CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MRS. CLAPPSADDLE

You really must believe me; I was not nervous. Not even a tiny bit. Not even a little drop. What would I have to be nervous about? Nothing. That's what. After all, I was a veritable saint. An angel incarnate. A gleaming example of profound virtuosity and righteousness. (To all the ladies reading this, please do not get the wrong impression. I was also quite the 'bad boy', if you know what I mean. (Wink wink)). I had done absolutely nothing wrong and had nothing to feel guilty about. My record was completely spotless. (Unless you counted that 'Noodle Incident' of which I was fully acquitted of all charges.)

But still, as I followed that lady named Mrs. Clappsaddle down the corridor I found that my hands were shaking and I was having a hard time breathing in enough air. (Which is very odd because I am usually very good at breathing.)

"Ooohh, someone's in trouble," an ecstatic old crone crooned from her painting. "Beat him good, ma'am, that's a good lass. It's the only way these young hooligans learn anything."

Mrs. Clappsaddle simply strolled forward as though she hadn't heard anything while I made a mental note to return later that night and graffiti that painting. (Calling me a 'hooligan'. The nerve!")

"Er, Mrs. Clappsaddle," I ventured slowly, "That portrait isn't a qualified educator and any advice received therefrom should be treated with the utmost suspici-"

"Oh don't worry, dearie," Mrs. Clappsaddle said, flashing me a toothy smile. "There won't be any beatings. I just want to talk is all. Just a talk. We're going to have a nice looong conversation you and I. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

At that moment, I couldn't be sure I didn't prefer the beating and so kept quiet.

Eventually she stopped outside a heavy oak door, unlocked it and entered, beckoning me to do likewise.

Some would say that the room was heavily decorated with impressionist art but I maintain that someone must have drunk several gallons of paint and then violently threw up on all the walls. It was the type of color-mixtures that one could not look away from and that brought on seizures.

Mrs. Clappsaddle noticed I was staring at the paint splotches and completely misinterpreted my expression. "Ah, admiring my collection, are you Zeddy? You have a good eye, my boy. A very good eye."

"Huh?"

"You obviously have a very discerning nature, Zeddy. Like me, you can see into the depths of an object, past its corrosive exterior and are able bring out the beauty within. Its truth and essence which other shallow individuals scorn and ignore. It's gestalt properties, if you will."

"What?"

"But that's enough discussion about art and culture. Won't you have a seat?" She shook her stubby wand and conjured up a plush couch and indicated it was for me. For herself she magicked up a sturdy chair. sat down tentatively. "You might feel more comfortable if you laid down on your back," she suggested.

"Er," I said, "what is all this about again?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle simpered. "I told you, Silvy, I want to talk. I'm sure you have sooo much to say and we'll have soooo many interesting conversations-"

"I don't mean to be rude," (I'm a very good liar,) "but who are you exactly? I mean, are you a teacher or professor of some sort?"

She hesitated for a moment, though her benign overly wide smile never faltered. "...No," she said at length. "No I am not a teacher. I do not not work for Hogwarts."

"You don't?"

"No, Silvy. But let's talk about you for a bit. Have you read any good books lately?"

"Of course not, I live in a school. But wait, if you're not a Hogwarts employee why are you here?"

"You don't have to worry, dearie," she said, soothingly. "I won't be assigning you any more homework."

"But-"

"The Ministry has simply sent me over to... to get to know all you wonderful little children."

"The Ministry sent you? To get to know us?"

"That's right. To get to know you. To find out how you're feeling. To find out what's going on in those adorable wittle bitty heads of yours."

She pinched the tip of my nose in an affectation of playful affection. Instinctively, I pulled away and milled over what she had said in my 'wittle bitty head'. "'Find out how we're feeling'... Wait! Wait just a bloody minute! Are you a head-shrinker?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle sniffed. "Actually, I prefer 'Guidance Counselor'."

"No!" I protested, leaping to my feet. "You're a ruddy analyst! I am so sick and tired of you crazy, supposed 'doctors'. How many times do I have to tell you people? I'm normal! I'm completely sane! I'm well adjusted! I don't need my head shrunk. I like my overly large head just as it is, thank you very much. What is this about? Who sent you? Is this about the Noodle Incident? It is, isn't it? It wasn't my fault, I tell you! It was a frame up! I'm an innocent stooge! A Patsy! I was completely exonerated of all charges and twenty people placed me in Uganda at the time. And another forty saw me in Sydney! You won't find anything wrong with me! It's everybody else who's crazy. Go on and look around. Their all nuts. Certifiable. I've got rights, by golly, and I'll... I'll... er...

"What, er, what are you doing?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle had produced a notebook and quill and was scribbling away with enthused gusto. "Please, go on," she waved her quill encouragingly. "This is all fascinating. Very illuminating."

"It is?" I leaned over to see what she had written but she deftly moved the parchment out of view. "What's fascinating? What's illuminating? Why have you singled me out? Me! Silvanus Zed! The most well adjusted, self-actualized-"

"Now, dearie," Mrs. Clappsaddle removed her glasses and looked at me sideways with a tired smile. "This isn't personal and you haven't been singled out. I've already had sessions with several of the students, some of your friends, now I think of it."

I thought about this for a moment. "That's true..." I said.

"Of course it's true," the analyst quickly warmed to the subject. "We've had sessions with your friend Agnes Murehead,"

"Not my friend,"

"And that extremely brilliant boy, Flavious Flannel,"

"Brains of a troll. I can't understand why everyone says he's smart."

"And cute, round Damon Devon, or as you know him as 'Windy'. Incidentally, we conducted that session outside on the grounds."

I was slowly nodding my head when something occurred to me. It hit me like a bolt of lightning. "Hold on. You've only interviewed first year students. You've been focusing exclusively on the youngest students."

"That isn't true, dear,"

"But it is true-"

"No, dear, you're mistaken."

"But why would the Ministry only be interested in analyzing the first year students?" I posed the question more to myself than Mrs. Clappsaddle as I rubbed my chin thoughtfully.

"Lets get back to you, Zeddy," Mrs. Clappsaddle said through a stiff, plastered smile. She had adopted a curt, clinical tone and she held up her quill and notebook at the ready. "Would you say your neurosis stems from pathological megalomania or a straight up obsessive compulsion rooted in deeply constrained feelings of resentment to your mother?"

"The Ministry wants the first years analyzed for some reason," I mused to myself, ignoring the analyst as my train of thought sped away. "Are they looking for something? 'Someone' is more likely since their checking into everyone..."

"You seem to express symptoms of paranoia delusions and conspiracy complexes," she butt in loudly, sounding decidedly annoyed. "Is it possible you were splinched as a child? Or maybe you suffer from 'Big Wand Envy'?"

"Is there something the Ministry wants? Or maybe it's something their afraid of. Maybe the Ministry is afraid of something, or someone, and is looking to-"

"Sil-van-us Zed," Mrs. Clappsaddle spoke my name slowly, rounding out each syllable and rolling it over her tongue like it was a delectable desert. "That is a wonderful name. 'Silvanus Zed', very melodic. However did you get such a wonderful name?"

I shot bolt upright and looked at her disbelievingly. "You, er, want to know... about my name?"

"Yes, dearie," she nodded animatedly. "It's so unusual. So dramatic. However did you come by it?"

I harrumphed loudly and puffed out my chest. "That, Madame Clappsaddle, is a very interesting story. You see, I was named after my great, great-"

"That is very interesting," the witch cut in, scribbling once again into her notebook. I noticed that the change in subject had calmed her and left her less agitated. "Tell me, how are you enjoying your classes?"

"I hate Tranfiguration the least."

"Mhmm, and have you made any friends?"

"Not really. Everyone here is a world class, booger-brained troglodyte. But getting back to my name; I happened to be named after my the most interesting person to ever blow up a-"

"That's nice dearie," the troglodyte with the pearls said. "But surely you have made at least one friend. I'm sure you can think on one. Let's go through the alphabet and start with the letter 'A'. Are you friends with anyone who's name begins with 'A'?"

"Um, well,"

"Or 'A' and 'L'. Are you friends with anyone whose name begins with an 'A' and 'L'?"

"Albus, I guess," I shrugged. "And I guess I'm okay with his cousin, Rose Weasely. Sweet girl, really. But for some reason they have to hang around this witch of a girl named Agnes Murehead, and let me tell, she is quite a head-case. And I would know-"

"Of course you would, dearie. Tell me, is Albus happy here at Hogwarts? Is he comfortable with his classes?"

"What? Oh, um, uh, I guess so. But anyways, you'll never believe this Murehead character. Do you know what she said to me only just this morning at breakfast? She said that I'm-"

"Interested in the Dark Arts?"

I stiffened and felt the blood rush from my face. "Beg pardon?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle eyed me from over her notes. "Albus. Has Albus ever expressed any interest in the Dark Arts?"

"Of... of course not- No, of course he hasn't. Doesn't!" I stammered, completely blind sighted. "So... at breakfast... I... she... that is-"

"Has Albus ever shown any extraordinary talents? Ever done anything unusual, even for a wizard?"

Immediately scenes and images flashed through my head. The Slytherin Common Room illuminated by a flash of green light and Avery and his fellow fifth years being blasted backwards. The Hospital Wing with the same emerald glow and a dozen broken Death Eaters scattered about in crumpled heaps. And Albus standing in the middle of it all. Albus, in all his awesome fury, vengeful power pulsing off him and shivering through my body, vibrating the very air.

My recollections must have shown in my expression because the analyst's eyes widened with excitement and she leaned forward. "It's okay, Zeddy," she whispered in a conspiratorial tone, stowing her notebook. "You can tell me. It will be our own little secret." She winked and waited expectantly.

I composed myself and controlled my breathing. "Is this whole thing mandatory?" I asked, eyeing the door. "I mean, will I get in trouble if I leave?"

Mrs. Clappsaddle's expectant smiled smoothly turned into a plastered facsimile even though it never faltered. "You aren't being marked for these sessions, dearie. You can leave whenever you want."

I immediately jumped to my feet. "Great. Alright then, I suppose I'll be heading to lunch, in that case." At that moment I wanted nothing more than to be away from that horribly painted room and that woman with the plastered on smile.

But as I turned the nob and opened the door I found myself pausing. "Mrs. Clappsaddle?" I said, remembering something that had occurred at breakfast. She cocked her head inquiringly. "Would you say... it is true that I'm a loser?"

"Oh, dearie," she said, smiling warmly and flicking her wand. "Of course you are,"

And the door swung close in my face.

I know I stole a reference from 'Calvin and Hobbes' but let's consider it an homage, what?