Chapter 4

The first task was drew closer with every passing day. Each morning Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror trying to see new grey hairs because every time he tried to picture Brax Malfoy fight a dragon h felt himself age. Brax didn't share his misgivings, strolled the halls of Beauxbatons with superior air and flirted with the French girls.

On the other hand Jacob Shliemiel nervously sidled around the school constantly looking over his shoulder. Harry felt sorry for him – the young man was nice, smiley, assiduous, and it was clear as daylight that he would not live to see the end of the Tournament because he was absolutely useless as a Champion. He was the epitome of clutz. Animals bit him during the Care of Magical Creatures, plants – during Herbology, and after classes his own pet rat attacked him. He spilled bubotuber pus on his hands during Potions and ended up covered in boils, he spilled sauces on his neighbours during dinner, they reprocated by magicking him more boils. During weighting of wands h stepped on his shoelace and crashed at the feet of Marie Montbeillard, Beauxbatons' Champion. Although Brax Malfoy loudly announced that only family pride prevented him from doing the same.

Two days before the first task Harry stumbled upon this walking disaster in a corridor. Jacob was trying to fix the rat cage. The bars kept breaking proving the fact that Reparo couldn't be cast on anything more than three times. The rat was perched on his shoulder and was watching his attempts with obvious irony. Revekka Ben-Bezalel who was passing by flipped her black braid over the shoulder and laughed, "How are you, Shlimazl?"

Jacob looked at her, smiled and made a helpless gesture. The cage fell on his toes.

"Why does she call you shlimazl?" Harry asked because this was not the first time he heard it.

"Because my last name is Shlemiel which means loser, and shlimazl also means a loser. They are just different types of losers. My granddad used to say that shlemiel tripped over himself and spilled hot soup on shlimazl's neck while nebech cleaned up all the mess afterwards."

"I see," Harry said thoughtfully. He spent the whole day tasting the word nebech. So this was his nickname. No the Chosen One, not the Boy Who Lived, but Nebech – the one who spends his whole life mopping up the soup that was spilled before his birth. Never before he thought of himself as a loser. Most people saw hero in him, a chosen few saw just Harry: a friend, a husband, a father. Now he looked at his life and saw endless scurrying with a mop cleaning up the puddles someone else made.

He thought that Snape with all his backstabbing never was this kind of loser. He always spilled his soup himself and always on someone else's head.

Then it occurred to Harry that he had no idea what kind of soup Snape had been brewing during the last twenty odd years. The History of Magic book turned out to be a very poor cookery book in this respect because it centered around other chefs and dishes. Harry chose not to ask Albena, he thought it was indelicate considering the fact that he wanted to kill her father during the summer break. At dinner Harry was very upset, left Bouillabaisse untouched and listened to students talk without much interest.

"Ew, goulash," Ilona Korvin said. "Mother told me that it's made of all things that drowned in the Danube."

Harry flinched.

"…and then it turned out that they eat dead rats!" Gaspard announced cheerfully for everyone to hear.

Harry gulped.

"A true aristocrat doesn't need a "Who's Who" reference. He knows everyone of importance, and the rest don't matter."

Harry moved the plate closer and started eating. "Who's Who"! He never wanted to be a true aristocrat anyway.

Apparently Piotr Gavlichek had no intention of succeeding of this area too because Harry borrowed his copy of "Who's Who". One acknowledged schlep in Durmstrang delegation turned out to be a blessing.

Snape, Severus. Born 01.09.1959, Manchester, the Great Britain. Graduated from Hogwarts, 1979. Professor at Hogwarts, 1980-1996. Professor at Durmstrang, 1998-2000. Mediwizard at St. Jacob hospital, 2000-2002. The head of Potions and Plants Poisoning Department at St. Jacob's hospital, 2003-2007. The Head of St. Jacob's hospital, 2007-present.

Took part in the Transylvanian war. Was awarded a medal of the White Star, a medal of the Silver Sword and a medal of Princess Libuše. Worked on Werewolves Law. Honoree of Rabbi Loew prize (2005), Bathori prize (2008), Albert the Great prize (2001), Marcopuolos prize (2015), a member of the Council of a Hundred and Seven.

Married Henrietta Yanovska (see ref.), 2000. One daughter.

The list of published works…

Harry stopped reading because the list was half a page long. He tried to wrap his head around the idea that a criminal wanted in one country could receive three medals in another. Then he got tired and went to look for Jaroslaw Volkov to learn about the Werewolves Law firsthand.

X X X

Harry's prayers were answered, and no one died during the First Task. Hagrid was the worse for wear because he constantly was hanging around the dragon keepers until he was allowed to pet one. He got away with mild burns and a tail-shaped bruise on his back. Brax Malfoy had only his pride wounded because he ended up the last. Jacob Shlemiel did surprisingly well. It turned out he inherited a pair of seven-league boots, although they were old and slow. Nevertheless he successfully dodged the dragon until it lost guard.

The Christmas Ball at Beauxbatons was for some reason twelve days after Christmas and was called the Kings' Ball. Three weeks before the ball the senior students tumbled around the school with lost expressions on their faces, shrank away from girls who in turn suddenly started to have problems with eyesight. They saw boys only when they were three inches away. The teachers looked at each other with silent question in their eyes: was I also this stupid at this age?

A couple of days before the ball the duels started.