My Name Is Harley Potter

In the end, Harley Potter found the snake she had set her heart on.

They had spent half an hour scouring the dark corners of Diagon Alley for this beautiful, silver-grey serpent.

Harley insisted on paying for it herself, refusing to let Snape cover the cost. She eventually spent thirty Galleons to purchase the snake, which the black-robed wizard claimed was "of rare lineage, non-venomous, docile, and capable of sensing danger."

It was now coiled motionlessly around Harley's right wrist.

Snape's eyes were fixed intently on the snake. He had already checked it, and it was indeed non-venomous. However, whether it was truly docile remained to be seen—it had been coiled around Harley's wrist since the moment they met, which seemed to exceed the definition of docile.

Beyond these errands, Harley also showed a keen interest in sightseeing.

Although Snape had not the slightest fondness for this filthy place, since Harley enjoyed it, he supposed a stroll wouldn't hurt. Harley bought two vanilla ice creams and handed one to Snape.

The girl's eyes had lit up the moment she learned the stall carried this flavor, claiming it was the only kind of ice cream she had ever tasted.

Snape frowned as he took a lick of the vanilla ice cream. They sat on the benches outside the shop, and Harley looked at him with eager anticipation: "Is it good, Professor?"

He didn't know how to describe the taste, so he could only frown as he struggled to articulate: "Strange. A bit too sweet for my liking."

"You should eat more ice cream, Professor. Or sweet things in general. They'll put you in a better mood, and then you won't look so sour all the time."

"Do I?"

"Of course! When I saw you this morning, I thought you were some sort of government agent! Your expression was terrifying!"

"."

Snape fell silent. While he didn't know what an agent was, it clearly wasn't a compliment.

He began to eat his ice cream more quickly.

Harley smiled, her eyes crinkling. She polished off her portion in a few bites, then raised her hand to signal for another—a large one.

Snape didn't order a second. Instead, he pulled a ticket from his black leather case. It was dated September 1st and bore the destination: Platform 9 3/4 at King's Cross Station.

Snape handed the ticket to Harley and said, "It seems you will need to stay here for two days. On September 1st, I will come to collect you and take you to the station. All new students take the Hogwarts Express to school; it is a tradition."

Harley lifted her face from the large bowl of vanilla ice cream, swallowed, and asked, "Where should I stay? The Leaky Cauldron we just visited? I saw they offered lodging."

Snape suddenly fell silent again. He realized he couldn't bring himself to let this child stay alone at the Leaky Cauldron; the mere thought of it was unbearable.

Snape simply said, "No, we shall go to a high-end hotel for Muggles."

That evening, Snape booked two rooms at a luxury hotel, his room directly across from Harley's.

When the receptionist asked with a puzzled look why a father and daughter needed separate rooms, Snape's face turned bright red, leaving him unable to speak. Harley, meanwhile, turned her back to hide her stifled laughter.

They spent two pleasant days in London—one in Diagon Alley and one at a children's amusement park.

Happy times pass in a flash. At 10:30 AM on September 1st, they appeared punctually at King's Cross Station. It was bustling with people. Snape led Harley to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, pausing specifically to explain.

"It is like this, Harley. This place is enchanted. Muggles—I mean, ordinary people—cannot see this special platform. Most wizards cannot see it either. But it does exist, so you simply need to walk through."

"And you, Professor?" Harley asked, clutching Snape's hand tightly as she looked up at him.

".You will see me at Hogwarts. In the meantime, you can get to know your future classmates and make some new friends."

Snape said this dryly before handing the black leather case to Harley.

The girl showed no further emotion. She smiled, took the case, waved goodbye to Snape, and dashed into Platform 9 3/4. Snape stood outside. A man passing by wiped away a tear, glanced at him, and actually walked over to pat him on the shoulder.

"Ah, mate. I understand. Sending the kids off to school far from home isn't easy. Aye. I understand."

His wife quickly pulled him away, offering Snape an apologetic smile.

Snape stood expressionless in the crowded station; no one knew what he was thinking.

A bright red steam engine sat waiting for departure at a platform teeming with people.

A prominent sign in the center of the engine read: "Hogwarts Express, departing at eleven o'clock sharp." Harley turned back to see that the spot where the ticket barrier had been was now an iron gate marked "Platform 9 3/4."

It seemed Professor Snape had spoken the truth. This 'second world' was truly magical, Harley thought.

Steam from the engine gathered above the heads of the chatting crowds, while cats of various colors wove between people's feet. Owls screeched at one another in an unpleasant manner.

Their cries drowned out the noise of people dragging, pulling, and banging heavy trunks. The first few carriages were already packed with students. Some leaned out of the windows to talk to their families, while others were still brawling over seats.

Harley stood in stark contrast to those pushing heavy trunks; she swung her black leather case lightly and casually as she stepped into the carriage.

She found an empty compartment at the back of the train and sat down. A smile graced her face—not because she was perfectly at ease, but to show others that she was not the least bit worried about this unfamiliar environment.

A red-headed boy pushed open the compartment door and struggled to shove his large trunk inside, tucking it into a corner. He glanced at Harley, looked away, then looked back again. He seemed to have forgotten how to walk, moving stiffly to the seat opposite Harley.

The boy tried to speak, coughing nervously: "Cough—cough! Um, er, well, hello."

"Hello!"

Harley reached out her hand, and the enthusiastic greeting startled him. He grew even more nervous, swallowed hard, and shook Harley's hand: "I, I'm Ron Weasley."

"Harley Potter."

Harley saw Ron's eyes widen. He looked like a short-circuited robot. Harley let out a giggle and asked, "What's wrong? Why does everyone look like that when they hear my name?"

"Y-y-y-y-you're that—"

Ron took a deep breath and lowered his voice, as if Harley's name were some sacred word: "Harley Potter?"

"Do I really have to prove that I am Harley Potter?"

Ron said something that immediately made him wish he could turn back time: "Yes! The scar on your forehead!"

Good heavens, what have I just said? Isn't that the same as rubbing salt in her wound? Ron Weasley, you really are an idiot!

Ron thought in despair, unable to believe that he had blurted that out without a second thought.

But Harley wasn't angry; she simply pushed back the red fringe on her forehead, allowing Ron to see the lightning-shaped scar.

"Good heavens." Ron stared fixedly at the scar, as if he were witnessing a miracle.

"Do you remember anything else? I mean—oh! Forget it! Just pretend I didn't say anything! That was a stupid question."

Ron had said another foolish thing that made him want to slap himself twice. He flopped backward in frustration, acting completely childish.

"Green light."

Harley wasn't angry. She seemed indifferent to the somewhat offensive question and even began to smile. Her tone was flat, as if she were speaking of something that had nothing to do with her: "I only remember streaks of green light."

Ron whispered, "I'm sorry. But that man has already been caught."

"That man?"

"You don't know?"

They stared at each other wide-eyed in the compartment, when a girl wearing brand-new Hogwarts robes pushed open the door, accompanied by a crying, round-faced boy.