Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to J.K Rowling
A/N another book five spoiler on my part (I just love those). This one begins in April of the fifth book.
Charad Street
Chapter 1: Number 13
Thirteen. I had heard this number whispered around the ministry many times in the past. Most people claimed it was cursed. There were of course the obvious reasons. Superstitions surrounding this number have been flitted about for centuries. The older members of the ministry in the lower brackets often entertained the younger employees with stories of gruesome happenings on April 13, on 13th street, there was even a story of a child who had been bitten by a werewolf on their 13th birthday. These were the old tales, which were brought to discussion only when office gossip was particularly scarce.
I noticed however, that recently new stories had begun to accumulate around this number. These tales were not of far distant lands and deaths long ago. Some of the youngest employees (low ranking of course) seemed to be swapping stories about a room in the ministry of magic its self that bore the number 13.
'.And no one ever goes in there, not even those unspeakable blokes you know, the ones from the department of mysteries.'
'There's somefin' funny goin' on that's for sure. What ever it is those 'igh brows don' wan' us knowin' about it.'
'Yeah, what else is new?'
I began to grow used to these conversations most mornings as I walked to the office. Apparently while most, all of the gossipers agreed that there was a room 13 shrouded in the ministry's fifth corridor none of them could agree exactly what the room contained. Some people claimed that it was a courtroom where the ministry's most dangerous and secretive captives were put on trial; some said that it was the number of a certain safe room known only to the minister and his senior staff. Still others claimed that it was not a room at all, but a code, shrouded in a mystery older than the ministry it's self.
Yes, there were many rumors as to the significance of this number. I entertained myself From time to time by listening to them, but I never paid them much heed. I had much more important tasks to accomplish now that I had found by place in the office. The promotion given to me had changed my entire life. I was intent on proving to some of the more bitter employees that I had thoroughly earned the position I had been offered. The demands of this gave me little time for office gossip.
That day started like any other. I entered the door to the space provided by the ministry only a few months previous. Several papers were stacked carefully on my desk, which had in its early days been filled with pictures of family members. These had long since been replaced by daily prophet clippings and portraits of important ministry predecessors who mumbled drowsy good mornings as I walked to the chair behind my desk and set to work on the recording of several important court cases. I remained bent over my work that morning, stopping only occasionally to pensively stare out the window at the ominously gray sky. Soon however the sight of my framed school photo along with my framed head boy award shook me back to the importance of my work on the past cases of Azkaban's ten recently escaped death eaters.
I left the office in late morning to file my report on the old Lestrange case. This was a very important matter as the old files provided key clues to the possible whereabouts of the ten criminals. I had nearly reached my destination when, to my great surprise, I heard Cornilius Fudge calling me over to a corner where he was standing. He asked me if he could have a word in private.
'Yes sir.' I replied as I followed him down one of the more remote corridors of the ministry.
'I'm very proud of your work my boy. very proud indeed. You've shown immense progress in the last few months, far beyond what I could expect from any one quite so young I'd say.' 'Thank you sir.' I tried to appear casual, even as this compliment sunk in. I did however find myself inadvertently straightening my stance
'Now, if you don't mind I would like to discuss something of rather a. er. personal nature.' The minister's voice had become less assured and dropped slightly in tone as we continued to walk.
'Yes sir?'
'You see. I have a rather sensitive delivery to be made. oh, nothing dangerous I assure you. This particular package contains a rather rare medicine. A daughter of one of my oldest colleagues has fallen quite ill. I promised him that I would see to her medication. old friend of the family you understand. Now in normal times I would deliver the potion myself however times being what they are. I would be most grateful if you would take the task as a. favor?'
I didn't need to stop and consider my answer. While I didn't particularly fancy being made a simple messenger, I could no sooner defy God than turn down the minister of magic.
'Gladly sir.'
'Good, good.' Fudge said bracingly. ' If you would stop by my office this evening to pick up the.er. package. I will most likely leave the office unlocked as I have a rather pressing engagement this evening. I'll give you the address now shall I?' He pulled out a small-yellowed piece of parchment from his coat pocket, handed it to me, and bid me good day.
I waited until the minister had been lost in the bustling crowd out at the other end of the corridor before I looked at the parchment he had placed in my hands. My eyes widened in shock. I cannot, even now, explain my fear. I had never been superstitious, but at that moment, I found myself believing all the myths and legends told to me as a child. Perhaps the minister had made a mistake. I had hardly thought this before I reminded myself that the minister of magic would never make such futile mistakes. This was the correct address:
Number 13, Charad Street
A/N another book five spoiler on my part (I just love those). This one begins in April of the fifth book.
Charad Street
Chapter 1: Number 13
Thirteen. I had heard this number whispered around the ministry many times in the past. Most people claimed it was cursed. There were of course the obvious reasons. Superstitions surrounding this number have been flitted about for centuries. The older members of the ministry in the lower brackets often entertained the younger employees with stories of gruesome happenings on April 13, on 13th street, there was even a story of a child who had been bitten by a werewolf on their 13th birthday. These were the old tales, which were brought to discussion only when office gossip was particularly scarce.
I noticed however, that recently new stories had begun to accumulate around this number. These tales were not of far distant lands and deaths long ago. Some of the youngest employees (low ranking of course) seemed to be swapping stories about a room in the ministry of magic its self that bore the number 13.
'.And no one ever goes in there, not even those unspeakable blokes you know, the ones from the department of mysteries.'
'There's somefin' funny goin' on that's for sure. What ever it is those 'igh brows don' wan' us knowin' about it.'
'Yeah, what else is new?'
I began to grow used to these conversations most mornings as I walked to the office. Apparently while most, all of the gossipers agreed that there was a room 13 shrouded in the ministry's fifth corridor none of them could agree exactly what the room contained. Some people claimed that it was a courtroom where the ministry's most dangerous and secretive captives were put on trial; some said that it was the number of a certain safe room known only to the minister and his senior staff. Still others claimed that it was not a room at all, but a code, shrouded in a mystery older than the ministry it's self.
Yes, there were many rumors as to the significance of this number. I entertained myself From time to time by listening to them, but I never paid them much heed. I had much more important tasks to accomplish now that I had found by place in the office. The promotion given to me had changed my entire life. I was intent on proving to some of the more bitter employees that I had thoroughly earned the position I had been offered. The demands of this gave me little time for office gossip.
That day started like any other. I entered the door to the space provided by the ministry only a few months previous. Several papers were stacked carefully on my desk, which had in its early days been filled with pictures of family members. These had long since been replaced by daily prophet clippings and portraits of important ministry predecessors who mumbled drowsy good mornings as I walked to the chair behind my desk and set to work on the recording of several important court cases. I remained bent over my work that morning, stopping only occasionally to pensively stare out the window at the ominously gray sky. Soon however the sight of my framed school photo along with my framed head boy award shook me back to the importance of my work on the past cases of Azkaban's ten recently escaped death eaters.
I left the office in late morning to file my report on the old Lestrange case. This was a very important matter as the old files provided key clues to the possible whereabouts of the ten criminals. I had nearly reached my destination when, to my great surprise, I heard Cornilius Fudge calling me over to a corner where he was standing. He asked me if he could have a word in private.
'Yes sir.' I replied as I followed him down one of the more remote corridors of the ministry.
'I'm very proud of your work my boy. very proud indeed. You've shown immense progress in the last few months, far beyond what I could expect from any one quite so young I'd say.' 'Thank you sir.' I tried to appear casual, even as this compliment sunk in. I did however find myself inadvertently straightening my stance
'Now, if you don't mind I would like to discuss something of rather a. er. personal nature.' The minister's voice had become less assured and dropped slightly in tone as we continued to walk.
'Yes sir?'
'You see. I have a rather sensitive delivery to be made. oh, nothing dangerous I assure you. This particular package contains a rather rare medicine. A daughter of one of my oldest colleagues has fallen quite ill. I promised him that I would see to her medication. old friend of the family you understand. Now in normal times I would deliver the potion myself however times being what they are. I would be most grateful if you would take the task as a. favor?'
I didn't need to stop and consider my answer. While I didn't particularly fancy being made a simple messenger, I could no sooner defy God than turn down the minister of magic.
'Gladly sir.'
'Good, good.' Fudge said bracingly. ' If you would stop by my office this evening to pick up the.er. package. I will most likely leave the office unlocked as I have a rather pressing engagement this evening. I'll give you the address now shall I?' He pulled out a small-yellowed piece of parchment from his coat pocket, handed it to me, and bid me good day.
I waited until the minister had been lost in the bustling crowd out at the other end of the corridor before I looked at the parchment he had placed in my hands. My eyes widened in shock. I cannot, even now, explain my fear. I had never been superstitious, but at that moment, I found myself believing all the myths and legends told to me as a child. Perhaps the minister had made a mistake. I had hardly thought this before I reminded myself that the minister of magic would never make such futile mistakes. This was the correct address:
Number 13, Charad Street