Chapter - 4 Unexpected Choices: Prefects and Political Undercurrents

Act - 1

Hogwarts Express

As Lupin reached the door to the cabin and gently pushed it open, the scene inside immediately drew a soft chuckle from him. James Potter and Sirius Black were in the midst of a spirited game of Exploding Snap, the cards bursting into occasional flames that seemed to only fuel their amusement further. In the corner, Peter Pettigrew had found a precarious balance between sleep and the anticipation of the next loud snap, his quiet snores barely audible over the commotion.

James caught sight of Lupin first, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "Look who's graced us with his prefect presence!" he exclaimed, setting down a card that promptly exploded with a loud pop.

Sirius turned, his grin spreading wide as he joined in the teasing. "Ah, if it isn't our very own rule-abiding, badge-wearing Moony," he said, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. "Tell us, how does it feel to be the shining example of Hogwarts virtue?"

Lupin rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his smile betrayed his amusement. "Oh, it's utterly thrilling," he deadpanned, stepping further into the cabin. "Between herding first years and attending riveting prefect meetings, I can hardly contain my excitement."

James laughed, clapping Lupin on the back as he moved to sit beside them. "We're just jealous, Remus," he admitted with a wink. "You get to wield all that power. Next, you'll be handing out detentions to us for being too handsome."

"Or too humble," Sirius added with a mock-serious nod, causing all of them to burst into laughter.

Settling down beside James, Lupin couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging amidst the banter and laughter. The cabin felt like a refuge from the responsibilities waiting just outside its door and his "problems". It wasn't long, however, before James's curiosity veered the conversation towards a more official topic. "So, other than Lily, who else has been graced with the lofty title of prefect this year?" he inquired, a hint of genuine interest peeking through his usual jest.

Lupin, adjusting his prefect badge subconsciously, began to answer. "Well, from Slytherin, it's Snape and Narcissa Black," he stated matter-of-factly, about to continue listing the prefects from the other houses when he was abruptly cut off.

Sirius, who had been flicking through a deck of Exploding Snap cards, stopped to snort derisively. "They made Snivellus a prefect?" he blurted out, disbelief and amusement mingling in his tone. "The year's started off amazingly well, hasn't it?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, the nickname 'Snivellus' hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge.

The mood in the cabin shifted slightly, the mention of Severus Snape casting a long shadow over their mirth. Yet, the camaraderie among the friends remained unbroken, their shared history and loyalty to one another acting as an unspoken bond that not even the most contentious of school appointments could sever. Despite the laughter that followed Sirius's comment, Lupin felt a twinge of responsibility tug at him—a reminder of the delicate balance he navigated as both a friend to the Marauders and a leader among his peers.

Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts

In the warm, candle-lit office of Headmaster Dumbledore, a meeting was underway with the esteemed heads of Hogwarts houses. The room was a veritable museum of magical artifacts, each with its own story, much like the individuals gathered around the large, oaken table that dominated the space. Dumbledore, with his trademark twinkle in his eye, presided over the assembly, his long silver beard almost blending with the intricate patterns on his robes.

Every so often, he would extend a tin of lemon sherbets towards his colleagues—an offer that was met with polite, but firm, refusals each time. Professor McGonagall, with her strict but fair demeanor, sat upright, her tartan dress a sharp contrast to the whimsical surroundings. She eyed the sherbet tin with a mix of amusement and exasperation, having turned it down no less than three times in the last hour.

Professor Slughorn, enveloped in his usual flamboyant garb, chuckled heartily at each refusal, his own love for crystallized pineapple not extending to the tangy zest of lemon. Professor Sprout, her hands still bearing traces of soil, seemed more concerned with a small, leafy specimen she'd brought with her, while Professor Flitwick, perched atop several cushions to reach table height, was keenly following the discussion, occasionally adjusting his spectacles with a flick of his wand. The air was filled with the rich aroma of various teas and the occasional puff of smoke from Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, who observed the proceedings from his perch with a curious eye.

Despite the serious nature of their discussion—plans for the upcoming term, updates on school security, and the integration of new educational decrees—the atmosphere remained congenial, a testament to the camaraderie and respect shared among Hogwarts' finest. Dumbledore, ever the gracious host, seemed unfazed by the continual rejection of his lemon sherbets, his offers becoming a running joke that lightened the mood and reminded everyone of the joy found in the simplest of gestures.

As the meeting progressed, Professor Flitwick, ever the keen academic, seized a quiet moment to inquire about potential candidates for the prestigious Ministry's Alchemy Certification Examination—a rite of passage for those wishing to delve deeper into the ancient art of alchemy before it could be chosen as an advanced course. Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with anticipation at the question.

"Ah, Filius, this year we are particularly blessed with an abundance of talent. Five students have shown exceptional promise," he announced, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Along with Severus Snape, we have Elenora Digby, Marcus Fenwick, Gideon Bole, and Ariadne Prewett," he revealed.

"And it just so happens, all of them are esteemed members of Horace's illustrious Slug Club," Dumbledore added, his eyes twinkling mischievously as if to highlight the club's knack for gathering Hogwarts' most promising.

Slughorn, upon hearing this, couldn't help but puff up with pride, his moustache bristling as he tried to maintain a modest demeanor. "Well, Albus, I do have an eye for talent," he said, attempting a humble tone but failing spectacularly, much to the amusement of everyone in the room.

Slughorn then leaned forward, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "If anyone can conquer that notoriously challenging exam, it's Severus. The boy has a mind like a steel trap," he proclaimed, nodding towards Dumbledore to emphasize his point.

Flitwick nodded in agreement, adding, "Indeed, Severus's academic prowess, especially his theoretical work, is nothing short of outstanding. Such a strong foundation will undoubtedly serve him well in the examination."

Minerva, who had been listening intently, chimed in, "His intellect is undeniable. However, should he pass, a bit more dedication to Transfiguration wouldn't go amiss."

Before Slughorn could respond, Professor Sprout interjected with a twinkle in her eye, "And let's not forget his rather... explosive relationship with magical plants. Why, the way he handles a Venomous Tentacula is almost as deft as his potion stirring. Almost," she added, her comment drawing a round of laughter and nodding heads.

Slughorn quickly retorted, "Oh, Minerva, the boy's a potion prodigy. Give him some time, and he'll be just as proficient in your domain. Severus has a knack for mastering complex concepts with ease."

The conversation then turned nostalgic as Slughorn lamented the changes in accessing alchemy studies. "Back in our day, Alchemy was far more accessible. It's a shame the Ministry has seen fit to gatekeep such a fascinating branch of magic with that dreadful exam," he sighed, shaking his head.

Dumbledore nodded, acknowledging Slughorn's sentiment but also offering a broader perspective. "Indeed, Horace, while the licensing does add a layer of bureaucracy, it was implemented in response to the potential dangers associated with alchemy. I recall, in my own student days, Edgar Bones lost his left arm to a mishap resulting from unsupervised alchemical experiments."

Slughorn acknowledged Dumbledore's point with a nod. "Ah, yes, that incident made quite the splash in the Prophet," he recalled, before mentioning the last student to complete the alchemy course was Clarissa Fawley, about five years prior.

"An exceptional Ravenclaw," Flitwick added with a hint of house pride, "Truly brilliant."

Continuing the conversation, Dumbledore, with a hint of curiosity, addressed Slughorn. "Speaking of brilliant students, Horace, I must admit I'm a bit surprised that you chose Severus as a prefect."

Slughorn simply shrugged, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Surprised, Albus? Severus is a brilliant student, and I've always believed that 'to whom much is given, much is expected.' Responsibility, I suspect, will suit Snape well," he confidently asserted, invoking the old proverb to highlight his belief in Snape's potential for growth through added responsibility.

The conversation took a turn as Slughorn, ever the master of deflection, pointedly remarked, "I'm more surprised, however, that you didn't select Cassiopeia as Head Girl. Now, that was unexpected."

Dumbledore sighed, his expression turning thoughtful. "You know as well as I do, Horace, the environment we're navigating within and beyond the school walls, especially with regards to blood politics. It's a delicate balance," he explained, alluding to the unspoken tensions that pervaded Slytherin House and the wider wizarding community.

The issue of blood purity, so deeply ingrained in some corners, was a topic treaded around carefully, even in discussions among Hogwarts' most senior staff.

At this, Slughorn's shoulders slumped, a silent acknowledgment of the frenzy over blood purity that infected his house. Inwardly, he reflected on his decision to nominate Severus as a prefect, seeing it as a statement against the divisiveness of blood politics—a bold declaration of his own values and a message to his house that excellence transcended lineage.

The mood in the room lightened as the conversation gradually shifted away from the heavy topic of politics to more mundane matters. The change was welcome, allowing the room's occupants to enjoy a brief respite from the weightier issues that lay just beneath the surface of their magical world.

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