From that day on, Harry noticed that Professor Snape began… avoiding him.

  The professor stayed in the potions lab and his private quarters almost all day. At mealtimes, he ate very quickly and finished earlier. When Harry went down to the garden, Snape rarely appeared as he had before. Whenever Harry had a pain attack or vomited blood, the professor still appeared but left very quickly after making sure he was alright.

  Harry didn't understand what he had done wrong. He only remembered the last time they spoke, Professor Snape had even approached him, being so kind that it made him wonder if the professor was a Death Eater in disguise. But now… it was as if the professor was punishing him for a sin he himself wasn't even aware of.

  But that wasn't entirely true either. Clearly, Snape didn't hate or was angry at Harry, judging by the fact that he still added extra ingredients to make his daily potion less bitter – a welcome change since the cellar incident – and had even placed a box of Chocolate Frogs on his desk. The Dreamless Sleep Potion was still readily available on his bedside table every night. Though unspoken, Harry knew this was Snape's way of showing concern. Although he couldn't stop hating the professor for the things in the past, he also understood that the professor was making an effort to treat him well.

  However, Harry didn't complain about the professor avoiding him. He didn't like lingering around Snape, even though the professor had recently proven to be a more tolerable housemate. Harry wouldn't bother trying to find the answer to the professor's strange behavior, he would simply enjoy it.

  Harry missed Ron, Hermione, Luna, and the Weasley family with the intensity of chronic stomach pain. Since his second year, every summer he had spent some time with his friends before going to Hogwarts, and never, in his worst nightmares, had he imagined being stuck with Professor Snape in this rundown Muggle neighborhood. The worst part of it all was that he wasn't even allowed to fly or wander outside the house.

  Harry still wrote letters to Luna, sharing his thoughts on the book she had sent. He didn't breathe a word to his friends about the incident in the cellar. His situation was already miserable enough, and Harry didn't want everyone to think of him with even more pity.

  From the moment under the wisteria trellis, Snape knew he had crossed a dangerous line. The vague agitation and the image of Potter sitting in the soft sunlight haunted him for several nights.

  Snape felt disgusted with himself.

  Potter was a student. A child under his protection.

  It was impossible, never permissible to have such twisted thoughts.

  So he chose the simplest way: to keep his distance. He couldn't let that boy disturb his long-settled soul. He spent his time researching more about Potter's illness, thinking of ways to shorten the healing process. Recently, the boy's attacks had become less frequent; there were days when he felt no pain or vomited no fresh blood, but he still ate little as before. For children raised in neglect, they were usually easy to feed, not like this. Could it be that the Weasleys and Black had spoiled the boy? Was it because Snape had been more lenient lately that he was starting to show a stubbornness he had hidden before the cellar incident?

  "It's understandable, Severus," Dumbledore smiled when Snape told him. "The boy simply doesn't like being in your house."

  "What?" Snape's brow furrowed deeply.

  "I'm the same way; whenever I'm down, my appetite is very poor. For the first two weeks, the new environment hadn't had time to make him feel listless, but now it's different. The boy has nothing to do, no close friends, surrounded by books and drawings and a teacher he dislikes, so of course his spirits will be low," the Headmaster tried to say as gently as possible. "You should take him out, bring his potions with you, let the boy have more fun."

  Snape was silent. The thought that Potter didn't like being near him, which had previously been a trivial matter, now made Snape uneasy.

  "By the way, Miss Lovegood sent me a letter, reiterating her desire to visit Harry with Granger and Weasley. She has written quite a few letters to the boy this summer and believes he is very lonely."

  "No," Snape dismissed it flatly. "I told you from the beginning when I brought Potter home. I will not allow any of that boy's friends to set foot on my property."

  "Then you must take him out more," Dumbledore replied calmly.

  "I don't think he'd enjoy going out with me," Snape muttered.

  "Well, how do you know if you haven't tried?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

  When Snape emerged from the fireplace, Harry was in the garden, asleep on the wooden bench, beside him a brown-covered book titled "The Rise and Fall of Gellert Grindelwald." A storm was brewing, the sky full of dark clouds, and a few raindrops began to fall lightly. The weather was quite cold, an unusual cold that never appeared in summer, only the wizarding world understood why.

  Harry's messy black hair fell across his forehead, partially obscuring his lightning-bolt scar. The boy's expression was strangely serene, as if he were escaping the worries of reality in his dreams. His eyelashes were very long, fluttering slightly. His t-shirt was faded and worn, and his jeans were old and seemed to have been worn repeatedly. They were so baggy that they probably once belonged to a young man twice Harry's size, not warm enough for this weather and even less able to hide his concerningly meager and simple appearance. Previously, when he only interacted with the boy at the castle, Harry usually only wore his uniform, so Snape hadn't realized how tattered his Muggle clothes were. A feeling of unease welled up inside him. Partly because of the Dursleys' careless neglect, partly because of his own indifference in recent weeks. Dumbledore had entrusted Potter to him, and ensuring the boy's comfort and health was part of his responsibility.

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  The boy wasn't even wearing socks, his bare feet dangling off the wooden bench, pale and slightly blue with cold. His skin was smooth and white, his toes long and slender, slightly curled from the unusual chill, evoking an impression of fragility and defenselessness. A moment of hesitation, a very subtle ripple passed across the professor's usually stern face. A fleeting memory, as hazy as mist, of Lily as a little girl, running barefoot on the grass, suddenly appeared in Snape's mind. The contrast between that innocent, vibrant image and the pale, somewhat weak appearance of the feet before him, like a soft petal touching stone, briefly stirred a feeling of protectiveness in Snape's soul.

  Snape quickly averted his gaze, looking away.

  Again.

  Clearly, he shouldn't get close to Potter.

  Snape clenched his fists, trying to suppress these unusual feelings. This was Potter, the son of his enemy. It was impossible that he would... feel pity for him, let alone the nameless feelings that had just flickered through him.

  A slight shiver ran down Snape's spine. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a dangerous change, a disruption that could shatter the defensive walls he had painstakingly built over so many years.

  Suddenly, Harry stirred slightly, his heavy eyelids slowly fluttering open, revealing bright green eyes, unburdened by his familiar glasses. In that moment, there was none of the usual indifference or wariness, only a clear, gentle green, slightly dreamy from just waking up.

  "Professor, what are you doing here?" he sat up and asked.

  Lily's eyes… The thought flashed through Snape's mind like lightning, making him even more flustered. He quickly turned away, trying to hide the confusion that was clearly visible on his face.

  "Go inside," he said, his voice deeper and more hoarse than usual. "It's about to rain. You fell asleep."

  He tried to keep his tone stern, masking the unusual agitation that was making his heart beat faster.

  Frowning at Snape for a moment, Harry still stood up, picked up his book, and went inside. Just as he stepped into the living room, he suddenly coughed. The cough made Snape frown. Wizards weren't like Muggles, they didn't get trivial illnesses like common colds. What was this? He walked over, pointed his wand at Harry, and said,

  "Stand still, let me check."

  Waving his wand lightly, he murmured an incantation, very long, sounding like Old English, and then Harry saw him frown.

  "What's wrong with me?" he asked.

  "After that incident…" Snape seemed to be searching for words. "You will be more susceptible to illness than usual, your immunity to Muggle diseases is weakened."

  Silence fell in the living room. Harry's expression darkened. Both of them had tried to avoid mentioning that day's events, acting as if it hadn't happened.

  "I'll brew you something," Snape muttered and left for the potions lab. "Sit tight here."

  As he took the still-warm potion, Harry smelled a delicate scent of bluebells and involuntarily smiled. Bluebells were used a lot in potion-making, a very useful ingredient. Luna had once said that many kinds of these flowers grew in her garden, which her mother used to pick for experiments. No wonder he often smelled a sweet, pleasant scent on her when he was near her. Harry drank the potion down.

  "What are you smiling at?" Snape asked.

  "Oh, nothing… I just suddenly thought of a friend," Harry smiled.

  The professor realized it was the first genuine smile he had seen on the boy's face since he had been here.

  "Granger or Weasley?"

  "No, it's Luna."

  Snape raised an eyebrow, his black eyes narrowed slightly. Being a double agent, he trusted his instincts, and this time something told him to be wary of that silly, loony Ravenclaw girl.

  "You seem very fond of Lovegood," Snape took a sip of his hot tea and said.

  "She's a very wonderful person," Harry said. "Not like what everyone makes fun of. She has a very different perspective and sensibility, which always makes me feel comfortable around her. It's like being healed."

  Snape slammed his teacup down on the saucer, making a loud "clink."

  "Healed?" he repeated, his voice low and cold as ice.

  Harry nodded, his green eyes sparkling with a very strange light – warm, trusting, completely unguarded. Snape stared at that expression, a strange emotion – sharp and simmering – rising in his chest. A part of him, crudely and selfishly, wanted to push that Lovegood girl out of the boy's small world.

  Did he need someone else's healing besides his? The thought flashed by so quickly that even Snape was startled by its absurdity. He leaned forward slightly, his long fingers tapping rhythmically on the table.

  "Yes, I have noticed that. Strange ideas about nonexistent creatures and ridiculous headwear. Is that the kind of 'healing' you need?"

  Harry frowned, feeling uncomfortable with the clear mockery in Snape's voice.

  "You don't understand," he said, his voice a bit sharper. "She's smart in her own way. And she's kind."

  "How kind that she can bring you a feeling of being 'healed'?" Snape asked, his gaze as sharp as a razor. There was a strange tension in his voice, something more than ordinary mockery.

  Harry looked at Snape, feeling confused by the professor's strange attitude.

  "She… she listens to me and doesn't judge," he explained, trying to remain calm. "She shares, understands, soothes my worries and hurts. I can share almost anything with Luna."

  A heavy silence filled the room. Snape stared intently at Harry, his deep black eyes unreadable. Something was stirring in the depths of his eyes, an emotion Harry couldn't name, but he didn't like it at all.

  "So, Lovegood gives you something you don't find in others, including Granger and Weasley?" Snape asked, his voice almost an accusation. His hand tightened around his teacup, his knuckles white.

  Harry felt an uncomfortable feeling spread through him. Why did Snape seem so… annoyed?

  "She's my friend," he replied, his voice somewhat defensive. "A good friend."

  "Is she really just a friend?" the professor's voice was full of mockery. "It sounds more like being in love to me."

  Harry's face flushed crimson. He stood up abruptly and said coldly, "That's never going to happen. If you're curious about my private life, then, excuse me, I need to go back to my room."

  And he turned, almost fleeing, rushing up the stairs. Watching the boy's flustered retreating figure, Snape's expression was as cold as stone.

  "Luna Lovegood?" he repeated the name. "Well…"

  In his bedroom, Harry closed the door, muttering curses at the Potions Master. Snape was always Snape, no matter how long he tried to act, one day he couldn't help but pry into other people's business.

  How could he possibly like Luna? They were just friends.

  But the image of her face appeared in his mind, and Harry could almost hear Luna's gentle, honeyed voice in his ear. She was always incredibly kind and wonderful. He carefully kept and reread her letters, looking forward to each day when he sent an owl to Devon. In his idle thoughts, the image of Luna always appeared in Harry's mind before Ron or Hermione.

  Was it true that he only saw her as a friend?

  Imagining Luna dating someone else suddenly made him feel extremely uncomfortable. Her gentleness and kindness should only be for Harry.

  He had liked Cho Chang, not some naive kid who didn't understand things. Harry knew what infatuation felt like.

  "No way…" he leaned against the door, stammering softly.