Disclaimer: Not mine.

The House Cup


Snape's Empty Win

Draco folded his arms over his chest and glared at Weasley. Bastard, he thought, as he heard the points the toe rag had earned for playing a game of chess. Chess, a lousy game of chess, he thought. He was sure that the game had been somehow charmed to turn in the weasels favour. That, and the side that was defeated, had no one to guide them, no one to plan a strategy or to cheer them on to victory.

Almost as bad, really worse if the truth was known, was the toady fat kid earning points for not backing up his housemates. Old man Dumbledore must have lost his bloody mind. That or forgotten all of Draco's housemates that went against him. Certainly, he had forgotten who paid his salary.

Sure, it was a given that Potter would be the preferred winner. Everyone knew that the points would be juggled at the last moment just before the house cup was awarded, just before the banners dropped from the ceiling and a cheer went up. Draco himself had put a wager on it and smugly thought that although he had lost the cup he had made ten galleons.

He watched as the Gryffindors slapped each other on their backs and the twin weasels congratulated their little brother. Circe, Draco muttered under his breath, how many more of them can there possibly be? The Hall was already over run with red headed trash.

Standing up so quickly his hand caught on the edge of his plate, he dumped it onto his trousers and shoes. After spitting out a loud expletive, he flicked his wand and cleaned up the mess, glaring at Potter as he did. Dumb Potter and the stupid bint Mudblood would pay, he thought, not willing to use his winning to clean his robes if the spell did not work.

Turning toward the door, he lifted his chin, swiped a hand at his robes and in a poorly executed imitation of his head of house, fanned his robes behind him. He paused at the door for effect, snapping his fingers and waiting until Goyle and Nott ran after him.

"My, my," Minerva chuckled, leaning to her right as she nodded towards the door, calling attention to Draco's rather dramatic exit. "It appears one of yours is rather upset with the outcome."

"As he should be," Snape intoned. "Another display of unadulterated bigotry has once again been made painfully obvious against his house."

"Oh stop," Minerva snorted a laugh. "You're no more a good looser here than you are at the Quidditch pitch. I'll wager you plan on winning that next year as well."

"I have not lost our wager this year." He tilted his head and looked at her smugly. "I have won our bet and will have your capitulation as well as your ten galleons."

"Exactly how do you turn this," she waved at the banners, "into a win."

"Term was over at the end of the last lesson. The last lesson was completed at five, at which time the Slytherins owned the win. It is now seven."

"I see." She pursed her lips and dug in her pockets, tossing his winnings on the table. A sly smile played at the corners of her mouth as she magicked the shinny house cup to it rightful place, in front of her. "Rather a hollow winning, wouldn't you say? In winning your wager you lost the cup."

They pulled away from each other as the headmaster took his seat, not wanting to the seen exchanging the booty of an illegal bet.

"Good idea of yours lad. I must say...quite a good idea indeed." Dumbledore leaned forward to address Snape around Minerva's place.

"Idea?" Minerva asked, her eyebrow rising so high it disappeared into her hairline.

"Yes, yes. Professor Snape suggested I wait until now to award the extra points. More exciting this way don't you agree?" Dumbledore waved his hand toward the Gryffindor table, smiling widely. "Rather than doing it beforehand where the win would be known, this adds a certain…spontaneity to the festivities."

"Yes, yes indeed," Minerva quipped, watching Snape snatch up the wager and shove it in his pocket. "Congratulations, Professor Snape. I see you won again."

Snape lifted his chin and smirked. Although red banners filed the room, and the house cup had been lost for another year he felt a smug pride in winning. Suddenly he turned and looked at Minerva as she reached out and stroked the cup lovingly.

"What's the matter dear boy? Cat got your tongue?" She laughed and morphed into a grey tabby that lifted its tail straight up and strutted out of the room.