Malcolm waited for a chance to talk to Ginny. Everyone in the Gryffindor tower was racing around, getting ready for the final match of the school year, against arch-rival Slytherin. At the last minute, he was able to get her to talk to him, albeit with Fred and George joining in.
"I had a conversation with Pansy Parkinson, and your name came up," Malcolm told her.
"I'm going to hate this, aren't I?" Ginny said, "What did you do?"
"Well, She wanted my advice about how to get back in Draco's good graces, and I got mad when she said a few things about you."
"And you said?" Ginny asked, as additional prompting came from Fred and George.
"I told Pansy that Draco likes girls with a good sense of humor, like you. I also said he likes girls with compassion, like you. And I said I was tired of running around between you and Draco as your personal messenger boy." Malcolm sighed, and added, "I thought you should know."
"That explains the strange look she gives me," Ginny said, "Fred, George, what do you think."
"I think it's time for some fun," Fred said.
"Definitely," George agreed. "Ginny, do you still have Malfoy's ring."
"You should wish him good luck before the game begins. I think it would mean a lot to him," Fred continued.
"Especially if dear Pansy is around," George concluded.
"She will be," Malcolm chirped, "but you'll have to hurry."
"And if he rejects me, I'll cry and call him a two-timer," Ginny said happily
In a flash, Ginny was back with the silver ring on her hand, and she and Malcolm ran off. Harry came down the stairs as they left, and asked why Ginny was in such a hurry.
"She wants to wish her boyfriend good luck before the match," George told him.
"It might inspire Malfoy to play decently for once," Fred added.
"I'm missing something here," Harry said.
"That happens when you sleep late," Fred said, as they left for the quidditch pitch.
"Thank you for your good wishes, Pansy," Draco said with exasperation.
"I didn't want you to feel bad over the way I acted," Pansy said, "I was foolish to believe Malcolm when he told me all those lies about you and Ginny."
"I understand, Pansy," Draco said, "but I should be getting ready now."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Pansy asked, ignoring Draco's hints that she should leave.
Draco caught back his next words, as one of his teammates pointed to the doorway. Ginny Weasley was standing there, and she was wearing his ring. Draco immediately thought of Malcolm. His friend was determined to embarrass Pansy as much as possible, and Ginny was obviously supposed to be the second volley. 'If she thinks I'll go along with this,' Draco thought to himself, 'she came at exactly the right time.' He smiled and said, "Hello, Love. What brings you here."
Ginny smiled back, and walked up to him, with one of the best fake smiles he had ever seen. As Pansy, and the rest of the Slytherin team watched, she held out her hand, the one with the ring on it, and said, "I wanted to wish you good luck."
He grabbed her hand with both of his, saying, "I'll be thinking of you the entire time I'm out there."
Pansy looked aghast. "You lied to me, Draco. You told me she meant nothing to you, that this was all a joke." She ran out, refusing to look at anyone.
"That went well," Draco said, letting go of Ginny, "I owe you one."
"I enjoyed doing it," Ginny said, " and, nothing personal, I do hope you lose."
"That is funny," Draco replied, "I was thinking the same thing, but about Potter."
As Ginny left, Marcus Finch asked what was going on. Draco told him, "Pansy gets to be a pest, sometimes. You know how she is always right about everything. I merely confused her a little."
"And how did you get the Weasley girl to . . . Ahhh, Malcolm," Marcus said.
The Slytherins had a good laugh at the joke Draco played on Pansy Parkinson. They would hate him after the game, but then, as things went, they would hate themselves as well.
"I couldn't believe it," Ginny said, after she finished telling Malcolm what happened. "Draco went along with it completely. That girl must be very annoying."
"She is," Malcolm said as he watched the match. "She gets to everyone after a while."
"So, what do you think of Quidditch," she asked.
"You were right," Malcolm said, "watching them fly doesn't bother me at all."
[Now all I need to do is figure out what they're doing. I feel like I'm watching the New York Yankees playing the Chicago Bulls in free fall. This makes no sense to me at all. Maybe I should ask what the rules are.]
Spirits were high after the match. Malcolm had been assured that it was a stunning victory. The Gryffindor common room was crowded, with everyone celebrating, when Malcolm walked in.
"You're late," Fred told him, forcing a butterbeer into one hand, and taking a box out of the other, "what's this, chocolates?"
"They're for Ginny," Malcolm said, "from a secret admirer."
"Did you say a secret admirer?" George asked. "Is that true?"
"Of course not," Fred told him, "It's Malfoy. It seems Ginny tried her prank at just the right time. The Parkinson girl had finally irked our Slimy Slytherin friend."
"And how did he happen to have a box of chocolates?" George asked.
"Dunno. Lets ask Malcolm," Fred said, and both twins turned their eyes on the erstwhile first-year.
"Draco says you never know when you need to bribe somebody," Malcolm said.
[I have to remember that. I could try it on Mom. It wouldn't work, but I could try it.]
It was late when the partying died down. Malcolm found himself sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace. He was too wound up to fall asleep for some time. He sat for a while, reading when he heard a noise to his right.
"Sorry," Harry Potter said, as he sat down, "I didn't know anyone else was up. May I join you."
"Sure," Malcolm said, "but don't expect to much. I think the party ended already."
"It was fun," Harry agreed. After an awkward silence he asked, "How do you like Hogwarts?"
"That's an excellent question, when you don't know what to say," Malcolm replied, only it's too general. The only appropriate answer is 'it's okay, I guess.'"
"What would be a good question?" Harry asked with a laugh.
"That depends. I like to ask people things like 'Is that your real hair?' It sets a mood as well as asks a question. The truth is: I think I like to embarrass people." Malcolm looked at Harry and asked, "Do you really like me, or do you tolerate me."
Harry looked up in surprise, "That is a hard question to answer. Your best friend is my worst enemy, in this school. I think the answer is no to both questions. I don't like you, but I do not simply put up with you. I don't think I know who you really are."
"That's a fair answer," Malcolm said, "I don't really know who I am, either."
"Then let me ask," Harry said, "Why Malfoy? He doesn't seem the type to be a DECENT friend."
Malcolm paused before he answered the question. "I think it's because Draco is honest."
"You've got to be kidding," Harry said with a laugh, "He's been lying all year about Buckbeak, just to cause trouble. He almost had Hagrid fired, and he'll probably end up getting Buckbeak killed. How can you call him honest."
Malcolm answered in an even voice, "Have you ever been fooled by his lies, or do you always see through them?"
"The first time he lied to me, I fell for it," Harry admitted, "but since then, he's been completely transparent. Now that I know how he acts, I can tell if he's lying with my eyes closed."
"Don't you think Draco knows this?" Malcolm said. "To him, it's a game. He's daring you to prove that he's lying. That's the fun of it." With a rising voice, he added, "And I'll tell you this. If he ever makes a promise to you, he will keep it."
Harry wasn't convinced, but didn't want to let go. "And what about me? Am I honest."
"No," Malcolm said brusquely, "you always seem to be hiding something. It's like you lived your entire life in a closed room, or something. You always. . ."
"I did," Harry said suddenly. Malcolm was stunned into silence. "My bedroom was cot in the cupboard under the stairs. My aunt and uncle never thought I was worth a real bed or a real room. My parents were murdered when I was young, and they had to hide me with those muggles to keep me safe. Even now, the man who murdered them is out there, and he's hunting for me." Harry looked at Malcolm in anger. "Maybe that's what I'm hiding. The fact that I'm constantly afraid."
[I think he just told me a little bit more than I wanted to know.]
"Welcome to the club," Malcolm said, "At least you know what you're dealing with. The rest of us are still looking for clues. The hardest lesson I learned is that Magic is not a game. It's a tool, and the best man at using that tool gets to be on top. Add to that, I am now involved in this mock-game of magic, and I am only eleven. You know what to watch for. I don't."
"Everyone has their own demon," Harry said as he calmed down.
They sat in silence for a while, then Malcolm dared to ask another question, "How do you feel when you're flying a broom."
Harry had to give an honest laugh, "I don't get sick, if that's what you mean. It's hard to describe. When I'm flying, it's as though nothing can hold me back. I can go anywhere and do anything. As for the broom, it's as though it were a part of me. I don't need to think about it. All I do is fly." A smile grew on Harry's face as he talked. The earlier conversation seemed to be completely forgotten.
In the end, Malcolm talked more than Harry. The older boy wanted to here the stories about his brothers, and what it was like to be part of a family, especially one like Malcolm's.
". . .And that's why Francis is in military school," Malcolm concluded.
"I'm amazed," Harry said, "you mean the police couldn't prove anything."
"Nope," Malcolm assured him, "all the proof was circumstantial. The judge rule it was insufficient evidence."
Malcolm found himself out in the rain, wandering around in the dark. EJ had to ask the ultimate question, "What are we doing?"
"We're trying to find Dewey," Malcolm said, "He's out here, somewhere. I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets too close to the dementors."
"I'm willing to say fine to that. I'm completely soaked."
"I'm sorry, I never learned any water repellant charms. It's not my fault that you didn't, either. Besides, you didn't have to come."
"Wait, I see something over there," EJ said, "and I don't think it's Dewey."
The cold feeling of a dementor approaching swept over the two boys, and a streak of lightning revealed one of the guards of Azkaban approaching them. Suddenly, Dewey appeared from behind them, saying, "Don't worry, I'll save you."
Dewey ran up to the dementor, and began shouting. "Cotton Candy. Puppy dogs licking your face. Milk Moustaches. Chocolate Milk Moustaches."
The dementor stopped in its track, and began to slowly back away, but Dewey didn't stop. "Snow days when you have a test," he yelled, and the dementor let out a low moan. "Sunshine on the weekends," he shouted and the dementor began to wimper as it turned and ran. Dewey chased after him, calling out, "Running naked in the rain." The dementor let out a howl of torment as it fled.
"I guess that explains why he isn't wearing any clothes," EJ said, "I'm going inside."
"Good idea."
[Do you know? I still haven't figured out how he gets here.]
Ginny couldn't help but approach the two dripping boys as they walked into Hogwarts. "We heard some wailing noises. Did you find poor Dewey?"
"We did," Malcolm said, "He's outside with the dementors."
"Oh, No," Ginny cried, "Then those wailing noises were. . ."
"The dementors trying to get away," EJ finished.
"Francis, you have a package," Stan said, pointing at the owl.
"Great, they came," Francis said, as he payed the owl. He opened up the box which contained several round projectiles. "Do you know what these are, Stan. Gourmet Dung Bombs (TM)."
"Okay, I'll ask. What are Gourmet Dung Bombs (TM)?"
"You've had regular stink bombs, but these are special. This is the color chart. Each bomb brings out the smell of that particular animal. See here, this orange one with the green stripes, that one is elephant dung. And this silver one is gryphon dung."
"Francis, I really don't want to know what gryphon dung smells like."
"I know who might," Francis said with a smile, " Is Spangler still on the drill field?"
"You shouldn't do this," Stan said.
"You mean to tell me that this is wrong?" Francis asked.
"No, I mean to tell you to use the elephant dung. Save that one for a special occasion."
"Good idea."
"Malcolm," Ginny asked as he sat down next to her, "What are you doing here? This is second year Potions Class." Awareness dawned, and she added, "This is one of your new classes?"
"Yeah," Malcolm said with a grin, "Dumbledore said I wasn't challenged enough, so I get to take this class instead of flying."
"I bet the first years are happy about that," Ginny said with a smirk.
Malcolm gave her a smirk of his own and said, "ALL of the first years are happy about that."
Professor Snape walked in and smiled at the class. Everyone became afraid at this change in his demeanor. "I'm about to show all of you exactly how stupid you really are," Snape said cheerfully, "As you have noticed, we have a new student in this class, a first year student who has the misfortune of being in Gryffindor. Malcolm, please stand up."
Malcolm stood up, and looked briefly at the class. The Gryffindors were eying him suspiciously. The Slytherins, on the other hand, were suspiciously eying him. Then Professor Snape showed him a parchment, and almost as quickly drew it away.
"Malcolm, a plague has hit the school, affecting all of the students and teachers, as well as the residents of nearby Hogsmeade. The parchment I showed you listed the ingredients for the healing potion, as well as the procedure for its preparation. What is the total weight of the ingredients needed to prepare a sufficient number of potions?"
Everyone stared as Malcolm asked, "Do you want that in Pounds or Kilograms?"
"Stone," Snape said with a grin.
"14.238, Sir."
Snape pulled a scrap of parchment out of his robe and looked at it. "Correct," he said, with a hint of surprise showing through. "Class, you will all copy down the list of ingredients as Malcolm recites them."
As Malcolm finished reciting the list from memory, Snape interrupted to chastise one of the students for talking. The boy stood up when demanded, and explained, "I was commenting that he should be with Hermione Granger, Professor."
"Not until next year," Snape told him. He was so pleased with the boy's reaction that he forgot to take away house points.
Dinner was a change of pace for Malcolm. He was suddenly the center of attention, and no one was trying to hit him. Most of the students asked if he could do their homework, but there were a few serious questions. Hermione Granger showed him her first homework assignment for Arithmancy and asked him if he could fix the mistake in the problem. He told her that the variance was wrong on the twenty third line, and that it looked like a grammar error, as opposed to bad math. That caused everyone to pause.
[Great, I'm about to become the school freak.]
George Weasley chimed in and said, "I bet you couldn't do that problem while riding a broom."
"He could," Fred Weasley said, "but you couldn't get anyone to get near enough to check the answer." Everyone, even Malcolm, laughed at the joke.
Albus Dumbledore smiled as he listened to the conversation. The students were accepting Malcolm, despite being shown that he was easily the smartest student in school. The Weasley twins had shown them, in a very simple way, that being smart is not the same as being wise. Malcolm still had a long way to go in the wisdom department, but he was learning.
Malcolm stood in the owlery looking out the window, when he heard a noise behind him. He turned to see what the noise was, and saw the headmaster standing behind him, tapping the floor,
"You come up here quite frequently," Albus said to the young boy.
"Just to think, Sir," Malcolm said.
"Ah, thinking," Albus mused, "one of my favorite hobbies. And what do you think about, if you don't mind my asking? You look too melancholy to be thinking happy thoughts."
"Everything," Malcolm said, then sighed, "That's not a useful answer."
"It does explain why you come up here so often. Everything takes a lot of time to think about." Dumbledore watched the boy carefully, and said, "Do you ever wonder why you can't fly a broom? I could tell you if you wanted."
"I know why," Malcolm said, "I don't trust it. I know I should, but inside I'm always afraid something might happen. It doesn't help when somebody like Harry Potter, who's a natural flier, takes a bad fall."
"Do you trust me?" Dumbledore asked.
Malcolm stared in surprise at the question, but before he could answer, the Headmaster walked away.
]It's a test. I'm supposed to come out with the correct answer.]
"No, Sir," Malcolm said to Dumbledore's back. "I don't trust you."
"And why is that?" Dumbledore asked without turning around.
Malcolm said the words before he even thought about them, "Because I don't trust magic."
Malcolm watched as the figure retreated. When he was alone again he turned to look out the window and sighed. The nice short conversation about trust did not bother him so much as the letter in his hand. It had only one number on it, and one word. It said, "172, Camilla."