Disclaimer: I do not make profit, I only make fun.

'Ah, yes,' he said softly, 'Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity.'

- Severus Snape, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was striding through the corridor, his beard a-flying and his eyes ablaze.

He was converging at full steam on his unsuspecting colleagues, namely Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and Snape, who were engaged in a peaceful and profitable enterprise to save time before a staff meeting. (They would re-assemble at the onset of the holidays, when the results would be tallied up.)

Honestly, they were at it for the twelfth year in a row; why should he be so incensed?

That he was warned about said enterprise by a poltergeist was in itself galling; he had been thinking hard about security measures to take this year and had almost arrived at some ingenious conclusion when the news came, and he forgot what he'd decided.

Meanwhile, there was Voldemort, who (Flamel suspected) would try to obtain the Stone at all cost. Come to think of it, why had the old goat not agreed to destroy it? They were not trained to guard and protect dangerous artefacts, they were teachers!

There was the Boy-Who-Lived, who had no idea about how the Wizarding World operated, and, more damagingly, how one Severus Snape operated, too. (If the boy got the Stone instead, it would be The Arabian Nights, culturally adjusted.)

There was Hagrid, with his unbridled enthusiasm and a full set of extremities. There was Treloni, a time-bomb full of unpleasant prophesies...

'Lemon drop!' The gargoyle was gone in a blink. Dumbledore composed himself with effort.

The Deans (at least two of them) had already moved on to a lively conversation. Raised voices met him before he even touched the door.

'And a chest-ful of Earl Grey on Weasley twins!'

'Twins? Both?' huffed Pomona.

'Let her. A chest-ful...' murmured Filius, and there was the sound of a quill on parchment.

'Add a basket of peaches on Marcus Flint,' Severus hissed.

'A basket...'

Well. He was too late, and they should be about done, anyway. Dumbledore raised his hand -

'Three highly inbred mandrakes on Benjamin Barmole.'

That floored him. By the silence inside, it floored everybody.

The scribbling resumed.

'How high is highly, Pomona? Ah. I see.'

'Ten Happy Birthday Charms on Penelope Clearwater. She will get there first.'

'Deal,' Minerva said in a weak voice. Penelope was a model student, and that was exactly what made her a credible contender.

He'd had enough. Corruption had no place in his school.

Albus Dumbledore entered his office.

'Fifty pounds of lemon drops on Harry Potter.'

Snape's eyes gleamed.

'I can give you an Unbreakable Vow, Severus, that I will not help the boy.'

Minerva bristled; Griffindor was known for playing fair. Pomona smirked perkily, will to win shining in her eyes. Filius glanced at the Headmaster and smiled, too, careful not to look at anybody. Severus Snape, Head of Slitherin (Dumbledore again wondered at the Hat's apparent mistake), seemed to be the only one to attribute the Headmaster entering 'the contest' to personal reasons and was now glaring daggers at him.

'If that is all, I would like to proceed with the agenda.' Dumbledore took out the 'Most Urgent' file, indicated that everybody sit and seated himself. 'We will have pumpkin juice in abundance...'

It looked like his problems were solvable, after all.