Do You Know Snape?

Unlike the other little wizards, who were all excited, Hermione was reluctant to part with Harry.

Essays, notes...

She was nowhere near as good as Harry, the top student in their year.

There was still so much she hadn't figured out.

After they parted, she would have to study all this stuff on her own, confused and muddling through, with no one there to point her in the right direction when it mattered. It was so unfair.

But during those last two or three days, she hadn't been able to settle down and read properly. Hermione had become the busiest person in Gryffindor.

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

Even...

Some Little Badgers had somehow heard the news and come looking for her.

Hermione cursed them furiously in her heart.

Every last one of them was after her homework.

Hmph. She'd seen right through them.

The last night of the school year.

The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement. The Slytherin table seemed rather subdued, while the hall was decorated in Gryffindor's red and gold. Behind the High Table hung a huge banner bearing a lifelike lion, claws bared.

Professor McGonagall was smiling so hard that her face had flushed.

Seven years.

Seven whole years.

The House Cup no longer belonged to Slytherin. It belonged to Gryffindor.

Hufflepuff had Cedric, a third-year who was outstanding—just as exceptional as Harry was among the first-years.

And Harry wasn't the only remarkable first-year in Gryffindor. There was also Hermione.

Even...

Ron, who seemed to be nothing more than an accessory, had managed to get the fifth-highest marks in their year.

Slytherin's era was over. It was hard for the sixth- and seventh-years to earn points in class anymore; they no longer had the advantage.

Dumbledore was the last to arrive. Once he had taken his seat, the Great Hall gradually quieted. Even the Weasley twins, who were usually the first to cause trouble, fell silent and watched Dumbledore expectantly.

"Another school year has passed," Dumbledore said as he stood, his voice full of emotion. "It warms my heart to see you growing up so full of life."

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

"I imagine none of you are eager to listen to an old man ramble, so let's get straight to the House Cup ceremony!"

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

"Fourth place: Hufflepuff, 352 points."

"Third place: Ravenclaw, 426 points."

"Second place: Slytherin, 472 points."

"First place: Gryffindor, 491 points."

Harry was never caught sneaking around at night. The points he earned far outweighed the points he lost.

The Hufflepuffs looked at Harry enviously, but soon shifted their gazes to a brown-haired little wizard with thick eyebrows and large eyes at their own table.

"Gryffindor has done wonderfully," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I can barely remember the last time Gryffindor lifted the House Cup."

"But—"

"At the last moment, I still have some points to award."

"Harry Potter—"

"He made up for a mistake I made in a moment of carelessness. He protected the Sorcerer's Stone from Professor Quirrell—oh... perhaps I shouldn't call him Professor anymore."

"He protected it from Quirrell, the Dark wizard, and defeated him."

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

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

Harry narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore. The old man was beaming and waving his arms as he heaped praise on him, trumpeting his reputation. It was a bit over the top.

He didn't like it.

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

But hardly anyone noticed Dumbledore's little scheme.

The Little Lions didn't think it was over the top. They loved Dumbledore's speech, and, led by the Weasley twins, pounded on the tables and shouted, "Potter!"

"Potter!"

The students from the other houses also turned to look.

Especially those in fourth year and above.

They were astonished.

They'd heard Potter was brilliant, but... this brilliant?

Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons had indeed been terrible, but the fourth-years had all seen him when he was normal—he had previously taught Muggle Studies at Hogwarts.

He really was talented.

A first-year wizard already had the ability of a seventh-year graduating with top marks?

Even the Hufflepuffs looked a little troubled.

After seven years of Slytherin "rule," was it Gryffindor's turn now?

Oh, no...

That night's feast became a playground for the Little Lions to celebrate.

Wood contributed all his vodka. Only then did he realize that two bottles were missing from his stash, and he angrily grabbed the Weasley twins and gave them a good thrashing.

Harry took on all the Little Lions by himself.

He drank fifteen bottles of vodka in one night.

Once he'd had his fill, Harry dragged them all to the Black Lake to dance. They danced and howled, and the Mermaids surfaced, shrieking along with them. It was hard to tell whether they were singing together or cursing at each other.

The witches couldn't bear to watch.

The school year was over.

Harry arranged with Professor Flitwick that he would come to pick him up once the third week of July arrived.

And there was one most important thing.

He had to return the Sorting Hat to Dumbledore, and before he did, he had to take everything out of it.

Some magical materials found only in the Forbidden Forest, half a bottle of vodka, essays, books, and even half a muffin he hadn't finished eating.

The Sorting Hat flew into a rage. "Good heavens, how much stuff have you shoved inside me?"

"I'm a hat!"

Harry gathered everything together and held it in his arms. "I thought you were used to it."

The Sorting Hat waggled its pointed tip. "I'm not! It's just that I can't hit you. I'm only a hat."

"Can I take the Sword of Gryffindor with me?" Harry asked, making a request.

The Sorting Hat refused without hesitation. "No."

Harry didn't press the matter. This summer, he would visit that master blacksmith with Professor Flitwick.

The Sword of Gryffindor was a fine weapon, but it was meant for ordinary people. It was short and light. It suited him while he was still young, but once he was older and had grown stronger, it would probably prove inadequate.

The first-year wizards didn't leave through the front entrance like the students in the other years. Just as they had on the first day of term, they took little boats across the Black Lake, followed the mountain path, and arrived at the train station.

That magical presence around them grew stronger.

They looked back at the castle.

It felt even more like home now.

The train whistled and returned to London after dark. At the station, Hermione's eyes were brimming with tears as she clutched Harry's hand. "You have to write to me over the summer!"

Harry hadn't even answered yet.

Ron looked excited. "Hermione, I'll definitely write to you."

"I'd be very happy if you weren't asking me to lend you my homework," Hermione said expressionlessly.

Ron froze.

He lowered his head and muttered, "I've still got my brothers, and Percy..."

"Even if you ask us, you'll have to use your brain," Fred said, patting Ron on the shoulder. "Besides, Percy's even less accommodating than Miss Granger."

George chimed in, "He never lends anyone his homework to copy."

"He just says..."

"Ronnie, you have to do it yourself. Look at Granger and Potter. They're so brilliant," Fred drawled, putting on an affected voice.

Percy came up behind them and kicked Fred to the ground. "When you're bad-mouthing someone, you'd better make sure they're not standing right next to you."

Harry said goodbye to them.

He also gave Mrs. Weasley a warm hug and asked if next year's sweater could be red and gold, since he wasn't very fond of green.

Mrs. Weasley happily agreed.

Outside the station, he spotted Uncle Vernon's plump figure.

"I thought you weren't coming back." Vernon was clearly in a foul mood. He grabbed Harry's luggage and shoved it roughly into the trunk. "You said as much in your Christmas letter!"

"But the headmaster thinks I should spend at least one month at your house every summer," Harry said as he got into the car.

His words made Vernon's mood even worse. He honked the horn viciously. "Great. One month every year, with a freak living in my house."

"I just hope the neighbors don't think my house has become haunted."

The car started moving slowly.

Harry suddenly spoke up. "Uncle Vernon, would you like to lose some of that fat?"

Screech—

Vernon slammed on the brakes and turned around. He stared at Harry in terror, his face pale and slick with sweat. "What are you going to do!"

In an instant, he imagined countless possibilities.

Harry would take that mysterious little stick of his, wave it gently, and a knife would slice off a piece of his flesh...

"You seem to have misunderstood something." Harry frowned, unable to understand why Vernon suddenly looked as though he thought Harry was about to kill him. "I meant that I've learned how to make a few weight-loss potions."

"Drink one, and you'll get thinner."

Vernon let out a huge sigh of relief. His vision went black, then quickly cleared. He started the car again, gritting his teeth. "I don't need that!"

"I'd never drink any of that weird stuff brewed by you freaks!"

Harry didn't say anything else. He rode home in silence.

Dudley was clearly braver than his parents. He looked curiously at his cousin, whom he hadn't seen in a long time and who had left a deep impression on him.

"Aunt Petunia." Harry dragged his luggage inside. What he hated most was the rule that little wizards couldn't use magic outside school.

Petunia shuddered.

"Do you know Snape?" Harry asked before he had even stepped inside. "Severus Snape."

At the sound of that name,

Petunia drifted into a daze. She seemed to be back on that afternoon when she was eleven.