Chapter 163. Pig-Head Harry
With the Christmas holidays over, the students who had let themselves run wild returned to a regular routine.
They went back to classes, meals, and sleep—an orderly rhythm.
"Neville, hurry up, or there won't be seats together in the Great Hall again!"
In the crowded stream of people, Neville turned around, waved hard, and raised his voice to drown out the surrounding din.
"Alright," Duncan drawled.
Although term had already begun for a few days, he still hadn't got used to life at school.
"What time did you go to bed yesterday?" asked Hannah, walking just ahead of Duncan and glancing back at the dark circles under his eyes.
"I don't know," Duncan said after tilting his head to think.
"Anyway, when I looked out of the window before sleeping, the sky was turning white."
"Tut-tut, that's terrifying!" Hannah sighed.
"If you keep going like this, you'll drop dead one day!"
A smile tugged at Duncan's face.
"Heh, I'll take that as a blessing!"
Hannah furrowed her brow and traded a blank look with Ellie.
Was she misunderstanding something?
Had she said something nice just now?
Near the Great Hall, the corridor widened a little, and the press of students finally thinned out.
Duncan took a deep breath, rubbed the spot that had just been elbowed by who-knew-who, and revelled in the joy of regaining his freedom.
"Good afternoon, Professor Snape!" Seeing Snape coming towards them, Duncan lifted a hand and greeted him casually.
After all, he had scrounged a few lessons off Snape over the holidays and learned quite a bit of useful knowledge.
"Good afternoon, Scamander." Snape's thin lips twitched into a smile, and he replied rather mildly.
Duncan nodded lightly, then suddenly realised something.
His steps halted, and he stared at Snape in disbelief.
Merlin's beard!
Snape had greeted him!
What was more, Snape's tone was so gentle and friendly.
That was practically a Hogwarts marvel.
Hannah and the others were even more astonished than Duncan.
This was their first time seeing such an affable Snape.
"Duncan, how did you do that?" Hannah asked, eyes wide.
"What did you do to Snape?"
"Snape actually answered you?
And with such a good attitude—did I hear that right?" Neville added loudly.
Under normal circumstances, even when Slytherin students greeted Snape, most of the time he would merely give a cold nod.
As for students from other Houses, getting Snape to spare you a proper glance already meant he was in a decent mood and being comparatively polite.
"To be honest, I'm not too sure either," Duncan said with a shrug.
"Maybe he's just in a cheerful mood today?"
"I still can't quite believe it.
I suspect I misheard just now…" Neville muttered.
He pinched his own chubby cheek lightly, making sure he wasn't half-asleep and dreaming.
After all, Snape was one of the professors he feared most, someone who could even startle him awake from a nightmare.
Every Potions lesson he suffered under Snape's torment and was cowed by Snape's terrifying presence.
Hannah thought for a moment, then, imitating Neville, reached out two fingers and pinched Neville's cheek.
"What are you doing?" Neville asked, baffled.
"Does it hurt?" Hannah blinked and asked.
"What do you think?" Neville grumbled, rubbing the spot Hannah had pinched.
"Then it's real.
We're not dreaming," said Hannah.
Neville was a bit helpless.
"Why didn't you pinch yourself?"
"Because it hurts!" Hannah smiled sweetly, took Ellie's hand, and hurried after Duncan up ahead.
"But it hurts for me too!" Neville complained, quickening his pace.
"Wait for me!"
After a quick look around the Great Hall, Duncan and the others found a few empty seats in a corner and sat down in a hurry.
They then noticed that many students in the hall kept glancing in a certain direction, covering their mouths and whispering with suppressed laughter.
Duncan raised his eyebrows and, together with Neville and the others, looked towards where those gazes were pointed.
When they focused, they seemed to understand why Snape's mood was so delightful today.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were, like them, huddled in seats at a corner, heads down and eating quickly.
Only, unlike their own passive choice, Hermione and the others seemed to have chosen the corner on purpose.
While eating, Harry raised his sleeve to block his face as best he could.
From the part he occasionally exposed, one could see his bruised, dark eye sockets.
Harry had been beaten up?
The thought flashed through Duncan's mind.
Unable to resist his curiosity, he shuffled his backside and sat down next to Hermione.
"Harry, what happened to you?
Are you alright?" Duncan cocked his head, studying Harry as he asked.
His sudden question seemed to startle the trio.
Ron, his mouth stuffed full of chicken leg, gave a splutter.
Fortunately, Duncan was quick.
He whipped out his wand at great speed, swished it, and prevented a terrible disaster.
Hand over heart, Hermione shot Ron an angry glare, then thanked Duncan gratefully.
"Thank you, Duncan."
Duncan shook his head lightly.
By now, he had taken in Harry's facial injuries.
Harry's face was swollen like a pig's head.
His mouth and nose were both a size larger, as if someone had grabbed him and given him a thorough thrashing.
"It's all Snape's fault!" Harry's sausage-like mouth worked, and he spoke thickly and indistinctly.
He had a decent impression of Duncan, so he didn't mind complaining to him.
"Forget it, Harry, let me explain," said Hermione considerately, seeing how hard it was for Harry even to speak.
"I don't know what the school was thinking, but after the Christmas holidays, Snape became our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Mm-hmm, I'd already heard that," Duncan nodded.
"This afternoon we had his first lesson," Hermione went on.
"He said duelling skills are a key part of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Otherwise, even if we learn all sorts of spells, they're useless when facing someone in a real fight."
Duncan dipped his chin in agreement.
"That makes some sense."
"But then, in the next breath, he suddenly proposed a duel with Harry, to show us how important technique is," Ron cut in angrily.
"But how could Harry possibly be his match?
So Harry ended up like this."
"Poor kid…" Duncan thought to himself, and looked at Harry with sympathy.
"We should report Snape's misdeeds to Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione fumed, waving her little fist.
"That's right!" Ron chimed in.
"If we keep taking his classes, Harry will be killed by him for sure!"
Listening to the two of them, Harry suddenly felt his future go dark, and even had the impulse to pick out a coffin in advance.
"Harry, here you go." Duncan took out a few phials of potion and handed them to Harry.
"When you get back, take a little out, dilute it with water, and spread some on your face.
You should be fine when you wake up tomorrow morning."
"Thanks, Duncan." Harry accepted them gratefully, eyes growing moist.
Duncan really was good to him—but…
He lowered his head to look at the glass bottles, each bigger than his palm.
"It seems I won't need this much, right?"
"It's fine.
You might need it again later.
It's good to have extra," Duncan said, clapping Harry heavily on the shoulder.
Harry froze for a moment, and the tears in his eyes spilled out at once.
Duncan's words broke his defences.
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