Capítulo 81: Year Four - Chapter Eight
There was something incredibly blissful in witnessing Hermione's attempts at making conversation with the likes of me. They ranged from having the social grace of a Grizzly bear to those of a porcupine prickling for attention. I didn't doubt that if I had been a girl, she might have even pulled my pig tails to make me notice her. Thus, I turned my head with a dreadful sigh already on my lips, and watched her go through various stages, as if trying to find the best approach possible.
"Simple words, Hermione," I said as I finished scribbling down that day's Arithmancy homework, Megan by my side working on her own assignment in quiet silence.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "But I'm not sorry."
I raised an eyebrow. "I see," I said. I mulled the words over. "You are sorry you gave me troubles, but aren't sorry because the principle of the matter was righteous."
She nodded, "Exactly, so-"
"So then, your righteousness should supersede any and all discomfort you may cause to others, and since you are acting for a just reason, everything you do must be forgiven," I tapped my chin. "Guess that as long as someone believes they're right, then anything's allowed."
"That's not what I meant," Hermione whispered.
"It's not?" I blinked once, feigning my surprise. "Then, you accept the fact you may be wrong?"
Megan gave me an elbow-strike to the sides. "Shade," she whispered, "Stop being mean."
"Yes," I answered with a dreadful sigh. "What I'm trying to say, Hermione, is that whether or not you are sorry doesn't change anything. I could rip an arm out of someone and then tell them I'm sorry, but they'd still be lacking an arm. I don't want your excuses. I want you to understand that, because of what you did, I'm not inclined in sharing with you the location of my new and improved secret room of practicing."
"That's..." Hermione tried to say something, and then grew quiet briefly. "I'm not going to say it's fair." She swallowed. "What about your friends?"
"We don't care," Megan said, piping in gently from my side. "We know Shade likes to have some private time, but he's too kind to ask for it. So when we don't see him, we just assume he's off doing something incredibly dangerous and wouldn't want to put us at risk."
Hermione huffed, "But you could teach them how to be as good as-"
"I don't want that," Megan said. "I like brewing potions, and in that I'm already as good as Shade, if not better. Amanda wants to be a Quidditch player and Wayne wants to put up a candy shop. None of us want to learn how to crackle lightning or summon things forth wandlessly. It's a hassle we can go without."
"But I want to," Hermione said. To that, Megan delivered a small, victorious smile.
"Then you should ask Shade if he's willing to teach you, rather than just go at it in a roundabout way," Megan retorted, visibly proud of herself for having dragged the dentist daughter's words out of her mouth.
"Sorry, but I'm not taking on any apprentices currently," I answered quite gently, "Come back in ten to fifteen years, maybe I'll have changed my mind."
Hermione looked straight at me, "Is...is it because of the Room?"
I shook my head. "No, it's because I haven't the foggiest clue what I could teach you. I don't follow structured plans. I don't read hidden books. I see something I want to do, and I find ways to do it." I smiled. "Magic is a wonderful thing, Miss Granger. Just let it happen, clear your mind, and use the force."
"Why are you quoting Star Wars?" Hermione muttered. "It's not real."
I snickered, and then extended my left hand to let a book float in my direction. "Lesson number one, silly padawan. With magic, everything becomes real if you try hard enough." Then, I dropped the book gently in front of me, and flipped it open to a random page. "Find something you enjoy doing, and go do it."
Then, I sent the book back where it belonged.
The months of September and October were, in my humble opinion, a hell on earth kind of situation. The OWLs would be next year, which meant that it was perfectly acceptable to practice them even now. Snape, for all of his composure on the argument, increased the amount of homework to ensure that those who'd reach the Outstanding in Potions wouldn't be just the best, but the very, very best. Especially because he'd be testing the antidotes by poisoning us at random, and I didn't trust him not to do it, all things considered.
Even Professor Flitwick, gentle, understanding Professor Flitwick had a line of students praying for mercy due to the increased charmwork he sent our way. Three extra books weren't humane. Yet, even so, I survived. This was nothing. A rigorous studying schedule, a masterful act of sleeping little and working lots, and everything could be done.
Thus on the Thirty of October, we all gathered to welcome the foreign students outside the castle. We were in lines, the first years on the front and us fourth year somewhere in the middle, and while everyone was standing at attention, Professor McGonagall quite stern about proper form, I glanced over the lake for the Durmstrang's ship. Vaguely, I glanced up in the sky for the flying horse-pulled carriage, but I wouldn't have seen it had a student not pointed at it first.
The horses were as big as elephants.
Let that sink in. I saw horses as big as elephants land with thundering hooves on the ground in front of the castle, and I could not help but stare at the giant horses while thinking a very crude thought, and an even cruder feeling.
They drank single-malt whiskey too. Those weren't just horses. Those were drunken horses. "What do you do with a drunken horse? What do you do with a drunken horse, early in the morning?" I hummed to myself, even as the shivering teenagers of Beauxbatons, which emerged from the carriage, got to step inside the school before us, led by their half-giant Headmistress.
The Durmstrang students arrived on their ship, and came down with the look of a bunch of special Russian rugby players willing to crunch bones and take names. Though they were all stocky and well-built, I had to remember that their school valued itself quite a lot in not just Gellert Grindelwald, but also in the art of dueling.
We did manage to get back in after them, at least.
"Shade, a quill," Amanda whispered, "That's Viktor Krum," she looked at me, hopefully.
"I can summon you one," I answered, "But I doubt he'd sign anything right about now. He's not going anywhere for the rest of the year."
"B-But it's Viktor Krum!" Amanda hissed.
"And I'm Shade Umbrus, extreme realist and the only holder of common sense in this world," I answered cheekily. "Now let's get to our seats, I'm famished."
Yet, it was not to be. We sat down to a half-occupied table, the Beauxbatons students having taken the liberty to sit and shudder, clutching on to their shawls. I glanced at the Beauxbatons student by my side, a lithe-looking girl with dark hair who probably regretted having come while wearing little to nothing, all things considered.
"Here you go," I said in my flawless French, tapping with my wand the bench we all sat on. It began to warm up, and as it did more than a few girls gasped in surprise. Someone punched my arm, and I turned to look at the extremely cross expression on Amanda's face. "What?" I mouthed at her, but she didn't elaborate.
The girl by my side actually gave me a thank you, if in French.
By the time the Headmaster had arrived, and the Beauxbatons students had stood up for their headmistress, and then sat back down together with her, I dimly remembered that it was proper norm to stand up when a lady arrived at a table. It was the proper, Mediterranean way that the brutish British had made me forget. Something bubbled inside my chest.
It was my Italian blood, seeking to pour out.
I hissed ever so slightly as I excitedly began to speak in French to the girl by my side once the dinner started, who returned my words in turn. Out of the entire Ravenclaw table, I reasoned I was one of the few who knew French.
And as it turned out, due to the Wizards' incredible nature of forgetting common logic, I wasn't the only one in the entire table; I was the only one in the entire student body. For shame, students of Hogwarts, for shame, how are you going to survive in a multicultural society if you don't learn some other language? Especially when it comes with the added benefit of getting to know such pretty ladies?
Yet, I hissed. I hissed because Amanda's foot had found its mark against mine, and every time I said something in French, it met mine in what could only be described as accidental stomping.
"The Bouillabaisse? I'll get it for you," I said to a silver-haired girl, snapping my fingers and having one float all the way over to the Ravenclaw table from the Gryffindor's one.
"Hey! We were going to eat that! Maybe!" Ron yelled from his spot.
"I'll send it back!" I yelled back, "Holler when you want it!"
"Nah! You can keep it mate!" Ron yelled in reply once more.
The extra seats by the staff table filled just as the second course came, desserts unlike any others. These too were quickly done with, even as I quietly sent a Shield charm to protect my poor feet from Amanda's strange desire to stomp them flat.
By the time the final dish had been cleaned, Dumbledore took the word.
By the time he presented Ludo Bagman, and Crouch Senior, I was already impatiently waiting for the day to be over, and for me to get a head start on my sleeping schedule. When the goblet appeared, in all of its wooden, blue-flamed splendor, I seriously couldn't wait any longer to go to sleep. Finally, once we were actually allowed to go to sleep, the Beauxbatons' students left for their carriages, and I waved them goodbye while Amanda's kicks into my shins did absolutely nothing thanks to my Protego charm.
"Ah," I sighed blissfully, climbing up the stairs. "Nothing like some proper European food to get me feeling happy. I had forgotten what olive oil tasted like."
"You-Stinking-Traitor!" Amanda huffed and puffed, trying and failing to get much out of me. I was satisfied. I was at peace. I happily plopped a hand down on a passing first year Ravenclaw and tussled his hair, much to his incredible annoyance.
"H-Hey!" he exclaimed, but I shushed him, and winked.
"Nice, nice, nice," I hummed as I walked my way up to my fluffy bed of comfort and love.
I was going to sleep, and then, tomorrow, I was going to pop down in the kitchens and ask the House Elves if they'd like to work on a more Mediterranean diet for the guests. Something like Pasta, for example, or in general delicious, non-greasy stuff that was both healthy and incredibly nostalgic.
Yes, that was my plan.
A plan that kept me extremely away from the Goblet of Fire and the Triwizard Tournament.
I wasn't even going to witness the Dragon thing. I didn't want a random dragon to break free, after all.
I had enough dealing with my Dragon-Gargoyles. My...Dragoyles.
"Draghuls," I said in a half-sleepy state. "Like Nazghuls, but Draconic."
Next morning, it would be a Saturday.
It meant free practicing in the Hall of Shadows.
...
Beauxbatons boys and girls...
...why are you following me like lost ducklings, exactly?
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