Chapter Text
There were many strange traditions at Hogwarts; some were long-standing and respected, such as the sorting ceremony for new students, the opening-night banquet, the Quidditch matches between the different houses, or the Yule Ball—and ghosts, who almost always ended up complaining to a portrait or two about the students’ behavior.
Others were less official—much less official—and almost a secret shared only among the teachers, such as the Thursday afternoon tea gathering in the headmaster’s office. Albus Dumbledore had been organizing it for years under the pretext that the teachers needed a moment to relax after a week filled with noisy students, impossible homework assignments, and teenagers convinced that an explosive potion was an excellent idea for a prank—the latter courtesy of the Weasley twins.
At first, it was simply tea time: tea in various flavors, lemon cakes, canary cookies, ginger newt cookies, and plenty of conversation about troublesome students, but over the years, the tradition had evolved. First came a bottle of house-elf wine, then a cherry liqueur that Flitwick insisted was medicinal and not a potion of dubious origin, followed by a bottle of firewhiskey that no one would admit to having brought. And finally, as had happened that night, someone had brought out Viseratum; no one would point out that it was the headmaster himself who had pulled such a prank on his fellow teachers.
“I think we must admit that we’ve lost control of this meeting,” Professor McGonagall remarked as she looked around the round table, which was littered with teacups, glasses, empty plates where cookies had once been, and half-empty bottles of alcohol.
“Lost control?” asked Dumbledore with an innocent smile. “Minerva, we’re talking about Hogwarts. The word ‘control’ ceased to exist decades ago.”
Flitwick let out a small chuckle from his seat; Sprout shook her head, though she was smiling. Even Snape, who normally seemed to be perpetually angry at the whole world, had a glass in his hand—something few students would have believed possible: a relaxed Severus Snape.
A sight almost as unlikely as seeing Draco Malfoy wearing Muggle clothes or cheap clothes, or seeing Ronald Weasley in the library for two hours straight “Speaking of Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore as he magically poured more tea for those who had already emptied their cups, “I think we can all agree that this generation has some rather interesting students.”
“Potter has been impossible to ignore since first year, Albus,” remarked Flitwick; the name caused several professors to look up—Harry Potter.
In any other universe, that name would have been linked to a history of tragedies and wars, but this was not that universe. Voldemort did not exist; there was no prophecy, nor a wizarding war.
James and Lily Potter hadn’t died protecting their son from a dark enemy; they’d died years earlier in an accident during an Auror mission. It had been a very dangerous mission—one that had gone terribly wrong—and Harry, their precious son, had survived because his parents had managed to send him away before the accident. And although he had lost his biological parents when he was very young, he had never grown up alone. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had decided to raise him together, and, according to all the teachers at Hogwarts, they had done an extraordinary job.
Because Harry Potter wasn’t a broken child, nor was he a boy who kept to himself. He was self-assured, confident, and surprisingly well-adjusted.
He had inherited James’s bravery, Lily’s intelligence, and both of their knack for getting into trouble, as well as some of Sirius Black’s madness—Sirius, who was proud of his creation. Moreover, he was a famous boy—not because of a war, but because of his skills as a wizard. He had participated in the very mission that claimed his parents’ lives when he was just an eleven-year-old boy, and he had survived thanks to a combination of luck, Hermione, talent, and a magic that even experts were still trying to understand. Now, at seventeen, Harry was considered one of the most promising students at Hogwarts, on par with Granger. And also, according to many female students and some male students, one of the most attractive.
It was something the teachers had inevitably noticed, though none of them wanted to admit it out loud, given the popularity of one of their most promising—and at the same time most problematic—students to ever set foot in Hogwarts, a popularity that even surpassed that of his own parents.
“Granger and Potter,” Snape said suddenly. Everyone looked at him in disbelief, since the Potions professor didn’t usually participate any more than necessary in those gatherings because he believed his mere presence should be enough.
“Excuse me?” asked McGonagall, not quite understanding her colleague’s outburst—he who, incidentally, almost never initiated a conversation or spoke during those “tea” sessions.
Snape sipped from his glass with absolute composure; the glass contained a bit more alcohol—perhaps a questionable ingredient the headmaster had secretly added to everyone’s drinks. “Granger and Potter seem compatible.”
There were a few seconds of silence; then Flitwick smiled, having better understood his colleague’s point, and took a casual sip from his glass “Oh.”
Dumbledore slowly raised his eyebrows, and a spark of curiosity lit up his blue eyes as he studied Snape intently “An interesting theory, Severus,” Albus murmured, running a hand over his beard. His long fingers glided slowly through that enormous tangle of silver hair, running through it absentmindedly as he seemed to weigh each of his colleague’s words.
“It’s not a theory; it’s an observation,” Snape said dryly, without taking his eyes off Dumbledore. His expression remained impassive, though a slight twitch of his fingers betrayed his impatience.
“Hermione is brilliant. Harry is, too,” Sprout interjected, with a thoughtful smile as she settled into her seat. “It makes quite a bit of sense.”
“Besides, they’ve been friends since first year,” McGonagall added. Her voice was calm, but her eyes held an expression of clear approval. “They’ve been through a lot together. It’s only natural that there’s a trust between them that they don’t share with others.”
Snape made a small gesture with his hand, as if he had just pointed out something that was all too obvious to him. “Exactly. Intelligence, trust, similar interests…” he listed, with the same methodical detachment with which he might have recited the ingredients for a potion. “A perfect match.”
Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned back slightly in his chair and clasped his hands over his belly. “Perfect compatibility?” he repeated, savoring the words with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Severus, my friend, you say that as if they were chess pieces on a board where you’re playing matchmaker.”
“Teenagers are chess pieces,” Snape replied. “Only they believe they have free will, don’t they, Headmaster?”
The room fell into a pensive silence for several seconds, while the professors exchanged glances and seemed to mentally review Snape’s words, until Dumbledore let out a low, drawn-out laugh that completely shattered the solemnity of the atmosphere; the headmaster settled back in his armchair, his blue eyes sparkling behind his crescent-shaped glasses as an amused smile slowly spread beneath his long, silvery beard.
“Severus, you just said something incredibly troubling—playing with students as if they were pawns,” he remarked with obvious amusement, tilting his head slightly as he watched the Potions professor, whose expression remained as impassive as ever.
“It is merely my quite accurate and humble opinion,” Snape replied unflinchingly, crossing his arms over his chest while keeping his gaze fixed on Dumbledore, as if that response were the most obvious and reasonable conclusion in the world.
The conversation would probably have ended there if Sprout hadn’t set her cup down on the saucer with a soft clink and, after thinking for a few moments, hadn’t smiled as she chimed in with an idea that seemed to have been on her mind for several minutes “Although I’d bet on someone else.”
Her words caused everyone present to immediately turn their gaze toward her, while Flitwick tilted his head curiously and McGonagall narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to guess where Sprout was taking the conversation—“Who?” Flitwick finally asked, settling more comfortably into his seat as he rested his small hands on the edge of the table.
Sprout smiled calmly, as if she were about to reveal a conclusion she considered far more obvious than the others seemed to realize. “Ginny Weasley.”
McGonagall nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as her fingers tapped once against the arm of her chair and her expression took on that analytical look she always adopted whenever she was seriously evaluating a possibility“It wouldn’t be a bad choice.”
“Brave, loyal, and straightforward,” Sprout listed, raising a finger slightly with each quality as she spoke. “Ginny wouldn’t be easily impressed by Potter’s fame, and if Harry tried to get away with something, she wouldn’t hesitate to put him in his place.”
A small smile played on McGonagall’s lips as she imagined the situation.“Besides, the Weasleys are an excellent family, and Harry seems to feel quite comfortable when he’s with them.
Snape let out a sigh laced with patience and slowly rolled his eyes, as if the conversation were descending into a level of absurdity he no longer intended to tolerate.“Potter needs someone who can keep up with him mentally, not someone who yells at him from a broomstick.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows with an amused expression, as a smile began to spread across his face upon hearing the precision with which Snape had phrased that observation—“That’s not a fair assessment on your part, Severus.”
Snape slowly turned his head toward him and stared at him for a few seconds with that dark, expressionless gaze that seemed to warn him not to continue down that path.—It’s the truth; the youngest Weasley isn’t right for Potter.
“Of course,” Dumbledore replied with a suspiciously amused gentleness. “And I suppose you’ve conducted an exhaustive study of Harry’s romantic needs.”
Snape shot him a dark look that clearly warned the headmaster not to test his patience.“I didn’t say that.”
“Not literally,” muttered the headmaster, his amusement growing.
McGonagall sighed. “Albus, let it go. Don’t pick on the boy”—but the headmaster’s smile made it clear he had no intention of doing so.
The conversation began to shift in tone little by little, moving away from that seemingly academic analysis of Harry’s potential matches and turning into an increasingly absurd discussion, in which each professor seemed determined to prove that their candidate was superior to the others; the bottle of Firewhiskey on the table wasn’t exactly helping to keep any of those present in their right minds either.
Flitwick, emboldened by the second or third glass of Firewhiskey he’d had that night, let out a little chuckle and leaned forward with an expression that immediately made McGonagall suspect he was about to propose something she wouldn’t approve of “Let’s make a bet.”
The director’s office had fallen into a strange silence after those words—one of those pauses that didn’t stem from calm, but from the absolute certainty that someone had just said something they shouldn’t have and that, sooner or later, the others would follow suit without much trouble, and for a few seconds no one seemed willing to break the silence, though several glances were exchanged from one end of the room to the other with increasingly obvious complicity.
McGonagall was the first to react. She looked at him in horror, her lips slightly parted and an expression of disbelief so genuine that, for a moment, she seemed unable to decide whether she was offended by the suggestion or simply too surprised to process it—“No.”
Flitwick raised his eyebrows and, with a mischievous smile that betrayed both his enthusiasm for the wager and his desire to contradict his colleague, replied, “Yes.”
McGonagall’s gaze slid with deliberate slowness toward the half-goblin professor, who was defying her with that irritating stubbornness of his. But she already knew: just like the goblins at Gringotts—who were stubborn—Flitwick was just as bad, if not worse, than those grumpy goblins. “Filius.
There was a very clear warning in the way he pronounced her name—one of those warnings that any Hogwarts professor would have immediately recognized as the last chance to back down before crossing a dangerous line—but Flitwick, unfortunately for him, seemed to be enjoying the situation far too much. “Come on, Minerva. We all know professors have made bets before.”
McGonagall frowned; it wasn’t entirely untrue—they had, on the occasional occasion, placed bets on which house would win the Cup, which student would get the highest grade, and even what career a student might end up in—but they had never bet on a student’s love life, especially not if that student was Potter. “That doesn’t mean we should talk about it.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t”—the half-goblin, already on his fourth or fifth glass, could see nothing else but getting his way and the money he’d win if the bet went through.
“Filius.”
“Minerva.”
The exchange caused several of those present to discreetly look away to hide a smile, while Dumbledore, seated behind his desk with that serene expression he normally reserved for situations that were anything but serene, watched the discussion with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
Finally, the headmaster, who felt he should lighten the mood, raised a hand. “I should clarify that I have never officially participated.”
Everyone looked at him. It was a collective, silent, and perfectly synchronized gaze that would have been intimidating even to someone far less accustomed to facing Hogwarts professors, and which at that moment caused Dumbledore to tilt his head slightly, as if he were reconsidering the wisdom of his words.
The headmaster smiled, oblivious to the many pairs of eyes fixed on him, ignoring them as only he knew how—“Unofficially, that’s another matter.”
For a second, no one said anything; then, even those who had tried to maintain their composure let out a chuckle. McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment and pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose—“I can’t believe I’m hearing this again.”
“What?” asked Dumbledore with exaggerated, studied innocence. “A person can have principles and, at the same time, a sense of fun.”
Even Snape, who had remained on the sidelines for a few minutes, his hands on the table and having already regained his usual expression of utter contempt for everyone, seemed a little surprised, since he had never heard the wizard get involved in a wager before. His eyes fixed on Dumbledore, demanding answers “Have you ever placed bets before?”
Dumbledore looked at him with a calm smile “Only on the important ones” as if that answered everything the Potions professor had been thinking.
The room erupted in laughter. Flitwick had to lean against a piece of furniture to keep his balance, while McGonagall shook her head, completely defeated by the situation, and even some of the professors who had tried to maintain a semblance of dignity finally gave in to the headmaster’s absurd confession. Snape, for his part, remained motionless.
Although the slight twitch of one of his eyebrows made it quite clear that he wasn’t as indifferent as he was pretending to be. And then, out of nowhere, a list appeared, floating in the center of the round table where everyone could clearly see what was written on it.
Of course, someone had a list, McGonagall thought with a sigh.
It was so absurdly predictable that McGonagall didn’t even ask who it had been. Flitwick slipped a hand into one of his pockets and, as he put his wand away, the floating parchment unfurled even further with a sense of satisfaction that suggested he hadn’t just been waiting for this moment, but had likely been preparing for it for quite some time.
The parchment was considerably longer than anyone had expected.
McGonagall looked at him, then at Flitwick, and her gaze returned to the parchment “Where exactly did that come from?”
Flitwick cleared his throat, unconsciously glancing to the right for a millisecond “Apparently, someone had already thought of this.”
Everyone looked at Snape; the Potions professor slowly looked up as he felt the gaze of all the teachers upon him. “It wasn’t me.”
No one believed him.
The collective expression of those present was so obvious that Snape ended up frowning with visible irritation “I said it wasn’t me.”
“No one said it was you,” replied Flitwick, with a smile that was anything but innocent.
Snape glared at him, taking a sip from his glass as he tried not to curse the little professor.
“All right,” Flitwick said finally, deciding it was best to move on before this turned into a duel. “Possible partners for Potter.”
The room fell silent once more. McGonagall seemed to realize too late that this was serious and that it was simply too late to back down. “Filius…”
“We’re just looking at the possibilities,” he countered with an innocent smile.
“We don’t need a list,” Minerva tried once more to reason with her colleague, hoping he’d see the absurdity of what he was about to do.
“Well, the list already exists; it would be a waste not to use it,” he offered his goblin-like logic again, as if he were explaining to a child why the sun rises.
“That doesn’t mean we should do anything crazy,” McGonagall sighed—a sigh everyone noticed, but no one made a move to stop the half-goblin from speaking for everyone.
“We’ve already gone too far to stop now,” she said as she used her wand to pull the parchment closer to her seat so she could pick it up and write about the Prodigy’s potential partners.
Dumbledore looked at the parchment over his crescent-shaped glasses, clearly far too interested. “Go on.”
McGonagall looked at him; it was one thing to stop her colleague, but quite another to deal with the headmaster’s enthusiasm for the matter. “Albus.”
“What?” he asked, with absolute composure, though the amusement was evident in his eyes. “Now I’m curious, too.”
Flitwick smiled more confidently now that he had the headmaster on his side and looked down at the parchment “Hermione Granger.”
There was a slight murmur. The headmaster raised a hand with a calmness that was almost offensive “My bet.”
Flitwick jotted down a quick note while McGonagall stared at him in disbelief. “Albus?” Her voice came out louder than she intended.
“What?” The headmaster shrugged slightly, avoiding the Transfiguration professor’s accusing gaze.
“Really?” Minerva was seriously reconsidering whether it would be wise to continue teaching or to request retirement right away.
Snape shrugged slightly “High success rate” backing up the headmaster’s delusion.
“Success?” the Transfiguration teacher asked, raising an eyebrow.
“They’d make a great Gryffindor couple—the golden couple, even,” Albus added as if he were talking about the weather, not two people but two pawns in some perverse scheme designed solely to please the Hogwarts faculty.
“This is crazy,” she shook her head as she poured mead into a glass, feeling overwhelmed by her classmates—especially Flitwick.
“It’s a hunch, Minerva,” the headmaster smiled as he watched her drink with a pleased grin.
Flitwick continued before the discussion could veer off course “Ginny Weasley.”
This time it was McGonagall who raised her hand; since she couldn’t stand up to them, her only
option was to jump on that runaway train.“She’s mine.”
Snape glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.“How unexpected.”
McGonagall ignored the comment. “The girl has spirit; she’s perfectly capable of defending herself and has known Potter for years. Besides, she understands quite well how to handle him so he doesn’t go off the deep end.”
Flitwick nodded as he jotted down Ginny’s name on the parchment alongside her partner’s “A rather solid argument.”
“Thank you,” she acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod toward Flitwick.
Snape snorted. “She can also be explosive,” he said, crossing his arms in an attempt to discredit McGonagall.
McGonagall gave him a cold look; she wasn’t about to accept that her colleague/friend would undermine her argument. “That’s precisely why.”
Dumbledore let out a small chuckle. “An interesting combination.”
Flitwick looked down at the parchment again“Cho Chang.” The comment elicited a somewhat more subdued reaction, though several heads tilted thoughtfully. Flitwick smiled—“It makes sense. They’re both well-known, talented, and calm when they want to be.”
McGonagall nodded slowly. “And both have experienced loss” the phrase caused the lightheartedness of the conversation to fade for an instant, though it was only momentary. Everyone remembered that the Ravenclaw student had lost a sister years ago, a girl of particularly delicate health who had spent much of her childhood frequently ill and whose condition had never fully improved. Eventually, dragonpox had taken her away from her family, leaving Cho with a deep wound that—though she rarely mentioned it, much less showed it in front of others—had helped shape her into the reserved and cautious young woman she was at the time. It wasn’t something the teachers usually brought up, both out of respect for the girl and because they knew that certain losses didn’t need to be explained or shouted from the rooftops to make clear the weight they had placed on a person.
Cho had learned to live with that loss far too early, just as she had learned to hide behind a calm expression emotions that, in reality, could be much more intense than she let on.
That’s why, for some of those present, the possibility that he might understand Harry didn’t seem so far-fetched. Both knew what it meant to move on after losing someone important, even if their circumstances had been completely different, and the previous year the student had shown quite a bit of interest in the young witch.
The conversation fell silent for a few seconds after the memory of Cho’s sister gradually faded from everyone’s minds, and although no one seemed particularly interested in prolonging that part of the discussion, the feeling that the list might still hold some further possibilities had not disappeared either.
Flitwick looked down at the parchment and ran his finger over the options that had already appeared, until he paused with a thoughtful expression. “Although, if we’re considering Cho, I think there’s someone else who should be on the list.”
Several pairs of eyes turned toward him. “Who?” asked Dumbledore, visibly amused.
Flitwick looked up. “Cedric Diggory.” There was a brief silence, though this time no one seemed surprised by the name. In fact, several of the professors exchanged glances that made it clear they found the possibility far more reasonable than they had expected.
“I must admit I hadn’t considered him,” McGonagall acknowledged.
“Well, I had,” said Professor Filius Flitwick, raising his hand with a satisfied smile; but before he could add anything, the Transfiguration professor raised an eyebrow. “Did you already have a bet lined up for him?”
Flitwick let out a small chuckle that made it clear this was all part of some plan that no one else could fathom but him. “Not exactly.”
“Then why did you bring it up?” There was something about the whole thing that didn’t quite sit right with Minerva; she felt as though she were walking straight into an Acromantula’s web.
“Because Diggory is a pretty obvious choice if you bother to observe how he treats Potter.”
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, once again interested in the half-goblin’s argument; he sounded quite convinced he would win the debate.
Flitwick leaned against the edge of the table, setting the parchment aside so he could explain his point “Cedric has always treated Harry with respect, even when it would have been much easier to view him as a rival and act accordingly. He’s a popular student, yes, but he’s never needed to use that popularity to assert himself over others, and he also has a personality that’s calm yet ambitious enough that he doesn’t feel threatened by someone like Potter.”
McGonagall nodded slowly. “That’s true.”
“And they both have a certain tendency to get caught up in extraordinary situations without necessarily seeking them out,” Flitwick added. “I think they might get along quite well.”
From the other end of the table, Pomona Sprout let out a little laugh.“It seems to me you’re trying to convince us.”
Flitwick smiled. “Yes. I’m trying to convince someone that this bet has a chance.”
That drew a few laughs. Sprout shook her head, amused, before looking down at the parchment. “Well, if anyone’s going to bet on Diggory, it’ll be me.”
Flitwick raised his eyebrows, somewhat surprised that he’d managed to convince anyone.“You’re really going to bet on him?”
“Yes, I am,” Pomona Sprout said, crossing her arms calmly. “Cedric has a good heart. And Harry needs someone who won’t treat him like a legend, a symbol, or a ticking time bomb.”
McGonagall watched her for a few seconds “That last bit was pretty specific.”
Sprout shrugged “It’s just the truth; you never know what kind of trouble Potter will get himself into.”
Dumbledore smiled behind his glasses “So it seems Cedric has just gained his first supporter.”
Sprout looked at Flitwick “No, no. Her first bet.”
Flitwick burst out laughing as he added Cedric Diggory’s name to the parchment “All right. Cedric Diggory.”
Pomona Sprout raised a hand “My bet” and when several of the professors looked at the list, none could deny that this possibility made far more sense than they had expected.
Dumbledore studied the scroll with a more pensive expression, while Snape remained silent, seemingly less interested than he actually was or thinking so intently about something that he was oblivious to the commotion around him.
Flitwick reviewed the scroll one last time, convinced that it now contained all the names that could possibly come up that night, and began to roll it up carefully when a calm voice stopped him.
“There’s one missing,” said Professor Septima Vector, who until then had focused all her attention on drinking but now decided to contribute her own candidate to the bet.
Flitwick raised an eyebrow, looking in her direction and waiting patiently for her to continue “Another candidate?”
Professor Vector nodded slowly as she ate a ginger newt biscuit “Theodore Nott.”
McGonagall seemed to think it over carefully, while Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, looking interested. “Theodore Nott,” Flitwick repeated. “That’s not a choice I would have expected.”
“They get along better than you think; I had them work together, and they make a good pair,” replied the Arithmancy teacher.
She picked up her teacup and took a small sip before continuing “Nott is intelligent, reserved, and far more observant than he appears. He doesn’t need to draw attention to himself to know exactly what’s going on around him, nor does he seem to have the same need as other students to constantly assert his status.”
McGonagall nodded slowly as she refilled her goblet with mead “That’s true.”
“Besides,” Vector continued, “Potter is one of the people most likely to change the way he sees things.”
Flitwick looked at her curiously. “And why Potter?”
“Because Potter represents practically everything that Nott stays away from.”
The professor set her cup down on the saucer. “And yet, the two of them are much more alike than they seem at first glance. Both have grown up under expectations they didn’t choose, both have had to learn to navigate a world where adults expect them to play a certain role, and both are considerably smarter than they let on.“
Dumbledore smiled, revealing the wrinkles of his old age, and slowly stroked his beard. “An interesting observation.”
Vector shrugged slightly. “I’m not saying it’s the most likely option.”
“Then why are you betting on him?” Sprout asked.
The professor looked at the parchment again “Because watching them work together is a joy to behold, and they’re both very handsome.”
Flitwick chuckled softly “It seems you’ve decided to put that philosophy into practice tonight.”
Vector smiled “I’m betting on Theodore Nott.”
Flitwick picked up his quill and carefully added a new name to the list.
- Theodore Nott / Septima Vector.
“Very well,” he said as he finished writing. “Theodore Nott has been added.”
Vector nodded, satisfied and proud of her choice. “My candidate.”
McGonagall looked at the parchment, which seemed less and less like a reasonable list and more like a collection of randomly chosen possibilities. “This is getting out of hand.”
“Probably,” Vector admitted. “But we’ve already gone too far to pretend it isn’t entertaining.”
Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle. “Then I do think we have enough candidates now.”
Flitwick looked at the long list of names before nodding."Yes."
McGonagall nodded and settled back in her seat, seemingly relieved that the conversation was coming to an end. “I agree. Before this gets even more absurd, we’d better call it a day.”
Sprout nodded. “For once, I agree with Minerva.”
Flitwick began carefully folding the parchment again, but he had barely managed to bring the ends together when a sharp, unmistakable voice cut through the room.
“Wait,” everyone stopped. Flitwick looked up, McGonagall sighed, and Dumbledore, on the other hand, smiled immediately, as if he had been waiting for precisely that moment, while Snape—who remained seated in his chair with one hand resting on the armrest and the other wrapped around his glass—stared at the parchment with an expression that was hard to read. For a few seconds, he seemed torn between remaining silent and letting the others call that absurd wager off, or finally stepping in and adding his own opinion to a conversation in which, up until that point, he’d had little intention of participating—even though the whole matter of the wager had started with him. He had decided that it was a waste of time, an unnecessary distraction, and, above all, a form of entertainment that he was unwilling to admit he found even remotely interesting.
However, for some reason he himself could not explain, his eyes once again lingered on the names written on the parchment.
- Hermione Granger/Albus Dumbledore
- Ginny Weasley/Minerva McGonagall
- Cho Chang/Filius Flitwick
- Cedric Diggory/Pomona Sprout
- Theodore Nott/Septima Vector.
The five names remained there, accompanied by the small notes and marks the professors had made as each one presented their arguments, and Snape stared at them for a few seconds longer than necessary.He hadn’t wanted to take part in that wager.
In fact, for several minutes he’d been thinking that the most sensible thing to do was to stay out of it, let his colleagues finish their discussion, and leave the office without having contributed in any way to that nonsense. But his mouth seemed to have taken on a life of its own—the headmaster seemed to know the reason for that—and the words had come out before he could stop them. Snape finally set the glass down on the table with deliberate calm “There’s another name.”
Flitwick raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Snape’s unexpected intervention, because after having remained almost entirely on the sidelines during the conversation—watching with his usual look of disapproval as the rest of the professors debated possible partners for Harry—that sudden decision to add a new name to the list seemed, to say the least, suspicious, and even more so considering that it had been Snape himself who had insisted several times that the conversation was pointless.
The diminutive professor tilted his head slightly, looking first at Snape and then at the parchment he still held in his hands, as if trying to gauge from the other man’s expression what kind of remark he was about to make, though he knew his colleague well enough to realize that when Severus Snape spoke after remaining silent for so long, there was usually a reason behind his words, even when Snape himself seemed to regret having uttered them. “Another name?” he asked finally, with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Well, Severus, and here I thought we were done.”
“Well, no,” Snape replied immediately and without a trace of hesitation, speaking with that characteristic dryness that made even the most absurd statements seem, to him, perfectly reasonable facts; and for a moment Flitwick simply watched him in silence, one eyebrow still slightly raised, while the rest of the professors began to focus their attention back on the parchment.
McGonagall, for her part, watched him with a certain wariness, because she knew Severus too well to ignore the significance of that intervention; if he had decided to speak just as everyone was about to settle the wager, it couldn’t simply be a passing whim, and the expression on his face did nothing to reassure her either, as he seemed to be carefully calculating how much he was willing to reveal "And who’s supposed to be missing?”
Snape didn’t answer right away. His gaze slowly drifted down to the parchment, scanning the names that had already been written down for a few seconds, as if he were double-checking that he’d really decided to do this before saying it out loud. Finally, his eyes settled on the empty space at the end of the list "Draco Malfoy.”