— — — — — —
In the Headmaster's office, the three Heads of House stood stiffly before Albus Dumbledore. Only McGonagall, who had come in last, had managed to secure a seat.
Dumbledore was rarely angry. Especially not with his colleagues at Hogwarts. He was known for his patience, his tolerance, his almost maddening gentleness.
But this time, they had crossed a line.
His brows were drawn tight. The usually warm blue of his eyes now burned with a restrained fury. His face was so grim it looked like rainclouds about to burst.
"What were you thinking?"
His voice was still soft. But that made it worse.
The three professors felt a chill crawl down the backs of their necks. Real anger wasn't loud. Shouting was for people without discipline. This quiet, controlled tone—that was the frightening kind.
None of them answered. They'd already come to their senses on the way here.
Snape regretted acting too hastily. He should have taken it slow, boiled the frog gently—deduct a few points here and there, spread it out over months until the books balanced. Not this dramatic, all-at-once massacre. Even a first-year could see something was off.
As for Sprout and Flitwick, they were kicking themselves for getting dragged into it. Why had they let themselves get baited by Snape? There were subtler ways to get back at him.
Now they'd gone from victims to accomplices in record time.
"No one?" Dumbledore nodded faintly. McGonagall noticed his hand trembling just slightly. That meant his anger had climbed another notch.
"You are professors. Role models. And yet look at what you've done."
"For the sake of meaningless points, you've turned students into tools for your petty competition. Is this your idea of setting an example?"
His voice never rose, but each word landed like a hammer.
"Severus. You started this. I'd like an explanation."
Dumbledore's steady gaze locked onto him.
Snape felt his scalp prickle. Could he really tell the truth?
Suddenly he remembered what Tom had muttered to him before he came up here, "Confess and you'll rot in Azkaban. Resist and you'll be home for Christmas."
At the time, he'd thought it was nonsense.
Now it sounded like pure wisdom.
"Dumbledore…" Snape steadied his voice, layering it with sincerity. "You've misunderstood me. I'm not targeting students. I'm trying to make them better."
Dumbledore said nothing, but his eyes spoke clearly.
You expect me to believe that?
"In less than a month, professors and students from other schools will arrive," Snape continued smoothly. "This isn't like the last two minor exchanges. Six schools are coming this time. Twice the numbers. The entire magical world will be watching."
"Competition is everywhere. Yet our students show no sense of urgency. I'm simply using this method to teach them discipline. To make them aware of their mistakes. To make them follow the rules. Is that so wrong?"
The more he spoke, the more confident he became. By the end, he was practically challenging Dumbledore.
Dumbledore actually looked momentarily stunned.
What stunned him even more was that McGonagall, who had been watching quietly from her chair, gave a small nod and muttered under her breath, "He does have a point…"
"On the other hand," Snape snapped, pointing at Flitwick and Sprout, "the real offenders have already exposed themselves. Filius is one. Pomona is another."
"I've poured my heart into protecting Hogwarts' image, and they retaliate out of spite. Albus, I've been wronged!"
Flitwick and Sprout were too shocked to speak at first. They stared at Snape in disbelief.
You greasy-haired snake. How can you be this shameless?
They quickly recovered and rushed to echo Snape's reasoning. Different wording, same message: we're only doing this for the students' sake.
That left Dumbledore at a loss.
He was angry. Truly angry. But what could he actually do?
Unpleasant as it was to admit, Hogwarts could function without Albus Dumbledore for a time. But remove any one of the four Heads of House and chaos would erupt within days.
They were pillars of the school. Not disposable like the ever-cursed Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
After another sharp reprimand or two, Dumbledore knew this was as far as the matter could go.
Still, watching them wriggle and justify themselves left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Minerva," he said at last, turning to McGonagall. "What do you think should be done?"
You crafty old man.
Professor McGonagall swore inwardly. Asking her to suggest punishment for her own colleagues—how did he even have the nerve?
That said, from a purely administrative standpoint, Dumbledore wasn't wrong. She was the Deputy Headmistress.
McGonagall cleared her throat and braced herself. "Albus, I think we can leave it at this. Their intentions were good. The methods were… misguided. A warning should suffice. They'll be more careful from now on."
"No." Dumbledore shook his head without hesitation. "The impact has been far too severe. Students from different Houses are already treating each other like enemies. Tom told me he went to see Miss Clearwater and was glared at several times by Ravenclaws."
Ah. So that was it. Riddle.
All four Heads of House cursed inwardly at the same time.
They'd wondered why Dumbledore had suddenly taken an interest in House points. So someone had gone and tattled.
Snape, in particular, silently recited every curse he knew in Tom's direction. So what if the boy had been glared at a few times? He was fighting for Slytherin's honor!
Where was the sense of the bigger picture?
"....."
Dumbledore paced the room for a long moment before finally stopping, eyes gleaming.
"If you all enjoy deducting points so much," he said mildly, "perhaps I should join in."
"Given the recent unprofessional conduct of Professors Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff will each be deducted... three hundred points."
"How many?!" the three professors burst out in unison.
"Three hundred," Dumbledore repeated calmly. "Additionally, none of you will be awarding or deducting points for the time being. All such decisions will be handled by Minerva. That is all. I have other matters to attend to."
He returned to his high-backed chair and lowered his head to the paperwork on his desk, effectively dismissing them.
The Heads of House exchanged helpless looks before filing out together.
On the way down, Flitwick and Sprout pointedly spoke only to McGonagall, treating Snape as though he didn't exist. This time, he'd truly offended them.
Snape didn't care.
If he worried about saving face, how was Slytherin supposed to win six consecutive House Cups before Tom enrolled? Did anyone honestly believe his little snakes were naturally that much better than the rest?
What worried him now was this year's numbers. He hadn't even balanced the earlier deductions, and now there was a fresh three-hundred-point crater. That was a deep hole.
Deep enough that even Riddle might struggle to climb out.
When they passed through the Entrance Hall, all four of them stopped in their tracks as if rooted to the floor.
Three of the great hourglasses were more than half full at the bottom.
Gryffindor's, by contrast, held only a thin layer of gems.
McGonagall felt a wave of comfort wash over her, as if she were lying on the softest bedding in the world.
So this was what the other three had been experiencing all these years?
Do nothing, wait for the opposition to slip up, and win by lying down.
What kind of life had she been living before?
"Well," Sprout said with a strained smile, "Would you look at that. How the tables turn."
She could practically declare Hufflepuff officially on holiday for this year's House Cup. After all, her students were used to this sort of thing.
Still, this grudge was firmly established. She would find a way to settle it with Snape sooner or later.
Flitwick, ever the gentleman, merely sighed and shook his head. What was done was done. He'd just have to go back and encourage his students to perform well. Forget winning the Cup. Let's aim to get back into positive numbers first.
The professors dispersed. And after the morning classes ended, the Entrance Hall quickly filled with students again, all staring at what might well be a once-in-a-millennium spectacle.
The news spread like wildfire. Plenty of jaws hit the floor.
A House losing points because of its professor's misconduct? The Headmaster really knew how to make a statement.
And three hundred points in one blow. That had to be the largest single deduction in Hogwarts history.
Before long, someone in the crowd corrected that assumption.
"The biggest single deduction was five hundred points. In 1863, a Gryffindor named Peake Roger knocked over Headmaster Phineas Black's lunch and drenched him in pumpkin juice."
Tom lingered in the crowd, watching the chaos unfold, and nodded. Just like Phineas would.
Slytherin really did produce some impressively reckless ancestors. No wonder in a thousand years the only Headmaster from their House had been Phineas Black.
He looked up at the neat row of negative numbers under three of the House names.
A bold idea sparked in his mind.
He'd already secured a record-breaking high score championship once.
But what about winning with negative points?
If he could pull that off, the year-end reward would be even better than last year, it was a completely unexpected achievement.
However, the execution would be tricky. Not only would he need to control his own House's score, he'd have to suppress the other three as well. If they were going down, everyone would go down together.
As for Gryffindor's nearly four-hundred-point lead?
That hardly mattered.
The lions had a remarkable talent for losing points all on their own.
.
.
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