Ron thrust his head forward, startling Crookshanks on his knee, who slapped him in the face.

"Why not extra points?" He was shocked. "We can still compete for the College Cup this year. We are the third place!"

"The third place is more than a hundred points behind the second place?" Harry asked softly.

Ron curled his lips: "The difference between us and the first place is only a little over a hundred."

"It's over two hundred." Hermione deadpanned, "And that's because we won the Quidditch Cup. Otherwise it would have been much worse."

"Just because of the fight, I was deducted more than 300 points."

"More than three hundred!"

She paused, gritting her teeth, "George and Fred are really something. They knew to hide their whereabouts when they were playing a prank, but why did they forget to do so when they were fighting? And why didn't they run away quickly after the fight? Instead, they had to dance around the Slytherins and wait for Snape to pass by?"

"Malfoy was in there." Ron shrank his head, but spoke confidently, "I just didn't have time to get there."

Hermione nodded: "Then remember to block him in the bathroom next time, use the silencing spell, beat him up and vent your anger, then show off as much as you want."

"It's been blocked several times." Ron sighed. "George and Fred did that, but now Malfoy has learned his lesson. He goes to the bathroom with several senior students and enters a cubicle. He has to use a spell to seal the cubicle."

"Are the Malfoys so poor that they have to make money in this way?" Harry sighed.

Ron was startled.

Hermione blushed and pushed Harry hard: "You are talking about terrible things."

"What Harry said makes sense." Ron's eyes lit up. He also took out parchment and a quill and began to write a letter. "Why can't it be like this?"

"Poor little Mr. Malfoy, you've made so many sacrifices for your family."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

As he was writing, Ron looked up again and said, "Even if it's 200 points short, Professor Dumbledore can still add it for you."

He put down his pen and counted on his fingers: "You can get 100 points for bringing back the portrait of Gryffindor, and 100 points for catching the dark wizard who endangered the castle. For the Quidditch game, driving away the Dementors can get another 50 points..."

As he counted, Ron gradually became excited.

"Have you ever wondered why Dumbledore gives me extra points at the end of each term?" Harry asked him back.

Ron said without hesitation: "Of course it's because you are excellent. What you have done is not something that any young wizard or even adult wizard can do."

Hermione shook her head: "No!"

Harry looked at her.

"I feel that Professor Dumbledore is a little too eager." Hermione felt that his reaction just now seemed a little too intense, and raised her hand to rub her face. "He wants too much to make Harry a special person who can only solve all problems by himself."

Ron muttered, "Isn't that what Harry does?"

"Harry did this on his own merits." Hermione glared at him, "Not because of Professor Dumbledore's praise."

Harry nodded in agreement. "If you want extra points, you should have done it earlier. It's so annoying to have to do it at the last minute."

"The little badgers have worked hard, too. Let me give you an example, Ron. For example, if your mother promised to give you a hundred Galleons in pocket money if you were in the top three in your grade..."

Ron shook his head in panic and waved his hands: "Too much, too much, one Galleon will be enough."

"Then I promise to give you one Galleon of pocket money." Harry paused, looked at Ron with pity, and continued, "You are almost third now. If Snape suddenly said at this time that Malfoy did a great job on something in the past few months, and added a few points to his final exam score, replacing your third place, what would you do?"

"Beat him up again!" Ron gritted his teeth.

"The badgers would think so too," Harry nodded.

Ron shook his head like Crookshanks spinning in Harry's hands: "How can that be the same? You're not as hated as Malfoy."

"Would it be better to replace Malfoy with Neville?" Harry glanced at him.

Ron paused, the words stuck in his throat.

Neville...

His relationship with me is indeed better, but that's one Galleon...

"Snape won't give Neville any extra points." Ron lowered his voice to an extremely low level and spoke quickly, his last bit of stubbornness flashing out in an instant.

Hedwig and Bors flew over quickly. They had just been playing with the mermaid and were all wet. They begged Harry and Hermione to release the spell on them and clean them up. Then they picked up the letters and flew away to work.

They continued to discuss the House Cup.

Hermione and Harry gave Ron advice from time to time. Beating someone is not something you can do casually. Putting a sack on someone is also an art. Being able to put it on once and beat the person black and blue is not a skill. Didn't George and Fred only block it once?

Next time, you can still trap him and beat him up so badly that he is bruised and battered, or even make him come to you and beg you to beat you up. That's real skill.

Harry is experienced in this area.

Ron was taking notes, more seriously than he had in any other class.

After a while, Hermione raised her hand and poked Harry's face: "Harry, Snape is here." She couldn't poke other places because they were all wrapped in leather armor. She had always been puzzled that Harry could wear this armor every day.

Harry looked up.

Snape had already walked over to them and heard Hermione's call.

His expression remained unchanged, staring at Harry: "Potter, I think we need to talk."

"Is that what I thought?" Harry, without looking up, waved his wand and directed his quill to correct a few of Ron's spelling mistakes.

Snape gritted his teeth: "Yes."

Harry then raised his head and looked at Snape: "I thought you would drag it out longer, until the day I lose my patience."

"Has Professor Dumbledore spoken to you?"

He turned his head and looked towards the eighth floor. Behind a window, there was a gaze and magic, peeking at this place.

Snape said nothing. He pointed to a more secluded place by the lake and said, "Shall we go there to talk?"

Harry stood up.

Ron was about to stand up when Hermione waved her wand and a book hit him on the head with a thud.

Wait until they are far away.

"That's their business." Hermione shook her head, her eyes and tone filled with worry.

The last few weeks before the holiday, the weather was sunny and cloudless.

Summer has just begun and a gentle breeze is blowing, but it has not yet been mixed with that kind of irritating and restless atmosphere.

Harry and Snape looked at each other.

The two of them stood by the lake like laurel trees.

"Albus, did I tell you about the prophecy?" Snape's throat was dry and his voice was hoarse.

Harry nodded.

"Then he also told you about my past?" Snape turned his head away and looked at the lake.

Harry shook his head. "He never told me, but I asked around myself."

Snape was silent.

Harry went on: "Born in Spinner's End, to a drunken father and a love-crazed mother."

Click——

Snape stretched his neck, turned his head sharply, and stared at Harry in disbelief, his eyes filled with shock, hatred, and shame.

This kind of thing...

"You didn't listen and asked Mrs. Dursley these things!" Snape hesitated for a while, and the anger in his chest turned into a few coughs, which were spit out along with his questions.

Harry nodded. "Obviously, I'm not the kind of good student who just follows orders."

Snape gripped his wand tightly: "What else?"

"You and my mother used to have a good relationship, but it was probably in the fifth grade that we suddenly parted ways." Harry continued, "My godfather said it was because you called my mother a mudblood."

Snape's face turned pale and his hands began to tremble. Only with the help of Occlumency did he prevent his emotions from collapsing like a landslide.

But this is more painful.

Despair was like a blunt knife, cutting into his heart again and again, unable to cut it off. Yet each cut would leave a wound on his heart, which was empty but could not bleed, but was filled with something that even Snape did not know what.

"Then, you became a Death Eater." Harry looked at him with an unusually calm tone. "I have no idea what happened in between."

"Perhaps, you simply failed to stop your master and save my mother."

"I very much hope so, Professor Snape."

Snape opened his mouth and found that he seemed to have lost the ability to speak. He took out a bottle of sedative from his robe and took it before he gradually recovered: "I failed to save Evans. I even killed her."

Harry's heart trembled.

The breeze, the warm sun, and the sound of waves on the lake.

They crowded and pressed against him, covering him like a wooden box, shrinking constantly, pressing down on his back, making it hard for him to breathe, and causing his hands to tremble.

"The prophecy..." Snape was distraught. He spoke word by word with difficulty. "I told Voldemort. After he knew the prophecy, he believed that you were the child of the prophecy. I couldn't stop him."

"That night, he killed Evans."

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled for several cycles before continuing, "Professor Snape, I heard about my father from my godfather and Uncle Remus."

"When he was young, he did some very cruel things to you. It seems that he almost caused you to lose your life."

Snape raised his head woodenly, his eyes dull: "If I could die that night, it might be a good thing."

"As his son, I should, and indeed must, say sorry on his behalf, even if he didn't say it himself, even if it might be twenty years late." Harry reached into the Sorting Hat and slowly pulled out the snake-bone sword.

"But I can't say it."

"I can't say 'I'm sorry' to someone who killed my parents."

At this point, he paused and pointed his sword at Snape: "Draw your wand, Snape."

"Both you and me."

"It's time for you and Potter, you and Lily Evans to put an end to this, today, okay?"