Chapter 44: Professors

At noon, after finishing her classes, Professor McGonagall headed to the teachers' dining hall. Unlike the students, the staff dined separately, partly to maintain their authoritative presence and also to allow students to feel more at ease during meals.

After all, most students found it hard to relax when eating in front of their teachers.

As she pushed open the door and entered the dining hall, she heard someone call out to her.

"Hey! Minerva! Over here!"

Following the voice, McGonagall saw Professor Flitwick waving her over. On the table in front of him was a bottle of what looked like some fine wine.

Seated across from him were Professor Snape and Professor Sprout. With her joining them, it would make for a small gathering of all four heads of house.

Noticing Snape's dark and brooding expression, McGonagall didn't know what had happened but still found herself oddly pleased.

The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin meant that she and Snape had butted heads over various issues more times than she could count.

"Smiling so cheerfully—is there some good news? Have you been invited to commentate on the Wizarding Duel Tournament again, Filius?"

McGonagall asked with a playful grin.

"How could that be, Minerva? The Wizarding Duel Tournament isn't until after Christmas, as you well know."

Flitwick, catching on to McGonagall's teasing, shook his head with a chuckle.

Snape, however, didn't look as gloomy as McGonagall had expected, instead he gave a cold smirk and said, "Oh, it's good news, Minerva. You'll want to hear this—I'm sure it'll make you quite happy."

McGonagall's brow furrowed instantly. She then noticed that Professor Sprout, under her large hat, didn't look particularly pleased either.

"What's going on?"

McGonagall asked as she sat down next to Flitwick and across from Sprout.

As soon as she sat, a plate of exquisite food appeared in front of her, but she had no appetite at the moment.

"The students this year are certainly... interesting, Minerva"

Flitwick said, taking a sip of his wine with a smile. "In my class today with first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors, I actually saw lions and snakes sitting together. Some of them even paired up for group work."

"If this keeps up, maybe we won't have to worry about Slytherins and Gryffindors always being at each other's throats."

"Actually," Snape drawled in his signature slow, irritating tone, "the two houses have never stopped clashing—big or small, there's always some conflict between them."

He then looked pointedly at McGonagall, as if waiting for her to catch on. "Luke Gaunt is certainly a talented child. He's managed to unite nearly all the first-year Slytherins in no time, and they've even started influencing some of the older students."

"The tension between Slytherin and Gryffindor has eased quite a bit, actually," Sprout added with a frown. "That's a good thing, but... it's happening a bit too quickly. It shows how extraordinary Luke's leadership skills are."

Flitwick chuckled and remarked, "That little fellow even gave a speech during class today! I have to say, the boy's quite the speaker."

"Aren't you worried, Filius?" Sprout said, somewhat helplessly. "That child reminds me of people we shouldn't be reminded of."

Flitwick took another sip of his wine and waved it off. "There's nothing to be worried about. I don't sense anything harmful in his ideas."

However, McGonagall's expression didn't look too reassured either.

However, Snape wasn't exactly gloating. Even though Luke had a close relationship with Professor McGonagall—close enough to be treated like family—Luke was still a Slytherin, and as the head of Slytherin, Snape knew that if anything went wrong, he would also bear responsibility.

After finishing his glass of wine, Flitwick noticed that the other three at the table seemed to be lost in some strange internal struggle.

"What are you all thinking about?" he said with a smile. "We're teachers, aren't we? When we spot a problem, the first thing we should do is help the student solve it, not 'solve' the student who has the problem."

"Besides, do you really think Dumbledore doesn't know about this? Let's just trust his judgment on the matter."

Snape gave a cold sneer, then exhaled softly, shook his head, and went back to eating in silence.

Professor Sprout's expression softened. On reflection, Flitwick was right. If they were worried about a student like Luke going astray, it was their responsibility to guide him before he truly lost his way.

McGonagall's face was less stern now, but the worry in her eyes hadn't completely faded.

And so, with four different sets of emotions, the professors wrapped up this informal, and not particularly pleasant, meeting. What followed was a regular, though somewhat chilly, lunch.

---

"Transfiguration class is in the afternoon, Ron. Do you think Professor McGonagall's class will be difficult?"

Harry asked hesitantly, looking at the schedule posted on the common room wall.

"It shouldn't be as tough as Snape's class. At least that's what Fred and George say," Ron replied, popping a peppermint he'd taken from the dining hall into his mouth. "But then again, they're pretty good at everything, so who knows what it'll be like for us."

That afternoon, in the Transfiguration classroom, as the bell rang, Harry and Ron rushed in, panting heavily.

Ron looked around and was delighted to see that Professor McGonagall wasn't there yet. There was only a tabby cat sitting on the desk.

All the students already seated in the classroom turned to stare at the two latecomers. Malfoy, seeing their disheveled state and the look of joy on Ron's face, instinctively started to smirk.

But then he remembered his current stance and quickly suppressed the urge to mock them. Instead, he shot them a look of almost pity.

"Thank goodness, Harry, Professor McGonagall's not—" Ron began.

But before he could finish, Harry noticed Luke trying to get their attention with a subtle gesture. Neville waved them over, and Hermione pointed discreetly at the cat on the desk.

Harry immediately clamped a hand over Ron's mouth, dragging him to a seat near the front.

Once they had settled down, the tabby cat on the desk—under Ron's astonished gaze—spoke.

"Next time, please don't be late, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. Or I'll have to turn one of you into an alarm clock—at least that way, one of you will be on time."

*****

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