“Severus!” Filius cried, chasing after the billowing robes of the potions master, as he paused in rounding the corner.
“Filius?” he inquired, looking bored. The shorter man caught up, and attempted to catch his breath.
“I take it," he wheezed, “that you… read the notice…? What… do you think… of the idea, Severus?”
“I’m afraid I’m not interested, Filius,” he sneered. “I have more important things to do than entertain sensitive children.”
“Not even to show up Minerva?”
“I’ve showed her up the past seven years.”
“You have?” he squeaked, surprised. “But hasn’t Gryffindor won, the last two years?”