Professor Snape's sallow skin turned as pale as spoiled milk.
He really wanted to blow up, but... it would be too embarrassing if word got out!
Not to mention that one side of the fight was Harley. He couldn't get angry at her, and he couldn't bring himself to, either.
Even if Harley hadn't been on the Gryffindor side, a group of fifth- and sixth-year students getting taken down one after another by a second-year Gryffindor... wouldn't people laugh if word got out?
Do you know why the story about twenty fans of the former Soviet Quidditch team beating up two hundred fans of the England national Quidditch team at the Quidditch World Cup in France wasn't reported?
It would have been a disgrace on the international stage!
Professor Snape still couldn't forget the bewildered look on Hefsky, the former Soviet Minister for Magic, in the newspaper:
"I don't understand. How did two hundred British wizards get beaten up by twenty Soviet wizards? Since when were Soviet wizards so strong?"
That headline was soon replaced, because even the British Minister for Magic had been embarrassed by it!
And this time, Harley had been involved in the fight, and it had all started with the very thing he hated most...
Professor Snape turned his head and glared at Malfoy. "Draco, did you call Miss Granger a Mudblood?"
Malfoy took a frightened step backward and didn't dare say a word.
The chill in Professor Snape's eyes made him swallow the excuses he'd prepared. He couldn't get a single one out.
Snape's voice was still soft, but everyone in the staff room heard him clearly:
"Draco, perhaps you should pour a little Wit-Sharpening Potion into that brain of yours!
No, that won't help, either. You need to soak your brain in undiluted Baruffio's