Yo! Thank you to all readers so far! Credit for the bet idea (what the bet was about) goes to D C JoKeR H S, who left a most hilarious review that got the bunnies moving!
It took another week before the truth of what was now simply known as The Bet, finally came to light, much to the pleasure of almost literally everyone except Severus Snape.
After a lot of begging, cajoling, threatening, questioning, and Marauderesque pranking, Harry Potter, at long last, was finally able to get his godfather to spill the beans on what had happened.
Professor Bright and Professor Black had bet on whether or not Professor Snape...ate fruits... And Professor Black was wrong. Though Professor Black claimed otherwise, Professor Snape did, in fact, eat and even enjoy fruits.
Oh, the...horror?
Professor Black still seemed rather shocked and put out over and with this entire situation and revelation.
Still, no one else was really complaining. Professor Bright made a damn good Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
And now that Harry had the answer to one of the questions that had been bothering him, he moved on to another question, one that was bothering him far more than The Bet ever did: What the fuck was wrong with that last letter he had received?
He had read it over and over again, so many times that he had even managed to memorize it (which would no doubt please Axel), and yet, no matter how many times he went over it, it continued sounding somehow off, and he still had absolutely no idea why.
Hermione had actually gone over the letter more times than Harry had over the past week, casting spell after spell on it, and even she wasn't able to figure anything out, though she too agreed that there was definitely something wrong with it.
It was an annoyingly frustrating situation, that had a surprisingly simple answer.
"Have you tried writing him back and asking him yourself?"
Harry stared at Neville, absolutely gobsmacked. That... "Neville! You amazingly wonderful genius you! If my heart didn't already belong to Aragorn, I would bloody kiss you right now! Thank you!" And with that excited exclamation, Harry ran up to the dorm.
"...Er...you're...welcome?" a furiously blushing Neville mumbled in a very late reaction. What in the world had just happened?
Meanwhile, a few floors below, Leo Bright had just finished marking homework. He returned to his private quarters, and as soon as the door was shut behind him, dropped his glamour, becoming Marvolo once more, much to his pleasure.
Just because Dumbledore (and Harry, and Hermione, and Neville, oh, and Luna too, of course) knew his true identity, didn't mean everyone else did too. Well, not yet, at any rate. But they would soon enough.
Pouring himself a drink and grabbing a book off the shelf, he settled down in an armchair, intent on having a quiet evening for once, simply wishing to get some of his own reading done.
It lasted a grand total of five minutes.
There was a popping sound, and a House-Elf suddenly appeared before him. If Marvolo had been anyone other than the Dark Lord, he would have jumped in surprise and spilled his drink all over his book. Luckily, he was the Dark Lord, so that didn't happen. Instead, he merely calmly levelled his gaze on the happy little creature standing before him.
"Yes?"
The House-Elf didn't reply. It set a torn leaf of parchment on the book in the man's lap, and then stepped back quickly, staring at him with very large eyes. With a high pitched- "Hee hee hee," and another pop, it was gone.
"You-!" But Marvolo was too slow to react, and was already alone once more, the creature long gone. Still, he had recognized that laughter immediately, and finally knew who Harry's 'super effective' spy was.
A House-Elf, eh? How unexpected. Perhaps the teen was on to something here.
Marvolo turned his attention to the torn parchment a moment later, and cautiously picked it up, figuring it must have come from Harry, considering his spy had delivered it. And, sure enough, in that familiar, terrible handwriting-
Marvolo,
This might sound a bit odd and random, and possibly even kind of idiotic, but I really need to know-did you write and send me a letter last week?
Don't use Hedwig if you're going to reply in writing, rather than in person. I have a...I guess suspicion that something's wrong, and Hermione agrees with me.
Harry
The man stared at the torn parchment, brow creased, and a frown on his pale face. "A letter?" he murmured to himself. "Last week?" He slowly sipped his drink, eyes still focused on the missive, falling deep into thought.
So much for a quiet evening of reading...
That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!
