Severus wasn't surprised that Neville was incapable of taking a hint when it was dropped full on his head. "I accomplished what I set out to," he snapped. "Your regrets are your own concern." It was still enough to make him coil with anger, the only subject that could rile him to anything more than his usual petty needling. He hated it. It should have been dead by now, entirely dry and spent, and yet - there it was, lurking, all too easy even for the likes Longbottom to dredge up. "As are your students. Do with them what you like - I haven't the time to dictate to you how to manage your House."
He clenched one hand on the arm of his chair, behind his desk where it would go unseen. A moment later he was a little more himself; the fire had gone out of his eyes. He focused diligently on the prospect of a future flood of Weasley-stamped merchandise. Longbottom wasn't wrong. He would find his own way to deal with it, however. "There will always be rivalries, so long as students have parents - so long as we keep encouraging to rush at one another on broomsticks. I advise you not to waste your time trying to do away with a thousand years of tradition. It will not go over well." He paused. "If there's nothing else." He hadn't meant to lash out, and didn't care to open up any more old wounds. He could only take so much of that at a time.