Do You Know Snape?

Compared to the high spirits of the other young wizards, Hermione was deeply reluctant to part ways with Harry.

Essays, notes...

She felt she was still far behind Harry, the top student of their year.

There were still so many things she hadn't quite grasped yet.

Once they separated, she would have to muddle through these studies all on her own; without anyone to offer guidance at critical moments, she felt quite aggrieved.

However, in these last two or three days, she hadn't been able to settle down to read properly at all; Hermione had become the busiest person in Gryffindor.

Every first-year Little Lion told Hermione that they would definitely write to her over the summer, begging her to be sure to write back.

Even...

Some Little Badgers, having heard the news from who knows where, had come knocking on her door.

Hermione spat mentally.

Every single one of them was just coveting her homework.

Hah, she saw right through them.

The final night of the school year.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was boisterous. The Slytherin table appeared somewhat desolate, while the hall was decorated in the red and gold of Gryffindor. Behind the teachers' table hung a massive banner featuring a vivid, snarling lion.

Professor McGonagall's face was flushed with joy.

Seven years.

Seven whole years.

The House Cup no longer belonged to Slytherin, but to Gryffindor.

In the third year, Hufflepuff had produced Cedric; he was outstanding, just as exceptional as Harry was to the first years.

Gryffindor's first year had not only Harry but also Hermione.

Even...

That Ron, who looked like nothing more than a tagalong, had actually managed to secure fifth place in the year.

The era of Slytherin had passed; the sixth and seventh years found it hard to earn extra points in class anymore, and they no longer held the advantage.

Dumbledore was the last to arrive. As he took his seat, the Great Hall gradually quieted down. Even the Weasley twins, who were always the most prone to causing trouble, shut their mouths and looked at Dumbledore with anticipation.

"Another school year gone," Dumbledore stood up, his tone filled with emotion. "To see you all growing up so vibrantly is truly a comfort to me."

"A brand new era has arrived, hasn't it?"

"I imagine you don't care to hear an old man ramble, so let us proceed directly to the House Cup award ceremony!"

He waved his wand, and golden letters appeared in the air.

"In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with 352 points."

"In third place, Ravenclaw, with 426 points."

"In second place, Slytherin, with 472 points."

"And in first place, Gryffindor, with 491 points."

Harry was never caught when he wandered at night, and the points added to his tally far outweighed those deducted.

The Hufflepuffs looked at Harry with a hint of envy, but they quickly shifted their gaze to a brown-haired, thick-browed young wizard at their own house table.

"Gryffindor's performance has been excellent," Dumbledore laughed. "I've almost forgotten when the last time was that Gryffindor held the House Cup."

"However—"

"At this final moment, I have a few more points to award."

"Harry Potter—"

"He corrected a mistake this old man made through a moment of negligence, protecting the Sorcerer's Stone from Professor Quirrell—oh... perhaps I shouldn't call him Professor anymore."

"He protected the Sorcerer's Stone from the dark wizard Quirrell and successfully defeated him."

"I imagine many of you have heard? Quirrell is still lying in the Hospital Wing."

"For this, I award our brave Lion King fifty points!"

Harry narrowed his eyes, watching Dumbledore—he was jubilant, waving his hands, heaping praise upon him, and broadcasting his reputation; it was all a bit too flamboyant.

He didn't like it.

Snape didn't like it either, glaring viciously at Dumbledore, his hand gripping his wand.

But few noticed Dumbledore's hidden agenda.

The Little Lions didn't find it flamboyant; they loved Dumbledore's phrasing. Led by the Weasley twins, they pounded on the tables and cheered: "Potter!"

"Potter!"

Students from the other houses cast glances their way as well.

Especially those in the fourth year and above.

They were astonished.

They had heard that Potter was excellent, but... to this extent?

Quirrell's teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts was indeed terrible, but the fourth-years had all seen Quirrell in his normal state—he had previously been the professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts.

He was truly excellent.

Even if he had become crazy and abnormal now, his strength was undeniable.

A first-year young wizard already possessed the standard of an excellent seven-year graduate?

Even the Hufflepuffs' expressions grew slightly heavy.

After seven years of being "ruled" by Slytherin, was it now Gryffindor's turn?

Oh, no...

Tonight's party had become a playground for the Little Lions to cheer.

Wood contributed all his Vodka—only then did he discover two bottles missing from his stash, which made him so angry he grabbed the Weasley brothers and gave them a sound thrashing.

Harry faced all the Little Lions by himself.

He drank fifteen bottles of Vodka in one night.

When they were having the time of their lives, Harry dragged them along to dance by the Black Lake, howling as they danced. The Mermaids in the lake even poked their heads out, shrieking along, though it was unclear if they were singing or cursing.

The witches could not bear to watch.

The school year ended.

Harry and Flitwick agreed that once the third Monday of July arrived, he would come to pick him up.

And there was one most important matter.

He had to return the Sorting Hat to Dumbledore, but before that, he had to take out the things he had stored inside the hat.

Some magical materials found only in the Forbidden Forest, half a bottle of Vodka, essays, books, and even half a piece of unfinished muffin.

The Sorting Hat was furious: "Good heavens, just how much stuff have you stuffed into my body!"

"I am a hat!"

Harry tidied the items up and held them in his arms: "I thought you were used to it."

The Sorting Hat tapped its pointed tip: "I am not! It's just that I can't hit people; I am only a hat."

"Can I take the Sword of Gryffindor with me?" Harry looked at it and made a request.

The Sorting Hat refused decisively: "No."

Harry did not force the issue; this summer, he would go with Flitwick to visit that master blacksmith.

Although the Sword of Gryffindor was good, it was, after all, a weapon for ordinary people—short and light. He was still young, so it was handy for now, but as he grew older and his body developed, he feared it would become inadequate.

The first-year young wizards did not leave through the main gate like the students of other years—they still traveled as they did on the first day of school, taking the small boats across the Black Lake, walking through the mountain path, and arriving at the train station.

That aura of magic was reinforced upon them.

Looking back at the castle.

It had become more intimate.

The train whistled as it returned to London at nightfall. At the train station, Hermione was teary-eyed, clutching Harry's hand: "You must write to me during the summer vacation!"

Harry hadn't answered yet.

Ron looked excited: "Hermione, I will definitely write to you."

"If you aren't asking to borrow my homework, then I would be very happy." Hermione said expressionlessly.

Ron stiffened.

He lowered his head and muttered: "I still have my brothers, and Percy..."

"Even if you ask us, you have to use your brain." Fred patted Ron on the shoulder, "Besides, Percy is even more heartless than Miss Granger."

George chimed in: "He never lends his homework for others to copy."

"He only says..."

"Ronnie, you have to write it yourself. Look at Granger and Potter, how excellent they are." Fred drawled, putting on an act.

Percy walked over from behind and kicked out, knocking Fred to the ground: "When you are bad-mouthing others, you had better pay attention to whether that person is standing right beside you."

Harry said his goodbyes to them.

He also shared a warm hug with Mrs. Weasley and made a request, hoping that next year's sweater could be red and gold; he didn't really like green.

Mrs. Weasley was happy to agree.

After exiting the train station, he saw the chubby figure of Uncle Vernon.

"I thought you wouldn't be coming back." Vernon's mood was clearly terrible; he took Harry's luggage and shoved it into the trunk roughly, "You said so in your Christmas letter!"

"But the Headmaster believes that I must spend at least one month at your house every summer." Harry got into the car.

His words made Vernon's mood even worse, and he honked the horn fiercely: "Fantastic, one month every year, I have to have a freak living in my house."

"I really hope the neighbors don't think my house has become a haunted one."

The car slowly pulled away.

Harry suddenly spoke up: "Uncle Vernon, would you like to lose some of that fat on your body?"

Screech—

Vernon slammed on the brakes, turned his head, and stared at Harry in terror, his face pale and covered in cold sweat: "What are you trying to do!"

In an instant, he imagined countless scenarios.

Harry holding that mysterious little wooden stick of his, giving it a light wave, and a knife slicing a chunk of meat right off him...

"You seem to have misunderstood something." Harry frowned, unable to quite grasp why Vernon suddenly looked as if he were prepared to take his life. "I meant that I've learned some weight-loss potions."

"Drink them, and they'll make you thin."

Vernon let out a massive sigh of relief, his vision blacking out before quickly clearing again. He restarted the car, gritting his teeth: "Not interested!"

"I would never drink the strange, freakish concoctions you people brew!"

Harry didn't speak again, remaining quiet all the way back home.

Dudley was clearly bolder than his parents, curiously sizing up the cousin he hadn't seen in a long time, who had left such a deep impression in his mind.

"Aunt Petunia." Harry dragged his luggage inside—the thing he hated most was the rule forbidding young wizards from using magic outside of school.

Petunia shuddered.

"Do you know Snape?" Harry asked impatiently before he had even fully stepped through the door. "Severus Snape."

Upon hearing that name.

Petunia fell into a trance, as if she had returned to that afternoon when she was eleven years old.

Thanks to Deer Call in the Deep Woods for the tip.

Thanks to I Lost a Part, En Oh Ah La, and Terminator Knight for the tips.

Bonus chapter progress: 3966/5000