When Monday came, Professor Sprout, and Flitwick realized something was very wrong, their house's points were almost at zero.
After questioning their students and learning the full story, both were furious. Oh, so that's how it is, Severus Snape. They had tolerated him shamelessly awarding points to his own students before. At least he'd bothered to invent excuses. Out of professional courtesy, they'd let it slide. But now he was openly targeting their houses?
Fine! Mutual destruction it is, let's see who cracks first.
The atmosphere at Hogwarts shifted overnight. Flitwick and Sprout stopped smiling in class, they became stricter than ever.
Minor mistakes earned deductions.
Homework was graded with brutal precision. Any 'flaw' became a reason to subtract points, Snape saw that the gap still wasn't closing.
He doubled down. Within ten days, barely into October, the top halves of the hourglasses might as well have been decorations. Every single house had 'fallen' into the negatives.
The chaos finally reached Dumbledore's ears. This time, the old Headmaster could no longer sit still, he summoned all four Heads of House to his office.
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.
Professor 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 Lucifer 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 about a month, professors and students from other schools will arrive," Snape continued smoothly, his mouth talking pure nonsense without batting an eye, "Tri-wizard Tournament, being held after decades, 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, and 'follow' the rules. Is that so wrong?"
The more he spoke, the more confident he became. By the end, he was practically challenging Dumbledore who actually looked momentarily stunned.
What digged 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 him 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 the green robes, "What do you think should be done?"
'You crafty old man.' Professor McGonagall swore inwardly. 'Asking me to suggest punishment for my 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, Young Draco's 'father' wrote me a howler how his son was glared at several times by Ravenclaws in the bathroom."
Ah, so that was it. 'the Malfoys!'
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 Malfoy's direction. So what if the boy had been glared at a few times? 'I was fighting for Slytherin's honor! Where was the sense of the bigger picture? Trash.'
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," he 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 Morningstar 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 he 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."
Lucifer 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. What about winning with negative points?
Gryffindor's nearly four hundred point lead? That hardly mattered. The lions had a remarkable talent for losing points all on their own.
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. 'Gryffindor will go down anyway, so if we are, why not everyone play together? Destroy school's house rivalry, and become friends. I really should have gone to Hufflepuff...'
After being firmly put in their place by Dumbledore, the Heads of House cooled down and shifted their focus back to teaching.
All except for Severus Snape, he had long since reached the stage of "I've been bitten so many times I don't even itch anymore." If Dumbledore had the guts, he could kill him or sack him.
Experts call this state: "I don't give a damn."
More than that, Snape had come to understand one simple truth: 'the strong fear the reckless, and the reckless fear the mad.' As long as he still stood on solid ground, he might as well go all in. So he carried on exactly as before. And by before, that meant targeting the other three Houses with complete equality.
During Potions Class that week, Snape brought out several mild poisons and ordered the students to brew their own antidotes. Each of them would drink the poison and cure themselves.
If they failed.
Snape had thoughtfully prepared fresh bezoars, dug straight from the gallbladder of an elderly cow.
The sight of the slimy lump made half the class turn green, whether they wore Gryffindor red or Slytherin green. Draco Malfoy shot Snape a deeply resentful look. 'Professor... have you stopped distinguishing friend from foe?'
Making students poison themselves and then counteract it sounded insane, but technically it counted as practical training. With Snape's reputation as a Potions master, there was no real risk of a serious accident.
Well, unless you factored in Neville Longbottom, the clumsy boy was gifted in a way that defied logic. More than once, Snape had suspected he was inventing an entirely new school of 'potion-making.'
And for the entire lesson, Snape kept his eyes glued to Neville's cauldron. Only after confirming the contents weren't some unidentified chemical weapon would he allow him to drink it.
Five minutes later, Neville was escorted to the hospital wing. Well, he wasn't alone. Two Slytherins and six Gryffindors followed him out on stretchers, including Ron Weasley.
As Ron lay down, he stared at Harry in utter disbelief. 'We did the exact same thing. Why are you fine and I'm the one dying?'
Harry gave him an awkward grin. He honestly had no idea. With Snape glaring at him every class, he barely absorbed a word. Yet every exam and test, he somehow scraped through without issue. 'Was he secretly going easy on me? Nah, maybe I really am awesome...'
Lucifer, watching from the side, almost laughed out loud. Harry didn't realize he'd inherited his mother's talent. Lily Evans had been a genuine prodigy, she'd earned McGonagall's approval in 'Transfiguration' and Snape's in Potions.
Even Hermione hadn't managed that double achievement yet.
Harry's 'Transfiguration' ability wasn't anything special, but his knack for Potions had clearly come from Lily. From James Potter, he'd inherited a talent for 'Defense Against the Dark Arts.'
Honestly, Lucifer suspected Harry's aptitude for Dark Magic might be even stronger. After all, he had survived Voldemort's curse, his scar ached to this day, for over a decade, shaping him in subtle ways. 'With the right training, he might even grow into another Dark Lord....'
Snape was mildly disappointed that Harry hadn't ended up in Hospital with the rest, but overall the day's results were satisfying.
In high spirits, he returned to his office and began drafting a request to McGonagall. He wasn't allowed to deduct points anymore, after all.
Ten points off for every student who ended up in the hospital wing, perfectly reasonable. He hadn't spared his own House, it just so happened that more brainless Gryffindors had failed.
"What grounds would McGonagall have to refuse?" Back and forth like this, and forty points would be recovered in no time. If Dumbledore objected again, he'd resign.
Snape'd once relied on Dumbledore because the old man was the only wizard in the world capable of standing against the Dark Lord, his sole hope for revenge. But now that Lucifer had given him his word. 'Who needed that old man?'
xxxxxxx
A couple of weeks had passed and their classes were not getting easier.
Honestly, they shouldn't be getting easier, because then people would be allowed to slack off, or they felt they deserved the right to, but Lucifer and Hermione had no trouble with the increase in difficulty, though.
They were one of the few who felt that way.
One class that had been particularly more demanding and difficult was 'Defense Against the Dark Arts.'
To their surprise, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting each of them under the 'Imperius Curse', to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects or not.
"But, but you said it was illegal, Professor," Hermione voiced her uncertainty as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room, "You said, to use it against another human was---"
"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," Moody said, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way, when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely, fine by me. You're excused. Off you go." He then pointed his gnarled finger toward the door.
Hermione felt her cheeks burning from embarrassment, "I-I didn't mean I wanted to leave..." She muttered quietly.
Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put them under the Imperius Curse.
Lucifer watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean hopped three times around the room, singing national anthem.
Lavender imitated a squirrel, which Hermione must have gotten a real kick out of when he heard her laugh almost evilly.
Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state.
When Hermione had been called on, Lucifer watched her nervously step forward. When the spell had been used, she then proceeded to put on a short, 'one-person play' of a small scene from Macbeth.
It had actually been entertaining to watch, even though Lucifer was sure Hermione wouldn't have been able to do it without someone in her mind telling her to do so.
When Hermione was done, her face turned beet red after Lucifer explained what it was she did, "Your acting was superb, though."
She found herself unable to smile at that, while deciding to get on her Occlumency once again.
"Potter!" Moody growled, "you're next."
Lucifer watched Harry step forward and Moody said, "Imperio."
Harry had bent his legs, but then halted. For a second, nothing happened, but then he performed something Lucifer was sure that's not what Moody had told him to do in his mind.
He had jumped forward, but it looked like he tried to stop himself, and ended up going headlong into the desk.
"Again , that's more like it!" Moody's gruff voice was heard saying, "Look at that, you lot... Potter 'fought' it! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention, watch his eyes, that's where you see it, very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"
Moody then had Harry go through it a few more times, each time he managed to not completely listen, until the last attempt, when he managed to throw it off entirely.
"Good, very good. Morningstar, you're next!"
Lucifer stepped forward, while giving the 'Boy Who Lived' a strange look, he really was the Chosen One, the fates favoured him, Harry had even recalled past memories of Ginny's cake that day, when he swapped Scabbers.
When he was where everyone else had stood before him, he closed his eyes and waited, he heard Moody say the spell and waited. Everyone else had been affected almost immediately, but for him, he felt no different.
He didn't even hear a voice in his head like the spell description said was supposed to happen, "I'm asking you to try," Lucifer said coolly.
"Imperio," Moody had said for the fourth time, and the result was the same, nothing happened.
"Remarkable. In all my days as an Auror, I've never seen anyone unaffected by the Imperius Curse. Then again, I've never met anyone of the 'Ambrosius Bloodline' before this school year, either!"
"You see that, everyone? Morningstar here is not affected by it in the slightest. I never even got into his mind to give him a command. Now I don't expect any of you to be like this, so don't think I'll expect this from all of you, but mark my words, we will work on this at least through November as a side study alongside your main Defense work, until progress is made," Moody said avidly.
"Morningstar, since this doesn't work on you, don't worry about having to practice."
After class, a lot of them were feeling uncertain about everything, and Harry was hobbling out.
"The way he talks," Lucifer heard him say, "you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second."
"Yeah, I know," Ron answered him, who was skipping on every alternative step as a result of what Moody had him do when under the Curse, "Talk about paranoid."
"Well, when you've lived as long as him, and are a veteran in your line of work capturing Dark Wizards, you might be a little paranoid too with how many 'enemies' you'll have made," Lucifer said in Moody's defense.
The month soon changed to October and they were in Transfiguration Class with McGonagall, their Head of House, with the Ravenclaws, just like how it was last year.
When the class had voiced their dissatisfaction with the increase in school work, she explained why.
"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!" She told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles.
"Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer-"
"We don't take O.W.L.s until our Fifth Year, though, Professor," Dean said indignantly.
"Maybe not, Mr. Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger and Mr. Morningstar remains the only two in this class who have managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that 'yours, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!" McGonagall had not been pulling any punches, though she never did.
Hermione had turned pink again, and seemed to be trying to not look too pleased with herself, but when she looked at Lucifer, she saw that he was almost indifferent looking.
In fact, with most of the classes, she recalled that Lucifer didn't have to put forth much effort for the current year as far as spell work was concerned, because he had basically mastered every spell.
So, when Professor Flitwick told them to read three extra books in bettering for the 'Summoning Charm', books he and Hermione had already read, Lucifer didn't even bother opening them, giving him more time to focus on other work.
Professor Binns of 'History of Magic,' their only Ghostly Professor, had them writing weekly essays on Goblin Rebellions. It wasn't hard work, just absolutely tedious.
Even Hagrid surprisingly piled on the work.
The Blast-Ended Skrewts had grown at an alarming rate, despite no one having figured out what they eat.
Hagrid had been delighted at the progress and as part of their 'project' he suggested that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the Skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior.
"I will not," Malfoy had said flatly when Hagrid had proposed the idea, "I see enough of these 'foul' things during lessons, thanks."
Hagrid's smile faded into a scowl, "Yeh'll do wha' yer told," he had growled, "or I'll be takin' a leaf outta Professor Moody's book... I hear yeh make a good ferret, Malfoy."
The Gryffindors and even some of the Slytherins, roared with laughter.
Malfoy flushed with anger, but said nothing else, the painful memory of Moody's punishment still fresh in his mind.
The Quartet returned to the Castle in much higher spirits at the end of their lessons; seeing Hagrid put Malfoy in his place was more satisfying than it should have honestly been.
Their classes had just ended for the day before the Weekend started, and upon returning to the Entrance Hall, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students that had congregated there.
All milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase.
Ron and Lucifer were the only two able to see over the heads in front of them, but only from standing on their tiptoes.
Lucifer was the one who read the sign aloud for them:
xxxxxx
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