Chapter 273: The Welcome Feast
Snape's face was relaxed as he made his way toward the Floo fireplace.
After the awards ceremony, he'd spent a long time discussing matters with the gathered Potions Masters, and he had learned a great deal.
He wished he could have stayed to chat longer—if only he weren't expected at the welcome feast for the new professor that evening.
Just then, a voice sounded beside him.
"Looks like that discussion was productive?"
Snape's relaxed expression instantly froze.
He recalled the Chocolate Frog shoved into his mouth before the ceremony and that kick that nearly made him vomit, and his face darkened.
But that young man had indeed helped drive off the obnoxious Selwyn earlier. Maybe he did care after all?
But before Snape could give himself credit, Evans's voice buzzed in again.
"Isn't tonight the welcome feast for the new professor? I thought you wanted that Defence Against the Dark Arts job badly back then. Any thoughts on missing out again?"
Snape's cold features stiffened further at Evans's words. He snorted low and dismissed the idea of replying, striding purposefully toward the Ministry's fireplace.
What made him think Evans was concerned for him? Ludicrous.
Watching Snape's retreating form, Evans shook his head.
Ah, the old stubborn pride of my dear Head of House—stronger than ever.
No hurry, though. Sooner or later, he'd Apparate right back to school anyway.
He wouldn't seriously think of flying back on his own, would he? Surely not.
Smiling to himself, Evans pinched some powder from a nearby plate and sprinkled it into the fireplace before stepping into the flickering green flames.
"To the Three Broomsticks."
Curiously, when held to a grudge, a person's behaviour often became inexplicably illogical.
A few minutes later, Evans exhaled quietly at the gates of Hogwarts Hall.
He hadn't expected Snape to have vanished already after leaving the Three Broomsticks.
According to Madam Rosmerta, Snape had rushed out of the fireplace and bolted immediately, vanishing before long.
Flying from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts took at least fifteen minutes by broomstick, so Snape should still be mid-flight.
Evans hoped the professor would arrive in time for the welcome feast.
He pushed open the hall's doors.
He'd come just in time. The long tables for the four Houses were already filled with students. Normally, Sunday nights in the hall were quiet, but Dumbledore had been advertising today's event for several days—everyone made sure to come out.
Though many were present, few young witches and wizards looked excited. The reputation of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class was common knowledge. If it weren't for the competent previous substitute, Tina, even fewer students would have shown.
Striding between the tables, Evans listened to the conversations around him as he approached the teachers' seats. Seeing the three empty chairs beside him, he paused.
The Hogwarts staff table always had one vacant spot. It was reserved for Professor Sibyll Trelawney, who never ate in the hall.
The empty chair to his left belonged naturally enough to his stubborn Head of House—Snape, who was probably still flying back.
But the chair to his right—usually occupied by Professor Flitwick—was empty tonight.
Why was it vacant?
Was he being isolated? He hoped not. He thought he had a decent reputation at Hogwarts.
Thinking this, he glanced at a short figure who'd moved two seats over and was perched on a chair studying the menu.
Perhaps sensing his gaze, Professor Flitwick turned and offered a somewhat strange smile.
That smile deepened Evans's confusion.
Besides Trelawney and Snape, the other empty seat should belong to the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Didn't new professors typically sit near Dumbledore? Why was this chair here?
Even if it was for the new professor, why hadn't they shown up yet? The time should be near.
Evans's uncertainty melted away when he saw Dumbledore ready to speak. He took his seat.
Dumbledore cleared his throat softly, drawing the students' attention as whispering faded.
After two soft coughs, he began, voice low, tinged with hidden regret.
"The matter with Professor Quirrell was a failure in my judgment." He paused, then continued. "I never imagined Quirrell would act so treacherously for personal gain. It has been an unforgivable crime against the wizarding world."
Listening, Evans pursed his lips. He didn't believe Dumbledore was completely in the dark about Quirrell before hiring him. If the truth was unknown, Dumbledore would at least have his suspicions.
Knowing Dumbledore as well as he did, Evans suspected the headmaster had lacked conclusive evidence and had feared simply killing Quirrell outright. Putting him in charge of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class was a better alternative.
That way, kept under Dumbledore's watch, Quirrell would slip up sooner or later, and Hogwarts wouldn't remain without Defence instruction. A two-fold win.
Unaware of Evans's skepticism, Dumbledore lifted his head with the burden of guilt fading.
"But Defence Against the Dark Arts is an essential course. It strengthens personal protection and is a key part of two wizarding exams. Such a class cannot be without proper guidance."
Evans's lips twitched. Pure nonsense.
The Defence class hadn't had a proper professor for ages. Passing their exams came down entirely to student effort, hardly helped by any teaching.
Only the Ministry knew this and had quietly lowered the exam standards to written tests alone. If not, few students at Hogwarts could pass.
He muttered to himself and stopped listening, grabbing a glass of water to swallow hard.
Since the award ceremony, he hadn't had a drop.
Just as Evans held the water in his mouth, Dumbledore finished his speech and moved on to the formal introduction.
And then Dumbledore spoke a name Evans hadn't expected.
"Let us welcome Miss Sothia Clearbrook!"
"For the next six months, she will serve as our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
Relief washed over Evans as he sprayed water across the table, eyes fixed on the empty chair beside him.
In the next moment, streams of rootless water converged from every direction and began to coalesce into a humanoid form in that empty seat.