Dumbledore: Annoyed!

Chapter 26 Dumbledore: Annoying! Inside the headmaster's office on the eighth floor.

Facing the tempting pile of cockroach clusters, Dumbledore's hand reached out several times involuntarily, but he reluctantly pulled it back each time.

It wasn't that he didn't want to eat.

It was that the bombshell Snape had dropped on him ruined his mood for enjoying sweets.

"Severus, we must think carefully about this dragon-raising business. If you just need dragon blood for potions, I can contact my friends and have some sent over."

Snape's face was expressionless, but inside he was full of disdain.

He wouldn't dare say it about other things.

But as a Potions Master, he far surpassed Dumbledore in acquiring potion ingredients.

"Ten jin of dragon blood per month. You arrange it."

Dumbledore felt a sharp pang in his teeth, desperately needing some teeth-strengthening potion to ease it.

But of all people, the Snape sitting before him was his potion supplier.

And the only one at that.

Potions brewed by other masters could no longer effectively suppress his toothache.

"Can't we reduce it? How about ten grams per month? I can set aside a special fund to buy dragon blood."

Snape just stared at Dumbledore expressionlessly, making him thoroughly uncomfortable.

Dumbledore gritted his teeth. "How about twenty grams?"

Snape still said nothing.

Dumbledore rubbed his brow. "Fine, I can apply to the Ministry of Magic for the relevant matters on dragon-raising. But you know, Hogwarts has limited space. If a dragon accidentally escapes, the consequences would be unimaginable."

Snape's lips moved slightly, and he softly uttered a name. "Newt Scamander."

"The suitcase?" Dumbledore murmured to himself.

"You helped expand that suitcase. Don't say you can't do it."

"Alright, alright. Even if we solve the space problem, who's going to take care of it? You certainly wouldn't look after a dragon, would you?" Dumbledore made one last struggle.

Snape didn't answer but instead gazed out the window.

Dumbledore followed his line of sight and happened to see Hagrid's hut.

"Sigh!"

He let out a heavy sigh, his blue eyes growing deep.

"Severus, this idea of raising a dragon—it wasn't yours, was it?"

The corner of Snape's mouth lifted slightly. "Indeed it wasn't. Guess whose suggestion it was?"

For some reason, a name suddenly popped into Dumbledore's mind.

"Brook Lott."

"Congratulations, you're right."

Dumbledore pressed his forehead and smiled bitterly.

Sigh~

That little one had indeed made his move.

"What's your impression of the boy Lott?"

"Good talent. He knows to respect knowledge." Snape commented flatly.

"Hearing such praise from you is indeed rare."

Snape hummed noncommittally a couple of times.

"Severus, I hope you can keep an eye on him when you have time. I don't want him to go down the wrong path."

"During the holidays, you had me watch Lott without telling me why, and I let that slide. But you had him sorted into Gryffindor. You should leave this to Minerva."

Snape said discontentedly.

"That was the Sorting Hat's decision."

"Come on, don't give me that line meant to fool kids."

Snape's face was full of contempt.

Did he really not know?

Even the usually good-tempered Sprout had a huge argument with Dumbledore over Brook.

"Minerva isn't suited for this."

"And I am?"

Snape looked at Dumbledore's wrinkled old face and really wanted to hit him with a "Sectumsempra," but in the end, he held back.

"His talent in Potions is decent. I'll train him."

"Thank you, Severus." Dumbledore paused. "Don't forget about Harry, either."

"I know." Snape replied impatiently.

"Harry's eyes are very like Lily's. You mustn't ⁄(⁄⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄⁄)⁄."

Before Dumbledore could finish, Snape turned and strode out of the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore remained alone in the office, gazing at the distant sky, his thoughts drifting.

He recalled McGonagall and Sprout's assessments of Brook.

Once upon a time, Tom Riddle had also been diligent and studious during his school years, excelling brilliantly in subjects like Potions and Transfiguration.

Handsome, charming, and polite—every professor had held him in high regard.

Now Brook was the same.

And Brook's wand was made from the same piece of Yew Wood as Tom's.

He hoped Brook wouldn't follow the same path as Tom.

Brook slept in comfortably for two days, then plunged back into his busy academic life.

For him, studying itself wasn't a chore—he even enjoyed it.

But getting up early was just too hard.

If only Hogwarts classes could start in the afternoon.

That morning, just after he got up, he saw Hermione sighing gloomily in the common room.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Been boiled?"

"You're the crab," she retorted, annoyed.

"Well, well, talking back now—you're improving! Spill it. What's got you so down? Let me have a laugh."

Brook habitually reached out to ruffle Hermione's hair.

She dodged and pointed at a notice on the bulletin board.

"Flying Class starts Thursday."

Flying Class?

An image of wizards flying on broomsticks immediately popped into Brook's mind.

"So what? Everything we're learning now, we've never touched before. You always pick it up fast and top the class."

Hermione: (ꈍᴗꈍ)(ღˇ◡ˇღ)

"But this is flying—it's different from other classes."

She shot up. "No, I have to go to the library and find some books on flying."

Brook quickly grabbed her. "Let's eat first. We've got class soon. Tonight, I'll find someone who knows the ropes to teach us."

Hermione's habit of bolting to the library whenever she hit a problem was something Brook was used to by now.

But flying was an essential wizard skill.

Asking someone was way more practical than reading books.

Brook didn't know many upperclassmen well. After thinking it over, he had to bother the twins again.

At first, the twins thought Brook and Hermione were pestering them about the Disillusionment Charm again.

They both pulled sour faces.

But when they found out it was about Flying Class, they lit up.

"You've come to the right people!"

"We're Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"

The twins declared proudly.

"Head to the Quidditch Pitch. We'll grab something good."

And with that, they dashed off in a whirlwind.

"What are they up to?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Probably grabbing brooms. No amount of theory beats a hands-on lesson. Let's wait for them at the training ground," Brook guessed.