The Clumsy Belvina

The next morning, as dawn broke.

Belvina Black sat by the window, her long, light blue nightgown looking particularly thin.

She woke up very early. Some people who are sensitive to their beds may find it difficult to sleep soundly when they are suddenly moved to a different place.

It took Belvina a long time to adapt to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, and now she needs time to readjust to Hogwarts.

Professor of Muggle Studies—this was a ridiculous identity for Belvina, one that would subject her to ridicule and scorn, yet also one that brought her closer to Dumbledore.

Get close to Dumbledore, gain his trust, and then what?

Become Harry Potter's nanny? Become a pillar of strength during dark times?

Belvina was torn. She was a person who valued her life and did not possess the spirit of great sacrifice, but war was destined to kill people.

What's even more painful is that Belvina has nowhere to confide her inner turmoil, not even to her best friend; some things are destined to be borne by her alone.

At least for this moment, Belvina understood the bastard who dared to cheat her.

"Didn't you sleep well?"

Bassheda Bablin came over and draped a plaid dressing gown over Belvina, who craned her neck to look out the window and sighed.

She said, "It's wonderful to be young; you're always full of energy."

It was still early, but students were already active on the playground. Some were jogging around the field, while others sat by the Black Lake, seemingly unfazed by the cool morning breeze.

"I really miss the days when I was still in school, at least I didn't have so many worries." Bassheda sat down, leaning against Belvina's curled-up legs. She continued, "Unlike now, where I have to consider everything and weigh everything."

No one stays eighteen forever, but there will always be someone who is eighteen.

"This isn't like you at all, being so sentimental!" Belvina turned her head to look out the window. "Shouldn't you be curious about what's for breakfast later?"

Bassheda twisted her body, resting her chin on Belvina's knee, and mumbled, "Can't I be sentimental for once? Early morning and midnight are the best times for being melancholic because no one will bother me. Also, I wish there was pudding for breakfast."

"By the way, do you know anything about Quirrell?"

It's not a question of familiarity, but rather of understanding. Although Bassheda is incredibly talkative, she's actually quite shy around strangers.

Bassheda only becomes talkative in front of familiar people or in her area of ​​expertise. Most of the time, she's a quiet, unassuming person with little presence.

When Belvina learned that Bassheda had made a friend, Paul Bernard, at Hogwarts, she felt no jealousy, but genuinely happy for Bassheda.

"I don't know," Bassheda said lazily, "but I know he wasn't like this before; his reserved demeanor is very unfamiliar."

Bassheda straightened up and asked, "What's wrong with Quirrell? Why are you interested in him?"

"No," Belvina said, looking away. "I just find it strange. Can he really teach students with that reserved and timid demeanor? Won't he get frustrated and cry at the hands of naughty students?"

"I don't know, he wasn't like this before." Bassheda jumped off the windowsill. "Hey!"

She continued, "Who cares? Maybe he became like this because he was scared by a curse. Everyone knows that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is problematic; whoever gets involved is doomed. The lucky ones just have to leave school, while the unlucky ones might lose half their lives."

"Yeah, who cares?" Belvina jumped off the windowsill too. "Let's go to the auditorium."

"I wish there was pudding."

More than half an hour later... or maybe a little longer, Belvina and Bassheda, now dressed and ready, walked hand in hand into the hall.

The Great Hall was already packed with people, the students' hushed conversations buzzing around. Students were constantly walking back and forth around the Gryffindor long table, and Harry Potter was like a rare animal in a zoo, being visited by a long line of people.

Unfortunately, there was no pudding for breakfast; fortunately, there was porridge on the table in addition to pickled herring and bread slices.

Minerva McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor and Professor of Transfiguration, and the Vice-Headmaster, were distributing course schedules with serious and earnest expressions.

Soon, Professor McGonagall lost her seriousness. Hundreds of owls suddenly swarmed in, circling noisily above the auditorium, dropping packages with the precision of Stuka half a century ago.

One of the owls flapped its wings and let out a sharp screech, then swooped down like a Stuka, dropping a red envelope precisely in front of Belvina—a roaring letter.

"Merlin!" Bassheda exclaimed in surprise, breaking her rule of not speaking while eating. "I knew this would happen, but I didn't expect it to be a roaring letter!"

Belvina was surprisingly calm, as if she didn't mind receiving a shouting letter so early in the morning. Some students looked over; the bright red envelope was too conspicuous, but they all gave in under Belvina's piercing gaze and dared not look any further.

The bright red roaring letter began to smoke, and in a moment it would open on its own, unleashing deafening shouts that would echo throughout the entire auditorium.

"Aren't we going to open it?" Bassheda had already forgotten about the rice. "Or should we just take it and leave quickly?"

"Alaminta, there's no one else but her," Belvina said calmly. "Besides talking, she has no other skills."

If Alaminta Melifren had joined the Death Eaters like Bellatrix, Belvina would have thought more highly of this elder. But it turns out that besides her verbal skills, she really didn't have any real abilities.

The Roaring Letter was still smoking, and most eyes in the Great Hall were focused on Belvina. Students peeked, professors looked openly, and Snape's face was full of schadenfreude.

Bang!

A loud bang filled the Great Hall, shaking dust off the ceiling; anyone who didn't know better would have thought Hogwarts had been forcibly demolished.

"...Belvina Black, a disgrace to the family! Your name is unworthy to remain on the tapestry! You never care about the family..."

The shouts and curses were exceptionally loud, making the plates and spoons on the table rattle and the echoes on the stone walls deafening.

Everyone in the auditorium turned to look. Some were confused, unsure what Blake represented; some seemed to understand, vaguely grasping why the new professor was being reprimanded; and some were practically grinning from ear to ear!

Draco Malfoy was huddled in his chair, only his bright red forehead visible.

He worried that he might be implicated, that his aunt might go berserk in anger, and that his aunt might actually be removed from the list.

"...I was so ashamed I almost died! Do you want everyone to laugh at Blake? Get back here now, right now!"

The roar stopped, but a buzzing sound still lingered in my ears. The red roaring letter spontaneously combusted, curling up and turning into ashes.

As Bassheda held Belvina's hand and looked at her seemingly nonchalant friend, she suddenly realized that this outburst might not be such a bad thing after all.

"This letter wasn't something you arranged beforehand, was it?"

"Of course not, I don't have that kind of inclination." Belvina, having finished her meal, leaned back in her chair. "But I knew this was going to happen. Don't forget I'm a Slytherin, I know those kids' wicked thoughts all too well."

If all goes as expected, Alaminta Melifren should have received the letter last night, and the informant is most likely someone from Slytherin House. The informant wrote to his parents, who then passed the message on to Alaminta—it's that simple.

Voices filled the auditorium again; the new professor receiving the scathing letter was good fodder for conversation, at least until the next big news broke.

Rupert Hagrid glanced at the two witches whispering to each other beside him, their beetle-like black eyes seemingly lost in thought.

The amiable Professor Sprout was somewhat worried; this lovely lady was a kind and honest person. Professor Flitwick scratched his unkempt hair and decided to speak with Dumbledore.

"Are you alright, Belvina?" Professor McGonagall walked over, her black hair tied up in a tight bun.

"Of course it's alright, Professor," Belvina said. "This is nothing compared to before."

As she spoke, Belvina, who had been calm just moments before, suddenly had tears welling up in her eyes, and it looked like she was about to burst into tears. Bassheda, standing beside her, readily obliged, gently patting Belvina's hand in comfort.

"I'll tell Professor Dumbledore about this," Professor McGonagall said. "Don't worry about it too much; this is Hogwarts, after all."

"Thank you, Professor." Belvina's voice trembled slightly. "I'm alright. Alaminta is just having a moment of confusion; she'll understand."

Professor McGonagall didn't say anything more; she preferred action to words of comfort.

Once Professor McGonagall was out of sight, Snape actually came over and said in a very soft voice, but one that made sure Belvina could hear him, "Your acting is still as bad as ever, Black."

Basilda puffed out her chest and glared at Snape, exuding an aura as if she were about to dump a bowl of porridge on his head.

The first conversation between the two since last night has been a sarcastic remark from Snape, which is enough to show how bad their relationship is.

Belvina raised her head and uttered the most vicious words in the softest of voices.

She said, "Severus, aren't you really going to wash your hair?"