Charles led Draco Malfoy to Professor Snape's office.
"What are you here for?"
Snape's tone was anything but friendly, but Charles didn't mind.
For a lifelong bachelor like Severus Snape, having a bad temper was only natural.
Besides, Potions was one of Hogwarts' most demanding classes—his weekly schedule was packed from start to finish. Getting even a single quiet weekend was a luxury. So, of course, Snape wasn't thrilled to be interrupted.
"I brought Draco Malfoy here," Charles said calmly. "You're the Head of Slytherin House, so I figured you'd be the most suitable person to decide how to punish him for breaking school rules and insulting a fellow student."
Snape gave a derisive snort at that.
To him, saying a few offensive words was nothing. He'd hurled worse insults at Gryffindors during class—"idiot," "less intelligent than a troll," "typical Gryffindor nonsense"—and the list went on and on.
Especially Neville—poor Neville Longbottom had probably developed a lifelong trauma thanks to him.
"A bit of bickering between students is no big deal," Snape said curtly. "Compared to the kind of trouble you used to cause, this is nothing. Don't make a fuss."
Snape looked like he couldn't believe this nonsense. Bringing him such a trivial issue? And from Charles Gold of all people—a former Slytherin troublemaker himself!
When he used to rough up other students, did he ever talk about 'breaking school rules'? Please.
He was done with this conversation.
"If there's nothing else, get out. Don't disturb me."
"Well," Charles said, shrugging, "I guess that means you won't be punishing him, Professor Snape." He patted Draco on the head and put on a mock look of indulgence. "Lucky you. I suppose it's only fair—Professor Snape himself probably isn't unfamiliar with calling Gryffindor students from Muggle families… 'Mudbloods.'"
The moment the word left Charles's mouth, Snape's face darkened—like a thundercloud rolling in before a storm.
Charles ignored it.
"In that case, you can go, Malfoy," he said evenly. "But don't forget the questions I asked you earlier. I'll expect your answers soon."
"Yes, Professor." Draco let out a quiet sigh of relief. Just as he'd expected, there was no way his Head of House would actually punish him.
He was about to turn and leave when a sharp, furious voice cut through the air.
"Stop!" Snape hissed.
He stared down at Draco like a viper ready to strike, silent and deadly, until he was standing directly over him.
Draco trembled. Normally, this kind of venom in Snape's gaze was reserved exclusively for Harry Potter.
"Draco Malfoy," Snape said slowly. "Did you really say it? Did you really use that word?"
"Y-yes, sir…"
"How dare you—"
Snape's voice cracked. Pain twisted in his chest. That single word—Mudblood—dragged him violently back through decades of memory.
He wasn't even looking at Draco anymore. He was looking at his younger self—foolish, bitter, and full of regret.
If he could go back, he thought bitterly, he'd slap that boy across the face before the word ever left his mouth.
"Malfoy!" Snape barked. "You will apologize to the student you insulted—and you will not stop until she forgives you!"
It was interesting, really. Neither Charles nor Draco had mentioned the gender of the student. But unconsciously, Snape had said she.
"From now on," he continued, "you will clean every public lavatory in Slytherin House—and every other one in this school—until the end of term. No magic. No help. And—never let me hear that word again!"
His sudden outburst made Draco flinch. He nodded stiffly, eyes wide with fear, and fled the office.
Now only Charles and Snape remained, facing each other.
The tension in the air was thick enough to cut. Charles, ever the conversationalist, decided to ease the mood.
"So, Professor Snape," he said lightly, "didn't you just say it was a small problem? What's with the sudden emotional outburst?"
Let's just say—Charles knew how to push buttons.
"Get. Out."
Snape's voice was cold and clipped.
He didn't suspect Charles of stirring up trouble on purpose. After all, no one besides Dumbledore knew about his past. And Charles himself had once been called a "Mudblood" and had every reason to despise the word.
Still, Snape was not in the mood.
"Wait," Charles said. "I have something else to discuss."
"If it's about the potion research, there's still no result," Snape said impatiently. "These things take time."
"It's not about that," Charles said. "I want to appoint you as Slytherin's Emblem Guardian."
"Not interested."
Snape rejected the offer without even asking what it meant. He shoved Charles toward the doorway and was about to slam the door shut.
"Don't you want a Pokémon that can produce venom on command—right at your side?"
The nearly closed door stopped.
From the narrow gap, a large, hooked nose appeared.
"You have five minutes," Snape said stiffly. "Explain it, and then I'll decide."
Clearly, Snape was intrigued. But he couldn't just take back his earlier refusal—it would hurt his pride.
So, he'd pretend to listen with great reluctance, act like the offer was troublesome, and then—after some dramatic hesitation—agree. Maybe he could even get a few different Pokémon out of it.
But Charles wasn't about to play along.
Five minutes?
Oh, please.
Who did Snape think he was dealing with?
That kind of smug pride was so outdated—it was practically extinct behavior by now. And it wasn't as if only Snape could serve as Slytherin's Emblem Guardian.
"On second thought, never mind," Charles said casually. "You've got too many classes already, and you spend your weekends buried in potion research. You're clearly too busy. Besides, you don't seem all that interested. I'll just take on the role myself. Goodbye, Professor Snape."
Before Snape could react, Charles turned on his heel and walked off, leaving the professor fuming behind the cracked door.
Snape, muttering to himself: Merlin's beard… someone please understand my suffering!
Having successfully gotten under Snape's skin, Charles was in an excellent mood.
At dinner that evening, he met with the other three Heads of House to discuss the Emblem Guardian project. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout were all intrigued.
"So, you'll each come to my office to capture a Pokémon," Charles explained. "If any student challenges you and performs well, you can award them your house's badge."
Originally, Charles had wanted to assign his own Pokémon as the house guardians. But… well, some were far too strong. His Pyroar, for example, was completely unsuitable, and his Pidgeot's level was way beyond what any student could handle in a fair match.
(End of Chapter)