Harry Potter and the Great Old Ones

Chapter 670 Imperfect People

"So, Potter, you must think your father is an interesting man, right?" Snape said viciously, shaking Harry violently until Harry's glasses almost slipped off his nose.

"I, I—I didn't—" Harry tried his best to break free from Snape's grip, but for some reason, Snape's strength was astonishing, making all of Harry's efforts futile.

Snape used all his strength to push Harry away.

Harry fell heavily onto the floor of the underground classroom.

"You are not allowed to tell anyone what you saw!" Snape roared.

“No,” Harry said, standing up and trying to get as far away from Snape as possible. “No, of course I—”

"Get out! Get out! Get out! I never want to see you in this office again!" Snape roared.

As Harry charged toward the door, a jar filled with dead cockroaches exploded above his head.

He twisted the door open forcefully and ran down the corridor until he was three floors away from Snape before stopping.

Harry, panting, leaned against the wall and slowly slid down onto the cold, hard stone floor of the castle, mechanically rubbing his bruised arm again and again.

He didn't want to go back to Gryffindor Tower so soon, nor did he want to tell anyone what he had just seen, whether it was Ron, Hermione, or Tyella.

Harry felt so terrified and sad, not because Snape yelled at him or hit him with a jar, but because he knew what it felt like to be publicly humiliated in front of a group of onlookers. He knew very well how Snape felt when his father mocked him. From what he had just seen and heard, his father was indeed an arrogant and conceited man, exactly the same arrogant and conceited man that Snape had always told him.

"So as you wish."

At that moment, a voice came.

Harry shuddered and looked up at the source of the sound—a window filled with darkness that resembled a mirror.

The window reflected not only Harry's own pale face, but also a face he knew all too well—

"Tierra!" Harry exclaimed in surprise.

Since he started learning Occlumency, Tiera hasn't spoken to him on her own initiative for a long time.

"Harry, how are you?" Tierra lifted her leg, took a small step forward, and stepped out of the window.

“You probably already know,” Harry said dejectedly, “because of my father, Snape will never be able to teach me Occlumency.”

“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” Tierra laughed, sitting side by side with Harry on the castle floor. “No more having to endure Snape’s torturous Occlumency lessons.”

“Yes, but… but…” Harry shook his head wearily and confusedly, “I don’t want to end Snape’s teaching this way. I mean… um.”

"In this way, with guilt... in this way, with a hint of resentment and dissatisfaction towards one's father?" Tyella picked up where Harry left off, asking with a light laugh.

"Hmm," Harry nodded silently.

“Oh Harry, Harry,” Tierra said in the tone of an elder, “Memory beautifies a person, and death, especially a fatal, tragic death, elevates that person to the extreme, magnifies their strengths, and makes us overlook their imperfections.”

“Your father, and you, and Dumbledore, and even Snape, are all imperfect mortals,” Tierra said with a smile. “It is these imperfections that make us who we are, and that define who we are. You don’t need to be sad or sentimental about these imperfections.”

"Hmm," Harry nodded.

(End of this chapter)