CHAPTER 8

Harry did not even have to unfold The Daily Prophet. The front page said it all. Tentatively, he read the headlines which screamed in unmerciful capitals:

HOGWARTS TEACHERS BRAWL IN NEW HOGSMEADE KARAOKE BAR!

It was not often that Harry had felt so ashamed before. To make matters worse, there was even an animated picture of the wizard breaking up the quarrel. Snape's hair, he noted, was horribly orange indeed. He began to wish that he hadn't hexed the Potions Master in the first place. Whether he wanted to admit it or not: it was he, Harry, who had started with the hexing. One of the sentences of the article caught his eye.

Was this destructive display of temper a sign of bitter rivalry or due to a lovers' spat?

Lovers' spat? Harry choked and coughed. He and Snape had, after all, been in Wizard's Blizzards. People were bound to jump to conclusions and automatically think that they were not only both gay (he wasn't sure whether this applied to Snape) but also in a relationship. The last thought struck him as particularly dreadful. Snape leant forwards so that he could see Harry. He was very angry indeed.

"This, Potter, is all your fault!" he hissed.

"If you weren't always so rude-" Harry began, but was interrupted by an annoyed Dumbledore, who said deprecatingly:

"Now, now."

Harry slumped back into his seat. Whatever maturity he had gained with experience and adulthood tended to get lost when it came to Severus Snape. The other teachers pretended nothing had happened, although Minerva McGonagall's spectacles flashed dangerously at her two colleagues.

Needless to say, his first-year students, especially the Slytherins, were not at all discreet about his quarrel with Snape.

"I suggest that you ask Professor Snape himself – he is the head of your house, after all," Harry said crushingly to a Slytherin boy. "Any more nosy questions, and I will deduct ten points. I am sure I told you in my very first lesson that personal questions are rude."

The only consolation Harry received was the letter Hedwig had delivered to him last night, and which he had been too tired to read. It was from Ron and Hermione, saying that they were glad he had reached Hogwarts in one piece and asking him how he was and to write back telling them how his first week of teaching had been.

"Very eventful," Harry muttered, grabbing a piece of parchment and his quill. He searched for his ink bottle and summoned it with his wand when he couldn't find it. It zoomed out from underneath a pair of socks decorated with Quaffles and landed elegantly on his table. He scribbled a lengthy answer, explaining the true situation behind the quarrel between himself and the sour-tempered Potions Master – his friends must have read the article in The Daily Prophet by now. His sense of shame deepened as he tied the parchment to Hedwig's leg. He carried the owl to the window and watched her fly away, her shape silhouetted against the sky which was flushed with the glow from the setting sun.

He had just finished grading an essay when Dobby appeared in his room. Harry yelped, and a large stain appeared on the essay.

"Dobby!" He reached for his wand and erased the inkblot.

"So sorry for disturbing you, Harry Potter, but Headmaster Dumbledore requests your presence in his office immediately!" he squeaked.

Harry sighed.

"What does he say I've done again?"

Dobby shook his head dejectedly.

"He wouldn't say."

"Thanks, Dobby…Oh, and…a new sweater for you."

Dobby opened the sweater, which was bright turquoise and which Harry had bought in Hogsmeade.

"So noble," Dobby wailed, tears splashing down his front, "such a noble wizard!"

"It's only a small thing, Dobby," Harry said, turning red.

Dobby hugged the sweater to him and departed with a final flood of grateful tears.

Harry nervously made his way to Dumbledore's office, wondering if he was going to be kicked out of Hogwarts after the article; however, Snape, too, had been summoned to the office. He glared at Harry but didn't say anything.

"Puking Pastille," Harry said dispiritedly.

As soon as they were seated in Dumbledore's office, Harry blurted out:

"We didn't brawl again!"

Snape shot him a contemptuous look. Dumbledore merely smiled.

"No, of course you did not, my dear boy. This has nothing to do with a conflict or with that very interesting article in the Prophet. Rather the contrary."

Both Snape and Harry stared at him.

"I have a task for both of you," Dumbledore continued brightly. The atmosphere in the room became even tenser.

"I am going to ask you to work together on a joint project."

"There is no way that I am going to work with Potter again!" Snape spluttered, shoving back his chair. Fawkes emitted an admonishing squawk. Dumbledore raised his hand: Snape resumed his seat obediently. Harry began to cough. He had lost some colour in his cheeks.

"Cough drop, Harry?" Dumbledore asked solicitously.

"Er, no thanks, I'm okay, Albus," Harry said, reddening.

"Fine. I am going to re-establish Gilderoy Lockhart's Duelling Club, although the credit for the idea goes to you, Severus."

Snape's face remained rigid.

"Anyway, considering that both of you are very accomplished in the domain of Duelling, and since next year will be devoted to the Triwizard Tournament at Beauxbatons, it would be very good for students who are interested in the Club to practise their skills. Also, students who want to participate in the Tournament have to be members of the Club. And with Bellatrix and her gang of escapees on the loose, 'constant vigilance', to quote Alastor Moody, is an absolute must. Collaboration among teachers and students is vital."

"It will take place in France next year? Cool!" Harry exclaimed. Snape could not suppress a derisive snort.

"I think you're missing the obvious, Potter," he jeered, "besides that, only the Headmaster and the selected candidates will go to France. The rest of us will stay here. There's a school to run, in case you've forgotten."

Both Harry and Dumbledore ignored him.

"Each of you will teach one group of students separately – Ravenclaws and Gryffindors for you, Harry; Hufflepuffs and Slytherins for you, Severus."

"Good. At least I get to teach my own House," Snape remarked snidely.

"Yes, yes – we don't want another run-in between you two, do we?" Dumbledore said mildly.

Snape and Harry studied the floor with impulsive fascination.

"After half-term, a Duelling Competition will be organised – only for students who are seventeen years of age. The three best Duellists will be awarded gold, silver and bronze according to their placement. Similar competitions will be run at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang respectively. That way, we are sure that only the best candidates can participate in the Tournament. Yes, Harry, I know that you were fourteen and far from completing your Magical Education back then, but may I remind you that it was a very unusual situation?"

Harry, who had opened his mouth in protest during Dumbledore's speech, said:

"It isn't that…It's just…There'll be no more chances for the other seventeen-year-olds. It's a bit…well…unfair to them."

"They will have the chance to prove themselves in the Duelling Competition. As in the Tournament, it is central to learn how to deal with rivalry, refine one's skills and not only to win but also to lose with grace."

He looked sternly at Harry and Snape.

"Well, can I entrust you with this task?"

There was a small silence; then Harry answered determinedly:

"Yes, I will do it, even if I have to do it alone."

"Don't worry, Potter. I'll do it, Headmaster," Snape ground out reluctantly. Harry noticed that his long tapering fingers were clenched.

Dumbledore rubbed his hands merrily.

"Excellent! And please don't duel against each other again – your colleagues will be keeping an eye on the proceedings during the first few sessions. Good night, my dear boys. Thank you for taking charge of what is going to be a splendid challenge for us all. Off to bed!"

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