Coreal
patreon
[Hogwarts] Ch 150: The Scheming Snape
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 18:47:28 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
"A fight?"
Everyone stared at Tom like he'd lost his mind.
Even a one-on-one duel was considered a serious violation of school rules. Last year, when Draco and Harry brawled, both houses suffered for weeks.
And now he was suggesting an all-out brawl between two full Quidditch teams? The heads of house would probably explode on the spot.
"R-Riddle, do you have any other ideas?" Flint tried to keep his voice tough, even though he was secretly wavering. "We're talking about fighting a bunch of women and idiots. What if we hurt one of them? Are we supposed to pay for damages? I'm not doing anything that costs me money."
Wood shot back immediately, "What, a gorilla with a stick thinks he's a wizard now? Anyone who's passed Care of Magical Creatures could handle you."
"Say that again?"
"Gladly—G.O.R.I.L.L.A. Do you understand human letters?"
"Ahem..."
Tom sighed. "Well, if you won't go for that, we'll just have to try something else. Let Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape duel. This mess started because of them, so whoever wins gets the right to decide whose permission slip is valid."
Everyone stared at him like he'd just suggested they summon Voldemort to be the DADA teacher.
Even Daphne thought this one was too ridiculous. She tugged on the boy's sleeve in warning, but it was already too late.
Tom raised his wand and sent two sharp bangs into the sky. Two birds burst from the tip and soared toward the castle.
"Tom…" Draco swallowed. "What did you just do?"
"Oh, just invited the professors to join us."
The Slytherins just looked resigned. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, shivered.
Their head of house wasn't anything like Snape—who could ignore right and wrong entirely if it suited him. McGonagall, once riled, would never let them off without a thorough verbal flaying.
But Tom had already summoned them. Staying now would be awkward, but leaving was worse. They could only stand there in tense silence, waiting.
The Weasley twins sent Tom twin looks of deep betrayal. "We ate meals together, you traitor."
...
It didn't even take ten minutes before both heads of house stormed onto the Quidditch pitch, faces set in stone.
Professor McGonagall had clearly come straight from bed—she hadn't even put on her pointed hat. "What on earth is going on? I allowed you to use the pitch for training, not brawling!"
"Technically, we haven't started yet," Tom pointed out.
"Mr. Riddle, I am aware," McGonagall said sharply, giving him a glare. "Since you want to explain, start from the beginning."
Tom shrugged. "It's simple. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor had signed notes for today's pitch time. Neither team wanted to give way. So I suggested—either they duel to decide, or you two duel to decide whose note counts."
"Ridiculous!" McGonagall looked like she'd misheard. "It's just pitch time! You could've each taken half the day. How does this escalate into a wizard duel?"
"Dueling is not a game. If someone got hurt, who would take responsibility?"
The twins glanced at Hermione, then at each other, barely suppressing their laughter. 'Mini McGonagall' — Hermione's solution was word-for-word the same as her professor's.
"That's very wise, Professor," Snape said in a drawl, his voice stretched in that special, loaded way he used when he was about to stir the pot.
McGonagall's eyes narrowed.
Snape went on, "I don't know how you came up with such an idea, Riddle. Yes, I could heal any physical injuries easily enough, but what about the psychological trauma my Gryffindor colleagues' students would suffer?"
McGonagall's face froze.
What was that supposed to mean?
Psychological trauma? So, in his mind, her students were just victims waiting to be beaten senseless by his?
She found the whole hint distasteful, but the hotheaded Gryffindor team went from bristling to fully enraged.
Fred snapped, "Professor Snape, maybe you should worry about your own lot. I'd hate to see your little darlings run home to cry to mummy."
"Ah, yes, yes," Snape replied lazily. "Anyway, I admire your courage. Riddle, next time, don't drag the teachers into every petty quarrel. As if this was ever going to turn into a real fight."
"Professor McGonagall, why don't we give Gryffindor the morning, and Slytherin can train in the afternoon? Sound fair? That way, the Gryffindor team will be safe."
"No way!" Angelina Johnson shoved past Wood. "We want the pitch for the whole day! Duel! We duel now!"
Tom spread his hands. "Professor, looks like your kind words aren't appreciated."
"Indeed," Snape sighed dramatically.
McGonagall drew in a deep breath. "Severus, this is our fault. We should've coordinated in advance and avoided the clash."
"But since the students won't listen, let's just let them settle it themselves. We'll act as referees to make sure no one gets seriously hurt."
The old Gryffindor fire was blazing again. All that maturity and composure she usually showed? That was just decades of discipline. Deep down, she was still the same young Gryffindor who once broke ribs and got a concussion in a Quidditch match.
"If you insist," Snape said reluctantly. "Seven players each. Best of seven rounds. First to four wins gets the pitch for the whole day."
No one objected. Both teams glared murderously at each other as the Quidditch pitch transformed into a dueling arena. The only spectators were Tom, the Greengrass sisters, Hermione, and Colin.
Oh, and Usaki, the Rayquaza, who had apparently shown up just to watch. The moment Colin saw it, he turned his camera on Tom instead. Tom obligingly threw him a Muggle signature hand sign.
The flash never stopped. Tom figured Colin probably spent every knut of pocket money on photographic film.
"You totally did that on purpose. I saw you winking at Snape," Hermione accused, giving him a little shoulder-bump.
"Of course," Tom said cheerfully. "Nice to have some entertainment in the morning. Wizards use wands to settle things anyway. Trust me— even if this got resolved peacefully, next time they meet in a match, both sides will go for blood."
Hermione couldn't really argue. Last year the two teams had nearly beaten each other into the hospital wing. If Harry hadn't caught the Snitch almost instantly, someone would've been carried off the field.
"So you're that sure Slytherin will win?" she asked, bristling.
Tom didn't answer. Daphne smirked instead. "Well, well. With the Gryffindor lineup, even if Merlin himself blessed them, they wouldn't win."
"Wood and Johnson are top students, and the twins know loads of spells. Slytherin is way too arrogant."
Tom and Daphne exchanged a look and a knowing smile. They didn't bother to argue.
Naïve little Gryffindor. She'd understand once she saw how this played out.
The rules were explained quickly, and the first duel began almost immediately.
As captains, Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood stepped forward to fight first. Wood opened with an attack spell—but didn't notice Flint already murmuring a Shield Charm as he bowed. When his spell bounced harmlessly away, Wood froze.
What now?
The other guy had a shield. Was he supposed to just keep blasting away?
Wood's mind went blank. Flint didn't give him a chance to recover, barking out two of his best spells in quick succession.
Wood's legs started jerking into an uncontrollable tap dance, and then—just like that—an invisible rope yanked tight around his throat and slammed him to the ground.
Flint strolled over, snatched his wand, waved it mockingly in the air, then tossed it to the floor.
"Oh, boy! That was quick," Snape said in a tone of feigned surprise.
Professor McGonagall's face was thunderous as she canceled the spells. Wood coughed, scrambled up, and slunk back to Harry's side with his head down. If there had been a crack in the floor, he would have gladly crawled into it.
"Oliver, I'll avenge you," Angelina Johnson declared, striding out with confidence.
She had a plan. Reality, however, had other ideas.
Bletchley was a seventh-year who'd even challenged the Shadow Prefect last term. He'd lost, sure, but still—he wasn't someone to underestimate. Angelina had no real dueling experience, and Bletchley disarmed her in no time.
Two losses in a row. The Gryffindors were starting to get a bad feeling about this.
They'd clashed with Slytherin plenty before, but never in a straight-up duel. How could they be losing this badly?
"We've got this," Fred and George said, stepping in before the two remaining girls could volunteer.
But it turned out, gender didn't make a bit of difference. The twins were brilliant with tricks and ambushes—no one could touch them in a prank war. But face-to-face, without the element of surprise, they went down fast.
McGonagall's face was… remarkable. She could've opened a dye shop with the range of colors on display. Four duels, four losses. Humiliation didn't even begin to cover it—it was worse than losing a hundred House points and three Quidditch matches combined.
"Looks like we're having a good day," Snape said, his usual gloom gone, cheeks flushed with satisfaction. "Flint, well done. Remember—they are classmates, so try to go easy on them."
McGonagall felt that jab like a knife to the heart.
"Well? Don't just stand around wasting other people's training time. Back to the castle—all of you. And finish your homework while you're at it!" she barked.
The Gryffindors trudged out, heads low. Even the twins had lost their grins.
"Potter," Draco murmured as Harry passed him, "lucky you didn't have to fight, or I'd have pounded you into the floor."
"Tough words from someone who runs from a duel," Harry shot back. Draco's smirk faltered, and Harry felt just a little better as he caught up with the others.
"Severus, your students did well," McGonagall said stiffly. She offered the compliment out of sheer politeness, then turned and left. From behind, her retreat looked almost… sad.
She could live with mischievous students. She could live with slow learners. Differences in ability were a fact of life—no teacher expected every child to be exceptional.
But Wood, Johnson, the Weasley twins—were they really slow learners? Of course not. Aside from a handful like Percy, they were the cream of Gryffindor's crop. And still, they'd been trounced without even putting up a real fight.
Was this proof that her teaching was weaker than Snape's?
"Professor McGonagall…" Hermione's chest ached just watching her leave.
"Hermione, this might actually be a good thing," Tom said quietly. He hadn't expected the result to be this one-sided. He'd figured Gryffindor might at least scrape out a win on individual talent.
But since he'd stirred this mess up, he might as well be the one to comfort the little witch before she started crying.
"McGonagall's teaching is top-notch," he told her gently. "The problem is, she's too protective. Think about it—since you started last year, have you ever seen the students get any real combat practice?"
Hermione shook her head.
Not only real combat—at Hogwarts, the places where you could even legally cast spells were few and far between. Most students only crammed before exams, just enough to scrape a pass.
"Slytherin's different," Tom went on. "Snape doesn't bother with day-to-day House business anymore. If you want a higher standing here, you have to prove your worth—with skill or talent."
"The gap between your Houses isn't as huge as it looked today. It's mostly experience. Flint's been training as Avery's sparring partner for a year now. Even an idiot could figure out a personal fighting style in that time."
"And Wood and the others? Calling them 'academic duelists' would be generous—they've got no real dueling strategy at all. They just fling spells and hope for the best."
Hermione fell silent, frowning in thought.
Daphne had already lost interest in the topic and wandered off to find Colin, asking for an extra print of the photo he'd just taken of Usaki.
.
.
.
