Year Four - Chapter Twenty-Nine

Fleur had the grace to apologize. Viktor Krum didn't even remember how he lost his marbles, but he was sorrowful he couldn't actually fight me himself. The Award Ceremony practically became a low key moment when two of the judges left, and the parting feast became a quiet moment of contemplation.

"This year," Dumbledore said, "The Hogwarts' Cup has been won-" there was silence in the hall, "By Slytherin."

There was silence, ever so briefly, as they looked in the direction of the Ravenclaw table.

I sighed, and then shook my head, shrugging ever so slightly.

The green ties exploded in cheers, clapping excitedly. Some hugged one another, tears of joy on their faces. I sighed. One man couldn't win them all, and anyways I was happy for the little ones. The first years non-cookie evil and those random, unfortunate background characters of that House that had nothing evil to their name but their purity of blood or their unfortunate connection to the house of the snakes.

"I was busy with the Triwizard Tournament," I said as a defense to Amanda's judgmental staring in my direction.

Someone made a small noise to catch my attention by my side, and as I turned towards the source of the noise, I stared at this strange First Year who had been sorted at the beginning feast, and who, by all accounts, was the secondary background character of all background characters.

"You were great!" he piped from my side. I didn't know his name, but there were stars in his eyes.

"Yeah! You did your best!" another Ravenclaw said, a first year like the first one. Hadn't I helped that one in Transfiguration?

"Uh-uh, Hogwarts won the Triwizard Tournament thanks to you," another Ravenclaw said, a third year this time. He began to clap, and another soon joined.

Heat began to creep across my body, blood rushing to my head. "To Shade's victory!" someone cheered loudly, and the calls echoed through the other tables. "To Hogwarts!"

The clapping rumbled across the tables, echoing vividly from Hufflepuff to Gryffindor, all the way to the bottom of Slytherin where the younger years rested.

With the thundering of applause, the year came to an end. With the silence of goodbyes and the soul-crushing hugs of friends' parting, I watched my friends board the Hogwarts' express to head back home. I, on the other hand, wouldn't be going back.

"Well then, Mister Umbrus," the Headmaster spoke gently from my side, "We should go, my brother is expecting us."

I gave him a nod, and with a silent plop he side-along apparated me to Hogsmeade's very own Hog's Head. The place wasn't dirty. It was something even worse. I could see the grime slowly sludge about the floors, and the marks of soot up in the ceiling. I could see the glasses, and the tankards, dirty and rusted. How could a glass rust? I had no idea, and yet it had happened. I could see the beer barrels encroached with moss of a yellowish color, and some even had fungus colonies growing on them.

I stared at the place, and then at the man that did in fact resemble Albus Dumbledore, if younger. "Aberforth," Albus spoke with a happy tone to his voice, "This here is Mister Umbrus," he patted my shoulder, bringing me slightly forward. "Do treat him well."

Aberforth grunted from beyond the counter, "Can you serve at tables?"

I looked up at him. I looked up at him and then smiled. "I learn real fast," I said, "But I have a question," I pointed a finger at the dirt, the grime, the soot, the everything that there was of wrong in the place. "Can I clean?"

"I like it the way it is," Aberforth said, stubbornly glaring at me.

"Then, can I suggest cleaning the half you do not usually use?" I pressed on, uncaring. "Give the client the option between magical pox and magical cleanliness? Might bring in twice the customers."

Aberforth's eyes narrowed, and then he turned to look at Albus. "Albus," he said a single word that seemed to carry on countless promises, and hidden nuances, and sentences even. The Headmaster understood him, and gave a tiny smile.

"Aberforth," he said, his eyes twinkling. "After four years with Mister Umbrus, you can rest assured. He will do as he pleases, and he will triumph because of it."

"It's my pub," Aberforth stressed on. "It stays as I like it."

"Very well," I said with a small nod. "You're the boss, boss. So, you want me to clean the glasses at least?" I pointed at the dirty rag by the kitchen sink. "Swipe the floor too?"

He looked at me. Aberforth looked at me, eyes half-narrow. "No magic."

I smiled. "No magic at all, only good old sweat of the brow and elbow grease."

Aberforth begrudgingly nodded. "I'll be speaking with the Orphanage, Mister Umbrus, and recover what possessions you had there," the Headmaster said in the meantime. "In the meantime, Aberforth, if you could show the boy his room?"

Aberforth shrugged, "He can pick whatever room he prefers upstairs. We're a pub. We've got rooms. Just put a lock on it or something once you've chosen."

I smiled, and extended my hand over the counter, much to Aberforth's puzzled expression. "Thanks for having me, sir. I'll do my best."

He clasped my hand. There was the tightness and the callouses, and also the sticky-like sensation of grime and dirt that would require extermination by fire and purification by salt to remove.

It was all right.

I wasn't just a random boy. I was my Grandmother's grandson, and my Grandmother, peace be with her soul, was a Barista.

Going from serving behind a bar counter to serving behind a pub's counter wouldn't be that difficult, I reckoned. Thus, I realized I had to deal with the problems of the dirt and the grime methodically, one step at the time, and with great care. If I didn't use magic, I was allowed to clean. Thus, what could only be described as being the very best Cinderella had to take place.

It didn't make me feel sad about it, this menial labor. I actually enjoyed the task, the challenge and the opportunity to hang around Hogsmeade during my free time.

I did have a nagging suspicion that whoever had tried to kill me was still at large, but even so, I couldn't live in fear.

Now, in a healthy state of paranoid self-protection, that I could live with.

For I was Shade Umbrus...

...the incredibly paranoid-survivalist Ravenclaw.