"I really doubt it… He still doesn't have a girlfriend. Could it be because he's just too petty-minded…?"
Before Ron could finish, a greasy, drawling voice cut through the air behind him.
"It seems Mr. Weasley is rather concerned with his professor's personal life."
Ron spun around in horror, only to find Snape standing right behind him.
"Perhaps, after the term begins, I should test your knowledge of Potions more thoroughly, don't you think, Mr. Weasley?"
Harry slapped a hand to his face.
Really, Ron…
You know you have this problem—every time you badmouth Snape, he magically appears behind you…
So why do you keep doing it?
To be fair, Ron hadn't expected Snape to show up here. He'd assumed Snape would outright refuse an invitation from his old rival, Sirius Black.
What he never could've imagined was that Sirius's taunting would work so well—Snape had taken the bait and decided to join them for Christmas.
"Sorry, Professor…" Ron whimpered.
Snape flashed a smirk that didn't reach his eyes, swept his black robes with a flourish, and strode over to sit beside Lupin. He crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on Sirius.
"Happy Christmas, Severus—"
To everyone's surprise, Sirius didn't use the word "Snivellus" and instead offered a genuine holiday greeting.
Snape's lips twitched in response, a cold grunt acknowledging the sentiment.
At that moment, the house-elf served the final dish to the table.
"This must be the first Christmas we've spent together," Sirius said from his seat at the head of the table. "I'm honored… and grateful."
He stood, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on Harry with a warm, proud smile.
"My godson has grown into an exceptional wizard. Not only has he defeated Voldemort multiple times, but he's also destroyed one of his Horcruxes—" Sirius paused, his voice softening. "But more than that, I'm proud that he's become a brave, upright, and kind wizard."
At those words, Snape visibly faltered.
Others might not know, but Snape certainly did—how Quirrell had died.
Back then, he and Dumbledore had been the ones to deal with Quirrell's body. The signs were unmistakable: Quirrell had been struck by the Killing Curse.
And this boy's Avada Kedavra wasn't like others'. It left glowing green traces on the walls.
When he and Dumbledore had ventured into that basement, the walls were marred with splotches of eerie green spell marks.
Kind? A young wizard who could wield Avada Kedavra with a skill rivaling Voldemort's?
Sirius, of course, was oblivious to Snape's thoughts. Even if he knew, he'd likely scoff.
What, my godson didn't use Avada Kedavra on just anyone, did he? That was Riddle, the epitome of evil. Using the Killing Curse on him was saving the wizarding world!
"Of course, I must also thank my dear friends and Professor Dumbledore. Your trust and help cleared my name, allowing me to walk freely in the wizarding world and reunite with Harry."
"And," Sirius continued, "I want to thank Harry's three…"
He faltered, unsure how to proceed.
Three what?
Girlfriends?
But their relationships weren't exactly confirmed…
Friends?
That felt too distant. Would mere friends do so much for Harry, even risk their lives?
Finally, Sirius gritted his teeth and declared, "Three girlfriends—let's not say more. Thank you!"
He raised his glass, downing the aged red wine in one gulp.
Veratia didn't object to Sirius's "girlfriends" label. Cassandra didn't either. And Poppy Sweeting? She was thrilled, hardly able to contain her excitement.
"To Sirius," everyone echoed, raising their glasses.
Harry wasn't new to drinking, but he still didn't care for the taste of red wine.
Hermione and Ron, meanwhile, weren't allowed wine. Their goblets held Christmas eggnog with minimal alcohol content—a festive, mildly boozy treat.
"Let's eat!" Sirius called out after they set their glasses down.
Ron eagerly grabbed two chicken legs, one in each hand, tearing into them with the same gusto he'd shown at Hogwarts' first-year welcome feast.
The joy of dual-wielding drumsticks was something only he understood.
"It's obvious those drumsticks are delicious," Hermione said, her tone tinged with disapproval. "But I suggest you work on your table manners, or else…"
"Or else what?" Poppy Sweeting, unable to eat, floated nearby. She drifted over to Hermione, teasing, "Or else Ron won't find a girlfriend? Ha! No way. I bet Ron will definitely find a girlfriend someday!"
Hermione's face flushed at Poppy's teasing.
Ron, oblivious, nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! I'll definitely find a girlfriend, just like Poppy said!"
He hadn't yet noticed Hermione's… well, feelings.
Harry could tell Ron was as dense as he was when it came to these things.
Looks like I'll have to play matchmaker for these two someday, Harry thought to himself.
"Is the dinner to your liking?" Sirius leaned toward Dumbledore, lowering his voice to ask the headmaster's opinion.
"Not bad," Dumbledore replied with a chuckle. "Though the food could use a bit more sweetness. You understand how an old man fond of sweets feels, don't you?"
"Then I'll have Kreacher whip up some desserts for you," Sirius offered, eager to play the gracious host. "Kreacher's quite skilled. I used to love his desserts—they're delightfully sweet."
Dumbledore's eyes lit up at the mention of sweets.
Oh, wonderful! Sweet is perfect!
But then Snape set down his knife and fork with a deliberate clink.
"It seems I've overheard some rather unsavory backroom dealings, haven't I, Headmaster? And you, Assistant Black?"
Snape emphasized "dealings" and "assistant" with biting clarity, as if highlighting them for effect.
"What's that supposed to mean, Sniv—Severus?" Sirius caught himself just in time. It was Christmas, after all—no need for unpleasantries.
"For an elderly man like Headmaster Dumbledore, sweets place a considerable burden on his health," Snape said, his eyes half-lidded. "And yet, he forces a certain unnamed Potions professor to toil away brewing Tooth-Protecting Potions… It's no trouble for the poor professor, of course, but the Headmaster is becoming resistant to the potion."
"Is that so?" Sirius shot a skeptical glance at Dumbledore.
It was obvious who the "unnamed Potions professor" was—none other than the greasy-haired man sitting across from him.
Snape's workload wasn't the issue. The real concern was Dumbledore's growing resistance to the Tooth-Protecting Potion.
"Oh, I'm used to it," Dumbledore said, sheepishly rubbing his fingers, looking rather pitiful.
"That's not a good habit, Dumbledore," Veratia said sternly, speaking with the authority of… well, a sister, in a way. "You really should cut back on these pointless sweets. I'd hate for you to survive Voldemort only to be defeated by mere candy."
"Why not look at it another way?" Ron interjected, waving a drumstick as if casting Wingardium Leviosa. "We could have Professor Snape develop an even stronger Tooth-Protecting Potion—one that counters resistance specifically. Problem solved!"
At Ron's suggestion, everyone turned to him with death glares—except Dumbledore, who looked positively delighted.
"Ron, stop talking!" Hermione hissed, yanking his arm. "Merlin's beard, are you mad?"
She leaned closer, whispering, "This isn't just about Tooth-Protecting Potions! Too much sugar causes irreversible damage to your organs!"
"I think…" Veratia began, setting the tone as the elder of the group, "we should devise a plan to limit Headmaster Dumbledore's sweet intake. And I propose Professor Minerva McGonagall oversee its enforcement. What do you think?"
"Oh, no!" Dumbledore groaned. "Please, don't tell Minerva—I promise I won't eat so many sweets anymore…"
"Too late," Veratia said, holding up a crystal ball and giving it a shake. "I've already called Professor McGonagall."
Of course, by "called," she meant using a magical device akin to a Muggle telephone.
As soon as she spoke, McGonagall's silvery form rose from the crystal ball, a small silver tabby cat visible at her side.
"Happy Christmas, Professor McGonagall," Veratia said with a smile.
"Happy Christmas, Miss Grindelwald," McGonagall replied warmly. "What's the matter, calling at this hour?"
"Nothing urgent," Veratia said, glancing at the sighing Dumbledore. "We've devised a plan to limit Professor Dumbledore's sweet consumption. Given its need for an impartial enforcer, we immediately thought of you. Professor Snape mentioned that Dumbledore's developed a resistance to the Tooth-Protecting Potion, so we've made this decision. We hope for your support."
To everyone's surprise, McGonagall didn't hesitate. She clapped her hands, practically bouncing like a schoolgirl. "Is there really such a plan? I've wanted to do this for ages!"
Seeing McGonagall's enthusiastic agreement, Veratia nodded with a smile. "Since you're on board, I'll send you the plan tomorrow."
After exchanging farewells, Veratia ended the call and looked at Dumbledore. "Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall has agreed to our plan. Starting now, it's officially in effect. We'll strictly monitor your daily sugar intake."
Before she could finish, Dumbledore swiftly pulled a handful of candies from his robes and stuffed them into his mouth.
Clearly, he was seizing his last chance to indulge before the restrictions kicked in.
"Alright, let's eat first," Veratia said with a sly smile. She didn't intend to ban Dumbledore from sweets entirely—just control his intake.
That dinner, Dumbledore ate with a heavy heart, mourning the loss of his beloved candies.
Seeing his glum expression, Sirius poured him a glass of wine and handed it over. "Don't look so miserable. Come on, have a drink."
Dumbledore took the goblet, sighed, and downed it in one go.
Fine. If he could drown his sorrows, so be it.
He only hoped Minerva wouldn't be too strict when enforcing the rules…
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