i take the cue from certain people i know
[Note: Totally, way way way semi-stolen from Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit, despite it being a million years old. It is amazing and I have loved it for my whole life.]
“What about you, Headmaster?” Charity Burbage giggled into her teacup, as Dumbledore ambled slowly into the staff room.
He asked, “Pardon me?” but his blue eyes were already twinkling over his half-moon spectacles. He poured a cup of tea and sat down among the teachers. A small pile of Galleons lay on the table, next to a roll of parchment and quill. Such nonsensical things as Sinistra - 8 and McGonagall - 5 were scrawled under headings like Weasley & Granger and Abbott & MacMillan. He chuckled airily as he settled himself between Professors Snape and Sinistra on the sofa nearest the coffee table. “Oh... I see.” He paused for a rather long time, seeming to consider the parchment's contents.
Pomona Sprout had the good nature to look ashamed of her colleagues. “Highly unprofessional,” she clucked, although her name was listed beneath Malfoy and Parkinson. She shook her head and went to fetch the teapot.
“Oh,” drawled Septima Vector, “don't be like that, Pomona.” She perched on the arm of the sofa beside Professor Sinistra and looked down at the list. “Albus knows perfectly well what little we teachers have by way of entertainment. We're not hurting anyone.” She took a sip of her tea. “Perhaps a few moneybags, but I'm sure that Auriga can stand to have hers a bit lighter.”
“Oh, yes, because I've got so much money,” countered Sinistra, who looked a cross between confused and offended at suddenly being drawn into the conversation.
Septima clicked her tongue. “Well, you ought to. You certainly aren't spending any money on yourself.” This earned her a violent glare. “Anyway,” she said, crossing the room, “the point is it's all in good fun.”
“Unless you're Severus,” amended Bathilda Babbling, from the corner of the room. She seemed not to have been listening to the conversation, until now-apparently, however, she had not been too engrossed in her stack of homework to eavesdrop.
Burbage laughed again. “Quite right,” she agreed. “Really, Severus, one might think you don't want Harry Potter to live long enough to finish school.” She batted her eyelashes in his direction. “If we didn't all know you better, of course.”
“I'm sure he'd love to see Harry Potter dead,” muttered Sinistra, just loud enough to be heard.
Snape glowered. “Among others,” he snarled, “present company not excluded.”
Dumbledore sat back, folding his hands across his lap as though he had come to a decision on a very important matter. The other teachers fell silent. They were undoubtedly expecting to be reprimanded for their behavior. “Well,” said Dumbledore, “I believe that I shall have to place fifty Galleons... and a bag of Sugar Quills on you two.”
Sinistra's jaw dropped. Snape's eyes narrowed to tiny slits. They both tried to speak at once.
“Headmaster, you must be-”
“-not even remotely amusing, and if you think-”
“-Snape and I-”
“-romantic inclinations toward Auriga-”
“-no way in Hell-”
“-must be mentally infirm-”
“Yes,” Dumbledore cut in, “yes, I do believe I shall place my bet on Professors Snape and Sinistra. Do mark my name down on the list, Minerva.” Professor McGonagall seemed so taken aback that she could not even comment as she did so. “Please, don't forget the bag of Sugar Quills. They are some of my favourite sweets, you know, and I should hate to lose out on twelve free bags.” He chortled gaily and swept from the room, leaving a mass of very confused teachers in his wake.
Six years later, Professor Sinistra would bring a bag of Sugar Quills to his funeral.
“What about you, Headmaster?” Charity Burbage giggled into her teacup, as Dumbledore ambled slowly into the staff room.
He asked, “Pardon me?” but his blue eyes were already twinkling over his half-moon spectacles. He poured a cup of tea and sat down among the teachers. A small pile of Galleons lay on the table, next to a roll of parchment and quill. Such nonsensical things as Sinistra - 8 and McGonagall - 5 were scrawled under headings like Weasley & Granger and Abbott & MacMillan. He chuckled airily as he settled himself between Professors Snape and Sinistra on the sofa nearest the coffee table. “Oh... I see.” He paused for a rather long time, seeming to consider the parchment's contents.
Pomona Sprout had the good nature to look ashamed of her colleagues. “Highly unprofessional,” she clucked, although her name was listed beneath Malfoy and Parkinson. She shook her head and went to fetch the teapot.
“Oh,” drawled Septima Vector, “don't be like that, Pomona.” She perched on the arm of the sofa beside Professor Sinistra and looked down at the list. “Albus knows perfectly well what little we teachers have by way of entertainment. We're not hurting anyone.” She took a sip of her tea. “Perhaps a few moneybags, but I'm sure that Auriga can stand to have hers a bit lighter.”
“Oh, yes, because I've got so much money,” countered Sinistra, who looked a cross between confused and offended at suddenly being drawn into the conversation.
Septima clicked her tongue. “Well, you ought to. You certainly aren't spending any money on yourself.” This earned her a violent glare. “Anyway,” she said, crossing the room, “the point is it's all in good fun.”
“Unless you're Severus,” amended Bathilda Babbling, from the corner of the room. She seemed not to have been listening to the conversation, until now-apparently, however, she had not been too engrossed in her stack of homework to eavesdrop.
Burbage laughed again. “Quite right,” she agreed. “Really, Severus, one might think you don't want Harry Potter to live long enough to finish school.” She batted her eyelashes in his direction. “If we didn't all know you better, of course.”
“I'm sure he'd love to see Harry Potter dead,” muttered Sinistra, just loud enough to be heard.
Snape glowered. “Among others,” he snarled, “present company not excluded.”
Dumbledore sat back, folding his hands across his lap as though he had come to a decision on a very important matter. The other teachers fell silent. They were undoubtedly expecting to be reprimanded for their behavior. “Well,” said Dumbledore, “I believe that I shall have to place fifty Galleons... and a bag of Sugar Quills on you two.”
Sinistra's jaw dropped. Snape's eyes narrowed to tiny slits. They both tried to speak at once.
“Headmaster, you must be-”
“-not even remotely amusing, and if you think-”
“-Snape and I-”
“-romantic inclinations toward Auriga-”
“-no way in Hell-”
“-must be mentally infirm-”
“Yes,” Dumbledore cut in, “yes, I do believe I shall place my bet on Professors Snape and Sinistra. Do mark my name down on the list, Minerva.” Professor McGonagall seemed so taken aback that she could not even comment as she did so. “Please, don't forget the bag of Sugar Quills. They are some of my favourite sweets, you know, and I should hate to lose out on twelve free bags.” He chortled gaily and swept from the room, leaving a mass of very confused teachers in his wake.
Six years later, Professor Sinistra would bring a bag of Sugar Quills to his funeral.