Chapter 174. Fred and George's Big Contest
The wooden door of the Headmaster's office was shoved open, slammed into the wall beside it, and groaned in protest at the intruder's rudeness.
"Dumbledore!"
Severus Snape, face like thunder, hurried into the room, his gaze shifting to a long table on the inner side.
An old man in pyjamas, wearing a pointed nightcap, sat in a soft chair, and a quill before him was writing of its own accord on parchment.
"You were in such a hurry to find me—do you have something important, Severus?" Dumbledore looked up, smiling broadly.
No sooner had he spoken than Dumbledore quickly raised a hand to cover his nose.
"What is that smell on you? Another new quirk of yours?"
"That is none of your concern!"
An embarrassed flicker crossed Snape's face.
He halted before the table and fixed Dumbledore with a severe stare.
"I have serious reason to suspect that Duncan Scamander has gone to the Restricted Section!"
"Hmm..."
Dumbledore lifted his wand and dispersed the stench clinging to Snape, breathed easier, then said with a smile, "That does sound like a serious matter.
By rights, we ought to deduct quite a lot of points from Hufflepuff.
But this is only your suspicion, and it cannot serve as our basis for docking points."
Snape's eyes narrowed to slits as he looked at Dumbledore, sceptical.
Was this merely a simple matter of docking points?
"Did you already know?"
Snape asked.
Dumbledore shook his head lightly.
"I only learned of it when you told me just now."
"Then you're not afraid?"
Snape's tone grew a little heavier.
"Not afraid he'll turn into the same kind of person as that man?"
Dumbledore folded his hands together on the desk before him and looked at Snape calmly, his blue eyes like a deep well.
"And his magical talent is even more alarming than that man's back then," Snape went on.
"I have already verified this in class."
"If he, too, takes the path of pursuing power and becomes engrossed in Dark magic," Snape leaned forward slightly, pressing Dumbledore with his question, "are you certain you'll be able to bring him back then, and not let him, like that man in those days, grow into a fearsome Dark wizard?"
"In the past, I did indeed pay too little attention to Tom," Dumbledore said after a brief silence.
"But between Duncan and Tom, there are not many points in common.
I believe Duncan can master his own power."
"Your reason?"
Snape's face remained set, a trace of dissatisfaction in his eyes.
"Is it only your intuition?"
"Of course not, because Duncan possesses something Tom longed for but never had," Dumbledore replied.
"What?"
Snape's brow furrowed, doubt written on his face.
"Duncan has love, in all its forms," Dumbledore said, his gaze drifting to the window, where the stars glittered on the black curtain of night.
"He has family who love him, and friends he loves.
The power of family and friendship exceeds any kind of magic.
It can keep him steadfast in himself as he seeks strength, so he will not succumb to the allure of Dark magic and lose himself completely."
Snape looked at Dumbledore in silence for a long time.
His lips curled in a mocking smile.
"If you ask me, that is a laughable reason..."
Dumbledore turned his head to look at Snape and said with a smile, "Do you truly think so, Severus?"
Snape gave a cold snort and did not answer.
He wheeled round; his robes snapped in the air with a whip-like crack.
"Oh, Severus—your Defence Against the Dark Arts class is going well, only... could your methods be a bit gentler?" Dumbledore said, rubbing his forehead in vexation.
"You've only taught for a few days and I've already received several letters of complaint from parents.
I'm fretting over how to reply to them!"
"That is your problem," Snape replied icily without the slightest courtesy.
"I am only responsible for teaching, and for whether they can learn."
With that, Snape strode out of the office in a few long steps, and with a bang the door was shut again.
Dumbledore muttered under his breath, "Can these people not spare a little thought for an old man like me?
How did I end up with staff like this..."
While Snape and Dumbledore were conversing, in the kitchens on the castle's basement level at Hogwarts—
Fred downed a brimming cup of drink in one go, burped, raised his cup high, and said, "So good!
Another, please!"
A crowd of House-Elves clustered round Fred, eyes wide with nerves, each holding some kind of food.
One House-Elf, carrying a bottle of drink, heard Fred's words, cast a smug glance at the other elves, then stepped respectfully to Fred's side.
As it filled his cup, it said, "So long as you like it, Mr Fred Weasley, sir.
Kosso has prepared lots of drinks.
You may have as much as you want."
"That's enough, that's enough—any more and my belly will burst!"
Fred burped again and again, rubbed his round belly, and smiled in satisfaction.
"You two are eating so much—aren't you afraid you won't be able to sleep later?" Duncan sipped hot tea and nibbled a crisp biscuit, arching an eyebrow at the pair.
"Not even close!"
George took a ferocious bite of his meat pie and chewed in great gulps, speaking indistinctly.
"I feel my stomach could still fit a whole cow!"
With that, George cocked his eyebrows at Fred in a provocative way, as though issuing a challenge.
"Help me up—I can still eat!"
Fred shouted at once.
Even if it was only for pride, he had to fight.
He splayed his hands, and the House-Elves surged up together, straining to heave him to his feet.
"Mr Fred Weasley is brilliant!" a House-Elf cried loudly, dabbing at tears, while the others applauded.
"You could never beat me!"
George, outrageously arrogant, seized a sausage and bit down hard.
Fred refused to be outdone; he shoved a whole pie straight into his mouth, his cheeks ballooning like balloons.
"Go, Mr George Weasley!"
"Go, Mr Fred Weasley!"
The House-Elves in the kitchens split into two camps, standing behind Fred and George respectively.
Hands on hips, they glowered at one another, cheering themselves hoarse, spittle flying; it looked as though they were on the verge of a brawl.
Duncan shook his head helplessly.
It was only a midnight snack, and these two had nearly turned it into a blood-stirring life-or-death battle.
After finishing the biscuits on his plate, Duncan took out that pale-blue magic book, wanting to see whether it recorded any other information.
But hardly had he taken it out when a House-Elf trotted over—it was Dell, whom Duncan had met earlier in the corridor.
Tilting its head, it stared fixedly, bright-eyed, at the round, orb-like motif at the top of the spine.
Its twig-like fingers reached out on instinct, as if to touch it, yet it quickly came to itself and hastily drew its hand back.
"Have you seen this motif somewhere?" Duncan asked Dell curiously.
Dell's head twitched the tiniest bit.
Then its eyes suddenly bulged to the size of fists, full of remorse and self-reproach.
"Dell is a bad elf.
Dell mustn't tell Mr Scamander.
Dell said what Dell should not have said..."
Watching Dell bang its head madly against the floor and the side table, Duncan wore a baffled expression and hurriedly reached out to stop it.
But the other House-Elves suddenly thrust themselves between them, flinging out their arms to bar him.
They spoke with anger and chill in their voices.
"Mr Scamander, sir, do not interfere.
This is punishment it must suffer for its wrongdoing!"
"Is it connected to that motif?
Who told them to keep this secret?" Duncan wondered, frowning.
He rummaged through his memory but could not find the answer.
It seemed he had overlooked—or forgotten—something important.
Fred and George also stopped their eating contest, turned curious eyes over, and blinked rapidly.
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