After the Halloween feast, the little wizards, full and happy, made their way back to their dormitories in groups. Once the students were gone, the professors also departed one by one.
In the headmaster’s office, Dumbledore looked calmly at Snape, who stood before him with a grim expression.
“Severus, what can I do for you?” Dumbledore asked, his voice gentle.
“It’s still about what happened two weeks ago, Dumbledore,” Snape said, his face emotionless as he placed a gold-framed map on the headmaster’s desk. “That Kyle Chopper selling maps at school... There should have been results by now.”
“So, that’s what this is about,” Dumbledore responded, taking a measured sip of his black tea. “May I hear your thoughts?”
“People like him, who blatantly ignore school rules, should be expelled!” Snape burst out, his tone sharp.
“That’s not a very good joke, Severus,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly. “You know that Hogwarts’ school rules do not prohibit students from selling items on campus.”
“And, as far as I understand, this particular map was originally sold by Miss Prince to Slyther…”
“That’s abetting!” Snape interrupted, his voice rising in frustration. “I investigated—Kyle gave her all the maps!”
His voice grew so loud that even the surrounding portraits, which had been pretending to sleep, couldn’t ignore the outburst. One portrait, depicting a big-nosed wizard, angrily chimed in.
“Watch your tone, young man. This is the headmaster’s office.”
Snape, however, paid the portrait no mind and pressed on. “I should have insisted that Kanna be transferred to Slytherin instead of listening to you and leaving her in Hufflepuff.”
“I think it’s for the best,” Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. “Don’t you think Kanna’s former personality was a bit too withdrawn? As the last descendant of the Prince family in the wizarding world, that’s not a good thing. And, Severus, you can’t protect her forever.”
Snape was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening before he impatiently changed the subject. “We’re discussing Kyle Chopper here. If he’s bold enough to sell a map for five galleons today, what’s next? Robbing Gringotts tomorrow? Even if he can’t be expelled, there must be some form of punishment.”
Dumbledore considered this, swirling his tea thoughtfully. “You have a point. Five galleons is a bit steep for a first-year. But tell you what—I’ll speak to the students myself. If they feel they’ve been cheated, I’ll take appropriate action.”
Snape fell silent once again. In truth, he had already asked around when he confiscated the map, and Rowle’s response at the time had been...
“Cheated? Professor, you're joking. It's only five galleons. What's the big deal?”
Even if Dumbledore went to ask the students, the answer would likely be the same. Snape knew he could easily persuade the Slytherins to change their minds and denounce Kyle in writing. But doing so would be too underhanded, even for him. He was biased, yes, but not shameless. Besides, hiding such manipulation would be difficult. If exposed, it could lead to significant trouble.
"Kyle also has problems with his character,” Snape suddenly added, his voice sharper. “I’ve observed that he's talented, but his performance in class is very average. At such a young age, he’s already so hypocritical. Aren’t you afraid he could become the next Dark Lord?”
“I would call that humility, Severus,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “It is easy for a person to shine, but much harder to restrain that light. That is a rare and valuable quality.”
“So...” Snape glared at Dumbledore. “You’re not going to punish him?”
“Not if he hasn’t made a mistake.”
“Very well!” Snape's expression darkened further. With a dramatic swirl of his robes, he turned and stormed out of the headmaster's office.
As he left, whether by accident or design, the hem of Snape’s robe flicked the portrait of the big-nosed wizard, hitting him squarely on the nose. The wizard shouted after Snape, “Come back and apologize, you impolite Slytherin brat!”
Snape ignored the outburst, but Phineas Nigellus Black, another portrait nearby, could no longer hold back. He stormed over, grabbing the big-nosed wizard by the collar. “What did you just say about Slytherin?” he demanded.
“What, do you want a fight?” the big-nosed wizard retorted angrily, punching Phineas in the face without another word.
Phineas, unwilling to back down, quickly engaged him, and the two portraits began wrestling furiously.
The other portraits, seeing the commotion, gathered around with snacks, watching the fight with interest.
“Stop fighting, you two!” one portrait called out. “You’re both grown men—why are you pulling his hair?”
“That knight over there, put away your sword!”
“Oh no, that Sir is reaching for his sword!”
“Someone fetch the hunter in the corridor, he still has his axe!”
The headmaster’s office quickly became lively, filled with shouting and laughter. More portraits crowded into their frames to watch, their collective excitement turning the room into quite the spectacle.
Behind his desk, Dumbledore cheerfully added sugar to his tea, unfazed by the scene. Fighting portraits were nothing new; it was one of their few forms of entertainment, and as long as no damage was done to the frames or canvases, he saw no reason to intervene.
However, the sudden sound of Professor McGonagall’s voice outside the door made the portraits freeze in place.
“Minister, are you here to see Albus at this hour?”
The portraits’ ears twitched, and they quickly abandoned their brawl. In a flash, they fled the headmaster’s office, with the Fat Lady and two knights dragging the bruised and battered combatants, Phineas and the Knight, away. They couldn’t be seen in their current state by the Minister of Magic—it would be a disgrace to Hogwarts.
Just then, the door to the headmaster's office swung open.
“It happened so suddenly, Minerva. There was nothing I could do,” came a low voice.
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, walked in, a strained smile on his face. “Albus, long time no see. How are you?”
“Long time no see, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said, rising to embrace him. “Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps some pumpkin juice?”
“Tea would be great,” Fudge replied, still looking a little nervous as he rubbed his bowler hat in his hands and glanced at McGonagall, who stood nearby.
Dumbledore snapped his fingers, and a steaming cup of tea appeared on the table. “Sugar?”
Fudge shook his head, sitting down. His unease was palpable, and he kept glancing at McGonagall.
Sensing that Fudge wanted to speak privately, McGonagall made her way to the door. “Albus, I’ll be off then,” she said, leaving the office.
The moment she left, Fudge leaned in closer. “Albus, I can’t hide it anymore. Those smuggled magical creatures...”
As the door closed behind her, Fudge’s voice was cut off, but Professor McGonagall could guess the reason for his late-night visit. Cornelius Fudge, like many politicians, had a habit of hiding inconvenient information until it could no longer be suppressed. Only then would he seek out Dumbledore for advice.
With a heavy sigh, McGonagall pursed her lips. Cornelius Fudge’s lack of responsibility was far worse than Millicent Bagnold’s ever had been.