Late at night, the Slytherin common room was still brightly lit. The little snakes huddled together, their faces etched with worry as they discussed the state of the House Cup. For years, Slytherin had dominated the competition, often leading from the very start of the school year. But this year was different—Hufflepuff was ahead, and their lead seemed to be holding. The thought of not winning the cup sent a ripple of unease through the group.
"What if we don't win the House Cup this year?" one snake whispered. "How could we face our parents after always bragging about Slytherin's victories? If this gets into Hogwarts, A History, we'll be a laughingstock!"
The others nodded, their expressions a mix of frustration and embarrassment. It was unthinkable—the idea that Slytherin, the house of ambition and cunning, might be overshadowed by Hufflepuff. The very thought made them want to crawl into a hole.
Their unease only deepened when they considered their Head of House, Professor Snape. In past years, Snape had been relentless in his pursuit of the House Cup. He'd brewed special potions for them, found every opportunity to deduct points from other houses, and made sure Slytherin stayed on top. But lately, Snape's behavior had changed. He was rarely seen after class, and during lessons, he no longer seemed to target Hufflepuff with his usual vigor.
"Does anyone know what's going on?" a younger snake asked hesitantly.
Another piped up, "I was out late one night and saw Char Sprout and Professor Snape together. It looked like Char was helping the Head of House with something."
The room erupted in gasps and murmurs. The little snakes exchanged wide-eyed glances. "That can't be right," someone protested. "Why would the Head of House let a Hufflepuff help him?"
Malfoy, lounging in a corner, scoffed loudly. "Don't be ridiculous! The Head of House would never go easy on Hufflepuff just because of Char Sprout. Have you all been swimming in the Black Lake too much?"
He leaned forward, his voice dripping with confidence. "Think about wizard chess. When a master plays, they always plan several moves ahead. The Head of House is probably setting up a big play. When he's ready, he'll strike—maybe even get Char Sprout expelled. Not even Professor Sprout will be able to stop him!"
The little snakes considered this, some nodding along. But doubt lingered in the air. "What if it's not like that?" one asked timidly.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It's simple. My father is friends with the Head of House. If there's anything important, Snape will tell me. I'll go ask him myself."
With that, Malfoy stood up, his chin lifted in self-importance, and strode out of the common room toward Snape's office.
Meanwhile, in Snape's dimly lit office, the Potions Master was in a foul mood. The basket of Flobberworms on his desk was a reminder of the tedious work ahead. Flobberworm slime was a staple ingredient in many potions, but it had to be processed fresh and couldn't be stored for more than a week. With Char on leave, Snape was forced to handle the task himself—a chore he'd grown unaccustomed to since Char had taken over.
"Damn that Char Sprout," Snape muttered, scowling at the wriggling creatures. "Why did he have to take leave now?"
He was at a critical point in his potions research, and every moment spent on menial tasks was a moment stolen from his work. Since Char had become his assistant, Snape had rediscovered the joy of uninterrupted study. Now, faced with the prospect of returning to the grind, he was more irritable than usual.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted his brooding. Snape's eyes flashed with anger. "Who dares disturb me at this hour?" he growled. "If this is a student prank, I'll deduct fifty points from their house!"
He flung the door open—and was met with the sight of Char, looking earnest and slightly apologetic.
Snape blinked. "Didn't you ask for leave?"
Char nodded. "I took yesterday off, Professor. It's past midnight now, so I thought I should come back to work."
His eyes flicked to the basket of Flobberworms, and a spark of anticipation lit his face. These creatures were more than just a chore—they were a chance to train his magical perception, to edge closer to that silver-level breakthrough.
"Professor, let me handle all the Flobberworms," Char said eagerly. "And the porcupine quills, too. I'll get through two days' worth tonight. You shouldn't have to waste your time on this."
Without waiting for a response, Char picked up the heavy pot of Flobberworms and the basket of quills, his movements steady and confident.
Snape watched, his expression as unreadable as ever. But deep down, a flicker of relief and even gratitude stirred. As a potions assistant, Char was efficient, reliable, and—most importantly—willing to take on the tasks Snape found most tedious.
After a moment of silence, Snape spoke, his voice gruff but less harsh than usual. "What spell did Professor Flitwick create for you?"
Char demonstrated the Frequency Light Spell, the wand tip glowing with shifting colors. Snape's brows furrowed as he watched, his lips twisting in disapproval. "How stingy. Just a variation of the Lumos charm. I thought it would be at least something useful in combat."
A thought crossed his mind: perhaps he could modify the spell himself, create something more potent for someone with Char's dedication. Not that he owed the boy anything, of course. He just didn't like being in anyone's debt.
Char, meanwhile, was already gathering the materials, ready to head to the Potions classroom. "Professor, I won't bother you any longer."
As Char turned to leave, Snape hesitated, then spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Since you are serious and diligent in your work… one point for Hufflepuff."
Char's eyes widened in shock. Snape, giving him points? For Hufflepuff? He nearly dropped the basins in surprise. Before he could respond, Snape closed the door, leaving Char standing in the corridor, a small smile tugging at his lips.
It seemed that, as long as Snape wasn't dealing with Harry Potter, he wasn't entirely unreasonable. Maybe there was hope for Hufflepuff's House Cup dreams after all.
Char adjusted his grip on the basins and set off for the Potions classroom, his mind already focused on the work ahead. Every bit of progress, every point earned, brought him closer to his goals.
Behind a corner in the dimly lit corridor, Malfoy stood frozen, his face a mask of confusion and disbelief. "What did I just… hear?" he whispered to himself. "The Head of House gave extra points to that Hufflepuff?!"
His mind reeled. All his theories about Snape's grand strategy, about a masterstroke against Hufflepuff, crumbled in an instant. One thought burned in his mind: danger. The little badgers weren't as harmless as they seemed. Char Sprout had infiltrated the heart of Slytherin's power—and now, it seemed, he was stealing points right out from under their noses.
Malfoy felt dizzy, his world turned upside down. The only thing he knew for certain was that the House Cup was no longer a sure thing.