“How can you allow this?” Snape fumed, pounding the desk in front of him with his fist. “It’s intolerable—and in the middle of the spring term! There is no way to find a replacement, Lupin, none.” He grated his teeth in vexation, ready to tear at his hair next if his molars should prove insufficiently durable under stress.

“Well, it’s remarkably simple, Severus,” Remus replied calmly, as if Snape hadn’t burst into his office a few moments ago, ranting and raving like the lunatic everyone thought he secretly was. “She filled out the necessary paperwork, I signed it, Vector submitted it to the Board—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, old man!” he snarled at the Headmaster, neatly forgetting that Remus was the same age as he was. This was playing out remarkably like one of countless arguments between himself and the previous Headmaster, who smiled down at them contentedly from his portrait over Fawkes’ perch.

Severus spun towards him. “And you!” he shouted furiously. “I bet you’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Albus? Just like old times, eh? Fiddling while Slytherin House burns!”

“Severus, dear boy,” Dumbledore replied cheerfully from his enchanted canvas, “You’re not making any sense. Besides, I’m only here for the treats.” And he popped a lemon drop into his mouth.

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