HP: I beat the otome game at Hogwarts

Lyra was already at the cellar door at 7:40 PM for the 8 PM curfew. A portrait of Medusa hung outside Professor Snape's office, and Lyra chatted with it with great interest.

"So, did Professor Snape really wash his hair every day?"

"Sigh~"

"You mean, Professor Snape didn't just have one set of clothes, but all the clothes in his wardrobe were the same style?"

"hiss~"

"I've heard that Professor Snape and Mrs. Pomfrey from the university hospital are quite close friends, hehehe, is that true?"

"Hiss hiss hiss~"

The two people, one with a portrait, spoke different languages, seemingly like chickens and ducks talking, yet they chatted enthusiastically.

"Enough! I assume Miss White's brain isn't filled with Babo tuber pus, so she should understand that you've come to my office to be locked up, not to chat with a portrait."

The cellar door suddenly opened from the inside, revealing Professor Snape's gloomy face.

Lyra was completely immune to Professor Snape's consistent style of language; she even felt it was a highly distinctive style of linguistic art—as long as one could precisely extract the essence from a large amount of venom, one could always discover the true intentions hidden in Professor Snape's sarcasm.

Lyra, who used to enjoy reading melodramatic and angsty novels, was very good at finding sweetness in broken glass. She could automatically filter out the venom in Professor Snape's words and translate them into normal language in her mind. For example, just now, Professor Snape clearly couldn't bear to see her standing too tired at the cellar door, so he kindly invited her in to sit down.

Unfortunately, she is currently the only genius translator in all of Hogwarts who can decipher Professor Snape's words.

Ah, people who are too outstanding are always lonely, like her, like Professor Snape.

*

"Professor, I have thirty-six more questions to ask—"

"Get out of my office!"

"Then I'll ask fewer questions, I'll just ask twelve more at the end—"

"Gryffindor loses five points for harassing the professor!"

With a loud bang, the cellar door slammed shut behind Lyra.

"He was clearly happy when he signed my autograph just now..." Lyra thought Professor Snape was being a bit stingy.

In an effort to curry favor with the youngest and most aloof Potions Master, she spent an afternoon collecting all of his published papers in the Potions world, framing them all beautifully. Then, after her detention ended that night, she solemnly presented them to Professor Snape for his autograph—creating the persona of a devoted fan.

This was inspired by Lockhart!

Lyra swore the plan had been a complete success—she was certain Professor Snape radiated satisfaction when he saw her produce his complete set of hardcover dissertations; moreover, when he finally deigned to sign the cover for her, the corners of his mouth even curled up slightly with smugness.

But this artificial bond between the fan and the aloof idol quickly dissipated after Lyra bombarded Professor Snape with a dozen questions.

In the end, Lyra was ruthlessly kicked out of the cellar and also had five points deducted from her score.

"Men, your name is ruthlessness..." Leila chanted her hastily adapted poem in an accusatory tone.

"Lyra?" A surprised voice came from the other end of the underground corridor.

Lyra turned around and saw her ex-boyfriend, Leslie Foley, the Slytherin prefect.

"What are you doing here? Did you come to—" look for me...?

"Oh, I came here to fleece you, oh no, I came here to ask Professor Snape to put me in solitary confinement." Lyra made a face. "I didn't expect it to end so quickly."

"I'm afraid you're the only one who thinks Professor Snape's confinement time went by quickly." Leslie suppressed the bitterness of his utterly dashed hopes and teased Lyra with a helpless yet indulgent tone.

Only a master skilled in capturing the mind and spirit can see through the pain and longing hidden deep beneath the seemingly nonchalant smile of this young man.

“It’s late, and the corridors around the cellar are mostly dark, cold, and complicated,” Leslie said softly. “You might easily get lost if you’re not familiar with them. Let me take you back to the Gryffindor Tower… like before…”

“Oh, I think—” Lyra hesitated. She could see the pleading in Leslie’s eyes, but she always believed that it was better to reduce contact after a breakup unless absolutely necessary.

Just as she was hesitating about how to politely refuse, she saw a somewhat familiar figure pass by in the distance down the corridor—

"Hey!" Leila quickly called out, hoping she hadn't mistaken the person.

The figure in the distance really stopped and walked towards Leila. The tall figure became clearer and clearer, and under the light of the cellar torches, a pair of blue eyes shone with an amazing light.

"Good evening, Miss White," Dexter Fosco greeted Lyra formally.

"Good evening~ Are you on your way back to Ravenclaw?" Lyra invited warmly. "I'm also heading back to Gryffindor, and it's on my way, let's go together~"

"Thank you, Leslie. No need to see us off. We just happened to run into a friend going the same way, so we'll be going now." Lyra secretly felt relieved, but smiled and said goodbye to Leslie.

Leslie Foley gave Lyra a deep look, then glanced at Dexter Fusco with a complicated expression, nodded politely to the two of them, and then turned and left.

"Thank you for helping me." Leila breathed a soft sigh of relief, then naturally took the arm of the person next to her.

“It is my pleasure, Miss White,” Dexter Fosco replied curtly, sounding like the most unromantic old-fashioned gentleman from a century ago.

In fact, from the moment Leila called out to him, to the moment she invited him to walk with her, to the moment her soft, slender hand took his arm, he was completely overwhelmed by the unexpected surprise. His brain was too numb to think much, his body was stiff, and he was now responding entirely on instinct.

“Lyra White, you can call me Lyra,” Lyra tilted her head playfully. “I mean, we’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“Dexter Fosco, call me Dexter,” Dexter said, gradually becoming more at ease, influenced by Lyra’s relaxed demeanor. “This is our second meeting, Lyra.”

The two of them, without prior arrangement, remembered their promise to exchange names when they met again, and smiled at each other.

“Speaking of which, your name sounds familiar,” Leila said, trying to remember. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before—”

“Maybe it’s because of the Fosco ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley,” Dexter smiled. “It’s my uncle’s shop.”

"Wow, I absolutely love their ice cream! It's my favorite ice cream shop in the magical world!" Lyra exclaimed, rattling off a list of favorite ice creams. "Honestly, I think only one ice cream shop I found on the French magical shopping street can compare to your uncle's. They have a rainbow ice cream ball that makes you float..."

"However, I feel like I've seen your name somewhere before—"