95 Year Four - Chapter Twenty-One

Having changed the way the second task went down, I didn't receive any kiss from any worried one-quarter Veela. It was a sad state of affairs, especially because due to how the points were going, I actually ended up second to Krum. Apparently, since they hadn't asked for help from the Squid, they wouldn't be penalized during the voting procedure. Well, it didn't really matter to me.

What mattered, in my humble opinion, was to find the way to remember whatever the fuck else happened before the third task. Also, while the third task dealt with a labyrinth, it was also incredibly obvious that I wouldn't be facing the same things as Harry in canon. I remembered him facing a Sphynx, for example, and a sense-altering mist maybe, and a Boggart. However, those only happened to him because he took a specific path, one I had no idea how to retrace.

I could just as well face the Blast-Ended Skrewt first, head-on, and then a Medusa, or a Manticore. If I ended up facing a Manticore, I wouldn't just be cross, I'd be furious.

On the day after the task, the Daily Prophet dropped down in front of me at breakfast. It was interesting, as I opened it, to watch my form literally skid down the tentacles of Squiddie holding Megan in my arms like some kind of valiant knight-protector.

Dumbledore's Apprentice Has The Charms, The Moves and the Transfigurations!

By Rita Skeeter.

The First Task saw us already witness the wonders of a Master Transfigurator in the making, and it couldn't be any less with Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, O.M. (First Class), Grand Sorc., D. Wiz., X.J. (sorc.), S. of Mag.Q. as its teacher.

Yet once more Mister Umbrus Shade has outwitted and outshone our wildest expectations, bringing forth not only his charming, musical-inclined personality to guarantee us an enjoyable cold morning witnessing a tranquil lake surface with some accompanying music, but also showing his ability in the Care of Magical Creatures by outright bonding with Hogwarts' Giant Squid, affectionately called 'Squiddie'.

"Aye, the boy's an invaluable aid in the lessons," Professor Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures, has this to say about him from his quaint, small, yet cozy- I could see the veritable pain in Skeeter's words. She must have really hated the idea of going to Azkaban, all things considered.

"We can expect great things from Mister Umbrus; I say not even a seventh year would have dealt so swiftly, so amiably and so wonderfully with the tasks at hand. I would never have thought about using Gargoyles to deal with the Dragons myself! Such an imaginative student is a boon to any Charm Master! Why, he makes me want to experiment even more with new, wild charms!" Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House, has this to say about the incredible performance of his most prized pupil.

The article was, quite vividly, a gushing praise.

"Don't let your head grow too big," Amanda quipped from the side, playing with her food. "You got thrown in the Forbidden Forest by an unseen attacker after all."

"Yeah, I get that," I grumbled. "Pride goes before the fall and all that."

"Good," Amanda nodded. I extended a hand and grabbed hold of the nearest scone, giving it a tentative munch. I sighed and rolled my eyes. I was becoming a bit too paranoid for my own good, but after the Canary Cream boom, I was very careful of whatever I put into my mouth.

I pushed the Daily Prophet aside, and instead opened the Quibbler. There was a similar article, if with far less praise and with slightly less professional pictures. Luna had found her friendship-circle with Colin, Ginny and some other students of her age, so I'd be seeing her less and less. It was only right for the girl to make her own friends; and while I'd see her every now and then, there was little to say except wave at one another with a twinkling eye-smile on my part, and an angelic trollish smile on hers.

"Hey Shade! Shade! Shade!" someone called to me, and I turned to the source of the noise. It was a Gryffindor, a second year, judging by the pint-size. "Is it true you're single?" she was clutching on to a magazine, a Witch-weekly thing where the main cover was a pretty-looking witch checking her hair, and winking seductively while showing off the latest fashionable robes.

"That is true, yes," I answered. "I'm also not looking for a relationship until after I'm set in a job, have economic stability and a place to call my own," I continued quickly, rising my voice ever so slightly above the ensuing giggling from the second year girl and her friends.

"Such a serious guy," someone gushed.

I wanted to curse them all with a tongue-tying jinx and send them their way, but apparently that would be bad form.

My eyes shifted from the group to the figure of one Harry Potter and friends, who were muttering among themselves. Hermione looked puzzled about her own mail too, the girl having a series of large packages in front of her.

I quickly grabbed the Daily Prophet, and shifted through the pages until I found an article that I knew would be troublesome in the extreme, and yet couldn't really be denied.

Rita Skeeter was a poisonous journalist at heart; if she couldn't hurt everyone, she'd hurt those she could quite vividly, and darkly. Thus Viktor Krum was a poor unfortunate Quidditch Player who had gone to the ball with a buck-teethed Muggleborn really good with Love Potions, and Fleur Delacour was a French Toad whose Veela heritage gave her unfair advantages, though they clearly weren't enough to defeat my incredibly witty self.

Rita Skeeter was a terrifying ally to have on your side, I reckoned.

I should have been even more paranoid.

I should have been extremely paranoid.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts jinx was supposed to come into effect soon, if not soonish, and yet I had ignored it. Alastor had been a good, Constant Vigilance kind of guy. I reckoned the Jinx had grown frustrated about it too.

One fine morning, we walked into his class only to find he had gone away. It was like feeling a hole form in one's chest. He hadn't died. He hadn't been killed. He hadn't done anything evil, or committed an unforgivable act, but he had gone away. To keep his enemies from expecting it, he had kept the information a secret. One day he was there, throwing spells and stinging hexes at unsuspecting backs, and the next he was gone like the wind, not a trace left behind him.

"Well then, boys and girls," Nymphadora Tonks said with the most incredible anxious look ever, her hair shifting from green to bright pink, all the way into anxious, blazing yellow-orange. "If I can have your attention, I'll be subbing in for Moody for the reminder of the year," she tried to hold on to a chipper voice, but it clearly came out nervous. It wasn't that she was afraid, it was that she probably hadn't expected the sudden thing to plop in her hands. "So, for today's lesson, let's do something extremely cool!" she clapped her hands, and with her wand moved the desks away.

She also moved the chairs away. The chairs on which the students had been sitting, and the slow ones were pushed against the wall together with their chairs. "Ops," Nymphadora said, "Reflexes!" she said next, nervously chuckling, "You need to learn your reflexes! I'm going to get some bludgers and then sick them on you. It's up to you to dodge them!"

Amanda's eyes sparkled with vivid interest.

Mine filled with dread.

Amanda, have you been giving hints to the new Professor?

You need to stop doing that, you know?

As I barely dodged a bludger flying over my head, I heard another whistle close to my ear. This wasn't conductive to a proper lesson!

I already had enough with Hagrid and his surviving Blast-Ended Skrewts, but adding even this to the pile!? What next? Would Potions be done with an explosive under the cauldron? Would Transfiguration deal with dangerous explosive materials? Would Charms have me try to survive an incredibly complex and dastardly Saw-like trap?

At the very least, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were as boring as they could come, and utterly non-lethal.

However, Professor Vector's assigned homework should have been classified as a six X level of danger.

I would survive. I would survive it all.

What I wouldn't survive, however, was the very sudden and vivid interest of the Slytherins.

Slytherins, why are you catching my attention? You're supposed to be the background evil characters who can never be redeemed.

Stop trying to act human, you lot. Especially you, second year student randomly coughing feathers with wide doe-eyes and a sad face limping along the hallways due to a Weasley prank. Or you, third year student politely asking for help for your latest assignment. Even you, first year traumatized by your Potions' Headmaster, should know better than to ask me. I understand that help is always given at Hogwarts, but you can't expect a Ravenclaw to help you, you're two-dimensional cookie-evil guys!

You'll make me want to help if you ask with a pretty please.

"Fine," I grumbled to the latest Slytherin with a problem, "Let's hear it," I patted the chair by my side, and the girl pulled out a thick book with her latest Transfiguration homework on it before sitting down.

"Professor McGonagall is so unfair," she whined, "She always-"

"That's a bad way to start something," I said with a dreadful sigh. "I will not judge you based on your failures, but you need to tell me what those failures are, truthfully, or we won't get anywhere anytime soon. I'm not here to poke fun at you, and at your mistakes. I'm here to help. If you want my help, ask for it genuinely."

The Slytherin stared at me as if I had grown a Hydra-like collection of long necks and fire-spouting heads, and then quietly caved in and gave me the truth of her matter.

I had become a Students' Help Desk.

The very first Students' Help Desk of Hogwarts...

...could I consider this a part-time job?

Dumbledore, you better pay me for this stuff!