Hagrid's uncomfortable expression made Harry realize something.
That was — Professor Snape's deep dislike toward him couldn't be without reason. It wasn't just a simple case of dislike.
And Hagrid, surely, knew something about it.
But no matter how much Harry probed, Hagrid refused to say more. He just kept stuffing Rock Cakes into Harry's pocket as though that could silence the questions.
As for Archer?
At some point, he had buried himself behind a newspaper, seemingly absorbed.
In truth, Archer's attention was entirely fixed on this particular issue of The Daily Prophet.
The headline blazed in bold, striking letters: Gringotts Illegal Break-in Incident.
Strangely, the area around the headline appeared half-cut, as if someone had begun cutting it out but stopped midway.
The article reported that on July 31st, some unknown group had broken into Gringotts, trying to steal something. But whatever they were after had already been removed beforehand.
"The Philosopher's Stone, huh..." Archer couldn't help but murmur.
He naturally remembered the Philosopher's Stone.
After all, the early chapters of the Harry Potter story had centered around it.
As a Wizard, to claim no interest in the Stone — in its promise of extending life and turning lead into gold — would be a lie. Archer was no exception.
Yet, what intrigued him most wasn't its powers, but its creation.
The pinnacle of Alchemy. The symbol of immortality.
How had Nicolas Flamel achieved such a miracle?
Archer's gaze remained on the newspaper, but his thoughts had drifted far beyond the page.
Perhaps... he could let the Tree of Wisdom examine the Philosopher's Stone.
Who knew? Maybe that would yield unexpected insights.
"Professor Archer?"
Ron's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Yes? What's the matter?" Archer blinked, pulling his mind back to reality.
"Hagrid asked me to give this to you, Professor," Ron said, handing him something.
Archer looked down to find a heavy Rock Cake thrust into his hands. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
"Uh... thanks." He gave Ron a helpless look.
Hagrid's afternoon tea always lasted longer than expected, but Archer excused himself early. He needed to plan out homework assignments for his dear students.
Although third and fourth-years would get a pass this time, the fifth-years weren't as lucky. After all, the O.W.L.s were approaching fast.
Nine months would vanish in a blink.
And, as every professor knew, exam scores were the simplest, most direct measure of teaching quality.
So, Archer had no intention of letting his students slack during this crucial period.
Evening fell, and dinnertime arrived.
Archer strolled into the Great Hall.
One thing he appreciated about Hogwarts — sit down, and the food appeared like magic.
Of course, he knew better: the house-elves worked tirelessly behind the scenes to make this possible.
Thinking of them, Archer couldn't help but feel a little envious.
No wages, boundless energy, and unmatched loyalty — the perfect helpers for wizards.
But he quickly shook those thoughts away. He wasn't here to ponder house-elf labor ethics.
No — he was here for a hearty meal.
Those cursed Rock Cakes had left him psychologically scarred, and he urgently needed proper food to recover.
But just as he reached for a slice of roast beef, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Professor."
Archer looked up to see Harry standing there, his face serious.
"What is it, Harry?" Archer raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind?"
Harry didn't answer immediately. He grabbed Archer's arm and pulled him toward a quiet corridor outside the hall.
After making sure they were alone, Harry lowered his voice.
"Professor, I want to ask you about Professor Snape."
Archer blinked, slightly caught off guard. He raised his eyebrows.
"Why the sudden interest in Snape, Harry?"
Harry bit his lip, clearly choosing his words carefully.
At last, he sighed and admitted, "This afternoon, I asked him directly if I'd done something wrong to make him so angry in class."
Archer looked at Harry in genuine surprise, scanning him as if to check whether the boy had been hit by Confundus Charm — to actually confront Snape like that!
"And what happened then?" Archer asked, curiosity piqued.
"Professor Snape deducted five points from me," Harry grumbled, "said I was disrespecting a teacher."
He sounded resentful. Honestly, he was starting to regret confronting Snape.
He had naively believed that all professors were as kind and approachable as Archer.
But the reality couldn't be more different.
Whenever Snape looked at him, it was as though he wanted to swallow him whole.
Harry's eyes locked on Archer, filled with confusion and suspicion.
"Professor, Snape hates me so much — there has to be a reason. And I think you know what it is."
Archer rubbed his temples.
Strictly speaking, this wasn't something he should explain.
After all, this touched on someone else's personal past.
And sharing such things with Harry... well, it felt a little inappropriate.
But Archer also knew that lying and pretending ignorance would be pointless.
Harry was his student — he deserved an honest answer, at least in part.
Archer thought for a moment, then finally spoke:
"When I first came to Hogwarts, Snape was already a fifth-year student."
Harry's eyes lit up, sensing that Archer was about to give him the truth.
Archer went on:
"Back then, he and your father, James Potter, were always butting heads."
At the mention of his father, Harry froze.
He had suspected something like this before, but hearing it confirmed felt strangely surreal.
"When an arrogant Gryffindor meets a proud Slytherin," Archer added, "there's rarely a good outcome."
Harry frowned. He pressed on quickly:
"And then? What happened between them?"
Archer spread his hands.
"That's as much as I know. Everyone at Hogwarts knew they were rivals.
Snape probably hates you because you remind him of your father."
When Archer fell silent, Harry lowered his head, feeling heavy and confused.
It wasn't just Snape's grudge that weighed on him — it was hearing James Potter's name spoken like that.
What kind of person had his father been, really?
After a pause, Archer glanced at the dazed Harry, then patted his shoulder and gently nudged him back toward the hall.
"Come on. Let's get back and finish dinner."
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