NOVEL WEB Sports and stuff
Weeks pass, grades plummet. Those that ignore their classwork for ‘mental health’ reasons quickly find their mental health dropping as their grades dip lower and lower.
Of course, I don’t think they’ll be expelled or anything. Only three students in the short-ish history of Hogwarts have ever been expelled. Two of them were for endangering a student with a beast, both of which were falsely accused. The last was endangering a student because of a potion.
So…grades are like…only important for employment. However, it’s only the OWLs and NEWTs that are important. Which you need to study the previous years for…
I guess grades are important. Just in a non-direct way.
On other subjects, the Ministry has released a statement about certain Quidditch rule changes. They will be enacted slowly, and they advise other governments to follow the changes.
For some reason, people really opposed this and vehemently resisted Ministry efforts. I could solve this, but I didn’t. Instead, I sent a letter to Thomas, and, a week later, they had reversed their opinions. Thomas also sent me a letter back telling me to deny any questions from Cassandra and Revian.
Okay!
In an effort to help the government, for once, I have started leaving pineapples in places around the complainers and leaving those cheap school milk cartons in their drawers and stuff.
They’ll eventually notice the smell at least, or maybe the cartons will start leaking first. Who knows?
Uhh…hmm. Nothing else really. People panicking over their classes. I’ve been hiding milks in Snape’s classroom. Eating a few stars. Rebuilding some of my own modules and recategorizing my thoughts. Emotions and the associated jazz.
Oh! Right! The current announcer for the Quidditch games is graduating this year, so they’re holding tryouts for the new announcers. Unfortunately, people are kind of overzealous for the game, so only two people showed up for the tryouts—Lee Jordan and myself.
Madam Hooch stares us down with her hawkish eyes… What’s with her yellow eyes? I like them…sorta. Might make myself a pair later.
Professor McGonagall sits there silently at her desk, rubbing her forehead with her thumb and index fingers. “Why does it have to be you two?”
The seventh year, whose name I haven’t cared to learn, stands there aloof. “Hmm… Only two? I expected more.” His baritone voice flows like molasses. Honestly, he isn’t suited for announcing but perhaps jazz or radio.
Not my style. Nothing to feel here.
“Might as well begin.” He claps his hands, for no apparent reason. “I’m going to describe a scene, and you two will try and grab the attention of our crowd here.” He gestures to the teachers. “Ready?”
“Of course!” Lee emphatically announces.
“Why not?” I shrug my shoulders.
“Okay. Let’s start with a simple one. The Ravenclaw Keeper is off his game and has failed to block several shots. Go.”
“It’s looking to be a bad day for the Ravenclaws today as—”
“WHAT A TURNABOUT! IT APPEEEARS THAT THROUGH SOME MISFORTUNE, THE RAVENCLAWS ARE SUCKING PARTICULARLY BAD TODAY!” With each syllable, dust falls, chandeliers swing, eardrums burst. “IF THIS GAME WERE A POP-SICLE, IT WOULD ALREADY BE GOOONNNEEE!”
Mr. Seventh Year is so elated that he’s covering his ears and leaking blood in appreciation. Madam Hooch is further back, staring blankly into space. Professor McGonagall, at the back of the room, massages her forehead in excitement.
I honestly think my chances of getting the job are pretty good!
———————————————————————————————————————
So… I didn’t get the job. By process of elimination, Lee got it.
So. By further elimination, I got it since Lee is now eliminated…from everything…including life.
Cassandra got angry though, and she made me put him back.
I’m sure he’s learned his lesson on crossing me, though.
Just for good measure, I left a dead catfish under his bed. It’ll take a while for him to notice the rotting smell, but by that point, it’ll be far too late. The cold weather will also keep the catfish fresh a little longer. Not much, but enough.
It’s— “Dreamer!” Oh. Who’s so pissed off at me at…slightly past lunch?
I turn to the mysterious voice. “Oh, hi, Thomas.”
He marches towards me, only taking three steps with his unusually long legs. Due to his jabbing of his index finger in my face, I get the feeling that he’s a little angry. “Don’t ‘Oh, hi, Thomas’ me! I’ve been monitoring the creation of universes for a while, and your appetite has finally created a net negative!”
“How?! There’s an infinite amount of worlds to eat!”
“I don’t know! I’m asking you!”
He steps back, breathing heavily, pushing something invisible with his hands to calm down. “Anyway…we need to deal with your…energy situation. It’s infringing on my very important job of making sure nothing falls apart. I can’t starve you—you’re dieting enough already.”
He shakes his head. “Nothing comes to mind…just…please, be a little less…ravenous? Or…space out the meals more? I need to work on this.” And without letting me respond, he teleports away, space rippling as he effortlessly steps perpendicularly to reality.
That…was something. I’m feeling a little stressed now…which means I need to eat. Uuuu…
No! Thomas asked for you to not! Mmm… What about…black holes? If I hop over to another universe, consume a Mercury, turn on my crafting node for a small amount of time, capture a spinning black hole, then fire some energy around it, then couldn’t I consume the leftover energy from the black hole?
And if I found one unstable enough to leach off of other dimensions…then I’m not particularly breaking any rules…
