~Written for the QLFC, Season 5, Round 12~

Position: Seeker

Position Prompt: You'll be writing about two characters in a competitive/rival relationship (positive or negative)

Pairing: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore

Title: Place Your Bets

Word Count: 1084

Beta(s): CUtopia, silently-at-night, RawMaterial

Chapter 13: Place Your Bets

A hush fell over the Transfiguration classroom. Minerva could almost hear the bated breath. Eyes widening as heads turned towards the two boys shooting daggers at one another across the room. It was perhaps a good thing that third years lacked the capacity for using wandless magic with any real skill, for otherwise, Minerva considered she would likely have a pair of dead bodies on her hands.

"Potter," she said curtly, and a second later, "Malfoy."

No response. Eyes still stared, heads still turned. Granger looked to be turning blue for how she held her breath. And the boys… yes, they definitely would have killed one another by now.

"Potter," Minerva snapped again. "Malfoy. Detention with me tonight."

That got their attention. Glaring eyes swung towards Minerva and she met them both with a shrewd stare of her own. Potter, so like his father, seemed to be all but trembling in place from frustration, while Malfoy, ever the presumptuous pureblood, seemed uncertain whether he was to flush in fury or pale at the thought of what a detention notice to his family would look like.

It serves them both right, of course, Minerva thought to herself as a professor should never admit to thinking. They're both as bad as one another. And to think that one of them is in my House…

Underlying her indignation, however, was a flicker of triumph. The barest candle of victory that was rapidly growing in brightness. A darting glance towards the clock hanging from the back wall, and it was almost a struggle for Minerva to withhold a smile.

That wouldn't do. Not at all. Detentions were supposed to be serious, but this…

Victory certainly did taste sweet.

Remarkably – and yet not unexpectedly, for when the first volatile explosion between Potter and Malfoy had passed, the rest of the class was usually barely short of sedate – third year Transfiguration passed without another hitch. Minerva maintained her schooled facade, eyeing her students as she shunted parchments and quills into their bags before scurrying from the room. The two boys in question were hastening in their own retreat, still shooting deathly glares at one another, but they dutifully ground to a halt with a word.

"Potter. Malfoy. Detention in my office at seven o'clock this evening. Do I make myself clear?"

Potter's eyes narrowed. Malfoy's nose tipped into the air.

"I said, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Potter murmured in what Minerva could almost swear was his father's voice. Malfoy was a split second behind and hissed out his own compliance.

And then they were gone. The doorway stood empty behind them, and Minerva sat at her desk with her hands folded and back straight. In the emptiness of her classroom, she finally let her smile spread.

The Headmaster's Office was an oddity-and-a-half, Minerva had always thought. First of all, it was round, which made no sense in terms of making the most of the wall space. For another, Albus had cluttered it with so many miscellaneous artefacts that the air positively thrummed with vibrating magic. And that was to say nothing of the Headmaster himself where he sat behind his wide spread of a desk, smiling benignly, expectantly, for whomever might step through the door.

To any other adult witch or wizard, the sheer force thrumming through the room might be overwhelming, but not Minerva. She'd visited far too often to allow it to faze her. Intimidation was even more sparsely spread with triumph riding upon her shoulders.

She stepped inside the doorway, expression carefully serene, and made a show of closing the heavy door behind her. Albus watched her. She made a further show of crossing the room in slow, long strides, and Albus watched her still. When she paused just before his desk, it was to peer down at his old, wrinkled face, the smile lines all but swallowing the years of frowning. She met his gaze.

That was when she let her smile spread once more.

Albus' eyes sparkled as he sat back in his chair. His elbows propped upon the arms of his chair, fingers steepled together beneath his chin. "Ah. I see."

"Yes."

"I take it you won?"

"By a landslide, Albus. You always underestimate them."

Albus cocked his head, his lips quivering slightly with the beginnings of his own smile. "By how grossly did I err this time?"

Minera planted a hand upon the desk before her. "Three minutes and thirteen seconds."

Albus' lips trembled. "Surely not."

"Would you care to have a peek at the memory."

"No, surely not. I have more faith in the young minds of the upcoming generation." As Minerva raised her eyebrows, he finally broke fully into a smile, chuckling with a crinkle of his eyes. "Three minutes?"

"And thirteen seconds, yes."

Albus shook his head. "Will they ever learn, do you think?"

Minerva raised a hand in a vague gesture. "Do you want them to? Don't lie to me, Albus. I know you get your entertainment from such speculations."

Albus chuckled again. "You know me too well, my dear."

For a beat, Minerva stood expectantly. She waited. Albus waited in turn. She quirked an eyebrow, and then… "Do I truly have to ask, Albus?" She held her open palm before herself. "If you would?"

The tug of a drawer opening. The tinkle of a galleon-laden sack. Minerva's hand dipped as Albus placed the winnings in her palm. She curled her fingers and nodded her satisfaction.

"Learn for future reference, Albus," she said. "As their professor, I know best. And I am telling you: so long as Potter and Malfoy have a say in the matter, they will always be at one another's throats."

"How delightful," Albus said, smile stretching wider.

"For me?" Minerva jiggled the sack in her hand. "Certainly." Then she turned on her heel and strode in long steps from the room, just as she had countless times before.

It might be cruel, yes. It might even be morally wrong. For Minerva, it was no secret that Albus kept their little bets solely between themselves. But…

The life of a professor with a motley crew of gnashing pupils constantly at war with one another had to have some perks. Right?