Chapter Eighteen

Later that evening, after the press conference, Professor Snape entered Headmaster Dumbledore's office. He half-expected to see Bart or Harry there, and sighed in relief when they weren't.

I've already seen enough of Simpson to last five lifetimes, I think, the taciturn teacher thought with trademark sourness, and as for Potter, those eyes…they have…the same…eyes.

Yet again, the professor repressed the memory of a love long lost. He couldn't display any more emotion than the situation required. Not with the realities of his job.

Headmaster Dumbledore sensed his charge's unease and so drove a sledgehammer through the metaphorical ice.

"Is something bothering you, Severus?" the headmaster kindly asked.

"A multitude of things, Albus. For instance, regarding the relationship between Simpson and Miss Farley that you were wary of earlier in the year, have your views changed?"

The aged mage sat back and contemplated how Gemma had seemingly utilised Bart's exceptional magical talent to the fullest as his mentor over the year – and it showed, having perused Bart's memories of the quartet's assault on Quirrell and Voldemort.

Bart was clearly the most accomplished wizard of the four, as he utilised a smorgasbord of spells with nary a hint of unease, including spells so ancient and difficult that he doubted that Gemma, skilled though she was, even knew of them, never mind taught them to Bart.

Where would young Bart learn of such spells? the bemused brujo thought – and then the answer hit him like the Hogwarts Express. He vividly remembered needing to relieve himself one day and, right on cue, discovering a room full of chamber pots. He could never find the room again – maybe his need was not great enough?

However, it would have utterly unsurprised him had Bart, who could stage pranks as big as the Tet Offensive, found the great 'need' to perfect his pranks and hence his spell-craft. After all, how could one execute sophisticated pranks in the magical world without a sophisticated knowledge of magic?

He had always wondered why Tom Riddle's knowledge of magic quite possibly surpassed his own, despite Riddle being significantly younger – it must have been because of this room. Given his misgivings regarding Riddle, he believed that Riddle would have had felt the 'need' to protect his sterling reputation by hiding any incriminating information.

Unfortunately, he was unsure what such information might have been. But maybe Bart and Gemma could help him find out…and with that happy thought, he responded.

"For the moment, yes. Miss Farley has taught young Bart a great deal over this past year and has, from what I understand, protected him from being harmed by other Slytherins. I also lack evidence that she has used him to subjugate any personal threats. Besides, Bart probably would have died had she not acted. Hence, I currently have no problem with their relationship continuing."

Professor Snape regarded him with naught but a nod upon hearing this. The storied sorcerer was obviously utterly unconvinced that Gemma's goals regarding Bart would serve the Order's interests going forward, so he decided to drop the matter. Instead, a sinister smirk lined his face.

"Quirrell just suddenly dying of a congenital heart condition? That's the best reason for Quirrell's defeat that the legendary Dumbledore could conjure?

You could have just said that Quirrell was caught off-guard by Simpson's assault, which then allowed Miss Farley to slip around and strike him with a stunner powerful enough to stop his heart. It has happened before, and it would have been more believable.

Frankly, I'm surprised that even those hare-brained halfwits posing as journalists never thought to raise that issue."

Upon hearing this, the aged mage responded with a trademark thin-lipped smile. He obviously had something up his sleeve should that have happened, Professor Snape snarled inwardly. Typical Dumbledore. Why couldn't you have been in Slytherin instead of Simpson?

"Ah Severus, but what if I had the foresight to procure a fake death certificate for all to see should that eventuality have arisen? And that, as per his will, his remains were cremated and scattered near the Black Forest in Albania so his body was unavailable for inspection? And that Professor Quirrell's parents are unfortunately unavailable for comment because they both passed during the war?" the elderly professor enquired, in a manner so Socratic. "That said, it seems that the press…forgot…to raise those issues, so I just…forgot…to raise them myself."

"And let me guess, you're managing Quirrell's estate?" Professor Snape drolly replied.

"Well, let's just say that the estate manager and I have quite the understanding regarding his estate. You know how persuasive I can be, Severus", the venerable wizard smoothly supplied.

I do indeed, Dumbledore. I do indeed, the cloaked professor thought as he subtly shook his head, but then frowned as he considered his least favourite Slytherin.

"You don't seriously believe that Simpson's motives for stopping the Dark Lord are pure, do you?"

"No more or less pure than I would expect from a Slytherin."

So not pure, then. "I'm also surprised that a Weasley would pretend to be good at blackmailing people. That would seem to contradict the Gryffindor ethos", the cloaked professor noted, pronouncing Gryffindor with all the enthusiasm of someone swallowing vinegar.

"Well, as long as young Ronald was in the spotlight, I don't think he cared very much. Many Gryffindors do enjoy attention."

"Don't I know it", Professor Snape spat, as he relived some very unpleasant memories.

"Indeed. In fact, you don't know what anybody is capable of." Professor Snape thought that he saw a flicker of a frown cross the aged mage's features after he said that – but maybe he imagined it, for it vanished whence it came remarkably quickly.

"Anyway, I expect that Cornelius Fudge will be displeased with me publicly admitting that Lord Voldemort is still with us."

The potions master scowled. "What do you plan to do?"

"Well, Lord Voldemort has been lingering in spirit form for a decade now, plus Cornelius has only recently become Minister of Magic, so I'll note that no reasonable person would hold him responsible for Voldemort's spirit remaining alive.

I'll also reassure him that Voldemort has not regained a human body, and that I was merely warning the wizarding world to prepare for such an eventuality."

"That's going to happen one day, isn't it?" Professor Snape snarled.

"Yes, I believe so, but I'll tell Cornelius that it most likely will not occur until after he's retired. I'm not sure I believe that, but it should placate him for now. I also will not suggest doing anything which is too politically controversial, like contacting the giants. Only things that would not harm him politically, like conducting newspaper interviews informing people how to prepare.

If needed, I'll complete an Unbreakable Vow wherein I swear that I will never be Minister of Magic. That should satisfy him."

Professor Snape's eyes briefly widened, but he quickly resumed a neutral expression as he nodded. Frankly, he saw Fudge as an insecure flake, but essentially harmless if he felt secure. An Unbreakable Vow should satisfy Fudge enough to not actively hinder them, at least.

"Now that the showboat is out of our hair", Professor Snape sneered, "whom do you expect will take up the position? It's cursed."

"Yes, but I've realised that the curse's effects are mitigated somewhat if they serve less than one year. So instead of serving 365 days, they would serve 360 days", the headmaster noted with a serene expression. "That should hasten negotiations."

"I see you have something planned, then. Very well Albus, we will talk soon."

"Yes, Severus. And thank you for supplying the Veritaserum when I requested it during our earlier meeting."

The cloaked professor did nothing but nod as he departed the headmaster's office.

During the next evening, Harry was sitting on his bed and staring forlornly at his flute. He was still struggling to digest Professor Dumbledore's revelations. How Professor Snape resented his father for saving him. How his mother's love had marked him with something so good that beings so evil, such as Lord Voldemort or Professor Quirrell, could not stand contact with him.

His mind then turned to Bart. He didn't know what to think there. Harry knew deep down that Bart was largely responsible for him surviving his adventure beneath the trapdoor – but Bart ultimately proved that, like that conman Lockhart, he was happy to fulfill his own selfish desires by exploiting the trust of innocents.

Maybe Ron was right about Slytherins, Harry thought with a resigned sigh – but then he thought some more. Truth be told, he was grateful to Bart for diverting press attention away from him, and he enjoyed Bart's method of galvanising the school. Plus, Bart's unusually sheepish demeanour when they last spoke indicated that he felt remorse for betraying Harry, whereas Lockhart's conscience seemed untroubled by his many wrongdoings.

Harry just shook his head in vexation. He prided himself on having strong morals and ethics, yet he couldn't make up his mind regarding someone who was clearly morally and ethically elastic! Maybe clarity would come over summer.

Ron then approached. The redhead was pretty chuffed about all the fan mail that he had received over breakfast, but Harry's unhappiness nonetheless concerned him. "What's wrong, mate?"

"Nothing", replied Harry. "You know, I still don't know why Hagrid gave me this flute. It's not like I was in the school orchestra or anything…"

"I can answer that", a shrill, bossy voice interrupted. Harry turned to his right and saw Hermione sport a very supercilious expression.

"I just saw Hagrid before. He told me that he gave you the flute so you that could pass the Cerberus. It apparently goes to sleep when you play music. Also, he asked me to give you this", she noted as she shoved a package in Harry's arms.

Harry duly opened the package and observed that it was a leather-bound book. He quickly threw a quizzical expression Hermione's way, but nonetheless opened the book out of curiosity. What he saw took his breath away.

Indeed, it was like time had stood still as he perused each page. His parents were in front of him. Staring at him. Smiling at him. He then came to a picture showing them with his infant self.

A single tear fell on the photo with a tiny splosh, but for Harry it was like a banging gavel, for he felt like he had just been sentenced to never see his parents again for as long as he lived.

Ron wrapped his right arm around him. "Are you OK, mate?"

Harry sighed sadly. "Yeah, I'm fine Ron. You know…I can still feel them in my heart, but I don't remember them. I hope they're happier where they are", he noted as a tear fell from his other eye.

At this point, Hermione quickly put her left arm around him. The atmosphere became very heavy – too heavy for Ron's tastes, so he raised a more light-hearted issue.

"Harry, I heard that git McLaggen fell off his broom and landed on his face when he hit the ground. We're going to get crushed by Ravenclaw, you know. We don't even have a Seeker now."

Hermione scoffed, but Harry perked his head up and turned to Ron with a tight smile.

Meanwhile, Bart's thoughts had also turned to the flute as he sat up on his bed.

Man, it's too bad that I don't have that flute. It sure would have made for a nice ass scratcher.

Bart smugly smiled after that thought floated through his conscious.

Yeah, it would have capped off a great day.

Yes, for Bart the day had been very great indeed. Firstly, both Bart and Gemma savoured the volumes of fan mail that each received over breakfast. Sure, there was an occasional Howler from the odd nutjob, but Bart simply dealt with those by banishing them towards either the Hufflepuff table or in Draco's general direction. Hearing a Howler from close range would have unsettled him a tad, but hearing them from a distance just filled him with endless mirth.

Hope blondie hasn't become deaf or something. It'd be a real shame for him to lose his hearing and his pride.

Thinking back to Draco's attempted ambush earlier in the day, Bart shook his head contemptuously.

Did Drain-o really think I'd be stupid enough to fall for the same trap twice? Cunning, my butt, Bart thought as he recalled how Draco had recruited fourteen other Slytherins to ambush the Muggleborn mage, seemingly to punish him for his populist chanting against their Dark Lord.

Unfortunately for them, a quick Homenum Revelio exposed the ambush. Bart smirked and coolly summoned Gemma via parchment. They chuckled at Draco's predictability before Gemma shushed him, tentatively moved forward and fired a Verdimillious Tria near a group of the would-be ambushers. The resultant blast not only incapacitated the group, Draco included, but resounded through the room. Bart took this as a sub rosa signal to attack, which he duly did.

"Bāsākā!" Bart whispered before rushing in to support Gemma. Like with Quirrell, he threw the proverbial kitchen sink at his attackers. Five of them quickly went down in a volley of spells, but what Bart remembered most was both the high and the horrific comedown which followed.

Man, that comedown really sucks, Bart thought with a scowl as he recalled regurgitating his breakfast in a safe space while Gemma duelled the remaining four. But that high is damn addictive! I just wish I could deal with the comedown better…

His thoughts then drifted back to Gemma's battle, with Bart looking on after throwing up his insides. Just as the lad's head turned, one attacker went down with a spine-chilling scream. Bart then savoured the sight of Gemma handling the other three like a trainer handles his dogs. He obviously knew that Gemma was a gifted duellist, but she was always holding back against Bart due to his inexperience. Now he could watch her battle sans restraint, and it was truly a sight to behold.

It wasn't so much her fluid wrist flicks which surprised him, or her dodges, balletic though they were, or even her repertoire. He had already witnessed those. No, what really caught his eye was how she athletically manoeuvred herself into a position where she could isolate her opponents. Predictably, scream after scream rent the air as she systematically dismantled them one by one.

On one level, Bart was thrilled for Gemma. How could he not be? After all, he was infatuated with her. On another level, Bart felt irritated. He never liked it when a female showed him up – whether it was Lisa and her academics, or when that feminist manipulated him into a wall using a video game.

He found himself frustrated by his conflicted feelings…until he noticed that another female, namely 'bob-girl', was crawling up behind Gemma just as she was about to defeat her last opponent. With a hateful sneer, 'bob-girl' raised her wand.

Take this, you blood traitor prefect! she thought as she readied her curse. She didn't see that Muggleborn upstart anywhere, so surely knocking Gemma down would be a piece of cake?

Unfortunately for her, Bart was watching from her blind spot, and realised what she was planning.

Oh no! Bob-girl's risen from her hole and is cursing Gemma! I have to do something! the lad frantically thought. He still hadn't recovered from his comedown, but if he could crawl into a house with a broken leg to save Lisa from being murdered, he could save Gemma from a firstie.

Feeling as if he was lifting a car, he braved the pain wracking his body as he lifted his wand. Lacking the energy to concentrate long enough to cast a non-verbal stunner, he shouted to the heavens.

"STUPEFY!" Both 'bob-girl' and Gemma looked Bart's way in shock, but it was too late for 'bob-girl', for Bart's stunner was screaming towards her at frightening speed. Milliseconds later, it slammed into her with full force, knocking her out.

Finally succumbing to exhaustion, Bart then slumped into Slumber Land as Gemma watched. She smiled at Bart, but then regarded 'bob-girl' with a murderous scowl.

That uppity Parkinson bint. She thinks that just because she has Malfoy's favour that she can strut around with her nose up in the air like she owns the bloody castle. I'll show her how mistaken she is, Gemma thought as she bound Bart's attackers using Incarcerous, before levitating Bart down to the dormitory, lowering him onto his bed, and casting protective charms.

Sleep well, Bart. You did well up there, even though you still have some way to go before you match my technique or tactical ability. But I know you can improve. Then…we can take care of my enemies.

With a content smile, she strode up to the common room.

Bart's mind then drifted to dinner. Having fully recovered from his earlier ordeal, Bart was savouring some fine French cuisine. After scoffing a Paris potato down, he turned to Gemma.

"Hey Gemma, who did I knock down? I keep forgetting her name and calling her 'bob-girl'."

Gemma chuckled softly. "That bint's name was Pansy Parkinson. I know her well from our pure-blood functions. Her family is one of the poorer pure-blood families, so she's basically a social climber who's trying to marry into the Malfoys' wealth."

Bart laughed uproariously. "Pansy? Her name is PANSY? More like 'Pants Down'."

Gemma laughed and shook her head. "That's a good nickname for her, actually. You certainly caught her with her pants down today."

"Yeah, but she likes Drain-o, so that makes it OK", Bart smugly rationalised.

"It sure does", Gemma replied. Bart smirked before changing the subject.

"Speaking of which, it's a good thing we organised that fake I.D. with the goblins over the break, otherwise your dad would never have let you hear the end of it after reading the papers."

"I agree. Now that we have those documents, I can say that you prefer to go by the name of Simpson at Hogwarts to avoid attention that you don't desire."

"Until it's time for me to soak up the applause."

"That's right."

I just hope it works out better than the last time I had a fake I.D., Bart thought, frowning as he remembered his disastrous road trip with Martin Prince. Of course, Martin was initially unwilling, but promising to take him to a grammar rodeo worked a treat.

I still can't believe that he seriously thought that I'd go to a goddamn grammar rodeo. Me, Bart Simpson, underachiever and proud of it, Bart thought with a snigger. Then, another thought gave him pause.

"Gemma…Lisa and I can both use magic, and really well too. We must have a really powerful wizard ancestor." Probably not on Homer's side, but.

Gemma frowned in contemplation. "Yes, most likely. Magic can skip generations, and it would explain why you both are magical prodigies despite being Muggleborns. I'll purchase a genealogy book from Diagon Alley and we can solve that mystery together." Because it's not like your father will help, Gemma thought, suppressing a shudder upon recalling her encounter with Homer.

Bart nodded appreciatively.

As the lad's mind drifted back to the present, Bart had this nagging feeling that he was forgetting something, or someone, very important. The answer then hit him like a Mack truck.

SERAPHINUS! Of course! I haven't written him a letter or anything since I got expelled. I'll have to do that before I forget. I probably won't have time to do it tomorrow, since Daphne and Tracey will be riding my butt during our study session.

After wincing at that thought, Bart flicked two stink bombs into the air, transfigured them into a pen and notepad, and frantically started writing.

The final weeks sped by for Bart. All he could remember was Daphne hitting him over the head during study session whenever he drifted off, and sitting exams. Of course, Bart never cared for remembering exams, but he hoped that Daphne and Tracey's assistance helped him over the line.

It was with said hope that Bart received his grades on the final day. Upon opening them, a kaleidoscope of emotions washed through him – joy, triumph, vindication.

He had passed everything! Everything! Even for History of Magic, a class which he invariably dozed though, he managed to scrape an Acceptable.

Heh, maybe writing that Mercury was brighter than normal on the Astronomy exam actually worked. I should go and get exam tips from the centaurs more often.

After chuckling at that thought, Bart then wondered whether he had used up all of his nine lives in the process, only to whip out his wand and gaze at it.

He was then swept away by an epiphany – his wand included redwood! Redwood wands were only suitable for those who were incredibly lucky and resourceful. When he thought about it, Bart was lucky. He was lucky to have Gemma as a protector, to have Daphne and Tracey as study buddies, to have three Gryffindors accompany him when he sought the Philosopher's Stone, and to have Harry finish Quirrell off when Bart himself was awaiting death's cold, clammy embrace. Although he was loathe to admit it, he was also lucky that Headmaster Dumbledore was so indulgent.

Upon contemplating his good fortune, Bart smiled as he cockily thought, Yeah, I'm the one. The one who everyone admires and looks up to. The one who can't be tamed.

Unfortunately for Bart, our thoughts don't always reflect reality, for Gemma was already taming him. Bart showing off his grades to her, and her underwhelmed response, reflected this reality as she brought Bart back down to earth with an ignominious thud.

"These grades aren't too bad Bart, but you really could do better."

Bart looked like he just had an appointment with Sweet Lady Glove. "W-what do you mean?"

Gemma sighed. "There's not one Outstanding here. Not one! There are Exceeds Expectations grades for Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but I think that someone with your gifts shouldn't just be exceeding expectations."

Bart finally understood what she meant, and nodded with a sigh.

"Yeah, you're right. But I just can't concentrate on the theory and stuff! It's just so booorrrriiiing!"

"Well, there's not much point making excuses now. There's always next year. I'll tell you what, if I have some spare time, I'll help you with your theory."

"Thanks."

"No problem", Gemma replied, her friendliness concealing her real designs for Bart.

Bart, lovesick lad that he was, failed to discern her true intentions, instead smiling appreciatively before his thoughts turned towards an old friend.

I wonder whether Seraphinus ever received my letter? Bart thought. Right on cue, Balthazar dropped Seraphinus' response onto Bart's lap. The boy responded by hurriedly opening the letter before reading it with an enthusiasm that he hadn't felt since reading Johnny Tremain.

Hey Simpson,

It's great to hear from you, and I'm glad that you could continue your wizarding education overseas after you were expelled from Ilvermorny. Wizards pretty much never get to do that, so I'm glad you've made the most of your second chance so far. I did indeed read in The New York Ghost that you helped defeat Lord Voldemort. His band of terrorists, the Death Eaters, killed two of my American relatives and several British relatives, so you should be proud of yourself.

Speaking of my British relatives, I've only met Terry once or twice, so I'm not very close to him or Headmaster Dumbledore.

Since we haven't communicated for so long, I'd better tell you what's been happening at Ilvermorny. Yes, my Thunderbird class assumed that you'd been expelled and were talking about it for a few days, but for most of the year I was hearing rumours about students becoming addicted to illegal potions and even Muggle drugs. I wanted to stop this because I knew the problem would get worse, so I teamed up with a few students from the other houses to get to the bottom of it.

It turns out that a group of students calling themselves Grindelwald's Gang were behind it all. They were smuggling these drugs and potions into school with the help of some dark wizards, Muggle criminals, and corrupt MACUSA and Muggle officials. Ilvermorny was their main base because of all its hiding places, but they supposedly smuggled and stored drugs all around the US.

The New York Ghost even wrote that they stored them in your home town, Springfield, in a bar called Moe's Tavern. Supposedly, Springfield's local mafia and police were in on it, so the police chief was kicked off the force for corruption. The local mafia chief apparently pulled some strings to get free, but it probably cost them a bit.

I don't know why these students would call themselves that – maybe to sound scary, or maybe because they were raising money to build up an army or bribe the Austrian Congress to release Grindelwald or something. Anyway, I guess you could say they got the Boot!

So Thunderbird were given lots of points, I was awarded Ilvermorny's Community Service Award and I became both a Thunderbird legend and a school sensation. Not bad for a freshman.

Good luck at Hogwarts.

Best wishes,

Seraphinus

Bart smiled as he read the letter. He chuckled when he read about Chief Wiggum's fate, but he wasn't very surprised – he knew that you just couldn't spell either Chief Wiggum or corruption without a C. They just seemed to go together.

So that's why Homer found that cocaine in Moe's Tavern. Sure as hell explains a lot. Hmmm…Seraphinus is a bit of a goody-goody, but he's still a pretty mad dude. He could help me get rid of Mouldy Voldy for good and become even more of a celebrity…oh well, a problem for another time, I guess.

Yes indeed, for Bart life seemed pretty good. Sure, he hadn't reconciled with Harry – an issue that bugged him – but he was a celebrity, he passed all his exams and Slytherin were a shoo-in to win the House Cup – weren't they?

It was with such surety that Bart and Gemma sat together and witnessed the final Quidditch match – between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

"Bart, Flint told me in the common room that Gryffindor's idiot seeker McLaggen fell on his face and injured himself some time back, so they've been training some tyro ever since!"

Bart gave a good belly laugh at McLaggen's fate, but then asked, "Who's the newbie?"

Gemma frowned at Bart's informality. He still uses American Muggle slang too much. He clearly requires further education. Nonetheless, she responded, "I'm not sure. Some kid, I think."

Bart's amusement only rose. "Surely their butt will get kicked?"

"Yes, I expect so", Gemma unenthusiastically replied.

Bart smirked in response. He was soon shaken out of his reverie, however, when Gryffindor's commentator, Lee Jordan, announced the new seeker.

"Here's Gryffindor's new seeker. He's agile, he's fresh, he's young, he's quick and most importantly he's famous, let's give it up for HARRY POTTER!"

Amidst a symphony of Slytherin boos, catcalls, hisses, jeers and murmurs, Bart fell forward in shock, as did the booger that shot out of his nose.

"WHAT? HARRY – I mean, HARRY POTTER'S THEIR SEEKER?" Bart shouted in disbelief after Gemma shot him a warning look. Gemma herself looked mildly surprised but not very perturbed.

"Don't worry, Bart. Potter might be a legend in the wizarding world, but he's obviously inexperienced, and Cho Chang's no slouch. Her team should still win comfortably."

The word 'team' echoed ominously through Bart's head, as he suddenly remembered how Harry spotted the correct winged key before everyone else and then acrobatically dived to catch it. All of a sudden, a feeling of unease pervaded his being.

"Gemma…do we still win the Quidditch and House Cup if Gryffindor wins this match?"

Gemma frowned briefly. "It depends on how many points they win by." She then turned to Bart and radiated an arrogant superiority. "But I wouldn't worry too much. Gryffindor are too far behind."

Why don't her words fill me with confidence?

Bart quickly figured out why. Cho did fool Harry a few times with some clever feints, but Harry was faster, more agile and clearly had the sharper eye.

If he doesn't get the Snitch, then I'm Rainier Wolfcastle.

Worse still, despite Ravenclaw's creativity, the rest of Harry's side was obviously galvanised by his inclusion, for their chasers' bravery and flair, as exemplified by Alicia Spinnet's artful execution of the Dionysus Dive, completely wrongfooted Ravenclaw's beaters and keeper. Moreover, Ravenclaw's chasers were continually frustrated by the Weasley twins' artful use of the Doppelbeater Defence to knock them off course.

Even Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor keeper, was barely letting anything past him, pulling off spectacular last-second diving saves, using the Starfish and Stick defence to block the goals, and feigning Blatching with the opposing chasers when that wasn't possible. Ravenclaws were not known for their bravery, so this ploy generally worked.

Ay carumba! This is going to suck more than one of FOX's shows.

Very true. The Gryffindors may not have used tactical fouls as adeptly as the Slytherins, but they were still reaming Ravenclaw. Indeed, Bart felt like he was enduring Chinese water torture, with each minute representing one drop, and each drop symbolising Bart's mounting fear. In fact, he started wishing that he was anywhere else.

Evidently the other Slytherins concurred, as the atmosphere around Bart changed from relative conviviality, to concern, to downright fury. Gemma appeared calm, but Bart knew that she was merely masking her emotions. Slytherin prefects couldn't show weakness in public, after all. Meanwhile, the Gryffindors' cheers were amplifying with Gryffindor's lead.

Eventually, the inevitable happened – Harry grabbed the Snitch. The Slytherins around him booed, while Bart slapped his forehead in vexation. That it was his old comrade who grabbed the Snitch was scant consolation, and his mood didn't improve when he discovered that Gryffindor had beaten Ravenclaw by 300 points as a result.

You know what? I actually think I'd rather be watching The Critic right now.

Unfortunately for Bart, the only critic who mattered was Headmaster Dumbledore, who had made his way to the centre of the Quidditch pitch.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have to say that was a spectacular way to end the Inter-House Quidditch Cup. All four houses would have been worthy winners - but it would only be right to award the cup to…GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindors screamed in hysterical joy, with their Quidditch team hoisting Harry up into the air and chanting, "POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!". Harry himself looked as if all his Christmases had come at once. One got the impression that he'd have been happy to die right there and then.

The Slytherins were far less happy, as they threw parchment, quills, food and drinks down onto the pitch. Bart didn't do that, but he did slap his forehead and go "D'oh!", while Gemma looked like she wanted to curse the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Still, while he wasn't happy, one hopeful thought echoed through Bart's mind.

Maybe Harry will be happy enough to forgive me now.

However, Gryffindor's win didn't conclude proceedings.

"Now, as for the House Cup, Slytherin is in first place with 472 points."

The Slytherins, Bart included, roared and stomped their feet in pure, visceral joy. Even Gemma stood up and clapped joyfully, her giddiness and dazzling smile making her resemble an excitable child for the merest moment, rather than the calculating teenage prefect that she actually was.

Even Drain-o looks happy to be alive for once in his life, Bart thought as Draco partook in the joy. And it's all thanks to me. Yep, I'm the man alright.

Maybe Bart was the man, but the heralded headmaster in front of him then showed that he was the man who would decide the House Cup winner.

"However, a few adjustments have to be made in light of Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup."

What the hell is he talking about?

"Gryffindor and Slytherin are currently now tied on 472 points. In light of what has happened this year, it would seem to me that both houses would be worthy champions. As such, the House Cup winner is…BOTH."

"WHAT? WE'RE TIED WITH THOSE BLOOD TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS?" Draco cried, as Bart hit his head on the chair in front of him in frustration while the rest of his house angrily booed and jeered. Gemma's expression promised murder, while Professor Snape looked like he wanted to rip somebody's throat out.

"This is absolutely preposterous, Albus. How can we have a tied championship?"

"Because I say so, my dear Severus. Both houses played a crucial role in thwarting Lord Voldemort, so I would say that neither deserves to lose."

The cloaked professor shook his head in undisguised disgust, but could say nothing more, instead just sourly slouching as the house colours around him turned both green and red.

However, if the Slytherins were angry, the Gryffindors were downright mutinous.

"HOW CAN WE BE TIED WITH A LOAD OF GITS AND SNAKES?" Ron yelled.

"LET'S SHOW 'EM WHO THE REAL WINNER IS!" another Gryffindor yelled.

"YEAH! LET'S HAVE A QUIDDITCH RIOT!"

"AYE! AYE! AYE!" most of the Gryffindors yelled, as the Slytherins and Gryffindors set about beating each other into a bloody pulp.

"Cooooooool! A riot!" Bart effused, but before he could join in, Gemma grabbed his ear, disillusioned and silenced them both, and led him out of the stadium. Hermione similarly grabbed Ron by his robes and dragged him out while the other House prefects were trying to restore order. Meanwhile, both Quidditch teams made a surreptitious exit via the lower entrance.

"Merlin's beard, Albus! You have to do something! They're going to tear the stadium apart!" Professor McGonagall cried, horrified beyond belief at the carnage she was witnessing.

"Oh, they're just letting off some steam, Minerva. Besides, I have everything under control", the headmaster noted as he prepared to stun the entire stadium. Luckily for Bart, he had already left.

Unfortunately, the bitterness Bart felt from having to share the House Cup with Gryffindor remained with him, even after a week. Indeed, an immaculately dressed Bart was moaning from beneath his pillow as he recounted the episode to a curious Lisa while he was waiting for Gemma, who had been waylaid by family matters, to arrive.

"Well, as Headmaster Dumbledore said, Gryffindor and Slytherin both won. And you know that you played a big part in that."

"No, we didn't. We TIED", Bart bitterly spat as he sat up to face her.

"Well, Gryffindor could argue that they deserved to win outright, since they won the Quidditch Cup and helped you to stop Lord Voldemort. Besides, regardless of whether Slytherin won or not, you still won."

"How?" Bart asked querulously.

"Well, think about it. You befriended an attractive witch, you became a wizarding celebrity, you thwarted an evil wizard, you won an award, you spent a year away from this town of witch-burners and tong-wielding fanatics, and you showed those apathetic excuses for teachers we have at Springfield Elementary that you could make something of yourself with the right guidance. So again, you won, and you should be proud of that."

At this, Bart smiled appreciatively. Yeah, Lisa's right. I'm a celebrity. What more could I ask for?

"You know, you're really good at this sentimental stuff, Lisa."

"I try my best", Lisa replied, as they both hugged each other.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. For most, it would have signified little; for Bart, it signified better things to come.

"Gemma's here!" Bart excitedly remarked as he rushed out of his room and into another adventure – and he knew that, no matter how arduous the adventure, he would emerge triumphant.

FIN – BOOK 1

Author's Notes for Chapter Eighteen

I'm so sorry for the delay. I expect the next chapter won't take 18 months for me to complete!

This chapter was meant to tie up various loose ends from earlier chapters (including the fake ID thing that Gemma brought up in Chapter 3), and to set the scene for some of what would inevitably follow as a result of the press conference.

I was inspired by 'Lisa on Ice', and the riot which followed, to make this a tied championship. After all, this story is not so much about which house wins, but more about Bart Simpson, as the protagonist, fulfilling his potential rather than squandering it like he often does on the Simpsons. Besides, Bart has plenty of years left in which to see Slytherin take the House Cup.

Molly Weasley's spell apparently stopped Bellatrix Lestrange's heart when they duelled.

Hermione most likely isn't hooking up with Bart; she'd want to kill him within a week as things stand.

I subverted expectations by not having Bart receive top marks – as per 'Bart Gets An F', even when he studies, he doesn't necessarily achieve high marks because he loses concentration too much. Bart will still be the star of this series; just not academically.