A/N: Phoenix Flight, if I am correct, had one of those wonderful experiences with computer technology, by trying to access the latest chapter to my story immediately after I posted it. The result was that the chapter did not exist.

Also, to Lindiel Eryn, the part about Nob lying is in Chapter 23 of Life is Unfair, cleverly entitled 'The Next Chapter.' And yes, you were probably hallucinating. Ghosts hiding Malcolm? No way. The truth is probably a lot stranger than that. Speaking of strange, guess who the next chapter is about.



CHAPTER THIRTYONE: SNAPSHOTS OF DEWEY


Dewey awoke early and dressed quickly. Although there was always enough to eat at breakfast, old habits die hard. He was almost to the Great Hall when he met another early riser.

"Dewey," Michael Davies called out.

"What?" he replied in his typical annoyed voice.

"I didn't say anything to your brother, like you said."

"That's nice."

"He talked to me." Dewey stopped in his tracks when the other boy said that. "Your brother told me he felt bad that he didn't notice my problem, but that I was clearly making progress. Who told you?"

"I don't know," Dewey said and he walked away, going into the Great Hall. He sat down at the Slytherin table and Michael sat down next to him. "How did you know?"

Dewey turned to Michael. "Look, I went to see Malcolm and I was looking for some homework to copy. I saw yours. You write just like this kid at my old school. The one we called Retard. I liked him by the way. I always felt better when I compared myself to him. I knew you had a problem and I had to tell somebody."

"And you faked spraining your ankle just as I was coming by. And you told Madam Pomfrey."

"And because she wouldn't believe me, I told her a teacher told me. Now go away, people are staring at us."

Michael got up. "Thank you. It helped."

"Go away." As Davies left, Dewey muttered to himself, "It never pays being nice to people. They always think you like them."

*

"Hermione?" Dewey asked as he ran into her in the corridor. "Can I ask you a question, about Malcolm?"

"Anytime, Dewey. I know you're 'concerned' about what he is doing."

"I am," Dewey admitted, "but I asked him a question about magic and I didn't really understand his answer."

"Try the question on me," Hermione offered, going through the now familiar routine.

Dewey smiled appreciatively. "What are the natural effects of personal views on the use of magic?"

Hermione smiled as she tried to think of how to answer the question in easy words. "The most obvious effect is the strength of the spell. If you are strongly prejudiced toward what you are doing, if you like performing that type of spell, it will naturally be stronger. The obverse, the opposite of that, is also true."

Hermione explained as clearly as she could, talking for almost fifteen minutes, and Dewey listened intently. He thanked her when she finished, and Hermione continued to the library, happy she was able to enlighten a fellow student.

"Is she gone," Avery said from the alcove where he was hiding.

"Yeah, did you take notes."

"I did. We should be able to write eight inches from this, and the teacher only asked for six."

"We have to be more careful in the future," Dewey warned. "I think she's getting suspicious."

*

Malcolm looked at the class. "I want all of you to try your spells. Remember to say 'Expeliarmus,' clearly and quickly. I'll personally right a letter of commendation for anyone who can take my wand away. Who wants to be first."

Each Slytherin, in turn, attempted their spells. Malcolm judged how well they did by how much effort he had to make to resist. As with the other classes, none of them succeeded in forcing his wand from his hand, but they all enjoyed trying, except for Dewey."

"This is stupid."

"No it isn't, Dewey. You're learning to do magic by actually doing it. You didn't learn to fly a broom by reading about it?"

"No . . . but this is different. This is just casting a spell that doesn't work."

"The spell does work. And I can tell how good you did. But I can't tell anything if you just stand there and mope all day. The least you could do . . ."

"Expeliarmus," Dewey yelled suddenly, and Malcolm's wand flew across the room. "Are you still going give me a letter of commendation."

"Yeah, Dewey. Posthumously."

"I think the class is over," one girl said.

"You're probably right," a boy answered. "Dewey can run fast enough."

The remaining members of the class gathered their belongings and left through the still open door.

*

"Dewey" the figure in the portrait said happily. "It is good to see you again."

"It is indeed," said a second portrait, a matronly woman. "Too many students ignore us. They rarely come to this corridor."

"I like you guys," Dewey said. "It's a lot of fun talking to you."

"Hurumph," A third portrait, a ragged man with a long flowing beard, shook his head. "All of us know why you visit. Not that the reason you gave is completely false. I only wish more students had your interest."

"Here, Here," came several shouts from the other portraits in the hall.

The matronly woman smiled at Dewey. "Why don't you begin this time, Dear."

"That's the spirit," the ragged man cried. "Start right in."

Dewey smiled, and began to sing. "Row, row, row your boat/ gently down the stream/ Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily/ life is but a dream." He repeated the chorus, and when he had finished the first line, the Matron began to sing, "Row, row, row your boat . . ." As she finished her first line, another portrait joined in, and so on until there was a grand chorus.

*

"It's just that you're strange," Dewey told his brother as they sat down on the lawn.

"I'm not strange, Dewey. I'm actually trying to do something."

"But you're acting all weird. You're even being nice to people."

"I'm always nice to people. I'm even nice to you, you little runt," Malcolm paused. "I guess that was unfair."

"You did it again," Dewey yelled. "You actually apologized. TO ME. Malcolm, something really is wrong with you. Ever since you started teaching us, you've become a different person. You even had me looking up to you at one point. That shouldn't happen. I'm your brother."

"Would you like it if I changed back?"

"Yes, uh, actually, no. I like the way you are now. You don't yell at me much and you're fun to be with at times."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Malcolm, people are beginning to notice. Before, they would just laugh at you, but now they wonder what you're up to. Could you try being you're old self again."

"Okay, I'll try." Malcolm looked up and saw a couple of Ravenclaws watching him. "What are you looking at?"

The two Ravenclaws shook their heads. "And I was beginning to think he had changed," one of them said as they walked away.

"That was good, but you need to sneer a little more."

"Thank's Dewey."

Dewey eyed Malcolm seriously. "Remember to be you. Don't thank me. Say what you're supposed to say, and mean it."

[What am I supposed to say? Oh, Yeah.]

"Shut up, Dewey," Malcolm yelled.

"That was good," Dewey admitted.

*

Cho Chang and her friends were walking by the ice cream parlor when they noticed the little boy crying.

"Is there anything wrong?" Cho asked sympathetically.

"I can't find my mommy," the boy said between sobs, and received several kind remarks and a hug for his efforts.

"I know what we can do," Cho said in a happy tone. "Why don't we get you an ice cream cone, and then we'll wait for your mother. She'll surely come looking for you."

"I-Ice Cream," the boy asked as he tried to control his tears.

"Ice Cream," Cho said in her sweetest voice.

"Can I have two scoops?" Nob asked, giving a carefully orchestrated whimper at the end.

"Oh course you can," Cho said, and her friends agreed enthusiastically.

*

"Draco," Dewey called out.

"What is it," Draco said as he turned to face his least favorite cousin.

"Forget it. Let it be a surprise?"

Draco decided to try his usual tact. "Please don't tell me what the Giant Squid has to say."

"It isn't that," Dewey said, thus sparking Draco's interest. "I wanted to warn you that I'm in town today, and I'm not alone."

Draco turned to Crabbe and Goyle, shrugging his shoulders, but they laughed at him anyway. Draco, noticing the lack of fear or respect in his friends, made a mental note to kill Dewey if he had the chance.

They walked into Hogsmeade, and Goyle pointed to a ten year old boy walking by.

"Hi, Draco. Hi Greg. Hi, Vince."

"Hi, Dewey." Draco said politely.

"Have you seen Nob?"

"Is he lost?"

"Probably. He got lost a couple of weeks ago, and a policeman bought him a lemon ice while waiting for Mom to show up. Since then he's gotten lost seven times so far. Have you seen him?"

"No."

"Good," Dewey said as he went into Zonko's Joke Shop.

*

"Congratulations," Matthew Zeller's father said as he shook hands with Fred, then George. "You are now the proud owners of Number 93 Diagon Alley. It is my sincere hope that your business is successful.

The twins gave identical smirks. "Your son isn't the businessman you are. He let us know why you wanted us to buy the shop. If we do well, you can raise the rents on the shops around us."

"True," Mr. Zeller replied with a smirk of his own. "And if it doesn't, at least I have rid myself of one unsuccessful investment." He openly laughed at the twins' reaction. "Welcome to the world of business, where every silver cloud has a dark lining. And may I say that I do hope your shop is successful. I mean that as a businessman and on a personal level."

The twins left The Three Broomsticks with the paper in their hands. "We have a shop," Fred told his brother.

"And a hefty mortgage," George replied. "We need to do something to celebrate."

They looked at the ice cream parlor and smiled.

Walking in, they spotted a small group of Ravenclaws.

"Oy, Cho," Fred called out in a friendly fashion and she waved back.

"Nob?" George said. "What are you doing here?"

"You know him?" Cho Chang asked.

"He's our neighbor. That's Malcolm's baby brother."

"I just remembered where my mom is," Nob said as he rushed out the door.

"That . . . That," Cho sputtered as her friends stared at the fleeing boy. "I'm going to kill Malcolm."

*

"There he is." Fred pointed to a figure hiding behind a rain barrel.

They walked over casually and picked Nob up by the collar and held him over the barrel. "Someone has been busy."

"Please don't hurt me," Nob cried convincingly.

"Do you notice how he can cry on cue," George said. "It's obviously a family trait."

"Nob," Fred asked. "Where's Dewey?"

"I don't know. He ditched me as soon as we got here."

"Another family trait. You don't seem too upset, Nob."

"I was getting lost. I already had ice cream and two candy bars."

"Good haul," George admitted, "but we need to send you home now. How did you get here?"

"The old man told me I was here."

"That's what we like. A good clear answer."

"Can I ask a question?" Nob asked. "Isn't your arm getting tired from holding me up?"

"Now that you mention it," Fred replied, "No. And if it does, I'll hand you to George."

"We could be mean," George threatened, "and turn you over to," his voice became sinister, "The High Inquisitor."

"That toad?" Nob laughed as he saw through the threat.

"You know her?"

"She was at my adoption hearing. Malcolm told me who she was, and Francis told me his wife yelled at her and said she should fly back to her swamp."

"Swamp?" George said looking at his brother.

"You thought of something?" Fred inquired.

"It may be nothing. I'll tell you later, but right now we need Nob to start whimpering."

Obligingly, Nob made sobbing noises and said in a pitiful voice, "Please, please, don't dunk me again."

Smiling, Fred said, "We dried you off after the first time. Didn't we?"

"What are you two doing?" Cho Chang said angrily.

"We're punishing the little tyke for taking advantage of your good nature."

"A service we are happy to render free of charge," George added, while Nob kept whimpering, "Please don't, please don't."

Cho was about to berate them, them she remembered she was dealing with the Weasley twins AND Malcolm's brother. "Dunk him once and let him go. That should be enough."

"Sorry, Nob," Fred told the boy, and let go.

*

"Malcolm," George called out as the twins entered the common room.

"Hi."

"Cho Chang wants a word with you when you have the time. It concerns your brother."

"Big Dewey or Little Dewey?"

"Nob," Fred answered. "It seems he was in Hogsmeade today playing little boy lost. He finagled an ice cream cone from our Ravenclaw seeker. She is highly upset."

[This is great. Now Dewey is bringing Nob with him. I don't know why Mom and Dad don't just move into Hogwarts.]

"He did go for two scoops?"

"I believe he did," George replied.

"Good, I'd hate to think he was a slacker."

*

It was early April. Ron was walking by himself after another dreadful practice when he heard a familiar voice behind him. He turned around to see a first year in Slytherin robes.

"Hi, Dewey."

"Are you still upset about the last match," Dewey asked as he walked with Ron.

"I'm over that. Now I'm upset about the next match."

"You still have a month. And we lost our last match. If you win with a good score you can still take the Quidditch Cup."

Ron smiled. "That isn't a proper Slytherin attitude."

"You were my friend first," Dewey said. "I'd like my house to win, but . . ."

"Thanks, friend," Ron said and patted Dewey's shoulder.

"The Giant Squid thinks you worry too much."

"He said that?"

"She."

"Um, she said that?"

"What she said was that you thrash the seaweed needlessly, but that's what she meant."

"Um, Dewey. About the Giant Squid."

"What about her?"

"I have experience with people hearing things," Ron said carefully as they neared the lake. "I should tell you that everyone of us knows that you really can't hear what she is saying. All of the students are looking at you as though you're strange. You need to simply stop telling people she talks to you."

"I trust you, Ron," Dewey said. "If that's what you think I should do, I will." He looked up and shouted at two fourth year boys throwing rocks into the lake. "Hey guys, don't do that. It really annoys the Giant Squid and she says you should stop."

"Right, you nutter," one boy shouted back and threw a rock in their direction. As Ron pulled Dewey out of the path of the rock a giant tentacle came out of the lake and, in whiplike fashion, smacked the two fourth years into the nearest grove of trees, some twenty yards away.

"They'll be fine," Dewey said. "She aims for the bushes just past those trees, and she rarely misses."

"Oh," Ron nodded as they walked back to the school. He looked back to see the two boys crawling out from the trees. "And she thinks I worry to much?"

"Yeah. You just need to relax."

*

Dewey walked over to the Gryffindor table and called out his name in a singsong voice. "Mal-colm."

[I recognize that tone. That's his I'm being a jerk voice.]

"What do you want, Dewey?"

"Professor Umbridge made me a Junior Inquisitor."

"I'm so happy for you."

Dewey smiled widely. "I can take house points away from anybody for any reason."

"Is that so?" Malcolm said as he looked Dewey in the face. "I know what you're thinking, Dewey. You're thinking you can walk over here and make excuses at my expense. Well, I hope you remember the Potions Class I taught. They forgot to take my privileges away. I can take house points away, too." Malcolm warmed up for the final blow. "Any house points that you take away from ANYBODY will result in an equal number of house points being taken away from your own house."

Dewey nodded his head. "I can live with that. TWENTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR BECAUSE OF YOU ARE YOU."

"Dewey?" Hermione asked in surprise. "You do understand that you also lost twenty points from your own house."

"Yeah, but Professor Umbridge said she'd give me fifty points if Malcolm was the first one I took points from. Of course, he's the only one I wanted to take points from anyway."

Harry Potter looked up. "That WAS clever thinking on his part."

"I hate to admit this," Ron admitted as Malcolm's brother happily walked away, "but Dewey's fitting in well with the Slytherins."

"It's worse than that," Malcolm admitted. "I was bluffing."

"Then you don't know?" Hermione asked.

"Know what?" Malcolm asked in return.

"As of this morning, Umbridge is Headmistress of Hogwarts."

"Should we make him stop," Harry asked. "That looks painful."

"It is," Ron said. "I think we should let him continue. What do you think, Hermione."

"I'd like to stop him, but I'm curious how many times he'll hit his head on the table before he stops on his own."