Dumbledore's Sponsorship
"That damn old bat… George and Fred were right—he just hates us." Ron grumbled as he bent down to gather the textbooks scattered across the corridor.
"I heard he used to deduct points from Gryffindor for absolutely nothing," he continued. "Just look at this week—more than thirty points gone."
Nearly twenty of them had been Harry's fault… but Ron didn't say that part aloud.
Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Harry… honestly, do you have some grudge against Snape?"
"Me?" Harry blinked, stunned. "How could I? I didn't even know he existed two weeks ago."
He was telling the truth. Two weeks ago, he hadn't even known magic was real. There was no way he had a personal feud with a wizard.
"Or maybe your family?" Ron's eyes suddenly brightened as though he'd made a great discovery. "Your parents were in the same era as him! He said you look like your dad. Harry, I bet he knew your father."
"Really?" Harry murmured. Now that he thought about it… Snape looked to be in his mid-thirties (he was actually thirty-one this year). It wasn't impossible that he'd been at school at the same time as Harry's parents.
"That's it!" Ron said firmly. "Your dad—or your mum—must've offended him back then. Now he's taking it out on you."
---
Around the corner…
Owen stared at Ron as if seeing him for the first time.
What the heck?
Since when did Ron Weasley have two functioning brain cells working at once?
Had some hidden potential unlocked? Did a virus shut down and reboot his intelligence?
Hermione, standing beside him, also stared at Ron with newfound respect.
It perfectly matched her own suspicion. From their very first Potions class, she had felt something strange. Professor Snape's attention on Harry was far too sharp, far too personal for someone supposedly meeting him for the first time. And the disgusted way he had looked at Harry—just because he resembled his father…
Hermione had already concluded there must have been some history between Snape and Harry's dad.
But the fact that Ron had reached the same conclusion?
That was shocking.
---
"Hissss…"
Owen slipped out of the shadows like a snake emerging from grass.
"Oh, my dear friends… looks like you're in trouble." His tone alone made Harry and Ron's backs straighten in alarm. "Need help?"
"No—no, thank you," they said simultaneously, taking an involuntary step back.
Hermione, now standing in front thanks to their retreat, did not flinch. Like a vine rooted against a stone wall, she faced the boy calmly.
"We don't need your help," she said firmly. "Harry will handle it."
"What's the rush?" Owen waved a hand lazily. "Hmm? What's with the stack of spellbooks?"
"Oh? Defense Against the Dark Arts books."
A wicked smile curved his lips. "Tsk, tsk… planning to use them on me, are you?"
"No!" Hermione met his gaze without wavering. "They're for self-defense. To prevent anyone from bullying us again."
"Wow…" Owen snorted. "Bullying you?"
Suddenly reminded of a certain very questionable Russian game, he cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Who is this Hogwarts scoundrel? Tell me and I'll make sure he doesn't see tomorrow's sunrise."
Hermione shot him a glare sharp enough to cut parchment. Then, grabbing Harry with one hand and Ron with the other, she turned to leave.
---
"Wait," Owen called out.
"Don't you want to know why Snape is targeting you, Harry?"
Harry froze.
Owen smiled—dark, confident, infuriatingly sure of himself.
"Of course I know," he said. "And I know more than you think."
With that, he walked toward the castle doors.
Harry hesitated only a moment. This was the second time someone had hinted at something about his parents. The first had been Hagrid… telling him that his parents hadn't died in a car crash, but had been murdered by Voldemort.
Harry wanted answers. Desperately.
Ignoring Ron and Hermione's protests, he ran after Owen.
The other two exchanged looks of resignation and hurried after him.
---
Saturday morning sunlight poured over the grounds in warm gold. Though autumn had begun, Hogwarts felt bright and alive beneath the early sun.
Owen walked quickly. No matter how fast Harry ran, the distance between them never closed beyond five meters.
"Isn't that Hagrid's hut?" Harry asked breathlessly after several minutes.
"What's he doing here?" Hermione asked nervously. "Hagrid won't be in danger, will he?"
Ron scoffed loudly. "Hermione, he's an adult wizard! He only bullies students."
"True…" she muttered, though unease lingered in her eyes. Something about Owen felt… unfathomable.
"Look—he's knocking on Hagrid's door."
The three sped up, reaching the hut just as Hagrid opened the door.
---
"It's you," Hagrid rumbled, his bearded face appearing through a crack in the door. "Well—come in!"
The cabin was a single room. Hams and pheasants hung from the ceiling, a copper kettle boiled over the fire, and a massive bed with patchwork quilts sat in the corner.
"Make yourselves at home," Hagrid said.
Before he finished speaking, a huge dark creature bounded out from behind him and lunged at Ron, licking his ear enthusiastically.
"It likes yeh," Hagrid chuckled. He made no attempt to stop it.
Ron went stiff as a statue, letting the creature—Toothpaste, as Owen called it—slather his face in drool.
"That's Ron, and that's Hermione," Harry introduced quickly.
"Weasley, eh?" Hagrid said gruffly, pouring boiling water into enormous teacups and setting a plate of rock cakes on the table.
"One more Weasley kid… I reckon I know why Toothpick likes yeh."
He shot Ron a look of long-suffering irritation.
"I've spent half me life dragging those twins out o' the Forbidden Forest. But this silly beast loves playin' with those troublemakers."
(Owen, in his mind: Almost got caught slacking off writing this scene at work. Thank Merlin for fast typing.)