Outside the Great Hall.
Several Hufflepuffs were peeling pomegranates. There weren't many fruits to eat in the winter, and their magic wasn't yet strong enough to grow crops out of season.
Hufflepuffs might not be overly concerned with many things, but when it came to food, they were very particular.
You eat what you're capable of earning.
Take now, for example—if you wanted to eat fruit in this frigid winter, you had two options: buy it or grow it yourself.
Hufflepuff students didn't have much pocket money and mostly spent it at Honeydukes. Buying fruit wasn't really in their budget.
But growing it? That, they were interested in.
Only at this moment, the pomegranates in their hands were forgotten. They stared, dumbfounded, at the house point hourglasses mounted on the wall.
The Gryffindor one fluctuated wildly—points adding, subtracting, then adding again, then subtracting—over and over in mere seconds.
After several minutes, the nerve-wracking fluctuation stopped, and the final tally landed exactly where it had started.
"What's going on with Gryffindor?" someone asked, puzzled.
Such erratic shifts were not normal—watching it even gave them eye twitches.
"Isn't Professor Snape in a foul mood lately?" a Hufflepuff whispered cautiously, looking around furtively.
Another chimed in, "When is Snape not in a foul mood?"
"Maybe it's worse these days," the first Hufflepuff continued. "Sitting in his office, bored—he's taking points from Gryffindor for fun?"
As ridiculous as it sounded, it was exactly the sort of thing Professor Snape would do.
Well, at least Gryffindor's score hadn't actually changed, and Professor Snape had vented whatever was bothering him.
—
In the Headmaster's Office.
The very same Professor Snape, now accused of venting through the hourglass, coldly announced,
"Gryffindor, minus twenty points."
He didn't even bother providing a reason anymore.
Dumbledore sighed helplessly, "Plus twenty to Gryffindor. Severus, I think we should pause this rather childish game."
"You're the one being childish, Albus," Snape retorted, shaking his head and counting on his fingers. "Minus five more for Gryffindor."
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, clearly about to undo the deduction again.
But Snape beat him to it:
"Don't bother. As of this moment, Gryffindor's points are exactly where they were at the start."
"Really?" Dumbledore pushed his glasses up.
Snape nodded. Harry, sitting nearby, also nodded.
Magic was emotional and intuitive—most wizards weren't very good at logic. That was evident in their everyday lives—particularly in math. Snape was one of the rare exceptions. He was excellent with logic, even enjoyed it. The logic puzzle protecting the Philosopher's Stone back in first year had been his idea.
Of course, Voldemort was another exception. Even when not entirely sane, such riddles were no challenge for him.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, was famously bad at math. Yet time had given him wisdom, and he painstakingly recalculated the points—reviewing his memories like a Pensieve reel.
"Exactly the same," he admitted, tugging at his beard once his math caught up.
Snape smirked, "Albus, doubting my mind is the most ridiculous thing you've ever done."
Dumbledore blinked innocently.
Then Snape looked up and spoke calmly:
"Professor Dumbledore, I regret to inform you I'll need to take leave for a few days. Something has come up."
"It could be a few days, or more than a week."
"You'll need to find a substitute."
Dumbledore frowned.
"My dear Severus, this troubles me greatly. But since the request comes from you, I suppose I have no choice but to approve it. Do you have any suggestions for a substitute?"
Snape didn't reply.
Harry spoke up:
"You could ask Uncle Remus. He's not a werewolf anymore, and the students won't have any objections."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Albus," Harry continued, "when you go traveling, you should bring Geralt along. He's as sharp as me—maybe even sharper. He'll spot things your brain can't even imagine."
Dumbledore replied merrily, "A fine suggestion."
—
When the new week began, the young witches and wizards discovered Hogwarts had prepared a surprise early Christmas gift.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts class, they found no sign of the skeletal face of Professor Snape.
Instead, a familiar figure stood before them—
Professor Lupin!
Of the six professors they'd had over the years, he was unanimously regarded as the best.
Though...
This version of Lupin was slightly unfamiliar.
Gone was the poor, sickly, frail look. Gone the unkempt, tangled hair. Now, Lupin stood tall, wearing crisp, ice-blue robes that suited his fair skin. His hair was neatly combed. His build was fuller, more solid. His face was ruddy.
The only thing left was the thick dark circles under his eyes.
"Professor Black?" someone asked hesitantly.
Lupin had never been one to dress up.
Only when Sirius Black used Polyjuice Potion to impersonate him did Lupin ever appear this put-together.
Now...
That familiar vibe returned, raising inevitable suspicion.
"Padfoot?" Lupin smiled.
"You think he's pretending to be me again?"
"Of course it's me—Remus Lupin."
The moment he spoke, the students recognized the warm tone and gentle demeanor—this was the real Professor Lupin.
Cheers broke out across the classroom.
"Professor, did something happen to Professor Snape? Are you taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts now?" a hopeful Gryffindor asked eagerly.
Lupin whistled.
"Still not too fond of Professor Snape, are we?"
"But I'm sorry to disappoint you. Nothing's happened to him. He's safe and healthy—just busy with potion master duties that can't be delayed."
"I'll be substituting until the Christmas holidays."
A collective groan followed.
"Only until Christmas?"
It sounded like a lot—until they remembered it was already December. That meant barely ten days. Not nearly long enough.
"Alright," Lupin clapped his hands.
"I've reviewed your curriculum."
"Professor Snape is truly an outstanding Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His lesson plans are far beyond what I'd manage."
"But I have a slightly different perspective on the subject."
"Now, let's begin."
With a wave of his wand, the dim dungeon classroom lit up brightly.
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Powerstones?
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