"More importantly, mate," said Ron, "it's Saturday. Snape wants you to go to his office for detention every Wednesday and Saturday — I don't think you should go. I mean, what if… what if he actually wants to do something to you?"
"Don't worry, nothing will happen," Harry replied to his two concerned friends.
That night, Harry headed to Snape's office as promised.
He was not alone; Filch dragged him there, even though Harry kept insisting that he had been invited by the professor.
How could a Gryffindor be invited by the head of Slytherin? Filch nearly lost his mind laughing.
However, Filch did not expect that Harry was not only telling the truth but also letting him figure it out on purpose — after all, Harry just wanted someone to keep him company on the way.
Filch was not very polite, and Harry was even more witty; a few sarcastic comments left Filch speechless and furious.
"Decades ago, you would have been whipped to pulp in the dungeons!" Filch cursed ferociously.
Harry retorted, "A hundred years ago, you wouldn't even have been worthy to stand in front of me and speak!"
Filch grew even angrier, but he couldn't punish Harry, so all he could do was lead him, fuming, to Snape's office.
"Professor," Filch proudly pushed Harry into Snape's office, "I caught a Gryffindor student! He lied and said he was you…"
"He did not lie," Snape said curtly.
Filch was instantly speechless, as if he had swallowed a fly, staring incredulously at Harry and then at Snape.
Harry ignored both of them and began to examine the office.
Located in the castle's dungeons, Snape's office had dark, shadowy walls. Along the walls, shelves were filled with large glass jars containing all sorts of slimy, disgusting things: animals and plants floating in colorful potions, embryos of magical creatures, and even brains suspended in liquid.
"Seen enough, Potter?"
A slow, viscous voice sounded behind him.
"Yes, Professor," Harry replied.
Snape said nothing else, merely waved his wand and placed two buckets in front of Harry, one empty and one full.
"This is your homework for today: squeeze the slime from the Flobberworms — no magic," Snape said slowly.
Harry looked at the bucket full of Flobberworm pupae and, when he raised his eyes again, saw Snape correcting papers.
He clearly noticed Snape's expression twitch slightly as he picked up Marcus Flint's test and wrote a "D" on it. Then he scratched out the "D" and changed it to a "T."
A "T"?
Harry wondered: wasn't Hogwarts' grading system "Exceeds Expectations (E)", "Acceptable (A)", "Satisfactory (B)", "Poor (R)", and the lowest, "Terrible (P)"?
Following his principle of asking questions when he didn't understand something, Harry asked, "Professor, what does the T mean?"
Snape did not answer, his quill scratching the paper with a "swish-swish" sound.
As soon as Harry sat down to handle the Slimeworms, Snape's distinctive viscous voice sounded again:
"Troll."
Harry shrugged; the response was not very surprising.
It seemed that all Slytherins had this tendency, and Cassandra particularly liked to call other Gryffindor students "trolls."
Using dragon-hide gloves, he skillfully squeezed the Flobberworms, collecting their slime into a small vial, and then tossed the pupae into another bucket.
"The slime of the Floppy worm is used to thicken the potion," Snape's voice echoed above him.
Harry did not look up, fearing that Snape's hair oil might drip onto his face.
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Snape's tone no longer seemed as cold as usual.
When Harry was finally led outside, he let out a light sigh of relief.
He had never doubted Snape from the start, and after this period of confinement, he was even more certain that the professor did not intend to harm him — at least, not to kill him.
If it were Snape, Harry thought, he would have either shown kindness and let his guard down or attacked directly.
So… who was this person?
He hadn't gone far when he noticed someone standing in front of him.
The person wore a robe adorned with stars and moons, and had a long white beard that reached his waist.
Looking up, it was Headmaster Dumbledore, his kind eyes shining behind his half-moon glasses.
"Harry?" said Dumbledore. "Would you mind coming to the Headmaster's office to speak with me?"
No, you should call me "Senior," Harry thought casually.
But he did not forget to explain urgently: "Headmaster, it was Professor Snape who trapped me—"
"Relax, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "Severus told me. I am not trying to deduct points from Gryffindor — after all, there aren't many left, are there?"
As he spoke, Dumbledore winked at Harry playfully.
"All right, then, let's talk. I also have a question for you." Harry shrugged.
Dumbledore chuckled softly and turned, ascending the spiral staircase ahead of him.
Harry said nothing, following closely.
He now had many grievances about that headmaster.
During the Quidditch match, someone had openly cast a curse on a Hogwarts student, and the headmaster had done nothing…
Wait, what if Vivi's time magic works and she can travel a hundred years into the future…
If she discovers that you trapped her brother, Gellert—
"Sizzle Bee Candy."
Harry heard Dumbledore's voice and realized he had followed him to the headmaster's office door.
The candy's name must be the password to the Headmaster's office. The enormous stone beast guarding the door moved aside after Dumbledore gave the command, revealing a spiral staircase.
"Enter, Harry," said Dumbledore, making way.
Harry followed.
Pushing open the polished oak door, he entered the Headmaster's office.
Unlike the office he remembered, this one was circular, spacious, filled with a cheerful atmosphere, soft sounds, and a faint magical hum.
The long-legged desk was covered with various utensils emitting a mysterious smoke, seeming to whisper ancient tales.
The walls, as before, were adorned with portraits of former headmasters.
They slept peacefully in their frames, their soft snores echoing in the air.
Harry then realized that although Phineas Black had been the most unpopular headmaster in history, he was still the headmaster of Hogwarts and, even dead, had the right to have his portrait displayed!
Oh no, what if he recognizes me?
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