Big Man Upstairs: A Minister's Journey in Hogwarts

by GronHatchat

Vincent Mullens has been employed as the Hogwarts campus minister and counselor. In his quest to aid the Hogwarts student body build a relationship with Christ, he finds many issues in settling in among his new peers, the Hogwarts staff. As he strives to build relationships in his new home, Vincent combats the growing threat of a dark past... Set during the Goblet of Fire.

Artists live very complex lives, because they are so simple. And the simplest things are the most complex of tasks. When we see, others sometimes don't, as well as vice versa. Artists and non-artists alike are equal in their ignorance: you can only see what God's given you the grace to see, and it only gives you a superiority in the perception, not in the lifestyle. Sometimes, simplicity is better. Just as sometimes, there is fun in the complexities.

For Vincent Mullens, he was an artist of complexity, yet the superiority that came with it made him, often, very simple minded. A paintbrush could be a sword just as much as a coloring tool. Differentiating these things, of course, was the complex part. Indeed, his very wand was of artistic complexity. Twisted in its initial form, a branch that humped twice, in the shape of a serpent, its tip painted red, its hilt wrapped in black cloth. Aesthetically, it made no sense. Nothing of complexity was truly within the abstract of it. Instead, the abstract was in the man.

Set apart from society as a strange, and rather unsettling man, Vincent Mullens adored the unusual, even for a wizard's standards: conversations were far more interesting when he spoke to earthworms in the soil, and less to the scholars of the Ministry of Magic. How fine it was for him to be broken apart from those old halls, those pretentious floors, and those smelly undercrofts. No longer would they breath down his neck, demanding to know the purpose of having a rooster wear an enchanted, singing thong, or a de-fanged rattlesnake do twists about the air while singing, in a most deep voice of the Lee, "This is Only the Beginning."

Experimentations did not have to be complex. They became so on their own, when they forced you to consider things that would require extraneous work. Often, the scariest thing concerning process was that you would have to leave comfort. And in this case, the night was a large experiment. For tonight, Vincent Mullens was standing, alone, on a cool September night, raindrops flecking down by the soft gallons, staring out towards the distant silhouette of his future.

Now Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was, in every way, a controversial subject to his employment. Indeed, the name alone, at the best of times, bothered him most unusually, and it was less on personal feeling and more upon mainstream pressures. Witchcraft… wizardry… They were, in every way, foreboding and innocent words at the same time. As a studier of linguistics, he had a fair vat of semantic and syntax knowledge, and understood situation-specifics. You could always call your little sister evil, when she laughed at you as you were punished, but you grew up, and you realized that true evil was rape, or murder, or any numbers of the gravest sins accounted for in the Good Book.

So, when he let the words witchcraft and wizardry run through his mind, he always liked to remind himself of the lessons he had instructed to himself as he had trained for this day: biology. Wizard and witch, were, of course, completely false names, he believed. It was one of those simple, yet complex things about his mind. Although the words themselves were mainstream, proudly accepted through centuries, during the 6000 or so years that the Earth had existed, he knew better. Wizard and witch, to him, were insults, and he privately considered his peers as the Willful. Exertions of will, in the form of great power, as that power was biologically linked. It was the same issue with noting a man of African origin and a woman of Chinese origin: they were both human, both the same race, but different in their classification of what part of the same race. As wizards and witches, as they called themselves, were born as these powerful beings, it fought against all rule that they were not the evil sorcerers and casters as described in the Good Book. He had always asserted those people as to being not the Willfuls, but rather the practitioners who sought out demons for false power, as false power was all that demons were good for. Thus, even as someone caught in the profession of Vincent Mullens, he would stand admirably strong in his pursuit to ensure that, when this year was over, they could understand the fundamental differences.

He fingered the pocket sized Bible at his side, smiling.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, old boy," he said to himself, letting his finger slide down the great iron of the gate before him. Nervous, yes, but strong nonetheless. Thought bravery always meant that running was sometimes the correct option, tonight was not a night for running. It was a night for action. Lord, please allow me to reach out to these children, he begged of his Father in Heaven, his hands shaking out of anxiety. The game tables set, and I'm the ball. So please, I ask you… pool me into the right hole, and don't let me get out of it until I've scored you your point. No matter how much I beg and struggle… let me score you that point, please.

And with that, Vincent Mullens stepped forward, pushing open the mighty gate with a tap of his wand. The gate, registering at once that it belonged to the new teacher, sprang forward with a rather cheerful wind, beckoning him within.

"Thanks," he called out to the gates, as they swung shut loudly behind him. The grass of the great valley-yard before him felt mushy underfoot. It had rained earlier, and it had come back once more. What a night to arrive to school on. Comically, he pictured himself as a clichéd villain, an evil teacher approaching the school with claps of thunder to signal his arrival. He snorted at the thought, of course. Wahaha, I, the evil campus minister, shall curse the students of this establishment with the Word of God! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! And he smiled. Smiled because God had indeed given him this opportunity, this blessing. He was going to make a difference in the lives of children, and he was not going to be afraid to do so. A calling like no other. Magical children needed him.

The pathway to the towering castle of Hogwarts winded uphill, laid in its fine red-dirt texture. The great Black Lake glistened to the his east, even though the moon was currently hidden beneath a black cloud cover. There was definitely an almost crystalline magic to its glassy surface that made it shine in pitch-blackness. Every window in the castle was almost alight, burning gold in his eyes. It looked welcoming enough, but in times like this, you could never truly be sure if your aim was to be generally accepted.

He was dressed appropriately enough for the night, a set of simple, light blue robes tied with golden rope, and his crimson colored hair was its usual spikey get-up, his long beard and goatee brushed and decorated with a mini golden bow-tie. His things had already been collected earlier by a representative to the school, and with a smile he registered that one of these windows that he looked up at now hid his very own office. What kinds of things would he and his students explore together? What would he be able to bring to them, that which they needed the most?

The great doors leading into the Entrance Hall were open, awaiting the students who would be arriving sometime soon. He had reached Hogsmeade before the Express had, so he would be comfortably set and waiting by the time the students reached Hogwarts for the Sorting and Welcoming Feast. A new year, a new teacher. It was something that Hogwarts truly revered. He had heard rumors, of course, concerning the need for teachers on a yearly basis. It was always tied to one single post: Defense Against the Dark Arts. This class he highly respected. Any form of antagonism against black arts made him smile. One more crunch in the face for The Sourpuss Downstairs, as he liked to refer to the Enemy. But each year, the teachers to that post were replaced. There was always something. Unexplained sicknesses, felons that had led to arrests, sudden deaths in their families… and sometimes, their own deaths. This had especially taken notice a few years back. A man by the name of Quirinus Quirrell. He had been associated with a rather dark name in the magical community: one Voldemort. Voldemort, Vincent had known for years, was highly feared in the world, and had committed global atrocities, especially in the realms of mass murder, for the longest time, waging war against Muggles and Muggle-borns alike, along with those others who opposed him.

As a man who had struggled and risen with Christ in His life, Vincent understood well how easy it was to be seduced by evil, and he had always felt horrid for the man named Voldemort. Voldemort was another child, ignorant and lost in his own ways… and he had paid for it. Paid for it on the night that he had attempted the murder of a small, one year old boy… and of course, this young boy's name was quite famous. Harry Potter, an idol of the magical community. He was currently enrolled in Hogwarts, too, and Vincent only vaguely wondered if he would be able to speak with the young man. He was here not only as campus minister, but also as counselor, and Potter's life seemed to be filled with a necessity of his profession, if done correctly. Potter, along with so many others…

Taking the steps up into the entrance hall, two at a time, Vincent propelled himself forward into the great chamber.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called aloud, grinning as he examined the brilliance of the setting. Massive hourglasses, two on either side of him, stood towering to the ceiling, empty at the moment, but he had heard of these great things: they bore stones inside of them, colored to scarlet, emerald green, bright yellow, and violet. Four colors, four hourglasses, for four Houses of Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The more stones that filled the glass, the more points that House bore in their name, and at the end of the year, he knew that whichever house bore the most points would win the yearly House Cup, a very high honor.

A great marble staircase led to the higher levels in the central part of the hall, and to his left, two gargoyles flanked a door with a golden plaque labeling Teachers' Lounge. Doors set some ways behind the bend of the marble stairs on this ground floor led off to who knew where else, but upon a door set to the stage-right of the case, there seemed to be engraved a large, golden snake. The Great Hall, meanwhile, where the Sorting and Welcoming Feast would take place, was to his right, open and awaiting any who wished to be revered by its presence. He peered inside, admiring the long, massive four table that filled the massive chamber within, while against the farthest wall sat the long, golden table that spread the width of the chamber, and he saw that several staff members were already set at this table, silently chattering to each other.

A few of them were staring off into space, lost in their own thought. On the left side of the table, there sat a small, African man who was excitedly whispering to a woman with wild, white, spiked hair, similar to his own, but he knew neither of them. He had not been introduced to any of the staff members yet. Beside these two excited chatters there was another man, but this one was staring directly his way. He looked rather glum, his head hidden beneath a mass of black, slightly wild hair, his robes dark and his face gaunt and cool. Something about this man made him feel unwelcome, but as he slowly began to move into the Hall, he turned his attention away from this dark man and to the two individuals in the central part of the table: an elderly woman in fine, emerald green robes, a thin, tall hat matching this elegance, who also was conversing with a more ancient looking man.

This man seemed to be older than any other person at the table. His face was hidden behind a massive of white beard, fluffy and neatly combed, bound by a purple tie, and he wore glasses, the lenses that were shaped like half-moons. His nose seemed to be slightly bent, as if it had been broken, and he wore the finest robes of silk. Of course, Vincent knew this man well. Everyone in the magical world knew who Albus Dumbledore was. He was, perhaps, the most famous "wizard" of the age, a man of true skill and great power, celebrated genius of alchemy and offensive capability. Vincent had written Albus earlier in the summer, inquiring the man to consider allowing the post of campus minister, and after a few exchanges, ensuring the Headmaster that Vincent only meant the best, Dumbledore had enthusiastically agreed that perhaps a ministerial/counseling position could work wonders, if only to have someone direct in the open that the students knew they could speak to. He was a teacher in a different way than the others: practicality vs a relationship with Christ. Well, that was the plan.

As he made his way between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, centered well, the other teacher began to notice him coming, and some of them smiled, while others looked on in silent consideration, unsure as to how to react.

Dumbledore cut off from his talk with the elderly woman beside him, and beamed at Vincent as he came to a halt before the table.

"Did someone order a Red Baron?" Vincent inquired to the old man, bowing his head. Dumbledore likewise bowed, beaming ever more brightly at the newcomer.

"You've come," the Headmaster acknowledged, contentment and relief in his tone. "I was looking forward to speaking with you before the students arrived, Mr. Mullens. Welcome to Hogwarts!"

"Yeah, I gotta tell you, it's something," Vincent grinned, looking up at the ceiling, which, instead of the same golden stone that crafted the rest of the framework, instead was a sky of its own, black and waving about what were obviously rainclouds. "Enchanted to look like the sky outside?" he asked, nodding at it.

"It's always been one of my favorite things about this Hall," Dumbledore smiled. "You can definitely look at it as an interactive canvas."

Vincent chuckled, loving the art allusion. He bowed his head at the elderly woman beside Dumbledore. "And I see you took no issue in supplying us with the finest of women, no less," he soothed in a soft, flirtatious voice, reaching out and grasping the old woman's hand. The woman gasped, taken by surprise as Vincent pressed his lips against her withered skin. "C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Madame."

The woman, who looked so stern and stony in opposition to the very ideas of silliness, suddenly flushed a deep red, and pulled her hand away, smiling a quick smile and nodding before turning away. Vincent grinned.

"So, you're the famous Albus Dumbledore," he noted, taking in the old man's form. "Well, then, hop to it, old man. Introduce me, will you? I need to know the name of this fetching young lady," he soothed once more, eyeing the elderly woman. Albus had to stifled a laugh, his eyes twinkling madly, and the old woman turned on him, her face burning scarlet.

"Minerva," she said, rather stoically. "M-Minerva Mcgonagall. I am Deputy Headmistress to Hogwarts. Vincent Mullens, indeed?"

"Aye, Madame," Vincent mused in his mockery of a French accent. "A single rose-bud sooch ess yourself moost call me Veencent alone."

"Behave, now, Vincent, you haven't even started your job yet," Dumbledore chuckled, enjoying the flustered look upon Minerva's face. "Shall I introduce you then, to the others, before we are overwhelmed by the masses?"

Vincent looked behind him, eyeing the empty hall in the distance. How long indeed would it be, until they arrived?

"Very well. So, who's Smiles and Cuddles over there?" he asked, nodding at the black haired, gaunt man who was peering over at him with narrowed eyes, a sour expression upon his face.

"That would Severus. Severus Snape. Severus!" Dumbledore called, grinning towards the brooding man. "Severus, come and meet Vincent!"

Severus nodded at Vincent, only once, before turning his attention away, remaining rooted to the spot. Vincent shrugged.

"Basic situation of social anxiety, most likely."

"No, no," Dumbledore corrected him. "Severus isn't one for chatting, truly. It's rather sad… but one of these years, I assure you, I will break the man." His eyes twinkled as he looked over at the sour man, and he winked. Some odd form of twitch jumped around Snape's mouth, and then Dumbledore turned his attention to the tiny man on his left, who had suddenly taken interest in Vincent. He was a dwarf, to say, goblin-sized, and indeed, by his facial structure and ears, as well as the pod shaped nostrils, Vincent was almost sure there was something of goblin in him. Wizened and white-haired, old, like Dumbledore, the tiny man's eyes shined as he beamed up with an excited smile.

"Filius Flitwick," Dumbledore told Vincent. "Charms master."

Flitwick reached out a hand, and Vincent grasped it firmly, shaking hard. "So, Charms master, eh? Never excelled at it myself, in the most desirable of ways, but I'm sure I can learn fine from you, eh, Filius?"

"Celebrated procedures notwithstanding, Mr. Mullens, welcome to Hogwarts!" Flitwick announced loudly, causing several people to stare over. Vincent was gaining more and more attention now. "I hope you're ready for it all, Mr. Mullens. These students can be quite fierce…" He grinned widely, and Vincent noticed several missing teeth, as well as several blackened teeth, as if covered in ash that had never left him. Vincent nodded, putting on a firm war face.

"Bring it!" he hissed, punching at the air.

And one by one, the introductions began. A large, gray-haired lady who wore a hat that seemed to be entwined with ivy and flowers stretched out a hand, and grasped his firmly. She introduced herself as Pomona Sprout, the Herbology mistress. A tall, dark skinned, dark eyed lady in olive colored robes allowed him the pleasure of her name: Aurora Sinistra.

"Aurora," Vincent purred, kissing her hand lightly. "Why, I see a beauty before me, but she's wide awake, isn't she?" He hoped she would get the reference, and indeed the woman, though seemingly strict by the way she held her expression, suddenly blushed and looked away, coughing uncomfortably. He swore he saw some beads of sweat, and as he turned away, the tiniest smile.

The spikey haired, silver haired woman from the left side of the table approached him now, and he saw that she had the most interesting yellow, hawk-like eyes. An inhuman feature that was arousing as far as aesthetic attraction went. "Rolanda Hooch," she said firmly, grasping his hand before he could offer it and shaking so hard, he felt his entire body sink a bit. He smiled, embarrassed, and before he could stop it, muttered, "Ha… let's hope not…"

Her eyes narrowed, and realizing what he had said, he quickly cleared his throat and grinned. "Sorry! Hi, how are you!? Nice to meet you, Madame H- Rolanda! Vincent Mullens."

He quickly turned away from her, biting his lip, as her penetrating stare burned into the back of him. Sometimes, he had a habit of saying things… terrible things, without being able to stop himself…

The slightly plump, fair-skinned, dark haired Septima Vector gave him little regard, other than a casual smile and nod, but she quickly turned her attention back to the book she was reading, which, from what Vincent could see from where he stood, was filled with the most complicated looking equations and jumbles of numbers, and he shivered just looking at it. Vincent had never stepped foot into Hogwarts before tonight, and he had little knowledge of just how complex the classes here could be, or how much pressure was placed upon its students. He had been trained and schooled at the Alexander Hatchat Academy of Magical Excellence, a rather dumpy sort of South American school when compared to what he had seen in the few minutes he had been engraced by the presence of this castle.

Arnold Gaskins, who announced to Vincent that he taught students about Muggles, bowed low before the newcomer, and Vincent felt a surge of pride at seeing the slightly pump, bald, dark eyed man. He shook Arnold's hand firmly and assured him, "I promise you, me and you are going to get along just fine!"

"Are we?"

"Yes. Muggles. I love Muggles! They've always been fascinating to me, but much more, I've never really known how to approach them in the right way. With my duties as a minister, I'd love to be able to reach out to Muggles alongside the Magical Community. I daresay you may find me snooping into the back of your classes here and there, Mr. Gaskins!"

"Well… haha… I suppose that wouldn't be an issue, just don't make me take house points away!"

The two men shared a hearty laugh, though neither of them knew why. It was mandatory protocol, perhaps, tied to the social norm. Make a lame joke, and then laugh it up. Bustling up behind Arnold came another plump teacher.

Vincent, still grinning, turned to look at her.

And he felt his heart stop in place.

She was beautiful. Very, very beautiful… Her belly was slightly large and she truly had a figure. Actual meat on a woman was perhaps the sexiest of things. She wore emerald green robes, similarly to those worn by Minerva, yet her robes were tied with a golden rope… just like his! Her hair was a black mess of curls, shimmering blue in places when touched by the light, and her eyes burned an intense brownish-green. She smiled lightly at him, and he grasped her hand firmly, gazing at her with watery eyes.

"A-and y-you are…?"

Her cheeks turned red. She was all too aware of his current incapacitation. Dumbledore had a strange smile upon his face as he watched.

"Hey there!" she said loudly, grinning. "I'm Dwana. Dwana Ah-Lehr!"

Dwana Ah-Lehr… marry me!

Oh, yes, of course, Vincent, let's get married right here, right now!

Kiss me, Dwana! Show the entire staff our love for one another and let us set sail into the twilight, for honeymoon purposes!

Of course, my darling! Mmm….

"Mr. Mullens?"

Vincent shook his head, snapping out of his spontaneous fantasy. She was looking at him with the most peculiar expression. He was still holding her hand very firmly.

"I'm so glad to meet you, Mrs. Ah-Lehr…" he said softly, kissing her hand lightly.

"Miss," she corrected.

That you are! Muhahahahaha! You will be mine! MINE I SAY!

"That's impossible!"

"Nope… not really…" She gazed at the floor uncomfortably.

"So what do you teach, my rosebud?"

"This very prickly flower teaches music and art," Dwana Ah-Lehr said stoically, raising an eyebrow. Vincent may very well have truly fallen in love.

"Art…"

"Yep, art. Drawing and painting and sculpting…"

"You had me at the word," Vincent grinned. "Well, Miss Ah-Lehr… I look forward to writing a symphony with you some time…"

"Keep your trombone in its case, Mr. Mullens," Dwana almost whispered to him, smiling with a squinty nod, before turning away and heading back to her seat near the end of the table. Vincent flushed. Dumbledore and Minerva both were silently snorting into their arms, trying to be subtle in fashion. Flitwick was grinning broadly. Arnold, meanwhile, clapped Vincent on the shoulder in a most sympathetic way.

"She rejected me too," he whispered. "Crazy, isn't it, I mean look at me?" His bald head shined most intently in the light of the room. Vincent nodded.

"You're gorgeous," he mused, clapping Arnold on the shoulder before walking away, to introduce himself to some more people. As he walked, he glanced around, back towards Ah-Lehr. She was sketching something at the table, her quill moving fast with most delicate strokes, her eyes narrowed in the most intense concentration. With her free hand which held down the paper, he finger twiddled about in the air, creating different blots of colored ink from the very air, which dipped lightly in place where she willed it to go. He smiled, feeling warm. It had been instant attraction.

After several more minutes, Vincent had finally managed to introduce himself to all of the staff members seated at the table. They were a most intriguing bunch, a collection of angry, very kind, distracted, and comical lives all merged into one massive school body of authority. When at last he had spoken with all who were currently present (the school High Nurse, Poppy Pomfrey, had told him that there were far more staff members than those currently present), Vincent finally walked back over to Dumbledore, who had awaited him patiently, twiddling his thumbs, lost in thought. He looked up, beaming.

"Finished?"

"Indeed, Santa, indeed. I like your bunch. Really like." He glanced a side look towards Dwana again. She was easily absolved in her artwork, oblivious to the rest of the world. Even from this distance, he noted the structure of the lines and the coloration. It looked as if she were drawing a dragon of sorts, a vibrantly colored, rainbow textured wyrm. "So, then, tell me: is there an available seat next to the art supplies?" He grinned, winking at the Headmaster. Dumbledore, chuckling, stood from his chair, and gestured at Vincent to follow. Vincent, hoping he had not crossed a line, followed the man, their destination for a door set behind the staff table.

The room within was illuminated by a powerful light blue glow that seemed to come from no visible source. The floor and walls were constructed from fine, well-polished turquoise cobble, and the walls were adorned with several hundreds of different paintings and portraits, the people within, varied in early Renaissance, Turkish, Indian, Chinese, and African art depictions, running about excitedly into each other's portraits in order to get a look at the two professors as they walked. There were several beautiful paintings and drawings upon the walls of birds and castle ruins, the interior of a finely produced coffee shop set with several different characters within and a stage show… he noticed that the coffee shop painting, along with several of the castle ruins depictions, had two initials upon them: D.A.

"Yes, Dwana did a great many of these," Dumbledore acknowledged, watching Vincent closely as he observed the paintings.

"This style is superb," Vincent whispered. "She's simplistic, not in any way professional. That's what makes it beautiful!" he said excitedly, looking at Dumbledore with a wide grin. "She doesn't yearn to be Leonardo de Vinci or anything like that! She's a cartoonist painter! Her stuff, it's actually fun to look at, there's a vibrant array of coloration and it's personal to her, I can tell!"

"Mr. Mullens, Dwana Ah-Lehr is beautifully capable," Dumbledore agreed, nodding. "But the students are coming very soon, and I must speak with you now, before they arrive. Have a seat, Mr. Mullens." The Headmaster produced his wand from his robes, and with several swift flicks of it, two large, squishy maroon armchairs popped out of the air, landing behind both of them. Vincent clapped his hands, laughing hard at the display of power, and bounced into the cushion, throwing his right leg over the right arm. Dumbledore took a seat as well, and flicked the wand again. A bottle suddenly appeared on each of their chair arms, Vincent's left, and when Vincent picked it up, he saw that it was filled with golden ale. "Honey," Dumbledore noted. Vincent winked.

"The good stuff," he praised, popping off the glass lid and toasting Dumbledore with a soft smile, before indulging in the delicious, highly sweet ale within.

"Now, Mr. Mullens-"

"Vincent, dear boy."

Dumbledore smiled. "Vincent, then. I want to once more welcome you to Hogwarts, and offer you my apology that I was unable to meet with you in person this summer."

"Didn't you already say you were sorry in a letter?"

"The thing about my age, Vincent, is that sometimes you forget."

Vincent snorted, nodding. "Yeah, you look like someone who if their throat got slit, dust would pour out all over the floor."

"And you look like a crimson stress toy," Dumbledore noted, a twitch of a grin behind his Santa beard. Vincent raised the bottle of ale once more.

"Touché. So, then, I'm sure you wanted me in here for more than just an apology."

"I did. I wanted to ask you something very important, and I need to know now, before the year begins. It is a matter of high importance. This year, you see, is going to be very, very busy. The usual commodities of Hogwarts leisure have been suspended."

"Suspended? You mean, like Quidditch?"

"Indeed, Quidditch. I'm not sure if you were told anything, working at the Ministry UnderRoots of America or not…"

"Nothing pertaining to anything special at Hogwarts, no. That would be Britain's area…"

"Well, then allow me to enlighten you. I don't want any teacher left out in the dark on this, and you will be most essential this year on the matter. Hogwarts, this year, will be host to something that has not happened in a very long time. Not since 1792, in fact. What do you know of the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Ah, the Triwizard…" Vincent breathed, his eyes alight. "Only that me and the kids used to pretend we were in it when we would play in my school's recreation area. It was a great legend to us all."

"It is no legend this year. The Ministry of Magic has worked tirelessly for over a year now, setting up the Triwizard for the enjoyment of Hogwarts and the two schools that shall be joining us here at the castle this year."

"Indeed!?" Vincent was suddenly looking very boy-ish. "The Triwizard Tournament, at Hogwarts!? How did they pull that one off!?"

"Very carefully, and after a great deal of appeals. Now, Hogwarts has been chosen to play host to the newly revived Tournament. The competing schools are the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, based from the French Riviera region. The other school is the Durmstrang Institute, from the North. Both schools shall be arriving later on within the month, and the ceremony of the Goblet of Fire shall commence on Halloween night. As you know, there are, traditionally, three tasks that will be assigned to those whose names come out of the Goblet, and they've been carefully constructed… and are very dangerous."

"Isn't that how it should be?"

"Not necessarily. A death toll or a student's life? Due to the nature of the tasks this year, we're going to be under a lot of pressure, and every available teacher with a gift for counseling will be needed. The traumatic inductions from these tasks may be very severe. I ask you, Vincent, to stay vigilant. I have spoken with the other teachers on this matter personally, and now, I want to talk to you about it. You, of course, heard about the incident of the Quidditch World Cup…"

"The Dark Mark, yes." Vincent's face darkened, and he nodded slowly, sweating a bit. He never liked to acknowledge that that event had ever taken place. The idea of the Dark Mark burning in the sky, foretelling death in the name of the long gone Lord Voldemort, was almost too much of a strain on the contented mind. People were scared these days, thinking most abrupt thoughts and concerning themselves with welfare that ought not to be so heavily obsessed over. Even in death, Lord Voldemort's shadow had never truly moved away, otherwise the magical community would be brave enough to say his name. Vincent, of course, had no issue with saying that name. He had been taught this: whatever the Enemy bears as a weapon, God is always bigger. God is always stronger. Why fear to speak the name of a mass murdering psychopath? God was the only One worthy of being feared. Feared, and yet so loved. "I assure you, Voldemort's got not foothold over these students, not while I'm here. We'll work to ensure that no one comes to lay a finger on them."

Dumbledore was suddenly looking very encouraged. How wonderful it was to see someone speak that name. For fear of the name only increased useless fear for the monster. This was, in essence, a simple, sad truth. "You're a brave man," he praised softly.

"Nah, as a matter of fact, I'm a coward," Vincent returned. "I'm terrified, I really am. After the World Cup… American wizards aren't nearly as up-tight about Muggle usage as you British folk are. We've enchanted television sets to physically merge with the essence of certain magics. It's a touchy process, but nevertheless, they're a big hit in the USA. And let me tell you, I watched the World Cup from my home. Seeing that Dark Mark telecast live on that screen… it bothered me severely. I could feel it through the screen. It burned me."

"Burned you?"

"Yes, it burned me. It burned me because I realized something: you can't escape evil on a permanent basis. Voldemort's dead, yeah, but his legacy never stopped. Look at that Quirrel guy, he was all over your Prophet, wasn't he? And then there was that Chamber incident, too… Voldemort never truly died, did he? He kept on, even though he was gone. Well, that's why I'm here. I'm here because I have a purpose, and that purpose is to show people that evil can be combatted in more ways than just Defense Against the Dark Arts practicalities."

He gazed at the floor, his eyes burning.

"After all… I myself never truly escaped, did I?"

They sat in silence, the distant flickering of the flames in the gallery's fireplace making the only noise as the tension built between them. Dumbledore observed Vincent closely, his eyes peering intently as he tried to see within the man before him. Vincent, biting his lip, realized that he had, once more, said more than he should have, and he promptly looked away.

"Anyway, I understand why you wished to speak with me. The events of the World Cup are a call to raise security in all your staff, Albus, and I intend to protect the students of this school to the best of my ability. But you wanted to say something else as well?"

"Indeed, Vincent. I wanted to thank you. Thank you for taking this kind of initiative. We've dabbled in this sort of thing before, shorthand, but never on full scale assurance, where a teacher was actually permitted into position. Indeed, the Board of Governors laughed well, but I managed to convince them that allowing this appointment with close supervision would not, in any form, be of trouble."

"I won't say that now," Vincent smiled. "After all… I'm a trouble-maker. I have a thing for art, after all." His eyes twinkled as he gazed up at the coffee shop once more. Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, sighing, and then said, "Vincent…be careful here. I don't want anyone giving you trouble."

"Trouble? No, I'm sure we'll be best friends, the lot of us, before the year's end. I mean, look at Cuddly ol' Severus out there. He seems to be good at making friends." His grin, however, and his joke, were both waved aside, as Dumbledore got into a more serious tone.

"There is one other thing. Something that you should know, which I have spoken to with the rest of my staff. This year, like so many others before now, shall be introducing another new teacher as well. Defense Against the Dark Arts has always been a trouble in keeping a position. I have managed to talk an old friend of mine into fulfilling that post this year. His name is Alastor Moody. Do you know of him?"

"Alastor… the Herbologist who discovered the Fecal Flower?"

"No, no. Alastor Moody is an Auror of the Ministry of Magic. Well, he was. He's retired now, of course, but he was best Auror in the field of his time. In the years since prior to his unfortunate retirement, Alastor has, unfortunately, contracted a state of high paranoia, a form of anxiety which may or may not bring about harm to the students. I trust Alastor with my life, but as you are here as both a minister and a physiological counselor, I would ask something of you."

"You'd like me to take a look at him," Vincent said quickly, before Dumbledore could say the obvious. "You want me to treat Alastor, is that it? Help him overcome it?"

"I'm not saying that it is possible…"

"Nah, of course not. You're saying it's directly impossible, so you need an impossible man for the job."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps."

Vincent grinned. "Aright, then, very well! I'll take the job. Alastor can meet with me, if he so desires, whenever he feels most comfortable. Shall I go and introduce myself?"

"He has not arrived yet. I'm not sure what has delayed his arrival, but I do hope he hurries, the storm outside will be raging quite fiercely any second now. I wonder how the students will hold up…"

"They've survived worse," Vincent reminded him, draining the last of his ale. He held it up in the air, smiling, and Dumbledore waved his wand. The glass vanished at once, and Vincent's face fell. "Ah… was actually hoping for a refill…"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Before the Feast, dear man? I need you sober. Now, come with me. The students are due to arrive any minute. We should have everyone assembled. Are you ready?"

Vincent jumped to his feet, looking alert and set. "I am ready, Albus. Bring on the tides and I'll row their little boat for them!"

"What does that mean?" Dumbledore asked curiously, standing up as well. The two armchairs vanished at once.

Vincent shrugged. "I truly have no idea."

Vincent found himself a seat right beside Severus Snape. The brooding man looked very ill-contented to this placement, but he said nothing of it, choosing to remain silent. A sudden barrage of light from above, and the great torches that burned on either side of the Hall suddenly became irrelevant, as hundreds of floating candles suddenly burst to life above the Hall. Vincent had not noticed these, somehow, and he wondered if the candles had been invisible when he had entered the Hall and gazed at the story ceiling. Now, seeing them, he felt an instant sweeping of power and brilliance radiate through the Hall in the most beautiful way.

Every teacher was assembled and set, all peering and ready for the great doors in the distance. Several minutes went by, and Vincent lightly tapped his fingers together, stealing glances every now and then down the table. He could not stop looking over at Dwana Ah-Lehr. There was just something about her… an instant attraction. An air of confidence leaped off of her, and he felt calm knowing that Hogwarts could bear such flowers in the midst.

And then the great crowd came, a barrage of older students as they ran into the distant Entrance Hall. Several of them were complaining, the staff could hear, and all seemed to be soaking, dripping water by what seemed like the gallons. Vincent glanced up at the ceiling. It was pitch-black and the enchanted clouds were swirling fast. Terrible, terrible weather… flashes of lightning kept rippling across the top, and he gulped. The first year students would be coming to Hogwarts over the Black Lake… in this?

And then, mayhem.

Several screams suddenly erupted in the Hall, and every teacher jumped to their feet, eyes wide and faces frantic. Vincent and several others produced their wands, and he saw that Dwana's wand was of unique form: it was colorfully stained paintbrush, except the brush was pointed downward, towards her. Clever girl.

But before any of them could make a move, they saw something whisking about over the students' heads, and most of the staff members relaxed, breathing sighs relief. Even as the mad cackling began in the distance, many of them rooted themselves back to seat, including Dumbledore. Vincent was confused. Many of the staff members had annoyed looks upon their faces, and yet they sat in place, putting away their wands. Minerva McGonagall suddenly made a swift movement, and Vincent turned just in time to see her shaking in the strangest way, but only for a second. The old woman suddenly vanished, and in her place, a gray tabby cat. The cat leapt onto the table and pounced down to the floor, bounding off as fast as it could towards the Entrance Hall. Just as the feline reached the doors, it shook once more, and suddenly, as if watching a video being fast forwarded, limbs and hair sprouted upward as Minerva once more took on a human form.

"Animagus," Vincent whispered to himself.

He watched, in amazement, as McGonagall approached the mass of screaming students and the whisking blur of red that shot overhead, and seemed to be pelting something else that was red, right at the students's heads. Just as the Deputy Headmistress engaged them, he saw the red projectiles explode, and realized that they were water balloons.

"PEEVES!" McGonagall screamed furiously, shaking with rage before the students as she stared above her. "Peeves, get down here at once!"

But the old woman began to slid on what was obviously wet floor, and she had to catch herself on one of the students before she hit the stone floor.

"Ouch- sorry, Miss Granger-"

"That's alright, Professor!" gasped one of the female students, who sounded hoarse. Vincent looked around at his new colleagues, silently begging for an answer, but no one spoke, instead watching the distant scene with interest.

"PEEVES, GET DOWN HERE NOW!" McGonagall roared again, straightening herself up from the student that she had used to catch herself with.

"Not doing nothing!" cackled an insane, whimsical sort of voice that sounded like it was coming from a dwarf of a man. A red projectile shot downward from the ceiling and splashed, causing several girls to scream horrendously. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts!"

Vincent frowned. Who was this guy?

"Wheeeee!" the antagonist squealed loudly, and Vincent heard the sound of more people hollering, as another burst of a water balloon erupted.

"I shall call the headmaster!" shouted McGonagall, and her voice was bent to a point of furious cracking. A snarl of a beast within a withered flower, no less. Nevertheless, it was admirable. "I'm warning you, Peeves -"

The sound of a raspberry being blown, as well as a massive eruption, and Vincent saw a great splash of water flying in every direction. McGonagall was shaking her fist in fury, but then turned away from the attacker, glancing about at the large crowd of students before her. "Well, move along, then!" McGonagall sharply snapped at the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

The crowd that obeyed was massive, and a sea of black swept into the Hall at once. Hundreds of students were pouring inside, all of them dressed in their school robes, girls and boys of all the essential teen ages. Race and gender, beautifully mixed, spread across the globe in their identifications. They were all dripping, nastily soaked as if hit by a sea… Shaking terribly, Vincent wondered if there was anything that could be done to warm them up.

"Is the first night usually like this?" Vincent inquired of Snape. Snape gave him a dark look, as he turned to look at the minister was cold eyes.

"Usually…"

"Ever been a storm like this?"

Snape leered, a small, twisted smile upon his face. "Fortunately."

Vincent smiled, nodding. "So, then, what subject do you teach, again?"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "I am Potions Master, if you must know."

"Indeed? Hmm… think you could concoct a little-"

"No. No. Whatever it is that you were about to say, no. Now leave me alone." The answer was cool, and not to be questioned. Snape looked away, peering darkly at the mass of students. Vincent sighed, and he clapped Snape's shoulder sentimentally.

"Poor guy. We've got to get you a date sometime, teach you to rela-"

"If you desire to keep your hand," Snape hissed, rather venomously. "You will not touch me again…"

Vincent retracted his hand at once, smiling. "Relax," he said soothingly. "Don't make me cast Petrificus Totalus."

It was a joke, but black, razor eyes burned into his own, and Vincent felt that he was already treading upon boiling water as it was. He turned, instead, to Professor Hooch.

"Rolanda, you teach-?"

"Me? I am the Flying Instructor, of course. Graduated from Hogwarts with a Medal of Excellence in Silver League, if I can kill modesty."

"Really!? Wow… Never been good at Quidditch or flying myself, but then, I've always been the lazy bum who enjoyed a bit of Apparition here and there… so, then, tell me: have you ever been in an accident that cost you a limb or an eye?"

Rolanda chuckled, her eyes twinkling as she gazed up at the ceiling. "You could say that."

"Do tell."

She beamed at him, and held before him her withered right hand. Then, holding up her wand with her other hand, she tapped it once. The hand vanished completely.

Vincent stared. "A false hand?"

"A crash in West Africa. Landed right into a lion's gathering. It works just as fine, of course, but it doesn't like to merge permanently with my arm. The lions that attacked me, you see, were Liberian Triple Blades. Dark Creatures, you see. Fangs with poison so powerful, the arm can never truly repair the damage."

"That's unfortunate…"

"Nah, it's not. Do you know how many people I've managed to freak out by removing my hand like that?" she grinned with an ornery look. Vincent laughed loudly, applauding her.

"Good woman!"

"Yes, but I'll hope you'll refrain from doing so at the dinner table ever again, Rolanda," Pomona said with an air of disgust, uncomfortably glancing at the missing hand. Hooch tapped the arm and the false hand appeared once more, and she looked shrewdly at Sprout.

"Says the woman who spends all day dirtying the under bits of her fingernails with Bubotuber pus…"

Pomona nodded, smiling in the fairness of that statement. "Touché…"

Vincent grinned. Things were already starting to look up…