He pointed at Harry's cheek and said.
"Need you ask?" Ginny chimed in from the side, "It must have been Miss Grindelwald who kissed you, right? I remember she really likes you, even sitting on the Gryffindor bench as a Slytherin—come on, tell us, how far have you two gone?"
"Don't talk nonsense." Harry wiped his face randomly, "Ahem, it was just an accident, um—right, my godfather, Little Sirius, has been found. He's going to be the assistant in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class."
"Cool!" As expected, Ron's train of thought was completely derailed, and he said excitedly, "So from now on, when Professor Lupin has something to deal with, we won't have to look at that old bat's face anymore—"
Before saying this, Ron cautiously looked around.
Luckily, this was the Gryffindor common room, and there was no sign of Snape.
If there were, that would really be bad.
"However," Harry said to Ron, "I feel that Professor Snape isn't too happy about it because Little Sirius... was really close with my dad."
"I've got it!" Ron slapped his thigh and said, "Back then, when Professor Snape got hung upside down to show his underwear, Little Sirius was part of it, right? Or maybe—Professor Lupin was part of it too, which is why he's so against the two of them!"
(If you think Harry shouldn't think this way, go argue with @jk_rowling on X)
"But I still feel like that kind of behavior isn't right." Harry shrugged and said.
"Why?" Ron asked, biting on a licorice wand.
"My mother's memory tells me, my dad—" Harry stopped mid-sentence.
If it were just because of this, Harry wouldn't be feeling so down—but the Peter incident clearly proved one thing, and that was his Dad was indeed as arrogant and conceited as Snape had described, otherwise he wouldn't have rejected Dumbledore as the Secret-Keeper and chosen someone else.
"No one is perfect, Harry." Ron didn't take it seriously at all, "Think about it, memories are selective, and so is your mother—you only saw a fragment... Think about it, Harry, if your son knew nothing about you and You-Know-Who and saw a few clips of memory—the first being you casting the Drilling Curse at him, the second casting the Killing Curse at Quirrell, and the third using the Killing Curse on Voldemort—what do you think your son would think of you?"
Indeed, Harry felt Ron made a pretty good point...
"If you put it like that..." Harry's eyes brightened.
"Yes, mate." Ron earnestly tried to counsel Harry, "So I suggest you seek verification from various angles, like asking the professors, asking Mr. Black, and Professor Lupin, his two closest friends, to find out what kind of person your dad truly was—only through multi-faceted verification can you get a well-rounded image, mate."
"Talking about what?"
Hermione came down holding Jack, smiling and asking the two of them.
"Talking about Harry's dad." Ron answered truthfully, "I suggest Harry not just dwell on Professor Snape's portrayal, but maybe ask Professor Lupin and Mr. Black, these two of Mr. Potter's close friends. What do you think, Hermione?"
"I think Ron is right, Harry." Hermione nodded in agreement, "A person's image is a circle, not a straight line with just two ends."
"Alright." Harry nodded, agreeing with his friends.
After spending the night in the common room, Harry yawned, closed the book he borrowed from the library, and went back to the dormitory.
He still came up empty-handed, finding nothing at all about decursing a Black Magic curse.
But come to think of it, if it were so easy to find, there wouldn't be a curse on Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The next morning, Harry was jolted awake.
Hedwig and several owls carrying a long package dropped it on his face.
"Ouch!" Harry opened his eyes, "I hope you aim better next time, Hedwig, so that I can get a new nose!"
Hedwig chirped twice, flapping her wings.
"What's going on?" Ron opened his sleepy eyes, got up, and asked.
"A package." Harry said succinctly, "It just dropped on my face."
Ron immediately crawled out of bed.
Unpacking a gift is a necessary ritual, an experience that must be savored.
"Cool, what's this?" Ron asked with a joyful smile, "I think... it looks like it might be a flying broom, don't you think?"
"No idea."
Harry replied as he tore open the package, revealing a beautiful, shiny flying broom rolling onto his bed.
"Amazing!"
Ron exclaimed in shock, jumping out of bed for a closer look.
He touched the perfect broom handle with trembling hands.
"I can't believe it," he said hoarsely.
It was a Firebolt, the lifelong dream of all wizards who love Quidditch and flying.
For ordinary Muggles, this broom was like a Lamborghini or Ferrari—
Indeed, at this time, there was no Koenigsegg, and Bugatti had yet to be revived by Volkswagen.
Harry picked up the Firebolt, and it really shone like a dazzling treasure—he could even feel it trembling, as if yearning to leap into the sky under his control.
But since he was in the dormitory, he couldn't simply ride it, so he let go.
What Harry didn't expect was that the Firebolt floated in mid-air without any support, at just the right height for him to mount.