At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

In the Gryffindor common room, the fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, crackling and popping.

The place is filled with an excess of hormones and a noise that's almost enough to lift the roof off.

"Don't touch that card! Fred, I saw you hide that bomb card in your sleeve!" Lee Jordan roared, the furry tarantula in his hand scurrying into his collar in fright, eliciting screams and laughter from those around him.

"That's the strategy, dear Lee." Fred Weasley tossed a still-smoking card back onto the table without a hint of shame. "If you had focused on the game instead of your hairy pet, you would have won long ago."

In the corner, Seamus Finigan was trying to turn water into rum, but with a muffled "bang," the wine glass shattered into a pile of glass shards, splattering Dean Thomas's face with soot.

"Sorry! That's what I said in my oath!" Seamus shouted, holding up his charred wand.

"Stay away from me next time, Seamus! My eyebrows have only just grown in!" Dean wiped his face and angrily threw his quill on the table.

Several third-year girls were huddled together discussing Lockhart's new book, giggling; Wood was hunched over his tactics board, passionately explaining the famous "Parkinson Claw" maneuver to a group of first-year students, even though those students looked like they just wanted to go to sleep.

The entire lounge was like a boiling pot of mixed stew, everyone shouting and releasing their excess energy. It was a chaotic, disorderly kind of joy, a melody unique to Gryffindor.

Just then, a muffled sound suddenly came from the entrance of the portrait cave.

"Thump, thump, thump."

The sound was rhythmic, accompanied by the vibrations of a heavy object hitting the floor.

The two students who had been playing around at the door stopped what they were doing and looked back curiously.

Neville Longbottom leaped straight into the lounge. His legs were tightly pressed together, each jump requiring all his strength, and his flushed face was covered in sweat and tears.

"Oh, look, is Neville practicing some new kind of dance?" an older student whistled jokingly.

A burst of laughter erupted in the lounge, and some people even started clapping along to him.

But Neville didn't laugh. After his final jump, he finally lost his balance and crashed face down onto the carpet.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

"Legs frozen to death?" Percy Weasley frowned, strode over, pushed through the crowd, and raised his wand at Neville's legs. "Stop standing!"

Neville's legs snapped open, and he curled up on the ground, finally bursting into tears.

"It was Malfoy..." Neville sobbed, his voice broken and fragmented, as if he had suffered a great injustice, "He's outside the library... He and Crabbe... They said I don't deserve to be at Hogwarts, that I'm a Squib who only brings shame to Gryffindor..."

Harry sat in an armchair, the book "Quidditch Origins" slipping from his hands onto his knees.

Seeing Neville's disheveled appearance, Harry's heart suddenly clenched into a knot of turmoil.

It contains the ten years he spent on Privet Road.

In a daze, the warm fireplace and the red and gold Gryffindor tapestry before him seemed to fade. Harry was pulled back to the back of that drab elementary school playground, or perhaps into some dead-end alley.

He saw Dali Dursley.

That cousin, who looked like a pig in clothes, was cornering skinny Harry with his gang of cronies.

At this moment, Neville's sobs gradually changed in Harry's ears, turning into those nauseating sounds from his memory: the dull thud of Dudley's fist hitting his ribs; Pierce's snickering as he twisted his hands behind his back; and the maniacal laughter of the group when Harry's glasses were smashed.

"Look, Big D, Potter's about to cry again!"

"He's an unwanted freak!"

The helplessness of being pinned to the ground, the burning shame that seeps into your very being, the injustice of having to endure violence when you've done nothing wrong...

At this moment, Neville's trembling shoulders completely overlapped with the image of the frail Harry in his memory, who could only curl up in a corner with his head in his hands, praying that the fists would stop.

He had thought that arriving at Hogwarts would be an escape from all of this.

But he was wrong.

Dali is gone, but people like "Dali" haven't disappeared. They've simply changed into Slytherin robes, styled their hair in slicked-back hair, and replaced their coarse fists with even more malevolent dark magic.

He instinctively searched for that figure.

At times like this, he needs a voice to tell him what Article xx of the school rules is written, or which professor is the "right" one to consult right now.

That rational, always-correct, and sometimes even annoying voice.

but,

There is no Hermione Granger.

There is no little witch who can always jump out to recite school rules and then quickly come up with solutions.

She's been obsessed with the library lately. Ever since that unexpectedly late return home that night, she's been constantly clutching that dangerous-looking book, muttering something to herself, oblivious to Ron and him loudly discussing their weekend tactics next to her.

If Hermione were here, what would she do? Go find Professor McGonagall? Take Neville to the school hospital?

But looking at Neville, Harry felt so powerless for the first time.

But now, with the anchor point gone, the out-of-control ship has no choice but to crash into the reef.

Harry felt a raw, primal emotion churning within him. He looked at Neville's still-tearful face, remembered the scar on his own forehead, and Malfoy's pale, grimacing face.

He didn't know what the right thing to do was; he only felt anger and a sense of bewilderment at being caught up in this chaotic situation.

"Is it Malfoy again?"

Ron stood up from the chessboard, his face flushed. "Does that 'Daddy's Boy' think only Slytherins are wizards? He was laughing at my old robes in the hallway last week!"

"This is outrageous!" Dean Thomas stood up as well, his face still covered in soot from Seamus's explosion. "Neville didn't even provoke him!"

"They've always been like this! Taking advantage of Snape's favoritism!"

A fifth-grader slammed his butterbeer mug on the table with a loud bang, startling everyone.

"We are Gryffindor! Not punching bags!"

Harry sensed a change in the atmosphere. The previous cheerful commotion had instantly transformed into a highly aggressive agitation.

His initial complex feelings of not knowing what to do were overshadowed by a more primal emotion.

That was the anger that burned deep within me after seeing my friend humiliated.

Even the Galleons in my pocket felt cool to the touch.

With Hermione gone, no one can give the "correct" answer.

But protecting Neville and silencing Malfoy was his answer.

Harry jumped up from his armchair.

Strangely enough, his movements were not large; he neither waved his wand nor roared. But the moment he stood up, he strangely broke through the stuffy, hot air in the lounge.

The book "Quidditch Origins" slid down his robes and crashed heavily to the floor.

The sound, which should have been barely audible amidst the cacophony of roars and curses, strangely struck a nerve in everyone.

Ron's swear words caught in his throat as he stared in astonishment at his friend; Fred and George, who were about to pull out more fireworks, stopped what they were doing, exchanged a glance, and stopped grinning; even the fifth-grader who was still pounding the table with his fist subconsciously turned his head away and stopped making a sound.

The noise subsided quickly, like the receding tide, leaving only the crackling sound of the wood popping in the fireplace.

The flickering firelight reflected off Harry's round glasses, obscuring his green eyes but revealing two constantly pulsating, intense gold-red pupils. He stood there, thin and frail, a silence more chilling than any roar suppressed beneath his disheveled black hair.

At that moment, all the anger, restlessness, and disorder seemed to find an outlet.

Or you could say it's like Gryffindor hidden in the lion's eyes.

He simply stood there, yet it was as if he had already raised an invisible battle flag.

"Fred,"

"Do you still have any dung balls there?"

"Bring out all your inventory."

Fred paused for a moment, then burst into a bright smile. He jumped onto the table, raised his wand high, and roared, "Did you hear that, guys? Harry asked us if we had any dung balls! Anyone want to go and teach those snakes a lesson?"

"Dragon dung bombs! Fireworks! And those spiked, biting UFOs!"

"For Neville!" Harry raised his fist and added the crucial line.

"For Neville!"

"Blow Slytherin into the sky!!"

Count me in!

The emotions in the entire common lounge were completely ignited.

At that moment, Harry didn't think about what Hermione would say, nor did he think about how the school rules would deduct points.

He just wanted to see Malfoy's smug face turn into one of terror.

"Let's go!" Jordan Lee waved the box of still-scrambling tarantulas. "Let them taste Gryffindor's specialty!"

"Following the usual methods, brothers." The fifth-year student grinned maliciously and led the charge towards the portrait's entrance. "Since they don't play by the rules, we'll teach them what the rules of fists are!"

Chaos erupted at the entrance to the portrait cave.

Before the plump lady could even complain about being woken up, she was roughly shoved aside by a group of impatient students.

Her usual lectures on elegant manners were drowned out by the chaotic footsteps of the lion cubs.

"Be gentle! You're wrinkling my skirt! You bunch of ill-mannered people—oh my god."

Seeing the long line of students with red eyes, some even wearing pajamas but clutching joke products, the fat lady shut her mouth in horror and shrank into the far corner of the picture frame.

Harry led the way. The cold wind in the corridor after leaving the warm Gryffindor tower cleared his feverish mind a little, but he didn't stop.

Neville, supported by Ron and Dean, stumbled along, sobbing; the first-year students, both startled and excited, jostled at the back of the line; Fred and George weaved through the crowd, tossing dangerously glowing fireworks in their hands.

No one cares about demerit points anymore, no one cares about being confined anymore.

The flickering torchlight in the corridor cast long, menacing shadows of the angry lions.

They cascaded down the marble staircase.

As they went deeper into the building, the air became increasingly damp and cold, and the torchlight seemed to change from a warm orange-red to a sinister green.

This is the snake's territory, and the water droplets seeping from the walls carry the musty smell unique to the earth.

But the Gryffindors did not stop.

After turning the last bend, there was a wet stone wall.

That's the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

And before that stone wall, Draco Malfoy's signature drawn-out voice rang out clearly:

"...I really wish I had a camera to capture Longbottom's frog-like jump. It would definitely be on the front page of the Daily Prophet, and I've already got the headline in mind: Gryffindor's Atavism."

Crabbe and Gore let out that stupid, coughing laugh.

"Hey! Malfoy!"

Fred Weasley took the lead, leaping out from around the corner, followed by a large group of grim-faced Gryffindors.

Malfoy's laughter caught in his throat. He stared in horror at the group of people emerging from the darkness, as if he were seeing a horde of out-of-control monsters.

"Gryffindor?"

Malfoy instinctively took a step back, his back slamming against the cold stone wall.

The impact jolted him awake.

This is his territory! This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room!

"You bunch of brainless idiots, how dare you barge in here?"

Malfoy's originally pale face flushed with a sickly red, and his fear turned into a ferocious rage.

"Do you think having more people is useful?"

He turned and slammed his wand against the stone wall.

"Pure-blood!!"

The stone wall slowly slid away, revealing the Slytherin common room behind it, which glowed with a faint green light.

Malfoy shouted into the room.

"Gryffindor has come knocking! Let's teach those filthy Gryffindors a lesson!!"

"What has broken in?"

"Gryffindor? Have those stupid lions gone mad?"

A jumble of footsteps and curses poured out from the hole behind the stone wall.

It's not just the first-year students.

And then there was Marcus Flint, the Quidditch captain who looked like a gorilla, leading a few batters as he charged out first; behind him, many upperclassmen Slytherin students, their faces grim, crowded the entrance to the corridor.

The green robes quickly coalesced into a human wall, blocking Malfoy's path.

Instead of backing away, Harry took a step forward.

He raised the specially made dung ball in his hand, and dozens of wands behind him simultaneously lit up with a dangerous light.

"So this is what you call having enough manpower? Very good."

Harry stared at Malfoy's pale face.

"I was too far away to hear you clearly... Malfoy, in front of all your friends, repeat what you just said—"

"Say it to me again!"

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On the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, we welcome the God of Wealth. The author wishes everyone abundant wealth and prosperity!