Chapter 57
Chapter 57
One day, Hogwarts: A History would contain the following passage:
According to those present, fifty-seven Hufflepuffs received detention that day. Their house hourglass was emptied within half a day, setting a new record low.
Suer could never have imagined that his little scheme would drag down the scores of both Hufflepuff and Slytherin.
Yes, Slytherin’s hourglass held only a tiny bit more than Hufflepuff’s empty one, and even that was thanks to their Head of House, Snape, awarding points without the slightest principle.
The other two houses watched the spectacle with great delight. A few students who particularly disliked Slytherin even came over to add a kick or two while it was down.
By the end of that day, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had reached a shared conclusion:
“Never provoke a badger that hasn’t had enough sleep!”
The whole incident had begun like this.
Fourth-year Hufflepuffs had Potions with Slytherin that day. Perhaps one young badger had not fully awakened; whatever the reason, he mismeasured an ingredient and received a thorough shower of Professor Snape’s spit.
As everyone knew, Snape generally used such occasions as an excuse to award the Slytherins in the same lesson a few extra points.
Everyone had grown accustomed to his behaviour over the years.
By custom, the little snakes would strut about after class, showing off and dancing under the Hufflepuffs’ noses. It was merely part of the routine.
They failed to notice that the young badgers were behaving rather unusually today.
A badger was a carnivorous animal. When full, it generally preferred to sleep in its burrow–no, that order was wrong.
The proper sequence was to sleep well, go out to eat, then sleep again once full.
Without enough sleep, badgers became exceptionally aggressive, regardless of whether the opponent was a snake or an animal far larger than themselves.
And snakes, after all, appeared on the diet of certain badgers.
One Slytherin student who had merely intended to follow the usual routine suffered a blow unlike anything in his dozen or so years of life.
A dinner plate smashed squarely into his face.
Look–he still had a smile on his lips as he fell.
Having witnessed the whole thing, Suer’s mouth twitched.
Whoosh!
A plate flew from the direction of the Slytherin table towards a girl sitting not far from Suer.
Suer reacted instantly and pushed the young witch aside, saving her from a disfiguring injury.
Clatter…
The plate from the Slytherin table shattered on the floor, igniting the young badgers’ fury.
“You rotten weed…” Gabriel, the prefect, tossed aside his silver fork. It struck the table with a clear clang. “Who threw that?”
The answer to the Hufflepuff prefect’s roar came in the form of a berry.
Splat.
Purple juice obeyed gravity and ran from the bridge of Gabriel’s high nose to drip upon the floor.
“Your granddad threw it! What are you going to do?” A young Slytherin stood upon his bench, looking unbearably smug.
Suer recognised him. Indeed, anyone who had watched a Slytherin Quidditch match would know him.
Marcus Flint, captain of the team and a devoted enthusiast of perfectly “reasonable” collisions during matches.
“Flint…” Gabriel ground out.
Bad blood had existed between them for some time. During one Quidditch match, Marcus had slammed his broom viciously into Gabriel. Had Gabriel reacted a little slower, he would have spent at least a fortnight in the hospital wing.
And now Marcus had humiliated him with a berry.
Eyes bloodshot, Gabriel drew his wand.
Swish, swish.
The young badgers closest to their prefect followed his lead, wands appearing in their hands.
Already in foul moods, they had been longing for a punching bag.
Marcus Flint lived up to his name. Confronted by dozens of wands, his expression did not change. He drew his own with unhurried composure. Battle stood one breath away, yet Marcus even had leisure to turn and chat with his friend.
“Look at this. Do the cowards want a magical duel?” His airy question was plainly a taunt.
Suer could not resist wondering whether the part of Marcus Flint’s brain responsible for balance and self-preservation had failed to develop properly.
“C-captain…” Marcus’s friend stared behind him, voice trembling.
A vast flood of food was surging towards them.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!”
Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall reached the scene just before Marcus drowned in food. She swept her wand through the air in fury.
Professor McGonagall’s skill admitted no doubt. One simple spell spread swiftly and precisely across both the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables.
At noon, the enraged cat’s roar nearly lifted the roof from the Great Hall.
After learning the whole story, Professor McGonagall delivered her final judgement.
“One hundred and fifty points from Hufflepuff! One hundred and fifty points from Slytherin!”
“I shall speak to Severus about what happened. Marcus Flint, you will serve detention for a month. And so will you, Gabriel Truman!”
The punishment was scrupulously fair. Both sides received an equally heavy blow.
Under Professor McGonagall’s iron fist, the incident appeared to be over.
Professor Snape, however, seemed to hold a different opinion. He deducted points from Hufflepuff in almost every lesson, stubbornly preventing their hourglass from rising above zero. He found fault with Suer several times as well and took points from him on a remarkable variety of pretexts.
Hufflepuff’s Professor Sprout was famously kind-hearted.
But, as everyone knew, few things were more frightening than a kind person driven to anger.
Several Slytherins ended up in the hospital wing because of “operational errors”. Their injuries were not serious, but the humiliation was considerable.
Rumour had it that several older students were sprayed all over by Stink Sap. Oh, that odour–a fermented blend of rotting food and excrement–was quite indescribable.
Herbology was, after all, a very dangerous subject. A few accidents were perfectly normal. Professor Sprout would ordinarily never punish students for such mishaps, but now…
One had only to look at the sparkling dust steadily draining from Slytherin’s hourglass.
Gryffindor had already climbed into second place. The world had gone mad.
The two professors had all but placed themselves openly in opposition. Hufflepuff’s young badgers and Slytherin’s little snakes began targeting each other in secret as well.
George and Fred saw a splendid business opportunity. They darted through both houses, selling joke products to students on either side.
Fights broke out from time to time in corridors and on the lawns.
The deserted trophy room on the fourth floor became the castle’s most fashionable duelling ground.
In the end, only poor Mr. Filch suffered without recompense. He was forced to run up and down the castle every day, never without a mop, cleaning the marks left by young wizards’ magical duels and practical jokes.
The frequent eruptions of magic throughout the castle–and Filch’s complaints–eventually drew Headmaster Dumbledore’s attention.
He summoned the two Heads of House. No one knew what they discussed, but for the sake of unity within the castle, the two professors shook hands and made peace before everyone at dinner.