now he'd stumbled onto something crucial.
It seemed no one had noticed Quirrell's subtle spellcasting, likely due to a shift caused by Kathoom's earlier prank.
In the original story, Hermione's suspicions had fallen on Snape, whom she believed was jinxing Harry. Her suspicions ultimately led to Harry's rescue.
And that suspicion had stemmed from Snape's harsh treatment of them.
But now, with Snape no longer treating them with hostility, Hermione had no reason to suspect him.
In fact, Bruce had even heard rumors that Snape had found a powerful, rare spell that he was planning to teach Harry.
There was only one catch: the spell could only be learned by girls.
So, whenever Harry trained with Snape on this spell, he had to drink a special potion to temporarily transform into a girl.
Given all this, Hermione had no reason to suspect Snape.
"Is Quirrell really this bold?"
Bruce frowned, sensing something off.
What reason could Quirrell have for targeting Harry so openly?
Unless—
He was following someone's orders.
---
T/N: thats so fucking sus snape