Help, Professor Snape Is Even Scarier!

No matter what Malfoy became in the future, he was just a child looking forward to attending a school of magic now.

Harry told herself over and over to be a little kinder to Malfoy. He was an adult and shouldn't stoop to a child's level.

But sometimes, telling yourself something didn't make it work.

The night wind swept the damp air from the Black Lake into Harry's face, making her shiver.

This petite body was far more sensitive than he remembered. Even the evening breeze was enough to give her goosebumps.

Fortunately, she'd had the foresight to change into trousers. If she'd been wearing the frilly dress Aunt Petunia had prepared... Harry didn't think she could stand the dreadful sensation of the wind freezing her legs.

At some point, Draco Malfoy had sidled up to her again, his pale face wearing a deliberately concerned expression in the moonlight.

"Watch the step," the boy said in a cloyingly gentle tone. His cold fingers had already wrapped around her wrist without asking. "A lady as petite as you can't afford a fall."

A chill shot from the patch of skin he had touched all the way to the top of Harry's head. She could barely keep from breaking out in goosebumps.

Merlin's beard! he ranted inwardly. That little bastard who did nothing but make snide remarks in my last life is actually touching my hand!

"Thanks, but no thanks," Harry replied stiffly, yanking her hand back so hard she nearly pulled Draco off balance.

Seeing that Draco still wanted to say something, Harry immediately looked back for her good buddy to help her out.

Ron's name was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it when she remembered her current gender and called for the other member of the golden trio instead.

"Hermione!" he called, turning to the brown-haired girl. "Shall we walk together?"

As Hermione hurried over, Harry clearly saw Draco's face twist for an instant.

He knew that expression all too well! Malfoy had worn that same look, as though he'd eaten a slug, every time he lost a Quidditch match to Gryffindor in their last life.

"You'd rather walk with a mud..." Draco's words stopped abruptly, as though he had remembered Harry scolding him on the train.

Harry nearly applauded his restraint. The Malfoy of his last life would never have swallowed an insult that was already on the tip of his tongue.

Who would have thought that Malfoy as a child could actually listen to reason?

Harry thought with a carefree air.

"As a Malfoy," the boy finally forced out through gritted teeth, an unnatural flush spreading across his pale cheeks, "I respect a lady's choice." He bowed extravagantly, then turned toward Crabbe and Goyle, the hem of his robes snapping behind him.

Harry let out a long breath. After being embarrassed like that, even if Draco Malfoy wanted to befriend the Chosen One of the wizarding world, he ought to give up on the idea.

She had thought about saving everyone, and that included the Malfoys, but... she'd pass on being friends with Malfoy.

Hermione studied Harry with a questioning gaze.

"What do you want to ask?"

"He seems awfully concerned about you?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Who knows?" Harry gave a couple of awkward laughs. "Probably because I'm the Girl Who Lived?"

It was also possible that his Death Eater father had sent him to make friends with her, so they could more easily help their boiled egg return to the world of the living.

As they walked up the stone steps toward the castle, Harry couldn't resist a glance at Draco's back.

There was a stubbornness in the boy's straight back, and his blond hair gleamed in the torchlight.

Damn it!

He actually felt a little guilty!

Calm down, you're an eighteen-year-old man, he repeated to himself.

You know Draco Malfoy is no good. He's selfish, arrogant, and a complete coward. There's no need to feel guilty about him. All you did was refuse to walk with him!

Draco, walking ahead of them, suddenly looked back, his eyes shining with an unreadable light in the firelight.

When their eyes met, the boy curled his lips into a confident smile, startling Harry so badly she nearly fell down the steps.

Merlin! he wailed inwardly. This is scarier than facing a hundred Dementors! At least Dementors wouldn't look at me in a way that gives me goosebumps! And they certainly wouldn't try to hold my hand!

So slick, so greasy!

How had he never known Malfoy had this side to him in their last life?

When Professor McGonagall opened the castle doors, Harry practically charged into the Great Hall.

The first-years stood in a line in the middle of the Great Hall. Candles floated overhead, lighting up every young face. Standing among the crowd, Harry couldn't help looking toward the familiar figure of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore at the High Table.

He was rising to his feet, his long silver beard glowing softly in the candlelight, his blue eyes still sparkling with wisdom behind his half-moon spectacles.

The old man's voice echoed through the Great Hall, gentle yet authoritative. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

Harry's heart clenched, and a dull ache spread through his chest, an oppressive soreness that made him uncomfortable all over.

This old man had taught him magic firsthand, guided him when he was most lost, and ultimately even laid a path for him with his own life.

During those dark days after the final battle, Harry had thought countless times that if he ever had children, he would name one "Albus," so that this great name would live on in the world.

His gaze drifted toward the other end of the High Table.

Severus Snape sat there with a dark expression, black hair hanging like curtains beside his pale face.

Harry's throat tightened. This was the man he had once misunderstood more than anyone, who had hidden the most fervent loyalty beneath the harshest exterior.

Oh, no, I can't think about this anymore. Damn Voldemort, damn the war.

That boiled egg caused every tragedy. If I get the chance, I'll make sure that thing is soaked in formalin and put on display after it dies!

"...the Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

Professor McGonagall's voice pulled Harry from her memories. Only then did she realize that, at some point, her eyes had filled with tears.

Her female body seemed to have more developed tear ducts than a male one.

As she hurriedly raised a hand to wipe her eyes, she suddenly met a pair of eyes as black as ink. Snape was staring fixedly at her, his brows drawn so tightly together they seemed about to carve a deep furrow into his forehead.

His gaze was sharp enough to pierce her soul. Harry flinched instinctively and quickly turned back to Dumbledore. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen through her. She could feel Snape's gaze still clinging to her back like a persistent affliction.

At the High Table, Snape unconsciously rubbed his wand between his fingers, his frown deepening.

Dumbledore seemed to notice something. His blue eyes flicked between Snape and Harry, and a thoughtful smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Now, when I call your name, please step forward to be sorted..."

Harry took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the ceremony before her. But she could still glimpse Snape's sinister profile out of the corner of her eye. The man who had once protected her with his life was still watching her intently with those hawk-like eyes.

Harry felt a little uneasy, unaware that Snape's heart was just as unsettled up at the table.

A fierce struggle was playing out inside Snape as he sat at the High Table.

Although he'd secretly gone to see little Harry once every year, this was the first time he'd been so close!

The little red-haired, green-eyed girl was the very image of Lily.

When Harry glanced his way, he hurriedly tried to produce a kindly smile. But his facial muscles stiffened as though struck by Petrificus Totalus, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward, making it look as if someone had forced a smile onto his face with hooks.

Smile, come on, smile! Snape frantically urged himself, but the smile never materialized. Instead, he frightened Harry into immediately looking away.

Snape panicked, his fingers unconsciously clutching the tablecloth beneath his black robes.

No! That's not it! Sweat beaded on his forehead as he hurriedly adjusted his expression. But this time he accidentally raised his eyebrows too high, leaving his entire face twisted into an expression that said, "I'm scary, but I'm trying to look gentle."

Dumbledore shot him a suspicious glance. "Severus, do you have a toothache?"

"Shut up, Albus!" Snape hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes still glued to Harry.

Harry felt that gaze growing more intense and couldn't resist another furtive glance. But when her eyes met Snape's, she closed them and turned her head away again.

Snape's face was expressionless, but inside he wailed, Lily's daughter is afraid of me! She's actually afraid of me!

Suddenly, an idea struck him. He took a sweet from Dumbledore's table and tried to copy Dumbledore's kindly expression as he remembered it. Then he waved the sweet at Harry.

But to Harry, it looked as though Snape was staring at her, holding a sweet to use as a projectile, ready to throw it at her forehead at any moment.

Oh no, Professor Snape seems to hate me even more!

Harry shrank back behind Hermione in terror.

The sweet fell from his hand with a tap, and he slumped in his chair as though his soul had been sucked out of him.

It's over, it's all over. I frightened little Harry on the very first day we met.

"Next, Harry Potter!" Professor McGonagall called.

Snape sat bolt upright, his sudden movement sending a gust through his black robes. He clasped his hands tightly on the table, his eyes wide as saucers, as though he were the one being sorted instead of Harry.

With Snape behaving so strangely, Harry walked toward the Sorting Hat in trepidation, unable to shake the feeling that a gaze was burning a hole through her back.

Surely seeing how much I look like my mother hasn't upset Professor Snape... has it?

Harry wondered uncertainly.

Snape had hated him so much before because he looked exactly like his father. But now that he'd been reborn as a girl, why did Professor Snape seem to hate him even more???

Harry sat on the four-legged stool. The old Sorting Hat settled over her red hair, blocking her view. She could hear it muttering in her ear, "Hmm... plenty of courage... oh, my, this wisdom... wait, this ambition too... no, wait! You once...!"

Gryffindor, please let me go to Gryffindor, Harry repeated desperately in her head, gripping the edge of the stool.

At the High Table, Snape leaned forward without realizing it, his black robes bunching against the edge of the table. His lips moved slightly as he whispered, almost inaudibly, "Slytherin... Slytherin..." His black eyes were fixed on the Sorting Hat, as though he meant to control its decision with his mind.

"Are you sure?" the Sorting Hat suddenly asked. "You already know what Gryffindor is like. To be honest, I still recommend Slytherin this time!"

Gryffindor! Harry nearly shouted aloud this time.

"Very well..." The Sorting Hat seemed to sigh. "Since your mind is made up-Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in deafening cheers. Harry took off the hat and ran lightly toward the red-and-gold table. She had barely sat down when Hermione hugged her excitedly.

"Sorry!" Hermione immediately let go, the tips of her ears reddening beneath her brown hair. "I was so excited... was that terribly rude?"

Harry shook her head with a smile. "Not at all." She looked up at the High Table and met Dumbledore's kindly gaze. The old headmaster raised his goblet and winked at her.

After the feast began, Ron stuffed a chicken leg into his mouth and asked Percy indistinctly, "Who's that black-haired professor at the High Table who keeps staring at Harry? His eyes are a bit scary."

Percy sat up and looked at the man Ron was pointing to. "That's Professor Severus Snape, our Potions teacher." He lowered his voice. "He's very interested in Dark Magic."

"Dark Magic? Is he a follower of You-Know-" Ron blurted out, but Percy cut him off with a fierce glare before he could finish.

"Don't talk nonsense!" Percy glanced nervously at the High Table, then added, "The man next to him is Professor Quirinus Quirrell, this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry followed their gazes. Quirrell was speaking to Professor Flitwick with a stutter, that ridiculous large scarf wrapped around his head.

This year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The words "this year's" were really quite interesting.

Although the setting might not have been quite right, Percy's words made Harry laugh.

Wasn't it true?

Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a high-risk profession at Hogwarts. He'd attended school for six years and gone through six teachers!

There had been no seventh year. The war with Voldemort had begun in the seventh year.

This Professor Quirrell was the real Death Eater. The one hidden behind his scarf was Tom Riddle himself.

Or rather, the boiled egg.

What concerned her more was Snape. The Potions Professor was cutting his steak with a stony face, but his gaze kept drifting her way, and every time their eyes met, he immediately looked away.

"Why does he keep looking at you?" Ron asked curiously, gravy still on the corner of his mouth.

Harry shrugged.

Perhaps he was looking at her green eyes, which were exactly like her mother's? She didn't know.

Or perhaps he was looking through her and seeing his father, whom Snape hated.

After the feast, brilliant starlight streamed through Hogwarts' lofty ceiling. Percy Weasley stood straight, his brand-new Prefect Badge gleaming on his chest. He waved his wand to signal the first-years to follow. "Gryffindors, this way, please!"

Harry joined the flow of students onto the moving staircase, the mahogany steps creaking softly beneath her feet. Halfway up, she stopped as if compelled, resting a hand on the carved banister and looking down.

Draco Malfoy stood on the landing below, moonlight casting a silver sheen over his platinum hair. He seemed to sense something and suddenly looked up, his gray-blue eyes locking unerringly onto Harry.

The moment their eyes met, Draco lifted his chin slightly and quickly looked away like an offended cat. As he turned, his black robes swept out behind him in a sharp arc.

Harry turned back without a word. It didn't matter what Malfoy was thinking. All she wanted now was to get to the dormitory and properly digest this unbelievable day.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice came from above. The brown-haired girl had doubled back at some point and was looking at her worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Harry smiled and let Hermione take her arm. The girl's warm fingers curled gently around her wrist, as though she were afraid Harry might run off.

In the red-and-gold common room, the fire crackled in the hearth. Percy was explaining the dormitory rules, but Harry's attention was entirely captured by the familiar portraits on the walls.

It wasn't that the portraits were particularly attractive; they were just good to look at while emptying her mind and spacing out.

"The girls' dormitory is this way!" Hermione took Harry by the wrist and hurried toward the spiral staircase, choosing the corridor on the right without hesitation when they reached the fork. "I made a point of asking Percy. This room is closest to the washroom..."

Harry pushed open the oak door with its brass lion knocker. Her trunk was already sitting quietly beside the bed by the window. Hermione's bed was right next to hers, separated only by a carved bedside table.

"I hope you don't mind..." Hermione seemed a little uneasy. "I mean, if you'd rather be alone..."

"Not at all," Harry said sincerely. She opened the window, letting the night breeze carrying the scent of the Forbidden Forest into the room. In the distance, the surface of the Black Lake shimmered silver, and the Astronomy Tower rose tall against the starry sky.

After lights-out, Harry lay on her four-poster bed, staring at the star patterns on the canopy overhead.

Every face she'd seen that day flashed through her mind: Dumbledore's shrewd gaze behind his half-moon spectacles, Professor McGonagall's stern but warm smile, Hagrid wiping his tears with a dirty handkerchief... and Snape—the Potions Professor who had sat restlessly at the High Table, so different from the gloomy, caustic figure she remembered.

Hermione's steady breathing came from the next bed, occasionally mixed with a few mumbled words in her sleep. "Quill... parchment..." Harry couldn't help smiling. She rolled over and hugged her fluffy pillow.

In this Hogwarts, both familiar and strange, she had finally come home.