Who is Slytherin?

After entering November, the weather turned considerably cooler.

The mountains around the school were gray and hazy, covered in ice and snow, while the lake surface was as cold and hard as tempered steel.

Every morning, frost covered the ground.

From the upstairs windows, one could see a burly man de-icing flying brooms on the Quidditch pitch.

His name was Hagrid—the same fellow who had gone with Harry Potter to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies at the start of term, and also the Hogwarts gamekeeper, guarding the entrance to the Forbidden Forest to keep people out.

Because of his decent relationship with Harry, Glenn had also visited Hagrid's little hut a few times.

Perhaps due to his lack of fondness for Slytherins, combined with the fact that he didn't live inside Hogwarts Castle itself, his impression of the current students was largely divided by house.

So even though Glenn was personally invited by Harry, Hagrid's attitude toward him could only be described as friendly—far from the warmth he showed Ron or Hermione.

At this moment, he was wrapped in a long moleskin coat, wearing rabbit-fur gloves and enormous beaver-fur boots, de-icing flying brooms on the Quidditch pitch—because the Quidditch season was about to start.

Just like in the Slytherin common room, the classmates passing by Glenn were also chattering endlessly about the Quidditch match set to begin on Saturday.

After all, the first game of this school year was the most anticipated matchup in Hogwarts: Gryffindor versus Slytherin, who had won the Quidditch Cup for seven consecutive years.

With that reputation, even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were paying close attention, hoping Gryffindor would break Slytherin's undefeated streak.

Glenn wasn't very interested.

Not because the sport's origin history had harmed the Golden Snidgets... well, that was a small part of it.

But the core reason was that he really had no interest, especially after reading through Quidditch's rules and format.

Still, one thing was another—he respected others' passion for it.

On the night a few days before Saturday, when it was still too early to sleep.

Seeing Harry in the corridor ahead, back turned to him, looking a bit sneaky and tense, Glenn decided to offer some encouragement.

Even though as a member of the opposing Quidditch house, encouraging the other team's player wasn't quite appropriate, as mentioned before, the match hadn't started yet. As a friend, a simple "Don't be nervous" shouldn't cross the line.

"Don't be nervous, Harry. At least not until the match starts."

Harry, head down and feeling guilty, was startled by the encouragement from behind, nearly suffering cardiac arrest as he whipped around.

"Whew—Glenn, don't scare me like that." Harry took a deep breath, still shaken.

Glenn smiled. "What's up? Heading downstairs this late."

"I was planning to find Snape, see if he'd give the book back..."

Earlier that morning, with the match approaching and it being his first time playing—and as Gryffindor's secret player—his psychological pressure had been maxed out.

To relieve the stress, he'd borrowed Quidditch Through the Ages from Hermione, even though he usually found it useless.

But the problem arose when, just as he was starting to find the book interesting and easing his nerves a bit, Snape had limped out of nowhere and confiscated it, claiming "library books aren't allowed outside the school."

"And he docked me five points on the spot!"

Hearing this, Glenn dropped his smile and thought for a moment.

"If that's the case, it really is excessive. Did you offend him before?"

"No. Before coming to Hogwarts, I'd never even seen him." Harry's teeth clenched as he spoke.

Even when living at his aunt and uncle's house, they hadn't treated him well, but at least he knew why. Snape's malice, however, was completely incomprehensible.

Harry had never seen any professor hate him the way Snape did, and for basically no reason.

"Hmm... maybe he has an issue with something you did as a kid, or with your parents?" Glenn joked. "Or maybe he just doesn't like the scar on your face."

"Who knows. If he had a problem with something I did as a kid, they should've locked him up to keep Voldemort from coming back." Harry followed up with a small joke, but the thought of Snape being arrested made him unable to suppress a grin.

It was only when talking to Glenn that he could mention the name "Voldemort" without a second thought. If it were Ron or anyone else, the joke wouldn't even leave his mouth before they'd panic and cut him off.

But after laughing, Harry asked curiously, "What about you? Not staying in the common room—where are you headed?"

"Same as you. I'm going to find Professor Snape." Glenn replied.

And the reason was simple—he needed a small investment from Professor Snape, like some Horklump Juice.

"I hope there are other professors in there." Harry said in a very low voice.

By now, Harry and Glenn had reached the staff room door. Under normal circumstances, at this hour, Snape was usually inside.

The reason Harry hoped other professors were there was because he thought if other teachers were listening, Snape wouldn't refuse to return Quidditch Through the Ages.

But his hopes were probably dashed.

In Glenn's Revelio, there were only two people in the staff room.

One was a bright blue, the other an extremely dim blue.

If he wasn't mistaken, the only people inside were Professor Snape and the caretaker, Filch.

"It really is just those two." Harry peeked through a tiny crack in the door, astonished in a whisper. "How did you know?"

"Guessed." Glenn said casually.

To be precise, only Snape was guessing.

A case of such extremely faint blue belonged to a Squib—born to a wizard but unable to use magic, just like a Muggle.

And in Hogwarts, finding a second Squib besides Filch was no easy task.

Harry wanted to retort Glenn's answer, but the next moment, looking at the horrifying scene inside the room, his pupils constricted and he was momentarily speechless.

Snape had hiked his robes up above his knees—one leg was drenched in blood, a mess of flesh and gore.

Filch was handing him bandages, but the wound on his leg was too deep, completely impossible to stop the bleeding.

When Harry had seen Snape limping this morning, he'd hoped that Snape, as Head of Slytherin, would be hurt as badly as possible.

But actually witnessing this scene still gave him a phantom pain, a trace of reluctance to watch.

"Good thing. Looks like we arrived just in time."

Hearing this, Harry turned to look at Glenn, feeling somewhat stunned.

Who was the Slytherin here, really?