[This has been a strange month. I mean, nothing has gone right. It started out wrong. I slept through the sorting, and I only woke up because of the smell of the food. Then the next morning, I get up and run into Colin Creevey, and his brother.]
"You talked him into it, Malcolm. Didn't You?" Colin demanded.
"Oh right, Creevey," Malcolm retorted, "It's my fault your brother fell into the lake."
"He jumped in," Colin said, "one of the other first-years told me."
"You're right, Colin. I told your brother to go jump in the lake, and he was stupid enough to do it. I'm surprised he didn't get into Ravenclaw with those brains."
"I just wanted to know," Dennis said, "And it WAS great."
"Don't stick up for him, Dennis," Colin said, "He's not the best sort."
"It's my fault, Dennis," Malcolm said, "I'm the reason everyone thinks your brother is a really cool guy."
"What are you talking about?" Colin asked.
"Mrs. Norris," Malcolm reminded him, "And don't either of you tell anyone I admitted to it." He faced Colin and said, "ever since that happened, people have begun talking to you like a real person. Remember last year, when you tried to take everyone's pictures. We almost lynched you. Last night, you had the first-years lining up. Even the Slytherins wanted their pictures taken."
"But I didn't do it, the cat I mean," Colin pleaded, "I was always a nice person."
"But nobody bothered to find that out until Mrs. Norris showed up bright yellow."
"Cool," said Dennis, "How did you do it."
"I got the idea from Colin," Malcolm told him, "and the supplies from Snape. You know, Dennis, when it comes to photography, your brother really knows his stuff."
Dennis looked at his brother with renewed awe. "I always knew you were smart, Colin."
[Don't you love happy endings? I should try telling the truth more often. It really surprises people. Well, I went to breakfast in a good mood, and my first day of classes went well.]
"I hate him," Hermione said, "He's a despicable little showoff."
"Who is?" Harry asked.
"That runt, Malcolm. He's in my Arithmancy class," she answered, "He raises his hand to every question as though he knows the answers."
"Does he get them right?"
"Of course he does. But then he turns to me and smiles. I hate that know-it-all."
"Excuse me," Fred asked, as he entered the common room, "Did I hear Hermione Granger call someone a know-it-all?"
"She would know," George said, "she's the expert."
Everyone laughed as Hermione scowled. Harry told her, "you deserved that, 'Mione, after the way you acted your first year."
"But I didn't rub it in," Hermione said as everyone present developed a cough.
Malcolm waked into the common room, and smiled when he saw Hermione. He went up to her saying, "I wanted to thank you, Hermione. Your advice on how to approach parsing vectors really helped me understand what's going on. I kept wanting to say something in class, but . . . " He paused and said softly, "I probably looked like an idiot, the way I kept turning around." Then he added in a raised voice, "But I couldn't help it. I held my own today, and all because of you."
Hermione looked down at his eager smile, and gave him a weak smile of her own. "I'm glad I could help you, Malcolm. If you need any more help, just ask."
"Thanks, Hermione," he said, and ran up to his dorm.
"I feel three inches tall," Hermione said, once he was gone.
[That was fun. I decided the next day, I'd sit next to her, and deliberately answer a question wrong. Then I'd through myself into her arms, crying that I'm such a loser. I was loving it. But that was when things started going wrong.]
"You're in a good mood, Hermione," Ron said, "What happened?"
"Malcolm decided to sit next to me today," Hermione said, her grin getting larger.
"And that was good?" Harry asked.
"Yes, it was. He made me realize he was up to something. Then he answered a question so wrongly, it was obvious he did it on purpose."
"What happened then?" Ron asked eagerly.
"He started crying, and threw himself at me sobbing that he was a loser. He was very convincing. Unfortunately, at that moment I stood up to tell Professor Vector that I knew the answer. Poor Malcolm fell right on the floor."
The three of them laughed. When Malcolm came into the common room, they laughed again.
[I have to admit it was funny. I guess that one did blow up in my face. But then I ran into EJ and caused myself some more trouble. It all seemed so innocent.]
EJ cornered Malcolm as he entered the dorm. "Malcolm, I need a favor."
"Sure, just ask?"
"I need to talk to someone in Slytherin."
"I'll get Draco."
"No, it has to be either a first or second year student."
"Okay," Malcolm said, thoughtfully, "and could I ask why?"
"Sure," EJ said, "but I won't tell you. It has to remain a secret. I promised. And tell whomever you find, to meet us at the Quidditch Pitch after dinner."
"Let me guess," Malcolm said, "us as in you and whoever you promised, as opposed to you and me."
EJ smiled to let Malcolm know he was correct. "I promise to tell you, if the plan works. And I'll tell you anyway, if it doesn't."
"Deal," Malcolm said, as they shook hands.
"Hi, I'm Malcolm," Malcolm said to the Slytherin boy.
"Yes, I know" the Slytherin boy replied. "Draco Malfoy pointed you out to all of us, on the first day. You might have noticed if you were awake. I'm Graham Pritchard."
"Just remember, I traveled a lot further to get here," Malcolm said, irritably, "but that's not the point. I need to ask you a favor."
"Why me?"
"Because you're the first student, I've met who fits the bill. First or Second Year. Slytherin. Willing to talk to me."
Graham looked at Malcolm carefully, and asked what the favor was. After Malcolm told him, he thought for a minute, then said, "I'll go. You must trust whoever told you, and I know you would never betray another pureblood. I'll let you know what happens."
[That's one of those things that always happens to me. People say something that doesn't sound right. Why did he say that, about betraying ANOTHER pureblood? So, I asked Draco.]
"Malcolm, lying to people has nothing to do with it," Draco said, "I know you're worried about my father, and what you might be getting into. I'm worried as well. But if everyone thinks you're a pureblood, then you can write your own, what's the word, ticket."
"So you started a rumor?" Malcolm asked, "And your father is in on it?"
"Yes, and yes," Draco said with a grin, "The best part is that you don't know anything about it. You can deny it all you want, and everyone will understand."
"What's the full story?" Malcolm demanded.
"I can't tell you," Draco laughed, "It's up to your parents to reveal the truth." He patted Malcolm on the shoulder, and added, "It's a great story, Malcolm. A wizard so poor, he had to be raised as a muggle. If anyone doesn't know the story yet, they will shortly. It made the Daily Prophet."
[Draco laughed as I ran back to the Gryffindor tower. I got there in time to see everyone reading the Daily Prophet. I managed to get a copy and read this:]
A LOST SOUL FINDS HIS WAY INTO THE LIGHT by RITA SKEETER
The saddest thing in life is to find out your child is a squib, that he or she has no magical ability at all. These children are often seen as second class citizens, and if they ever marry, it is usually to another like them, or to a muggle. Four families, early in this century, had such a child. Their children met each other and fell in love, each couple fleeing across the water to the New World and a new life.
They had children, and by chance two of them met and fell in love. These children were squibs, as were their brothers and sisters and parents. They choose to turn their backs on the world of magic, a world which had nothing to offer them, and bravely faced life as though they were muggles and raised their children as such, giving them no knowledge of their inheritance.
They were a normal family, for muggles, with two wonderful but nonmagical boys. Then the winds of Fate changed their course, and a third child was born, a magical child, and gifted in other ways as well. The irony is that he grew up, never knowing the truth, and there is a good chance we will be the one's to reveal it to him.
Now in his second year, at Hogwarts, this poor child, whom we will call 'Malcolm,' has already received acclaim for his accomplishments. He was first in all of his classes, and that included advanced classes in potions, and private tutoring in Arithmancy. He begins this year with third level Arithmancy, as well as third AND fourth year Potions. Guesses are that he will be first in his classes again.
We said that 'Malcolm' was poor, but he has not been neglected. Already, interested parties have put aside sufficient funds to pay for his education, as well as such simple things as clothes and miscellaneous supplies (such as, perhaps, a proper broom for Quidditch). One of these parties called this boy, 'an inspiration,' and we have to agree.
We have tried to find out his heritage, but these records have been sealed, and we will have to wait years to find out what his true background is. Rumors already abound that some of his long lost relatives may even be at Hogwarts. After all, he is an American by birth, and that would, by itself, exclude him.
We ask that anyone who knows anything about his heritage contact us. We would all like to know the full story behind this marvelous boy. For me
personally, it is refreshing to write about such a fortunate child, after all the horrible truths I have been forced to reveal. I know I speak for all of us when I say,
"Good Luck, 'Malcolm.'"
"It's a lie, isn't it?" Ron asked.
"Of course it is," Malcolm replied, heavily upset, "I would know something about this. With all of my relatives, someone would have said something."
"I don't know," someone said, "If I was a squib I would never admit it."
"You're right," someone else said, "It even says no one told Malcolm. There is no way he'd know."
[The way I saw it, when mom found out, she'd kill me. Then she'd really get mad at me. I was lucky, as it tuned out. I was practicing some of my experiments in the owlery. (It helps me to relax, actually doing something, and the owls are entertained) when Dumbledore showed up, and solved one problem. But that other problem was still developing.]
Malcolm sat on the windowsill in the owlery, pleased that his private experiments went well. Leaning over, he spit and watched to see if it hit the side of the building. He looked up and behind him when he heard someone clear his throat.
"Getting into your habits early, I see," Albus Dumbledore said. "Congratulations are in order, I have been told."
"Thanks," Malcolm said in a miserable tone, "I'm wondering what my parents will say."
"Your mother was very amused," Dumbledore said, "She wanted to know if she should tell them that you were originally born with two heads." Albus chuckled as he added, "Your mother seems to have experience with these kinds of newspapers."
"She thinks it's funny," Malcolm said in surprise, "Then I'm not dead."
"No, at least not yet. And I think you should know, your friend, EJ, has something he wants to tell everyone. Please hurry back to your common room. He should be ready to start shortly."
Malcolm rushed off, and arrived to find a crowded common room. EJ smiled at him and called for everybody to listen. "This is mostly for first and second years, but the rest of you should be interested. When we heard that Quidditch was cancelled, four of us, one from each house, approached Dumbledore with a proposal, which he agreed to. As a result, there will be two Quidditch games on the last weekend of this month. That Saturday, Hufflepuff will play Ravenclaw, and on Sunday, Gryffindor will play Slytherin."
As the applause died down, someone asked why the news was for first and second years.
"Because first and second years thought of it," EJ said, "the rules for teams are as follows. At least six of the seven members of any house team must be first or second year students. The seventh, chosen by those six, does not have to meet these qualifications, but members of former house teams cannot play. This is strictly an amateur effort."
"First years aren't allowed to fly brooms," Dennis Creevey pointed out.
"We thought of that," EJ said, "and we know that a lot of us, from wizarding families, come to Hogwarts with a fair knowledge of flying. Those first years who are interested can approach Madame Hooch tomorrow to be tested. If she approves, you can apply for the team."
Dennis, of all the first years, gave the loudest cheer.
"What are the other rules," someone asked?
"Just this," EJ said, "because of the lack of time to practice, and the newness of the teams, there will be a six-hour time limit. And, also, at the end of each game, Madame Hooch will make the final decision, should there be any controversy over the rules. Otherwise, all standard rules apply"
"Are you going to try out?" Ginny asked Malcolm, and they both laughed.
[I thought it was funny. I still had that problem with flying brooms. There was no way I would try to play. There was no reason I would want to play. And all of you probably know what's going to happen. But I have to tell you about something else that happened the next day. It just shows how bad things were getting for me.]
Malcolm walked into the Great Hall feeling very happy. He sat down, just as the owls came in to deliver the mail. He watched to see if any letters came for him, then started in on breakfast.
He grabbed a piece of toast and reached for the jam to lather it on, when something struck his hand. He looked up to see Hedwig, Harry Potter's owl, glaring at him. Malcolm slowly reached for the jam, again, but the owl blocked his hand. After several attempts, and as many nips to his arm, he desisted. But Hedwig was not done.
Hedwig kicked at the platter of eggs, and when Malcolm didn't move, tried to peck at his ear. Malcolm, being smart, quickly picked up on what was going on. In short order, his plate held scrambled eggs, stewed apples, two rashers of bacon, and a bran muffin. EJ looked over and commented, "That's the first real food you've ever eaten at breakfast. Owls must agree with you."
On the other side, Ron was commenting, "Your owl's gone bonkers, Harry." Pig, his own owl, picked up the letter Ron had received from his mom, and dropped it in the syrup pot. Another owl politely pulled it out, and dropped it into Ron's lap.
"Mine's not the only one," Harry said, laughing.
Malcolm looked up to see that everyone was staring at him, and at the half-dozen owls perched around him to make sure he finished his breakfast. Even the teachers were watching with amusement. Finally, Malcolm pushed his plate back and said he was finished. Hedwig gave him an affectionate peck and flew off. The other owls made it a point to playfully brush their wings against his head as they flew back out of the hall.
In the silence that followed, Ginny's voice could be heard clearly as she asked, "Malcolm, have you had any luck with that love potion yet?" Malcolm crawled
under the table and wished himself dead.
In the days that followed events settled into a pattern. Professor Snape had refused to mix any counter potion, since whatever Malcolm had done had made
the school owls his watchdogs, and they were keeping him out of trouble. Malcolm always had one or two owls flying around whenever he was outside, or at
meals. Occasionally, owls would perch outside of his classroom window, just to watch. Everyone got used to it.
"Malcolm," Dennis Creevey called, "I did it, I made the team."
"That's great Dennis, what position?"
"Beater. The Weasley twins are going to coach me. They say I'm a natural."
As Dennis ran off to spread the news, Malcolm smiled wryly.
[I mean it. I should really find out what the rules are. At least I know the beaters are the ones with sticks.]
"Malcolm," Ginny said, beaming, "I did it."
"That's great," Malcolm said, "What did you do?"
"I'm the seventh player, they picked me for Seeker." Ginny watched as Malcolm smiled blankly, and added, "I fly after that little golden ball."
"Oh, yeah," Malcolm said.
"You're hopeless, Malcolm," Ginny said with a laugh, and went off to tell her news to the others.
"Did you hear the news?" Neville asked as he walked up.
"Did you make the team, too?" Malcolm asked.
Neville laughed, "I don't think I could stay on a broom long enough. I mean about Malfoy. Mad-Eye Moody turned him into a ferret." Then he added, sadly, "But McGonagall made him changed Malfoy back. You never mentioned it, so I wondered if you had even heard about it."
"I did, Neville, but I've been having problems of my own. I haven't been paying attention to what else is going on."
"I can understand," Neville said as he petted of the owl perched on Malcolm's shoulder.
[It could be worse. I did mail a letter to Francis about what was going on, but it seems I shouldn't write letters when I'm agitated.]
"Francis, you have mail," Stan said, pointing at the owl.
Francis untied the letter, and pointed the owl to the corn nuts and water. He opened the letter, and started laughing.
"Stan, it's an article about Malcolm being a wizard."
"I thought he was a wizard?"
"Yeah, but according to this he's from a family of wizards."
"So, he was adopted?"
"There's a note at the bottom. Malcolm says not to tell people . . . What? I don't get this."
Stan looked at the letter and snorted, "Why would anyone believe he was born with two heads, anyway?"
Francis shook his head, "and I always thought Malcolm was the normal one in the family."
[One other weird thing happened. We have this new DADA Professor, Mad-Eye Moody. He was teaching us about the unforgivable curses, but then I asked a question.]
"What does the imperious curse feel like?" Moody asked, repeating Malcolm's question. "Come up here, and I'll show you. I'm sure Dumbledore will not object, and I think you're smart enough to handle it."
Malcolm walked up, nervously, and watched as Moody pointed his wand, and shouted, "Imperio." Moody looked at Malcolm and said, "Now, hop around the room on one leg."
"Why?" Malcolm asked.
A surprised Moody stared at the boy. "How about because I told you to?"
"But it's stupid," Malcolm said, "you'll just make everyone laugh at me."
Moody raised his wand, concentrated, and shouted, "Imperio," a second time.
"What, may I ask, is going on," Professor McGonagall said, entering the room. "I thought I heard you use one of the unforgivable curses."
Moody looked chagrined, "I've Dumbledore's leave to use my own judgement on this matter," he said defensively, then added, "I tried to use the Imperious Curse on Malcolm, as an example to the class, but it didn't work."
"Of course it won't work on him," McGonagall said. "Anyone who knows his background would know that. He's been trained from birth to defy authority. You only have to talk to his mother to find that out."
"Who would train a child in that manner?" Moody asked incredulously.
[I think he was asking about Francis, but now everybody thinks I'm a freak, again. Then, after that class, I found out I made the Quidditch team.]
"Malcolm," Ginny asked, "Why did you do that?"
"I didn't do anything," Malcolm complained, "I just stood there."
Ginny snorted, "We're talking about two different things again. I guess you don't know. Slytherin released the list of their team today. Here's a copy."
"Hey, that's great. They picked Gregory Goyle for Keeper. He should be good. Graham Pritchard is on it. He must be happy." Malcolm looked up in surprise, "why is my name on this list?"
"They've chosen you as their seeker," Ginny said. "I'm going to make a guess and say that you don't know why."
"Yes, I do," Malcolm said, irately, "Draco."
[I was wrong, of course. Something was going on behind my back, but Draco did talk me into playing. He did it by telling me that someone was asking about me.]
"It's nice to have this chance to talk with you again," Doctor Spencer said, "I've been talking to some of your friends, and your teachers. They have varied opinions of you, I must say."
"They would," Malcolm said, "I seem to say the wrong things at times."
"Yes, Hermione Granger told me about that. She finds you to be very amusing, by the way. And she said I could tell you that."
"Are you here, just for me?"
"Sorry Malcolm," Doctor Spencer said, "I'm afraid you aren't that important. I'm here because of the upcoming tournament. It will be quite stressful, and my job is to help the contestants deal with the stress, if it becomes a problem. Helping you is a bonus." She smiled and asked, "How is your flying? Perhaps we should try talking about that?"
"It's fine," Malcolm lied, "I even made the Quidditch team. You might have heard about that."
"Yes, I have, and it should be fun. Now that I know you are involved, I'll make it a point to show up."
"That's great," Malcolm lied, cheerfully.
[That's really great. I came this close to getting rid of her. Now, I'll really have to play. And once she sees me flying, I'll be in therapy for the rest of my life. At least she didn't ask about the owls, or about why I don't have to practice. Oh, and that thing about being a freak, it didn't happen.]
"Malcolm," someone said, "did you hear about Harry Potter? Moody tried to put the Imperious Curse on him, and he was able to resist it."
"Isn't that amazing?" someone else said, "I wish I could do that. Harry Potter has talent with a capital T."
[The worst part about that is that they're in my class. I did the same thing but it doesn't matter. I can understand Draco's remarks about Potter always getting special treatment. Since I had the chance, I also talked to Doctor Spencer about it.]
"First, Malcolm, let me say that, while it is a rare thing, it is not that amazing. There are some people who have a natural immunity to the Imperious Curse, as well as people who are strong willed enough to fight it."
"So I shouldn't be upset about it?"
"Malcolm, you're upset because Harry Potter is getting the attention, and not you. Please remember that Harry has had a unique childhood, and people see him as something special. They want to have things to say about him."
Malcolm thought about it, and asked, "But everyone knows I'm special, why don't they have the same attitude about me?"
Doctor Spencer smiled at the boy, and said, "Because they like you, Malcolm. No one really wants to see you as special. They want to see you as one of the crowd. When Harry does something, everyone cheers or hisses, depending on what they think of him. When you do something, everyone simply says, 'That's Malcolm for you. He's always up to something."
"Your making that up," Malcolm said,
"That was what Hermione Granger told me," Doctor Spencer said, "and Ginny Weasley, and Neville Longbottom, and Cho Chang, and Draco Malfoy, and EJ Captain, and Amber Dowling. Would you like me to list the teachers, as well?"
[Can you believe that? People actually like me. Even the Krelbournes only tolerated me, because of Reese. Anyway, tomorrow is Saturday, and I have one
more day to understand what I'm supposed to do. I should talk to Draco again. I still don't understand why the Slytherins picked me, but Draco says that if I
don't play they have to forfeit. It seems to me, they're deliberately trying to lose.]