Snape and the Hellhound

That evening, Harry sought out Damon, who had just politely declined an invitation from the Pettigrew sisters.

The matter of Damon defeating the troll single-handedly had already died down, but after a fortnight, it began spreading like wildfire among the young witches and wizards.

All sorts of versions were circulating.

At first, they said Damon had barely managed to overcome a Mountain Troll.

Gradually, the story morphed into Damon overwhelmingly defeating a Mountain Troll without a scratch.

In the end, it became that Damon had effortlessly soloed an entire pack of Mountain Trolls, and Professor McGonagall had even awarded him twenty points for it alone—they thought this explained why Gryffindor's House Cup score occasionally jumped in spurts.

Though the rumors were ridiculous, the matter was indeed connected to Damon—all those points came from the extra assignments he'd earned from two professors.

"Isn't this our house flower? You actually turned them down?"

Harry had somewhat forgotten his original purpose.

"What do you want from me?"

Damon glanced at Harry, unimpressed by his mention of the "house flower"—the Pettigrew sisters were Indian, and he honestly couldn't appreciate their looks.

"Oh, right."

Harry explained his purpose.

Earlier, he'd borrowed Quidditch Through the Ages from the library, but ran into Professor Snape in the courtyard, who confiscated it on the grounds that "library books are not permitted off school grounds" and docked Gryffindor five points.

"I was thinking—why should I be afraid of Professor Snape? I want to go get the book back."

"Oh~" Damon nodded, a hint of amusement creeping into his eyes. "Since you're not afraid of him, why not go alone?"

"Fine—fine! I'll go alone then."

"Relax, mate." Damon set down the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them he'd been reading. "Since you brought it up, of course I'll go with you."

The two went down to Snape's office in the dungeons. Harry was about to knock when he suddenly heard Snape's voice from inside.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying, "how can you possibly keep watch on three heads at once?"

Harry's pupils constricted sharply!

Three heads? A Three-Headed Dog?!

He turned to Damon, shook his head in warning, and the two slipped away quietly.

"It's Professor Snape!"

Harry hurried up the stairs, on the verge of breaking into a full sprint—in fact, the only thing stopping him was that Damon, walking beside him, still wore a relaxed expression, even pausing to admire the Shepherdess portrait on the wall!

Harry was starting to panic.

But soon, he calmed down—Damon didn't know about the Three-Headed Dog, so of course he wouldn't take it seriously.

No matter. He'd know soon enough!

Under Harry's urging, the two returned to the eighth-floor common room. Harry quickly gathered Hermione and Ron together, and filled Damon in on the whole story.

"Do you know what this means?" he finally said, holding his breath. "On Halloween, he was trying to get past that three-headed dog!

When we saw him, he was heading that way—he's looking for whatever that dog is guarding! I'd bet my Flying Broomstick that he let the troll in to create a distraction!"

Hermione's eyes went wide.

"No, he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not a good person, but he'd never try to steal something Dumbledore is guarding so carefully."

"Honestly, Hermione, you always think every teacher is a saint." Ron said bluntly. "I agree with Harry. I think Snape is capable of anything.

But what is he looking for? What's that dog guarding?"

The three of them turned to Damon in unison. Hermione and Ron exchanged subtle glances, as if waiting to see whose side Damon would take.

What was it guarding? The Sorcerer's Stone, obviously.

Damon thought for a moment, then nodded.

"You all make good points, but I think until things are completely clear, unconditional trust or suspicion of Snape is wrong either way. The most important thing right now, I think, is Harry's Quidditch match tomorrow."

Hermione and Ron weren't entirely satisfied with not getting a definitive answer, but at the same time, they were relieved that Damon hadn't taken anyone's side.

If they were older, they'd recognize Damon's attitude as "sitting on the fence," but for now, they were just happy their own views had been acknowledged—except for Harry.

Damon noticed Harry's troubled state and offered reassurance.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll find a chance to tell Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick about what you discovered. Maybe—we could even get them to pass it on to Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, Harry. With Dumbledore around, you really don't need to worry that much."

Hermione and Ron, now seeing Harry's distress, chimed in to comfort him as well.

That's right—Dumbledore was still here!

Thinking of that great wizard, Harry's heart eased a little, and he gave them a faint smile.

But until he fell asleep, Professor Snape's words still echoed in his mind—that irritable, twisted voice.

This was the first time since entering Hogwarts that Damon hadn't gone to the Room of Requirement on a weekend.

Though he firmly believed that "diligent practice brings power," staying wound up all the time was no fun either. This was Harry's first public appearance, and also his first time watching a Quidditch match live—a little relaxation wouldn't hurt.

He changed into his new robes, wrapped the orange-red scarf representing Gryffindor around his neck, and sat with the Gryffindor students on the elevated stands, waiting for the match to begin.

To surprise Harry, they had used a bedsheet to paint a huge banner that read "Potter Must Win." Dean, who was skilled at drawing, had also painted a large Gryffindor lion beneath the words, and Hermione cast a clever spell that made the paint on the banner shimmer in different colors.

As for Damon, he had custom-ordered a matching flag for Harry in advance.

Because of his presence, the entire first year was united like never before, so when Harry walked out into the roaring, cheering stadium, he clearly heard his own name.

"Harry, must win!"

He instinctively looked up toward the direction of the voice—Damon stood in the stands, holding a massive flag painted with the Gryffindor lion, waving it like a dragon. Behind him, a crowd of Gryffindor students joined in the chant:

"Harry, must win!"

Their voices were so loud, their momentum so fervent, that even the other two houses besides Slytherin joined in.

Thus, the originally chaotic noise began to gradually unify.

"Harry! Must win!"

Damon clenched his right fist and thrust it sharply toward Harry in the lineup!

Harry met his eyes, and the two exchanged a smile.

This gave him a moment of ease—he noticed that, at that very moment, he was actually slouching a little.

So, before the match began, he straightened his back firmly.