I haven't written any new chapters. I've been meaning to load this one up for awhile. So, I'm sorry if anyone was waiting for it for a long amount of time! T-T It's not the greateast. I need to get back into my Harry Potter muse. So, don't expect many more chapters for awhile...sorry, again.
Disclaimer: I own not Harry Potter, or anything affiliated to Harry Potter. I only own John Smit-Masters.
Chapter Three
When both teachers were out of earshot, the paintings sighed in relief. The first time such an encounter happened in the halls of Hogwarts, a few of the paintings had to be taken down and shipped to Mungo's for some special treatment. Like always, though, the headmistress was there to smack the two young proffesors around, and tell them of the consequences that would follow should they use such spells on Hogwarts grounds again. Since then, neither Malfoy nor Potter had the gall to fight with spells, but merely with words. Yet, with those two, even their verbal arguements were a competition to see who could best the other with insults.
Sometimes, the paintings wondered if they hadn't preferred the spells.
Back in the Ravenclaw common room, though, John had made a friend. The creature had come to the common room to pick up the crumpled up essays, and left over candy wrappers that some of the messier Ravenclaws had forgotten to throw away.
After the initial fright of being discovered cleaning, and after calming down enough to introduce itself, John started to help the house elf with its nightly chore. It wasn't as if he liked to clean, he liked to learn about people, and he found it more comfortable to be doing something with them instead of just sitting and staring at them. An interesting conversation had begun between the two of them, though, and John couldn't help but give his advice to the female house elf, "If you like this other house elf -- Bobby?"
"Dobby." corrected Miff, as she stacked the firewood in a more orderly fashion.
"If you like Dobby, why not just tell him?" replied John, stacking some textbooks left lying around onto a table. He was amused that he was actually giving relationship advice to an elf, let alone a female one.
Miff was quiet for a moment, as she concentrated on screwing caps back onto inkwells. John waited with itching curiousity, knowing it was best not to rush her for an answer. Once she felt comfortable, she responded, "It's just, well, he's a hero, really. At least, among the house elves. He has many admirers, and has his pick to any of the other house elves. I-I-I just don't think he'd like me in that way."
"How is he a hero?" inquired John, trying to shake the images of heroic house elves out of his head. What could Dobby have done, truly, to give him the status of hero? Stopped a kitchen fire? Got rid of a cat with magical rabies? What?
The female house elf turned her large blue eyes up to John, amazed and awed that he wouldn't know. The young man raised an eyebrow, silently inquring what she was gawking at. Apparently, he should know something. Miff gasped, "You don't know that Dobby has done many wonderful things? He helped Harry Potter defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He led an army of courageous house elves into battle, and even had free house elves act as double agents in the Dark Lord's headquarters!"
John paused in his work to plump up the pillows to look over at Miff as she ogled Dobby's achievments. He hid his laughter as he imagined a house elf charging into battle, and instantly felt bad for the reaction trying to fall from his lips. House elves were allowed to have their heroes, as well, and it wasn't right to laugh at what they found to be awe-striking.
"Well, I think," started John, after a moment of pondered thought, "The only way for you to find out if Dobby will like you back, is to ask. As long as you truly like him for himself, and not for what he has accomplished."
Taking a glance around the room, John found everything straightened up and clean. A slight thought wandered into his mind, and John turned to Miff, who was just about to leave the common room. Coming up behind her, and taking the bag of trash she was trying to drag behind her, John followed the house elf from the room before asking, "Why are you the only house elf cleaning up the Ravenclaw area? Must be hard by yourself."
Miff looked up at him, after climbing out into the hallway outside the Ravenclaw common room. She looked hesitant to answer, for a moment, but ended up answering, "Ravenclaws aren't near as messy as Gryffindors or Slytherins. The headmistress also has some of us keep an eye on certain proffesors who are prone to arguments while on patrol."
"I see." Replied, John, a slight grin to crossed over his lips. He had heard stories of those teachers from the Ravenclaws, not to mention stories of the two men before they had took up teaching as an occupation from wizarding news articles. Absentmindedly, he drew his wand from the back pocket of his jeans, and cast a spell to make the bag of trash lighter. As John handed the bag back to Miff, who thanked him meekly, he said, "Well, good luck with Dobby, Miff. I'll look forward to talking with you, again."
Miff nodded, and scuttled off, leaving John to close the door behind her. After doing so, he wandered across the common room, heading towards the stairs that would lead up to his dormitory. All the while, he briefly wondered if Miff would actually confess her feelings for this Dobby character. Yet, his thoughts soon shifted to the new day that was fast approaching.
A new day which would prove to be informative, and perhaps a bit amusing. He would finally get to meet the once proclaimed "Boy"-Who-Lived who had defeated Voldemort, and an ex-Deatheater who helped his rival destroy the Dark Lord. John knew it would be impolite to ask the two of their experiences, but he was itching to get to the bottom of their histories. They were curiously interesting people, and they had chosen to become professors to teach. The two of them had first-hand experiences in the War, and would no doubt have interesting stories about what led up to the final deciding battle.
The two seemed similar to John, and a few other students thought the same. It seemed a shame that there were hostilities between the two that kept them from befriending one another. Then again, John surmised that there had to be more there than a simple rivalry, or dislike of each other. He was prone to being too analytical of people, though, and figured that the rivalry could be as simple as a major dislike of the each other.
"Maybe I will find something that neither noticed, though." murmured John to himself as he pulled the curtain of privacy around his bed. Silently, he stripped off his clothes from that day, and donned some pajamas, before climbing into the bed. His mind continued to trek aimlessly on the account of Proffesor Malfoy, and Proffesor Potter, even though John knew little about the men's personalities. As he rolled onto his side, and curled up into a ball, John figured he would find out enough tomorrow.
Moments later, the curtain was pulled across its railing, accompanied by the grating of metal on meta. Bright sun harrassed John into rolling out of bed. Of course, a group of fellow sixth-years that tipped his mattress also helped the cause.
End of Chapter Three
