Number Four, Privet Drive—home of the Dursleys.
It was a place Harry would be hard-pressed to call a repository of fond memories.
Yet even so, it was Harry's home.
Regardless of how Harry himself felt about it, it was the place that had protected him.
Through the protective magic his mother had left behind, it had shielded Harry from the Death Eaters all these years.
But that would end with his seventeenth birthday.
This protection persisted so long as Harry returned once a year to the place he recognized as home before reaching adulthood, granting him its safeguarding power.
But once he turned seventeen, the protection would be lost, and Voldemort and his forces would descend upon him en masse.
Before that happened, Harry needed to leave this house.
"Harry, are you ready?"
"Yes, Professor."
The Dursley family was no longer in the house. They had been relocated to a safe place by wizards before Voldemort could attack.
In their stead stood the reliable allies who had gathered to protect Harry.
Ron, with his sturdy build.
Hermione, her abundant hair tied back in a braid.
The Weasley twins Fred and George, along with the ever-handsome Bill.
Fleur standing close to Bill, and Mr. Weasley with his gleaming bald head.
Mad-Eye Moody, the veteran Auror, with his apprentice Tonks at his side.
Harry's godfather Sirius Black and his friend Remus Lupin wore reassuring smiles, while the giant Hagrid fidgeted restlessly, his head nearly touching the ceiling.
Kingsley, a Black wizard, and Snape—a bat-like wizard with a disagreeable expression.
And finally, the great wizard who had just asked Harry if he was ready: Dumbledore.
Everyone here, save for Snape, was someone Harry loved dearly.
He couldn't help but feel joy that these companions had gathered despite the mortal danger.
"Harry, there's been a change of plans."
Dumbledore spoke, his eternally youthful blue eyes sparkling.
"Pius Thicknesse has defected to the dark side.
Thicknesse has forbidden connecting this house to the Floo Network, placing Portkeys here, or even Apparating in and out."
The power wielded by Pius Thicknesse, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, was formidable.
Anyone who broke these regulations would be branded a criminal and sent to prison.
Ostensibly, restricting access was meant to protect Harry, but in reality, it was designed to prevent him from leaving the house safely.
"And you still have the Trace on you."
"The Trace? I don't have anything like—"
"Ah, the 'Trace' is detection magic the Ministry uses to monitor magical activity around underage wizards. You don't literally smell."
Dumbledore answered Harry's question with a cheerful laugh.
This Trace was one of the most troublesome factors.
So long as it remained, if they tried to extract Harry via Apparition or similar means, his location would be transmitted to the Death Eaters through Thicknesse.
"So we'll leave the house by a method the Trace cannot follow: broomsticks, Thestrals, and Hagrid's motorcycle.
After all, none of these require casting spells."
Compared to instant transportation like Apparition, this method carried a higher risk of being attacked en route.
That was precisely why so many escorts had come.
Harry was once again reminded of the gravity of the situation and the importance of his own position.
"What works in our favor is that Voldemort doesn't know about tonight's departure."
They had fed Voldemort's side false information that they wouldn't depart until the thirtieth.
If Snape were still functioning as a spy, they could have deliberately fed accurate information through him to earn Voldemort's trust, but that option had crumbled the moment they extracted Narcissa.
Snape had apparently done what he could to cover his tracks, but unfortunately, his identity as a spy had already been exposed.
That was precisely why he was here now.
"Once we depart, Harry, you'll head to Tonks's house.
We've placed protective enchantments there. You should be able to use Portkeys from there as well."
"I understand that... but won't it be conspicuous if everyone here goes to Tonks's house?"
"Ah, you needn't worry about that. Not all sixteen of us will head to Tonks's house—tonight, eight Harry Potters will fly through the sky."
Saying this, Dumbledore produced a flask containing a mud-like substance from his robes.
Harry recognized the potion.
Polyjuice Potion—a magical draught that, when mixed with someone's hair, allowed the drinker to impersonate that person.
"No!"
Harry instantly grasped the full scope of the plan.
Incredibly, this strategy involved creating seven decoys to keep Harry out of danger—an extremely perilous tactic.
Harry no longer feared being hurt or dying himself.
But the thought of anyone else being harmed for his sake terrified him more than anything.
However, Dumbledore mercilessly dismissed Harry's protest and shook his head.
"Harry, it's necessary.
Voldemort may be lying in wait, and half the Ministry is already on his side.
They likely know the approximate location of this house, and the protective enchantments will soon be lost.
Worse still, there's a possibility that not only Voldemort but Mirabelle herself might appear."
"But!"
"Please understand, Harry."
Gazed upon by Dumbledore's translucent blue eyes, Harry found himself unable to say anything more.
He thought it would be better if he died rather than everyone else.
But at the same time, he wasn't child enough not to understand the importance his own existence held.
Harry made a face full of anguish, pulled out several strands of hair, and tossed them into the muddy liquid.
The Polyjuice Potion transformed into a transparent golden liquid.
It was the same gold, yet not the aggressively violent gold of Mirabelle's self-assertion.
Rather, it was a clear gold that somehow felt gentle.
"Wow, Harry, yours looks more delicious than Beresford's."
At Hermione's praise, Harry scratched his cheek sheepishly.
Fred and George then whistled teasingly at the pair.
"Now, those who will transform into Harry, please line up."
At Dumbledore's instruction, seven members stepped forward from the group and formed a line before the flask.
Ron and Hermione, Fred and George, Fleur and Tonks, and Sirius.
They all drank the Polyjuice Potion simultaneously and transformed into Harry.
After changing clothes and donning glasses, eight identical Harrys stood in a row.
Distinguishing the real one would be difficult indeed.
"Good, now let's determine the pairings.
First, I'll accompany George Weasley."
Harry was surprised by Dumbledore's words.
He had assumed Dumbledore would accompany him, so this was unexpected.
"Um, Professor... I thought you'd be coming with me."
"Indeed, that thinking is correct. And Voldemort will likely think the same.
That's precisely why I've chosen to accompany someone else."
The place beside Dumbledore was the safest spot in the world.
Therefore, if they were to place the real Harry anywhere, it would be there. Anyone would think so.
That was exactly why Dumbledore turned it on its head.
By being at someone else's side, he would keep Voldemort away from the real Harry.
"Kingsley will accompany Miss Hermione Granger.
Alastor will go with Sirius, Arthur with Fred.
Hagrid, please accompany Mr. Ronald Weasley."
As the pairings were announced, each person moved to their partner's side.
"Miss Fleur will go with Bill Weasley.
Tonks, Remus would be best for you."
As the pairings were decided one after another and everyone moved to their partner's positions, Harry was screaming internally that this was no joke.
How could he not be dissatisfied with this?
He had thought Dumbledore would be at his side.
If that wasn't possible, he wanted to believe it would be Sirius or Lupin.
No, even if not them, he wanted to believe it would be anyone else.
But this... anything but this!
"Severus... I'm entrusting Harry to you."
"...If the Headmaster insists."
Of all people—Snape!
This was the worst possible outcome.
The partner determined here was, in other words, someone with whom he would share his fate.
Someone to whom he'd entrust his back.
But... if he was being honest, Harry didn't think Snape was worthy of such trust.
Personal animosity aside, there was more to it than that.
This man had a past as a Death Eater. And he was the very person who had told Voldemort about Sybill Trelawney's prophecy.
Because this man had told Voldemort about the prophecy, Voldemort had acted to kill the one who would destroy him, resulting in the death of Harry's parents.
In other words, his hated enemy who had indirectly killed his parents!
Far from wanting to entrust his back to him, Harry wanted to shoot him from behind.
"P-Professor!"
"There will be no changes, Harry. I've judged that Severus is optimal for concealing the real you.
The enemy will think we wouldn't entrust the real one to a man who, spy or not, was previously Voldemort's subordinate."
That judgment was certainly correct.
At least it was far less Harry-like than being with Dumbledore or Sirius.
But even understanding that, Harry felt resistance.
Logic be damned—being with this man was unbearably unpleasant.
"Now then... Harry, might I borrow the Firebolt?
Having it would make things seem more authentic."
That Harry excelled at broomstick flying and favored the Firebolt was already known to the Death Eaters.
Or rather, it was information Snape had disclosed to gain trust during his spy activities, so naturally they would know.
Harry glared at Snape accusingly, but Snape paid no attention and turned away.
"Harry, you'll take a Thestral—"
"Professor, I'll ride a broomstick too."
Though Dumbledore was encouraging him to ride a Thestral, Harry refused to comply.
Trusting Snape was madness. Not riding a broomstick might be part of his scheme. That's what Harry thought.
Snape couldn't be trusted. He was the enemy... the enemy who had driven his father and mother to their deaths.
And since that enemy had become his escort, the only thing he could rely on when push came to shove was his own skill.
"Even without the Firebolt, I have the Nimbus 2000. Please, Professor.
I want to protect myself with my own power."
This was essentially a declaration that he wasn't counting on Snape at all.
He didn't even try to hide it.
This was different from his previous animosity—it was absolute anger and hatred toward his enemy driving him now.
"...Very well. Harry, I'll permit you to fly on a broomstick.
But please understand this: Severus is also here to protect you."
"..."
Harry didn't respond.
He respected Dumbledore. He always thought he was right.
But even he was human... he could make mistakes.
Therefore, Harry thought this:
Trusting Snape was surely Dumbledore's only mistake.
"Less than three minutes until departure time.
Don't bother locking up... it would be pointless anyway."
Harry gathered his belongings and headed to the entrance.
First was his rucksack, containing precious items like the mirror he'd received from Sirius and the Prince's textbook.
This Prince's textbook was a treasure that had helped Harry throughout the past year.
He never did find out who the Prince was, but he couldn't imagine parting with it.
Then there was Hedwig in her cage.
She too was a dear friend. He couldn't leave her behind.
"Well then, are you all mentally prepared? Everyone, let's meet again safely!"
Dumbledore gave the signal to depart.
Simultaneously, everyone took flight and dispersed.
Harry too launched into the air without so much as glancing at Snape, soaring through the vast sky.
The Nimbus 2000, which he hadn't ridden in years, was inferior to the Firebolt, but it was the first broomstick Harry had ever ridden, and he still maintained it whenever he had spare time—his precious companion.
Its handling was unchanged from before, and the scenery streamed past at a wonderful speed.
"What are you doing?! You're getting too far ahead, Potter!"
Snape shouted angrily while pursuing Harry.
Separating from one's escort was hardly a sound strategy.
But Harry paid no attention; instead, he accelerated further, trying to leave Snape behind.
This apparently angered even Snape, who shouted with even greater intensity than before.
"Enough! This isn't child's play!
We must stay close and act together to protect you!"
Harry inwardly sneered at Snape's words.
Protect? Don't make me laugh.
How could a man who hated his father and scorned his mother have such feelings?
Even now, he was surely thinking about when to attack from behind.
"You're trying to gain my trust so you can sell me out to Voldemort, aren't you? Just like you did with my dad and mum!"
It was Sybill Trelawney who had made the prophecy that the Chosen One would defeat Voldemort.
Though she herself wasn't even aware of it, she occasionally made genuine prophecies.
That was precisely why she was allowed to remain at Hogwarts despite her incompetence.
And Snape had eavesdropped on that prophecy. As a Death Eater at the time, he had told Voldemort about it.
However, because he had only overheard part of it, it was incomplete, and without knowing who the Chosen One was, he could only relay the part about being "born to parents who thrice defied him."
And that was the greatest misfortune.
Voldemort had concluded that this Chosen One was the child to be born to the Potters.
As a result, James Potter and Lily Potter were killed, and Harry ended up with a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
Yes, the cause of his parents' deaths lay with Snape.
Upon learning this, Harry had appealed directly to Dumbledore, demanding to know why he kept such a man as a teacher.
But Dumbledore hadn't given a satisfactory answer, saying only, "He regrets it."
That had only added to Harry's accumulated dissatisfaction.
Regrets it? Impossible.
That man had hated his father and scorned his mother.
He must have laughed triumphantly when his parents died.
How could he trust such a person? How could he think of him as an ally?
Therefore, Harry wouldn't believe or acknowledge Snape.
He wasn't an ally—he was the enemy.
"What are you...!"
"I know! I know you told Voldemort about the prophecy, and that it caused my dad and mum to be killed!"
"—!"
It was an explosion of resentment.
Perhaps if Dumbledore had given him a proper explanation, this wouldn't have happened.
But the information given to Harry had been insufficient, demanding he trust Snape unconditionally.
The result was this outburst at this critical moment.
"You must have felt great about it! You don't even know how my mum died, do you?
She begged for my life and was killed like an insect by Voldemort! It's all because of what you did!"
"...Ngh!"
At Harry's words, Snape's face contorted into something that could have been anger or sorrow.
But Harry felt only irritation at that expression.
Such a face wouldn't fool him. This man couldn't possibly feel regret!
"I won't trust you. You're my mother's enemy!"
Those words cut deep, like a knife carving into Snape's chest.
The sin and mistake that could never be erased—now they became blades of words stabbing into Snape.
***
Nimbus 2000: "Here it comes, here it comes! My time has arrived! Yahoo! It's Nimbus rampage time!" Firebolt: "Oh, by the way, your part ends here." Nimbus 2000: "..."
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(´ω`) And so, good evening everyone. Starting with this episode, the final chapter of Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl begins. By the way, since the original canon was blown to smithereens in the previous chapter, this is almost entirely original now. Snape has been on the good side from the start, and both Dumbledore and Sirius have survived. You could say we're starting under the best possible conditions. However, the difficulty is slightly higher than the original, so the balance should be maintained. Well then, see you again tomorrow.
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If you want to read 10 chapters ahead or support me, visit my p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m /Well_being