Year Three - Chapter Ten

It took me a few days to stop randomly cackling like a lunatic. A few more days till I stopped grinning, and finally it took a whole week before I could actually settle my shoulders shaking from excitement. The Wizard World was in an uproar, some cried for justice, others for a re-trial. Still Sirius Black had been cleared from his charges, and Harry Potter had found himself with a Godfather whom he hadn't even known he had.

I, in the meantime, was literally smelling something off. And I meant it, since I had embarked upon the most noble quest of making homemade perfumes. The bubbling cauldron in front of me simmered, even as I eyed it critically in wait for the kicker.

"Mister Umbrus," Snape said abruptly, "That obnoxious smell is headache-inducing," he continued, "That will be ten points from Ravenclaw."

That had changed too. Snape hadn't apparently liked the fact I had cleared Sirius' name, but at the same time, it hadn't changed much else.

"Professor, I'm trying to make perfume," I said as I stared right into his eyes. "Sorry for the smell, is there some kind of modification to the formula that can keep the carrier oils and the essential ones from leaving the top of the cauldron?"

"Page forty-seven of the Advanced Potion-Making book, Mister Umbrus," Snape said dryly, resuming his homework checking. I waited a heartbeat.

"Professor, I don't have access to the Advanced Potion-Making book," I answered.

He looked at me, and then surly glanced at the Potions' Cupboard. "There should be an old copy in the supply closet. Return it once you leave this room, Mister Umbrus."

I gave a small nod in reply, and scuttled over to open the cupboard and recover the copy in question. As I blew the dust away and opened it carefully, I noticed the scribbling and the notes neatly put across the pages. "Professor," I said. "How does one experiment with potions without risking his head or his life?"

Professor Snape looked at me, and then narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of the ink on the pages. Perhaps time had made him forget just what kind of book was in the potions' cupboard, or maybe he hadn't really bothered recalling the fanciful things he wrote in his youth. He did stand up from correcting the homework, and quietly moved to look at the book's copy.

The silence and the lack of a scowl was the most that the man would deliver as a cherished moment of his life, I reckoned.

"One attempts after carefully noticing the patterns in potion-making, Mister Umbrus," he acquiesced. "Certain potions are dissimilar in effects, yet similar in brewing. However one fundamental rule is patience, and extreme care," he continued with a stern voice, utterly stressing each of the words as if a newborn's life depended on it. "A single sneeze can deliver the worst of results, and a single misstep or distraction snuff a life out. That is the risk those who seek to become Master Potion-Makers must accept."

"What about the ingredients?" I asked instead, "how does one find out that the mucus of flubberworm is better than sliced fairy wings? How does one decide?"

"Follow the recipes, Mister Umbrus, and perhaps one day you may be able to gleam beyond the vast expanse of the mediocre and glance at the depths beneath," professor Snape answered. "That will be forty points from Ravenclaw for wasting four minutes of my time."

I quietly nodded. "Thank you, professor."

"As you will, Mister Umbrus," he replied, returning airily to his spot.

I studied the charm, and then applied it. Thankfully, the sickening perfume-like smell no longer carried beyond the cauldron, much to my joy and delight.

"Professor," I said as I finished my homemade perfume. "Could I bring some of it out?"

Professor Snape looked at me, as if waiting for me to further elaborate. "I'm planning the Christmas gifts," I added, weakly. "I can trade a pint for Ravenclaw points?"

The man's lips threatened to shatter the final seal on the apocalypse's lid, as they seemed to be echoing the impossible thought of twitching upwards. They didn't, because Severus Snape was the masterful spy that could lie to Voldemort's face and live, and also because he actually allowed it on the grounds of losing thirty more points from Ravenclaw's house.

The professor knew it was a moot point. Dumbledore had probably notified him already, but as long as the game of facades held, these exchanges would be possible.

My steps from the dungeons' cold and stuffy air up towards the upper floors was accompanied by a few echoes of rattling chains, and a couple of ghosts moving through the walls. I reached the light of the day, and sighed at the sight of the heavy raindrops coming down like God's angry tears of frustration at having lost its combo-chain in a rhythm-game seeking the High Score.

The rain didn't let up, and thus it was to a miserable next day that I found myself huddling beneath a protective enchantment to keep the water out while on the Quidditch pitch, Gryffindor played against Slytherin.

"If I'm feeling miserable, I can't fathom how they're feeling," I yelled over the noise of the thunder and the lightning.

"They're feeling awesome!" Amanda yelled, "Break both legs and arms! Both teams!" she hooted furiously, showing the true sportsmanship of a veteran fan. Why had I accepted to spend time in the biting cold? Because, clearly, social interactions and bond links were a must to fuse the greatest and strongest persona.

Luna was wearing a lion hat on her head, made of paper and cheerfully looking as if ready to eat her whole. It was also half-melted from the rain, since she hadn't reached me on time to get it charmed into being water-proof. It now was water and fireproof, just because I liked adding extra-charms to things.

"Go Gryffindor!" she said cheerfully, waving a Gryffindor flag without a care in the world. Even her Gryffindor's friend by her side seemed ashamed of the fact that they were both standing at the edge between the Ravenclaw and the Gryffindors' camp, and even so, Luna was positively cheerful in her cheering for the lions. While this was still acceptable, it would be high treason if done during a Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor match.

The red-haired girl by Luna's side cautiously stole glances in my direction every now and then, but I blamed it on two facts. The first, I was protecting them from the harshness of the cold, chilling winds with a tiny anti-harsh weather charm. It was in the book of Dark Charms for the Successful Evil Overlord. Just as it taught how to make thunder clap at one's name, it also taught how to keep the wind and the water out of one's eyes while making grandiose speeches from a balcony.

Nothing made the oppressed people revolt faster than your own mantle flapping furiously against your face because a treacherous breeze had seditious thoughts, apparently.

The second was that the red-haired girl in question was apparently Ginny Weasley, whom I'd saved from a pickle with a possession and a cursed diary last year. She had yet to open her mouth in my presence though, which made her some kind of wallflower-like entity for the time being.

Still, effectively charmed against the wind and the cold, a few selected individuals that stood close to me received the same treatment. I had Wayne and Amanda behind me, having shuffled together in a group to get into the best positions possible, and the first year-no, second year, Gryffindor with the photographic machine was standing beneath Luna, taking pictures for the Quibbler's new sports' column apparently.

Lightning streaked through the sky, the poor Chasers flying blindly just as much as the Beaters were hurling their bats at the empty air. The bludgers had free rein, and they seemed to enjoy it striking and bruising everyone that came across their path of death and devastation.

"Oh yeah! That gotta hurt real bad!" Amanda shrieked wildly, laughing at the misery of a Slytherin Chaser twirling on his broomstick, a bludger striking the kid straight in the shoulders.

"This is just a carnage," Wayne said from above me, "The sooner they find the Snitch, the better-"

"Don't sour my party!" Amanda yelled back, angrily stomping with one foot on the ground as she stood up. "This is wonderful! I want it to rain like this when I get on the broom for my match. Can you make it rain like this, Shade?"

As she asked that, I quietly shuffled slightly away from her, thus resulting in her vice-like grip on my arm. "Well!?"

"F-Fine!" I yelped, utterly terrified by the crazy glint in Amanda's eyes.

Apparently, this year, the Ravenclaw's Quidditch team had made the unfortunate decision of putting Amanda in as a Chaser. It was a choice they would soon regret, I expected, but that would come in time.

"Thank you Shade! You're the best!" she sat down, pacified, and I inwardly swore not to do what she had asked me to do.

I loved my sunny weather very much, and considering how the next match in the roster would be Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, it meant that war would happen between the houses. It would be a bloody war, a senseless war, a cruel war-and perhaps, perhaps I could do something to-

Someone's hand grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip, tightening the hold with the sharp steel-like grip of a monster having smelled fresh blood.

"Shade," Amanda whispered to my ear, "Don't you dare ruin the Quidditch Cup like you ruined the House one." Her eyes told me she had understood my line of thought. "Are we clear on this?"

"Amanda-"

"Are we clear, Shade?"

"Yes," I said flatly. "Yes we are." I sighed.

Silly kids and their monster-like grips on my arms.

Then I paled.

The Triwizard tournament, for the next year, would involve the Quidditch Pitch.

It meant there wouldn't be a Quidditch Cup.

"Amanda," I said hastily, "should next year Quidditch Cup not happen, I will plead my utter innocence-" a loud noise of thunder drowned my voice out.

"Uh?" Amanda blinked, "What? I can't hear you!"

I quieted down.

My life would become hell come next year.

Unfortunately, I hadn't realized just how much of a hell I'd still have to go through this year.

For when you hit rock bottom...

...there is always the metallic core you can pierce through!