"Minerva."
There was no welcome in Snape's low voice. "I hope you haven't come to discuss some Gryffindor blowing up yet another cauldron."
Professor McGonagall ignored his sarcasm and got straight to the point. "Severus, the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts is vacant again."
The quill in Snape's hand paused slightly.
One eyebrow rose, his expression openly derisive.
"Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
"Gilderoy was taken away by the Ministry of Magic. He's facing numerous charges and will most likely be sent straight to Azkaban," McGonagall said tersely, her brow tightly furrowed. "The problem now is that classes cannot stop, especially with the upper years preparing for their N.E.W.T.s. We need someone to take over. Albus and I believe you are the most suitable candidate."
"Me?" He raised his eyes, his voice soft and slow. "Why me? Because I happen to be in the dungeons, doing nothing?"
Professor McGonagall let out a silent sigh—
Lockhart's complete downfall had not calmed the students down. Instead, it was like removing a fragile dam.
The sparks of combative rivalry between the Houses, previously suppressed by Lin Du, had flared back to life, burning even more fiercely than before.
The private matches that had briefly died down after the Duelling Club had become popular again. There had even been several more minor spell clashes in the corridors over things like, "You looked at me wrong."
More troublesome still was the students' attitude.
Those students who had distinguished themselves at the Duelling Club and Lin Du's practical combat classes, such as the Weasley twins and several outstanding sixth-years, seemed to regard these conflicts that could erupt at any moment as a new game, even taking a vague sort of pride in them.
A dangerous set of values was spreading—going