A/N: I need to apologize to Black Ice. It was one of those mental slips. Now I have to review every chapter to make sure I correct everything. As to Mandraco's review, I must share this bit of wisdom a friend sent to me recently.

- Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey letetr by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Isn't taht amzanig?



CHAPTER TWENTYNINE: QUIDDITCH AND THINGS


It was lunchtime in the Great Hall.

"This is so cool," Millicent said when Reese gave her the present. "I love boxes."

"There's something inside of it, too," Reese bragged.

"I'm going to be sick," Dewey said, and went to find someplace else to sit.

"What do you think," Draco asked as Dewey sat down. "You've seen all the teams play so far. Do you think we have a chance?"

"We have no chance at all. We're all doomed."

"Um, Dewey I was talking about the Quidditch Cup."

"Oh. Probably. I was thinking of something horrible. If Reese and Millicent got married and had a kid, would you rather it take after the father or the mother?"

Draco put down his fork. "You do know you've completely ruined my lunch."

"Misery loves company," Dewey told him. "Are we going to have a sing-along again, since Gryffindor is playing."

"Definitely," Draco grinned.

"I'll get my earplugs," Dewey said as he left.

"My voice isn't that bad," Draco yelled after him.

"I believe you," Dewey yelled back.

*

"Am I being punished," Anthony asked as he refilled his plate.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"It was decided that Reese needed a chaperone and that it should be me. I almost wish I stayed on the train and let Bill and his friends trounce me. I'm working in the kitchens at school thanks to that jerk, and his brother. My social life is non-existent. I have no friends. Hi, Euan."

"Anthony!" Euan Abercrombie stopped in his tracks. "Wow, you must be a half foot taller than the last time you were here. I didn't even realize it was you."

"That's about right," Anthony said. "You've grown a little, too."

"Not really. Are you here for the Quidditch match? Do you want to sit with us? I'll understand if you say no. We are first years."

"I'd love to. I feel responsible for you 'little ones.'"

Euan left to tell Jenny and Matt, and Anthony turned back to Ginny. "Where was I?"

"You were saying how you didn't have any friends."

"Well, friends my age. At my school."

"That's terrible," Ginny said consolingly. "I would love to have a cheat and a hustler as a friend,"

"That isn't fair."

"Isn't it," Ginny asked pointedly. "Money isn't everything. There is such a thing as principle."

"I'll go sit with my friends," Anthony said as he stood up.

"You don't have any friends," Ginny reminded him. "Maybe . . . you just don't know who your friends are."

"I'm not in the mood for grade school philosophy," Anthony said and walked away.

Neville looked over at Ginny. "And you annoyed him because?"

"He's so single minded. He believes the world is one way and he won't see anything different."

"Are we talking about Anthony or Harry?"

Ginny looked at Neville in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Have you tried giving Harry advice? I hear him snapping at Ron and Hermione all the time, and at you. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Harry has a lot on his mind. You know that, Neville."

"So does Anthony. The funny thing is Harry worries about You-Know-Who. Anthony worries about Reese . . . and us."

Ginny looked down the table where Anthony was laughing at something one of the first years said. "But he gets along with the first years?"

"They're not a threat. They've only started learning magic. We already know. The point is, Ginny, that magic threatens his world. Not the muggle world, but his personal world. He had a niche carved out for himself and we removed the walls. We did it to Harry, too, but we let him join us."

"I never thought about it," Ginny admitted.

"Neither did I," Neville admitted. "Not until Gran and I talked about Harry, after we met you at the hospital. I asked around about Anthony. Do you want to know what I found out?"

Ginny stared at Neville. More than anyone, he had changed this past year, and for the better. Her thoughts then returned to what he had asked her. "You told me they have some things in common."

"They have a lot in common," Neville said. "Anthony is what Harry would be if he were a muggle. His lucky break came at the same age as Harry's. It was a scholarship. That gives his life another parallel. And like Harry, magic has torn his world apart. Anthony's only disadvantage over Harry is that he doesn't have someone trying to kill him."

Ginny was amazed at the revelation. "How can that be a disadvantage?"

"Look what it did to Harry. He couldn't possibly deal with You-Know-Who on his own. He had to learn to rely on other people. That's why Harry has friends. That's why Anthony doesn't. He never needed to rely on anyone. He never learned to trust people. He doesn't have any friends."

"But the first years . . ."

"Are safe. They're no threat to him. Remember? They may think they're his friends but they aren't."

"Excuse me," Malcolm said from across the table. "Most of us couldn't help but hear your conversation, and I'd like to put my own two cents in."

"Please don't make a smart remark," Ginny said.

"Someone once told me that I didn't know who my real friends were. I think that's the difference between Potter and Anthony. Potter learned who his friends are."

Ginny marveled at such a serious statement. "Who are you, and what have you done with Malcolm?"

"And by the way, the rest of the team left for the Quidditch field ten minutes ago."

Everyone watched in amusement as Ginny raced from the Great Hall.

*

"That was interesting," Anthony admitted a half hour later. "I am surprised the score was that close, but I don't understand the rules. Are you supposed to attack your own team that way?"

"You're making fun of us," Euan said.

"It wasn't a very good match," Anthony tried to explain. "Your beaters are incompetent. And that Keeper? He seems to be afraid of everything. The singing didn't help him, I admit."

"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy the match."

Anthony paused. "You didn't enjoy it either."

Euan stopped and glared at Anthony. "It's bad enough we lost. You don't have to rub my face in it." He walked off to join his classmates leaving Anthony standing by himself.

*

"My father answered," Matthew Zeller told the twins.

"And?"

"Number 93 Diagon Alley will be available as of the end of March, if you're interested. He said that he would be willing to work with you."

"I know you, Matt. Why is he willing to help us."

"Your sampler. Read his letter for yourself. He says you have promise."

Fred and George looked over the terms. "The rental price seems high, but the purchase price is definitely low."

Matthew laughed. "Of course. Father is offering to rent or sell the property. He wants you to buy it."

Fred shook his head. "Number 93 is not the most promising place in Diagon Alley. All the shops in that area are, shall we say, low class."

"Listen," Matthew said. "Half of the shops in that area are there simply to have something there. And father owns most of those properties. If he can get a successful business there, it will draw customers as well as shopkeepers looking for a good location. Father thinks you will be successful. That is why he wants you to buy the property."

"That is clever," Fred admitted. "If we are successful we could move someplace else."

"But we wouldn't," George continued, "If we owned the shop."

All three smiled at each other.

"By the way, Father will be at the Three Broomsticks next Hogsmeade weekend. He said you would know where it was."

*

"Did you see this," EJ said to Malcolm, showing him his copy of the Quibbler.

"I've heard about it, and your timing is great. Have you read the latest edict?"

EJ laughed. "They're decrees, not edicts. You make them sound sinister."

"Read it."

"They've banned the Quibbler? Maybe edict is a good term after all."

Malcolm looked at the paper and had a thought. "Have you already read this?"

"From first page to last."

"Could I borrow it, until the end of the week."

"For a whole week?"

"Only during class time. I can return it at the end of each day."

"Malcolm, that is another strange request from you, but I will grant it. And make sure you disguise it."

*

Malcolm called the class to order. "We have to change our routine for today."

"Sir," one of the students said. "Does this have something to do with the recent educational decree, number 27?"

"Yes it does. Have any of you seen the paper in question, or read the article in it? Better yet, how many of you know what the article is about."

[Good. At least all of them didn't raise their hand.]

"Have any of you read the article. No one?" He pulled the Quibbler out of his robe pocket. "I don't want anyone to accidentally read the article so I will inform you of exactly what it says. If you find yourself reading any of this, stop immediately."

"Excuse me, Sir," another student asked. "Aren't you violating decree number 26 by giving information not related to the course."

"That decree specifies the course I am paid to teach. Because I am not being paid, that decree does not apply to me."

"Great," the student said.

[I have to be careful. He thinks I'm serious.]

Malcolm read the article to all of his classes. His only problem was with the Slytherin class."

"Sir,"

"Yes, Avery."

"The article mentions my father."

"Then it is my hope that the article is mistaken on that point."

"Sir, my father's views are well known, and I am not at odds with all of them."

"Neither am I," Malcolm said. "You're father and I both agree that you should have as thorough an education as possible. This is something you obviously agree with because you are in this class."

"Malcolm," Dewey said. "He's worried about the other kids. Slytherins have a reputation. All of us do."

"I can't do anything about that. I can't stop things from happening. I can't keep them from happening to any of you. I can only teach you how to defend yourselves. Have you been practicing your shielding spells? That is your first defense, and for now I hope it is enough."

[They're still not convinced.]

"I want all of you to understand this. I teach DEFENSE. I will not tolerate any offensive act against any of my students, and I expect all of you to help each other"

"ALL of us?"

"Yeah, Dewey. All of you. Even those stinking Gryffindors."

"Only the first years, though," a girl asked.

"Let's be generous. Mostly the first years."

"Malcolm," Dewey asked in a serious tone. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were there, but you never talked about it."

"You were there?" A girl asked. "You saw . . . Him?"

"All I did was run away. Nothing happened."

Dewey raised his hand. "Madam Pomfrey told Mom that the poison would have no permanent effect."

"Shut up, Dewey," Malcolm said angrily. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I remember seeing Mom when she found out," Dewey said quietly. "I just wanted to know."

"What happened," the girl asked, with a tremor in her voice.

"Please tell us?" one of the boys asked. "You were there. Didn't you fight them?"

"He didn't have his wand," Dewey said. "I know that much."

Malcolm looked at the worried faces.

"And that's all you need to know."

*

The Slytherins left the class quietly. After they had walked away they all stepped into an empty classroom. "We have to tell them," the girl said.

"Who?"

"The other classes. You saw the Professor. You saw how hard it was for him? We can't expect him to tell us what happened"

"She's right," the boy added. "If it weren't for Dewey, we wouldn't have known anything."

Avery looked down. "I shouldn't bother saying anything."

"Neither should I," Dewey admitted.

"Why you?" Avery asked.

"Potter mentioned your Dad. And he mentioned Uncle Lucius. The one I tried to get to adopt me."

"Then you'll watch our backs," the girl said. "Remember the Professor's words. It doesn't matter who our parents are, or what we will become. We'll tell the others because they need to know. And nobody else. Only first years."

"We're doing something wrong," one boy asked. "Aren't we? We aren't even supposed to be having this class."

"Well," Dewey said. "That depends on which side your on. I think this is the class we're supposed to have."

"Are we all in," The girl asked. Nine voices answered yes.

*

"Excuse me, Malcolm," a voice said from the doorway.

"Professor Vector?"

"Good, I've caught you between classes. Here is the book you asked me about."

"Um, thank you, Ma'am."

"I'm happy to do it, Malcolm. With everything else you have to do, it makes me happy to know that you want to keep up with your Arithmancy. Now, I must go before your next class arrives."

"You know?"

"Oh yes. Dewey told me."

"He told you?"

"It was a while ago, and he didn't tell me specifically. I suppose it would be safe to say that I overheard it. Don't worry, Malcolm. I won't tell anyone, but if you need anything, please let me know."

"Thank You, Professor."

"Your Welcome . . . Professor." Vector smiled warmly as she left the classroom.

Malcolm smiled in return. He had another friend.

*

"Miss Granger?" Matthew Zeller asked as he saw Ginny leave the common room. "Could I talk to you, privately."

"You're being very formal, Matt. Sure you can. What do you want to know?"

Matthew put his finger to his lips and motioned her to follow him. He led her to an empty room, where the other first years were waiting.

"What are you up to?" Hermione asked.

"The article," Jenny said. "Malcolm read it to us, so that we would know about it."

Hermione looked at her in surprise. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Malcolm's brother is a Slytherin," Euan added. "We've been talking to them."

"Why?"

"You're his friend," Matthew explained. "We know he was there. What happened to him?"

Hermione was caught by surprise when she heard the question. Unbidden, the images came of the pool of blood, the limp owl, the pale second year lying on the ground with the slash marks crisscrossing his chest. "You don't want to know," she cried.

"No, we don't," Jenny admitted. "But, Malcolm is our . . . teacher. We need to know."

For a brief second she hated all of them for forcing those memories back on her. Then she looked at their worried faces. Something happened, and they needed to know. "I can only tell you what I saw when he returned." The first years nodded. "Ginny was the one who found him. Malcolm was always like a little brother to her. With everything else that had happened, he was still the first one in her thoughts. I suggested we look for him in the owlery . . ."

*

Malcolm sat alone in the quiet classroom. He didn't even care that he was missing his dinner. "Why did I ever bother?" he cursed.

"Bother?" Professor Binns asked as he floated through the wall into the classroom. "Why do any of us bother?" His ghostly form looked down. "Malcolm, what are you doing here? And you are very rude. That is where the teacher sits."

Binns looked questioningly at Malcolm when the boy did not bother to reply. "I haven't seen you in class recently. Have you been ill? No, it can't be that, you would be in bed. My, my, those are homework papers. Are you a teacher, now?" It seems like it was last year when I was giving you special lectures. You don't have your journal out."

Malcolm looked up. "What journal?"

"What journal indeed," the ghostly form said. "You are not a very good teacher. How long have you been teaching?"

"I just started," Malcolm admitted.

"Then I condemn your teachers for not telling you. I always keep a daily record of every student. I make notes of their progresses and their failures, and I include my personal observations. For example, among my fifth year students, I have a boy named Perkins." He opened up a ghostly book which appeared in his hand. "Intelligent but lazy. I even note that I caught him sleeping in class one day. When the end of the year comes, I have a clear record of what I should say about him, and this year it looks as though I will not be saying anything nice."

"I'm sure he deserves it."

Professor Binns looked angry. "He does not. What he deserves is for me to find a way to motivate him. This journal is not the record of the failures of my students. It is a record of my failures. Shape up Malcolm, or I will talk to Professor Dippet about you."

"Yes, Sir. I will."

"And Malcolm. May I congratulate you on an excellent career choice. It is wonderful to see you carrying on the family tradition."

Giving him a ghostly smile, Professor Binns floated away through the opposite wall.

[Family tradition? It's just him, and he never told me how far back he goes in my family.]