Hello friends! It's been a while since the last time I've published something here. I hope I can still write fanfictions right. Enjoy!

I don not own Harry Potter nor anything related.

Part 1

The staff room was wrapped in the flickering, golden candlelight. The trembling flames didn't seem to mind the people crowding the room, chatting among themselves.

To an outsider the atmosphere that evening wouldn't have seemed strange at all, but that was not a regular end-of-term party. Someone who had attended many celebrations of that kind, who had seen many times the House Cup been raised by many different hands over the years, who had seen the other teachers patting the winner on the shoulder smiling and laughing and toasting, that someone would have certainly notice that this year something was amiss. This year the winner had yet to been seen. Along with the cup. This year the conversations were quiet, the tones gloomy. Strange. Curious. And where was the Headmaster? Albus Dumbledore used to celebrate with his teachers and... yes, he used to lift his elbow a bit, but after all it was a party, wasn't it?

The bottle of sherry, after a first round, had been abandoned on the table, neglected by everyone; thing which favoured the only person in the room seemingly oblivious to the topic of so much clamour. Professor Trelawney kept pouring liquor in her glass as she stared her colleagues with eyes wide open not actually following their conversations.

"Where is she?"

"Unwonted… unwonted…"

"Have you seen Snape's face?"

"Well, it was time for someone else to win..."

"Those points were well deserved"

"The Headmaster has a screw loose…"

"He did the right thing, let me tell you"

"But those poor kids..."

Professor Pomona Sprout was among those shaking their heads in dissent and did not seem particularly in a good mood this evening , as she usually was. What could make the sweet Head of Hufflepuff so sour?

Pomona got up from her chair and took the sherry from Professor Trelawney's hands. Without ceremony.

"Do not monopolize alcohol, Sibyll", she reprimanded her while pouring herself a generous shot under the astonished eyes of Sibyll Trelawney whose hand was still raised, fingers clinging around an invisible bottle.

In that moment the door opened, attracting Professor Sprout 's attention.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, entered the room, the House Cup in her hands. She didn't seem very happy, though. She seemed... troubled .

"Oh Minerva!" Professor Sinistra said.

"Hurray to the winner!" Professor Vector said and was about to hug her, but McGonagall raised her hand to stop her as she placed the heavy cup on the table with a sigh.

Little Professor Flitwick, who had hitherto remained silent in his armchair by the window, jumped down and approached McGonagall.

"How did it go with Albus?" he asked curiously.

Minerva took a deep breath: "Honestly , I thought it would have been worse", she admitted. Whereupon the others started talking over each other.

"Calm down, professors, please", Flitwick tried to called them back to order.

"I guess the Headmaster won't join us this evening," said Professor Vector.

Miner nodded: "You guess well, Septima".

Sprout grumbled. "Coward," she said, "There are many things I would like to tell him..."

"Pomona!" Professor Flitwick scolded her, stunned by his colleague's behaviour.

"Yes, Pomona, I know," McGonagall said instead, sympathetically. Then she glanced quickly around the room and asked: "Severus?"

The other teachers looked at each other for a moment, then Professor Sinistra said: "We haven't seen him yet ," she said and shook her head. And they wouldn't see him at all this evening, she thought, but didn't say it.

Madam Hooch then interjected: "He flew from the Great Hall like he was chased down by a bludger."

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, shrugged: "No wonder he didn't' show up... he was livid", she said.

"And rightly so!" Flitwick spoke up vigorously, "Had the Headmaster played such a joke to Ravenclaw I would be livid as well!" he said harshly. "I never, never would have expected such a low blow from Albus."

"What has the old owl to say for himself?" Pomona asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest .

Minerva spread her arms as if to say: If you don't like what he has to say, bear in mind he's Albus Dumbledore. He's as dull as a piece of wood sometimes, but that was not what she said, what she said was instead: "He's firmly positive that those kids deserved the points he awarded them. He kept insisting he wanted to surprise Potter and his friends , to reward their courage. However he understands he can't make some students happy at the expense of others, and got to the conclusion that giving all those points to Gryffindor when the Great Hall had already been decorated with the colours of Slytherin a few seconds before assigning the House Cup was not… pretty."

"Let's say it was a really stinking thing to do", said Professor Sprout. Minerva gave her a reproachful look. Filius Flitwick looked at the Herbology teacher as if wondering who that person was and what had they done with Pomona Sprout.

"So he admitted his fault", Madam Pomfrey prompted Minerva to continue.

"Yes, he admitted he has done great injustice to the Slytherins. Honestly, though, I don't think he realized what he had done until he saw Severus' reaction. I think that was what led him to question the goodness of his 'surprise'".

"He should go down to the dungeons and apology to the Slytherins", said Pomona, "and not only them. Because, if he didn't noticed, he slammed my Badgers in last place like they were dust to hide underneath the mat!" she said passionately . "The kids, all of them, work hard all year, follow the rules, they study to get points to prove their House has the best students... what's the point if the Headmaster can change the ranking as he pleases at the last minute?" Sprout was really tearing her hair out this evening. She didn't like injustices, whether to her Hufflepuffs or anyone else, she had a nice word for every student in the school and was very protective especially of the first years. As a Hufflepuff she respected hard work and thought it should always be rewarded and looked upon. Most importantly, she cherished fairness and there was nothing fair about the Headmaster's behaviour in her opinion.

Minerva sit down heavily on the nearest armchair. She massaged her forehead wearily. "I know Pomona, I know. You are right", she said, "and I have to apologize to you, and to you Filius". The two professors looked baffled at each other. "I was ecstatic. I was over the moon when I saw my Gryffindors jumping in first position. I didn't realize what it meant to the other kids."

Professor Sprout's face softened in a second: "Minerva," she said approaching McGonagall and placing a chubby hand on her shoulder, "don't blame yourself. Your reaction was understandable. No need for apologies."

Minerva looked at the cup on the table and thought of everything it brought along. Memories. Memories of arguments, celebrations, fights, rivalry, friendship… camaraderie. At that very time though, it was the most vapid object of the world. At that very time it represented everything wrong about the Houses of Hogwarts. And she, Minerva McGonagall, so caught in her enthusiasm for her House had put one over their historical rivals; she who already foretold the moment in which she would have slammed the cup in the face of Severus Snape making fun of him for that stolen victory; she hadn't realized how all those kids might have felt. Too ecstatic to notice the indignation, the incredulity, the dull expressions of the first year children (yes, because they were children, she reminded herself). Draco Malfoy almost looked like he was about to burst into tears... and he wasn't the only one. She looked at the cup. What a small, useless thing! Was that thing worth making children cry?

The Headmaster, she knew, would have not visited the dungeons this evening, nor would have he seek the Slytherin Head of House. Albus Dumbledore could lie to everyone and to himself, he was very good at that, but he couldn't escape the reality of things. He understood the wrong he had done only when he realized he had done it to Severus. She had seen the expression of deep betrayal on the face of the young Potions Master when the Great Hall had been coloured in yellow and scarlet: Snape looked like he had just been stabbed in the back. Minerva had noticed. She had seen Severus eat little or nothing at the banquet, quivering in his chair ready to jump the second his last Slytherin would have left the Great Hall. And she had seen him disappear through the side door slamming it behind his back to go join his Slytherins. Not once had he looked at the Headmaster. Minerva had seen it. And so had Albus. The Headmaster felt guilty. He would not go down to the dungeons, he would have given Severus the time to cool down before approaching him. She, however, had no intention of playing tug of war. As Head of Gryffindor she felt directly involved and directly accountable.

She stood up and with slow steps she approached the door. Everyone understood her intentions and nobody questioned her.

"I think he's still in the common room", Filius told her.

Minerva turned and smiled at him: "Oh, he can't hide from me, Filius".

Just before she could leave the staff room, though, a strange sound somewhat in between the cawing of a jackdaw and the grunting of a pig echoed in the room. Everyone turned, some surprised, some confused to the corner near the fireplace in search of the source of the mysterious hiccup: Professor Trelawney.
Sprawled on the sofa, nearly part of the pillows, glasses hanging from her nose who-knows-how tied to the bead of one of her many shawls, the Professor still clutched an empty sherry bottle in her hand and was sleeping soundly.

"Oh that woman," said McGonagall, shaking her head in reproach, "No wonder she has visions."