A Delve into Dreams.
Summary:
COMPLETE: A mysterious force causes magic to go awry. Spells go halfway and potions fail. What has it all got to do with Harry Potter?
Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter.
The Ministry of Magic was in a state of chaos. The frenetic pace at which the workers ran through its halls, and below its vaulted ceilings were testament to that fact. Carrying parchment and quills, scribbling furiously without stop would be another observation made that lead to the previous conclusion. Needless to say the Minister for Magic was having a bad day.
Choosing today of all days, to take a holiday had been exceedingly bad timing, too bad he had chosen it months ago. The minister had been called up as he had been enjoying his first glass of vintage sherry. His first glass, as he kicked back in his conjured armchair in front of his warm fire. Needless to say he had been quite displeased when his flames turned emerald green, and from it emerged, the head of none other than his personal secretary Madame Umbridge.
"Sir, there's been a situation." The toad like woman said. Fudge had always wondered why he had chosen that woman as his under secretary, those beady eyes, the wobbling chins, he shuddered.
"Madame Umbridge, I am sure you can handle it." Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, replied with benevolence. Unfortunately for him, he could not quite replicate Dumbledore's forte and as such his voice came out out as a whine.
"Thank you sir," The toad's eyes shone with adoration, Fudge flinched quite noticeably. "But you may need to put out a press release."
With an exaggerated sigh, Fudge pulled himself out of his comfy arm chair by the fire. "Madame Umbridge, I'll come right away."
"Minister we have a problem." A breathless man whispered into Cornelius Fudge's ear. He had been running around like a headless chook, a ministry bureaucrat who had been chosen not on his ability to make decisions, but to file reports, and to file reports on those reports. A perfect flunkie for the minister.
"What is it?" The minister asked as though in charge. He had just completed his media interview and the last of the journalists were filing out. He could see the greedy look on Rita Skeeter's face, and thought it wise he seem in charge.
"There's been a massive spike in apparition related splinching."
The minister closed his eyes. One thought flicked through his head, Please not on my watch. He screamed and raged silently behind the grey concrete walls that were his eyelids. The Iron curtain covering his soul. With a deep breath he ran toward the main hall, screaming instructions left and right hoping that it would reach the right ears or more intelligent ones at least, "Put up the anti-apparition wards around the country!"
Fudge skidded into the Great hall, his bowler's hat bowled back, his bath robes a flutter, he had not changed into formal robes, expecting a quick press release, but know standing in front of a rather large crowd gathered by the newly created fountain of magical brethren, a statue made of silver with images of the magical races united as one, he decided that bathrobes patterned with ducks were not usual wear.
Scowling he tried to re assert command. "My fellow Briton's..."
He had paused as he watched a man apparate in to the hall. A broken mess of bones, toes and fingers missing. Odd ones of the former, and even of the later. How? he had figured this out, Fudge didn't know. Yet he couldn't take his eyes of the sight, Half the man's hair was gone, one eyeball was replaced, a bulging putrid mass stood in its place, his mouth was yellowed, and from it emanated a horrible laugh. The man had lost his mind, but everyone could not help but stare as the man's no creature's skin, changed colour like Every Colour ink, flashing, Red, then Blue, Maroon and Purple, Green and Grey as well those colours unimagined and imagined. The crazed man's hand a blackened stump, yet he was still aged young.
Fudge shook his head in disbelief, and sat on the gold tiled floor. His head cradled in his arms, he began crying sparking amusing reactions from those near him. With each word louder and clearer than the preceding he cried with frustration, a nervous breakdown was imminent. "Why me? Why me? Why? Why? Why?"
"Minister!" Fudge stopped crying as his title rang out from behind him. Cheering up rather quickly, for which he and other politician's are famed, He looked back. His under secretary Madam Umbridge had been running after him. One look into her toady eyes, he saw her worry and her devotion, and reminded him why he had remained a bachelor for the last twenty years.
He did not want to marry that toad. She had found a law, in the arcane history, suggesting that the Minister must marry his secretary, after all it was expected that he would sleep with her. He had said no then and would say doubly no now. After all all Cane toads were poisonous young or old. He watched her run in slow motion, hoping against hope that an elephant would fall out of the sky. He did not want to feel the roughness of her skin, he did not wish to sink into the voluminous folds of her flesh, yet he was still surprised when a whale fell out of the sky.
Umbridge died.
With his momentary respite over, he went back to cradling his head in his arms, he did not notice that the other witches and wizards had not seen a whale falling on Umbridge, neither had those standing beneath the whale died. They were still gazing at the body of the broken and twisted man.
The body of one Peter Pettigrew.
* * *
Harry Potter twisted and turned in his bed, in the smallest bedroom, at 4 Privet Drive Surrey. A smile etched across his face for the first time in years. In his sleep he mumbled, "A whale? ....bigger than an elephant at least. Now for Voldemort ... "
* * *
In a Gothic manor, a man robed in black was discussing his latest evil plans. His face was serpentine, with slit for a nose, ruby red eyes glittering with an unholy light. Around him sat his minions, black robed with silver skull like masks, Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
No one saw how it happened, even years later when Voldemort's ashes were found there would be no magical reason for why it happened, Spontaneous Human Combustion was after all theories of crack muggle science.
"I said hot bathing chicks...not flaming pricks," said a sleeping Harry snuggling deeper into his warm second hand bed, as he began dreaming about things that any red blooded sixteen year old heterosexual wizard should...Veela. Many many Veela.
The End
* * *
A/N:
No one saw the whale coming did they?
I was trying to characterise Fudge in this piece of writing. Tell me how you think it went. The rest was due all to my very bored imagination.
There was more to this story, a scene in St. Mungos and a scene from Hogwarts then I decided not to put them in, it got a whole lot more stupider than this already is. I didn't want to submit you to another 2000 words of stuff like this. I might write something proper with a few of these scenes, by the way criticism or encouragement would really be helpful.
Leave a review please. (My most direct way of asking)
Underscore1990