Hedwig had returned and was fast asleep in her cage. Harry closed the door and flopped onto the bed, letting out a long sigh. He had lost count of how many times he had sighed since arriving at Professor Snape's house. He hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to his friends.

  The more he thought about it, the angrier he became at Malfoy. If he survived this summer with Snape, the moment he saw that little shit back at school, Harry was going to punch Malfoy's jaw clean off.

  What had Luna said? Malfoy liked him? He wondered if she might have gotten something wrong. After all, Luna did occasionally come out with some pretty bizarre stuff about nonexistent magical creatures.

  However, on the other hand, Malfoy had been acting very strangely for the past six months, not at all like his usual self. If Harry had taunted and even punched Malfoy for stalking him, Malfoy wouldn't have hesitated to whip out his wand and hex him.

  But he hadn't.

  Could it be true? Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, feeling utterly bewildered. Next year, when they met again, he would observe more carefully. He couldn't ask directly, because if he was wrong, he'd become the laughingstock of the entire Slytherin house. It was best if Luna was mistaken because if she was right, Harry would feel incredibly uncomfortable every time he ran into Malfoy. They had hated each other for five years; he had never imagined they would even be friends, let alone anything more. It was insane. He had no idea what Malfoy was thinking.

  Even if Malfoy did like Harry, it wouldn't change the hatred he felt for the boy. After all the scheming, taunting, mocking, and sneering at Harry and his friends, even without Voldemort's return, they were already on opposite sides of the battlefield.

  Tired of lying on the bed, Harry went downstairs to the sitting room to pick out a book to read for amusement. He didn't feel anything unusual in his body except for the abdominal pain from earlier. It seemed the poison was just simmering within him, ready to manifest at any moment without warning, while the rest of the time he felt perfectly normal.

  The books in the sitting room were mostly bound in old brown and black leather, primarily focusing on Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the Dark Arts themselves. Harry clicked his tongue; with this collection of books, Dumbledore could still believe Snape had turned over a new leaf. It was incomprehensible. He chose a book titled "Advanced Defensive Magic" and went back upstairs.

  Snape was in his potions laboratory, next to a steaming cauldron was a stack of books on medieval charms and curses. He had scoured the Hogwarts library and even Diagon Alley to gather and read every book related to Harry's condition in the week before the boy arrived at Spinner's End. It was a rare curse, and he was being extremely cautious in brewing the antidote. Snape hoped he would get through this month living with the insufferable brat quickly. Cure him, kick him out, and then he could return to his peaceful summer holidays. The longer this dragged on, the worse it would be for both of them, and who knew if Narcissa, his friendly sister, or any other Death Eater would come snooping around again.

  Snape stirred the cauldron counter-clockwise for the third time, his face damp with sweat from the rising steam. The ingredients for this batch were expensive and difficult to prepare; of course, Dumbledore had provided financial support, but even without it, Snape would have prioritized buying the best. After all, he hated Potter, but when it came to the boy's miserable life, he always prioritized it. Turning off the heat, Snape ladled the potion into a beaker and checked the time. It was ten o'clock at night, time to give it to the boy and check his condition; the body's reaction to the potion would be just right.

  As he went upstairs, Snape realized he wouldn't need to bring the potion to the brat like this if it were just a regular nightly dose to eliminate the poison. Perhaps he had been a bit too indulgent towards James Potter's son.

  Pushing open Harry's door, Snape found him sitting on the bed reading a book and looking up immediately as he entered, his attitude clearly unwelcoming.

  “Take your medicine,” Snape said. “Come over here; I am not a house-elf to deliver it to your bedside.”

  Harry scowled; he hadn't intended for Snape to do that. Always had to poke and prod. What a greasy-haired git. Getting up and walking over to Snape, he took the steaming beaker, his nose wrinkling slightly at the unpleasant, acrid smell, but there was no other way than to tip his head back and drink.

  He almost spat it out the moment the liquid slid down his throat. Bitter. Utterly disgusting. Harry had to force himself to finish the potion, silently cursing his fate.

  “Tomorrow, at this same time, come down to the kitchen; I will leave the potion there. This is the fixed dose for the day,” Snape said monotonously. “Do not forget; forgetting will have consequences.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Yes, sir,” Harry replied curtly.

  He turned to go back to bed. However, having taken only a few steps, he suddenly felt a burning sensation in his chest, and then, unexpectedly, blood gushed from his mouth, hot and thick, spraying onto the floor. The sound of the liquid splattering echoed in the silent room like a curse just activated. Harry dropped to his knees, his whole body shaking violently as if he had a fever. A terrifying pain tore through his body, so intense that Harry’s vision blurred, his head swam, and a red haze clouded his sight, as if the whole world was bleeding with him. He couldn’t support himself; his limbs felt like jelly, and he collapsed onto the floor, still vomiting blood. The red liquid soaked his clothes.

  Until a hand hauled him up, shoved a vial into his mouth, and the cool antidote flowed down his throat. He immediately stopped vomiting, his vision gradually cleared, and the agonizing pain slowly subsided, but he was still trembling violently, dizzy, and felt like he couldn't move his limbs.

  Snape sat still, holding the small boy tightly in his arms, observing him closely until he stopped shaking, then asked, “Does your head hurt?”

  Harry shook his head, panting.

  “Good, that means the potion has replenished your blood,” Snape looked down at the pool of blood on the floor, soaking both their clothes.

  He waved his wand to clean up the mess and carried Harry back to bed.

  “They come very suddenly,” Snape said quietly. “I have cast a charm to reduce the soundproofing of the walls to the minimum. No matter where you are in the house, just call out or bang on the wall, and I will hear you immediately.”

  Harry bit his lip. When he returned to Hogwarts, he would kill Malfoy.

  Snape sat down on the bed, raised his wand, and began to murmur incantations, sounding like an ancient song in a foreign language. After about five minutes, he stood up.

  “Your body is responding to the potion reasonably well. Sleep now. Tomorrow morning, I will check again to see the extent of the neutralization and elimination of the poison.”

  With that, without looking back at Harry, he left the room.

  However, in the middle of the night, as he wearily dragged himself up the stairs after finishing his research, before even turning into his own bedroom, Snape heard a very faint cry.

  What was it now? Despite being very sleepy and exhausted, he opened Harry’s door. The lock had been removed before the boy arrived so Snape could check on him at any time.

  The boy was having a nightmare. In the moonlight, tears streamed down his cheeks, his hands clutched at the sheets, and he murmured softly:

  “Sirius…”

  “I’ll kill her…”

  “Sirius, come back…”

  Silently watching Harry for a moment, Snape turned and returned to his own bedroom, privately resolving to brew a dreamless sleep potion; otherwise, that wretched Black would continue to disturb him even in death.

  The next morning, Harry was awakened by Ron’s Pigwidgeon and Luna’s Amber. He immediately jumped out of bed to grab the three letters and devoured them.

  Just as he had guessed, Hermione was at the Burrow. She tried to encourage Harry to stay positive and not do anything to anger Snape, but still emphasized that if Snape went too far, he should write a letter to Dumbledore or his friends, and Hermione would fight fiercely to get him justice. Meanwhile, Ron didn't hesitate to unleash a torrent of the most terrible curses he could think of for Snape and sent his best wishes for his friend's dire situation.

  Luna’s letter was written in purple ink on pale yellow parchment with embossed dandelion patterns. Her writing was different from Ron and Hermione’s, soft, gentle, but very comforting and soothing.

  Dear Harry,

  I don’t know what it’s like living with Professor Snape, but I imagine it’s like sharing a room with a dragon with a toothache – it could erupt at any moment. It’s no wonder you feel stressed and worried.

  It’s perfectly normal for you to feel trapped, or as if things are beyond your control. I feel that way sometimes too. I hate having to rely on others. But sometimes we can’t have everything we want. Please think about what’s most important – your health. If you ever feel lonely or anxious, try placing your hand on your chest. Feel your heartbeat. It’s still there. Steady. Each beat is you telling the world, “I’m still here.”

  I’ll keep a very soft feather for you when I go to the garden tomorrow morning. For no reason at all, just because I think you deserve something gentle.

  Take care and take your medicine regularly. Don’t hesitate to write to me if you want to share anything. If Professor Snape scolds you, remember that even dragons are scared sometimes.

  Luna

  P.S. You know what my name means, “moon.” I hope you can see the bright moon where you are too.

  Harry read the letter over and over, feeling his heart soothed, as if her soft voice was whispering in his ear, greatly reducing the sadness in his heart. He had never felt such affection for her. Luna, like a full, bright moon, was so lovely and gentle.

  Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Professor Snape pushed open the door. His face tightened when he saw Harry still in his pajamas.

  “I was concerned about your absence at breakfast, Potter, but it seems my worries were superfluous. Has the Chosen One of the wizarding world become so arrogant that his teacher must deign to invite him to eat in his chambers?”

  Harry’s face flushed. He hadn’t meant to, but he had been so overjoyed that he had forgotten the rule about coming down to eat on time. And what had Snape just called him? The Chosen One? Where had that title come from? But he still stood up and said softly, “I apologize, sir. My friends just sent letters, and I was so happy…”

  Snape snorted coldly, glanced at the pile of parchment on the desk, and said, “Change your clothes and come down for breakfast immediately.”

  As Harry was changing, an owl arrived with the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, and he immediately understood the nickname from his teacher’s mouth. Across the front page was a large headline: “Harry Potter – The Chosen One?”