Harry Potter's Little Troubles (You all know what I mean.)
"Uh…"
He made a lot of sense.
I couldn't even refute him.
After a heavy moment of silence, Truman's sense of duty as a prefect finally pushed him forward. He straightened his shoulders and spoke earnestly.
"Those spells are Unforgivable for a reason," he said. "Behind them lie the lives of wizards and Muggles alike."
His deep voice echoed across the Hufflepuff common room. The round, low-ceilinged space—lined with warm wooden beams, earthy colors, plants, and the scent of baking—suddenly felt heavier. The first-years listening nearby couldn't entirely follow the conversation, but they understood at least one thing:
Owen was talking about something truly dangerous.
"I know," Owen replied. For once, there was no hint of amusement in his voice.
He met Truman's gaze squarely. "But I believe every witch and wizard should learn the Unforgivable Curses—or at least understand them. Even if that knowledge creates doubt. Even if it causes controversy."
He lowered his voice.
"Because ignorance won't protect us from an enemy. Having no sword at all and having a sword you choose not to use—those aren't the same thing."
For the first time, Truman regarded Owen with complete seriousness. He looked him up and down, as if trying to assess whether this boy truly understood what he was saying.
His arguments made sense.
But—this was the Unforgivable Curses they were talking about. When had they become as casually discussed as the Levitation Charm?
If he didn't know better, he'd think the world had gone mad.
"I can't argue with you, Owen," Truman finally said. "But this isn't the way a wizard should fight. Certainly not the way a true Hufflepuff should fight. I'll… mention your ideas to the Headmaster."
He still carried a seed of resentment toward Owen's grandfather—Gellert Grindelwald. To Truman, there was no way an eleven-year-old first-year could come up with such ideas on his own. Surely, they came from that dark history.
"Hm… yes, probably not suited for Hufflepuff."
Owen stroked his chin with exaggerated maturity. "A Badger's fighting style…"
He searched his memory.
Suddenly, a tune burst into his mind—a tune older than time, etched into his very DNA.
Pokémon get da ze!
—In fire, in water, in grass, in the forest.
In fire, in water, in grass, in the forest—
in the earth, in the clouds, and beneath a girl's skirt (Cheer!).
In the earth, in the clouds, beneath another girl's skirt (Cheer!).
Ha! I choose you—Niffler!
Yes. That felt properly Hufflepuff.
A house without magical creatures felt incomplete.
Hufflepuff must be a nurturing type.
Owen nodded, deeply satisfied with his own logic.
…So, should he pick a magical creature first?
"All right. That's all for today's gathering," Truman said, standing and addressing the first-years. "If you have questions, ask the upper-years."
Then, without another look at Owen, he slipped out through the barrel entrance and disappeared.
The confused young wizards exchanged glances, then quickly scattered. It was their first Saturday at Hogwarts, and Justin and the others excitedly planned to explore the castle together.
Owen, however, had no intention of joining. During his first "playthrough," he had mapped nearly every secret Hogwarts held. He even knew several secret passages into the castle.
Including one almost no one knew:
A narrow drain beneath the Black Lake that connected to the old sewer tunnels used in Hogwarts' early construction.
So exploring wasn't necessary.
Instead, he planned to roam the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Maybe he'd meet some rare magical creatures.
And—there was that letter.
He'd visit Hagrid later.
Having made up his mind, Owen stepped confidently out of the common room—
"POTTER!"
A harsh, icy voice cracked through the corridor.
Students passing by immediately retreated to the walls. They knew that voice far too well.
Snape.
"Professor—I didn't mean to. I was just spacing out—"
"Silence, Potter." Snape's slow, venomous tone slithered through the air. "Is this how your idiot Muggle relatives taught you? To run headlong into a professor?"
Owen froze, then quickly ducked behind a corner. He peeked out at the three unfortunate Gryffindors:
Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
And of course, Snape—hair so greasy it could lubricate the gears of the Hogwarts clock tower.
"S-sorry, Professor," Harry stammered. A heap of books lay scattered across the stone floor. They had clearly collided with Snape.
Snape reacted as though Harry's apology were something foul he had stepped in. His expression twisted.
"Disgusting—"
"We were discussing a spell, Professor," Hermione piped in, unable to help herself. "Harry wasn't—"
"Enough!" Snape roared. The sound echoed against the vaulted ceiling.
The nearby Hufflepuffs fled instantly—leaving only Owen lurking in secret.
"Miss Granger, did I give you permission to speak? Five points from Gryffindor."
He turned his dark eyes on Harry.
"Gryffindors… a troop of brainless baboons with wands. Just like your father."
He glanced at the fallen books:
Standard Book of Spells: Grade One
Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
Practical Defensive Charms
Ten Basic Duelling Spells
"Hm? Planning to duel someone? To bully the weak? As your arrogant father did?"
Snape's tone dropped dangerously low.
"No! I wasn't— I'm just defending myself!" Harry protested.
But Snape wasn't listening.
"That's enough lies. Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter. And I'll be notifying Professor McGonagall that one of her star pupils is preparing to attack other students."
With a billow of his cloak—like a great black bat—Snape swept toward the stairwell.
————
Interesting.
Owen smiled behind his corner.
Snape and James Potter were like opposite magnetic poles—destined to slam into each other over and over, even across generations.
It was the same in the books.
The same in his first playthrough.
He once wondered how Miss Snape—no, Professor Snape—and James could have such a bitter history.
Until he investigated.
And discovered the dramatic saga of two best friends torn apart—
a proud, sharp-tongued Slytherin girl and a free-spirited Gryffindor boy.
A story so full of teenage tsundere energy that Owen nearly dropped his quill.
After learning that…
Well—if "tsundere" had never fallen out of fashion, the first playthrough might never have had a boy named Harry Potter.
There might have been a child named Harry Potter, sure.
Just not the Harry Potter.
The savior might've been called Neville Longbottom instead.
Sigh.
Some relationships are simply born cursed. No matter the timeline or the world, some people are destined to clash.