Chapter Text
Start-of-term meetings — informally known as Well, let’s see who’s the unlucky sod this year — were one of the only occasions were you could find all Hogwarts’ staff members at the same place and the same time. Even those who usually stayed in their own realms, like Madam Pince or Professor Trelawney, found the time to attend these meetings.
As if Sybil would pass up the opportunity to predict someone’s gruesome death now, would she? , thought Minerva, nursing a tea cup. Frankly, these meetings got tiresome after the first decade.
Not as tiresome as they used to be, though. Not that she thought she’d ever think that when Albus first brought Severus Snape to teach five years ago, but he certainly made things interesting. His presence now meant she had someone with whom to share her very polite observations on Hogwarts’ stellar selection of Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, usually introduced yearly on these meetings.
Severus made sure to answer her observations with his own entirely proper assessments, and as such, his presence was imperative. He was almost late this time, and Minerva dearly hoped he wouldn’t skip it. Merlin knew that a whole meeting spent only on proper pleasantries would be very dull indeed.
“If I’d known Albus would be taking resumés at the circus,” a smooth voice said from Minerva’s left. “I’d have added knife throwing skills to mine. Maybe this way he’d finally hire me to teach Defence and I could be free of this place by spring.”
Minerva snorted in her tea, loudly enough to catch Pomona’s attention from where she was sitting on her right. She covered it up with a cough, Oh, I’m fine dear, the tea just went down the wrong way.
When she turned back to her plate, Minerva eyed her younger colleague critically. He looked as annoyed as he usually did when forced to socialize, but she could detect a tiny glint of amusement in his eyes. At least I’m not the only one having fun with this disaster, she thought.
“Circuses, Severus, well. What makes you think that?”, she asked, grinning to herself.
“Well, he hired a clown , so I suppose it’s just a logic observation.”
A few gasps down the table followed. The others heard that jab. Minerva sighed theatrically, putting on her best professional face.
“We don’t insult our colleagues on their very first day, Severus, it’s in poor taste. You know what I think of it. Hogwarts is always open to those who come to serve it, and we should do our best to welcome them” she said, in her teacher voice.
He merely side eyed her impassively, though she could see he was suppressing a smirk — but she only knew that because she was doing the same.
The others finally turned their attentions back to the Headmaster and the new teacher, apparently satisfied with the admonishment. They impassively watched the man introduce himself, and then promptly vanish his own nose, while trying to summon his suitcase.
Here we go, Minerva thought, leaning closer to Severus.
“It’s an awful disrespect to the noble and ancient profession of clownery, to imply that that absolute idiot is a clown.” she muttered, receiving only a quiet huff as answer. “Now, what do you say: dead or alive?”
“Dead, of course. It’s the only fitting punishment to holding your wand by the wrong side and hexing himself.” he said, while watching the Headmaster help the new teacher bring his nose back. That started what could be considered, in Minerva’s humble opinion, the highlight of the year.
The Bet was their private little joke, though she guessed that by now Albus at least suspected about its existence.
It wasn’t a simple bet, like the ones the teachers usually did over things like Quidditch, paid in paperwork and supervising detentions. No, The Bet was special.
It started two years before, from an off hand comment Severus made over tea. They’d been on shaky terms back then, with him still unsure about her attempts to befriend him. He was already on his third year as a teacher, and still kept mostly to himself, so him accepting her invitations was already a huge victory.
Minerva most certainly didn’t approve his appointment as teacher and Head of House and the ripe age of twenty one, specially considering his associations while in school.
Simply put, she didn’t trust him. Not his loyalties, and much less his qualification for the position.
He proved her wrong quickly, though his methods were quite peculiar. His viciousness was rewarded with a sharp drop in serious accidents and an steady rise in the student’s performances in the official tests. He quickly outdid Horace Slughorn with nothing but sheer determination, making Minerva take back her own reservations and earning her respect.
The invitations for tea were a peace offering, and after the hurdle that was him accepting it, the next obstacle was actually holding a proper conversation with the closed off man. So him making a comment about how he’d bet ten galleons that this year’s DADA teacher definitely wouldn’t survive was such an unparalleled attempt at humor, albeit morbid, that Minerva decided to go with it.
They’d refined the terms over the years, to include not only the outcome but also how the inevitable departure would happen.
Minerva knew that some of her colleagues would frown at such dealings, but honestly, none of them could complain, not when it brought Severus to an early morning staff meeting, in the middle of summer break, without a single objection.
“You’re no fun. You say the same every year and, thankfully, you’ve always lost,” she said with mock reproach. “Now, if it ends in death, I think he’ll find out an obscure allergy to something very stupid and unusual —grading essays, perhaps! — and dies of shock. What say you?”
“Given his demonstration I think I’ll say he’ll just curse himself in class and either die or become incapacitated forever. I’d even say it might be his best lesson”
His answer was followed by an arched eyebrow and a pointed look at the head of the table. The new teacher had his nose back, thanks to Albus’ help, but apparently managed to give an armchair sentience with an excited arm wave.
Oh dear, he might actually win this year, she thought.
“So your answer is the same for both?” He simply nodded.
“You’re a spoilsport, Severus Snape, can’t even bet properly.” Minerva said with a huff.
She couldn’t contain herself while they watched Flitwick put the poor armchair to rights, amid the Defence teacher’s flustered apologies. She giggled at the ridiculous scene. Thankfully the other teachers were so engrossed in the situation that nobody noticed her lack of composure.
Except the Headmaster. Albus’ exasperated look, met with a flat stare and a shrug from Severus, renewed her giggling fit.
The Potions Master leaned in at the pretense of refilling her teacup, so nobody would hear him.
“You only said how he dies. In the off chance he manages to survive this year, why do you think he’ll leave?”
Minerva finally got herself back in control, pausing to consider her answer. She decided for simplicity in the end.
“Family business”, she answered. It was as likely as any other possibility.
“Do we have our bet? Ten galleons on the dead or alive question and five on how it happens.”
Severus narrowed his eyes at her, “Down to business, and you say I’m the spoilsport here.” He watched the table a bit more, seemingly mulling it over.
“Fine, I accept it.” he conceded, with a dignified nod.
Truly, he should have been an actor, she thought. One could easily think he was humoring her, by all the faces he put. By now she knew better, he was enjoying this farce as much as she was.
Right after his answer, the new teacher somehow vanished the whole table, sending all the crockery to the floor. The shocked staff sat silently, staring at the shattered cups and plates laying on the tea-soaked carpet.
A tired sigh, coming from the Headmaster, brought them out of their stupor. Minerva looked to her left, still wide eyed, only to see Severus daintily taking a sip from his tea, his cup safely in his hand when the table vanished.
She laughed, loudly and openly, at the absurdity of it all. She could feel the others staring at her, but she could only think We’re in for one hell of a year.