Title: Harry Potter and the Muggle Technology
Author: SMARTALIENQT
Summary: Answer to a PBAC challenge. "Harry Potter was an unusually bright wizard. He'd become head of the Auror department last year, after all. So why was it he could not work with the simplest piece of Muggle machinery?" One-shot, Harry vs. The Computer!
Disclaimer: No, I do not own anything. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except Savant. He's all mine. This computer is a gift from my dad. The dog belongs legally to my parents. The idea belongs to Nassa, wonderful fountain of knowledge. The only thing I own is… the text, actually. Dear, dear.
A/N: This is a response to a challenge on The Plot Bunny Adoption Center forum. If you would like to assist in our effort, please visit my homepage.
Harry Potter and the Muggle Technology
Harry Potter was an unusually bright wizard. He'd become head of the Auror department last year, after all. So why was it he could not work with the simplest piece of Muggle machinery?
It had started with the Ministry. Everything started with the Ministry – or, more truthfully, Martin Tours, the new Minister. Martin, in an effort to undo the damage Voldemort and Umbridge had done with the Muggle relations (magic-stealing Muggleborns and all that), had set up a new campaign: Know Thy Neighbor. It challenged every wizard and witch to go without magic for one week, or a whole month if they were adventurous. To add spice, Tours had decided to film an advert, showing the employees happily at work, carrying on as if they did this every day. He had placed hidden cameras in every cubicle, calling it the very original name of 'Cubicle-Cam'. This alone had decided next year's vote for every slacking Ministry employee. If only going without magic were as simple as Mr. Tours' mind.
The first day hadn't been too bad. Harry had had to catch a bus to commute from his flat to the visitor's entrance, but he'd done that every day, back when he was little Harry from Little Whinging. The second day, too, was fine.
Third day, Harry was starting to miss magic. Ginny's cooking, while normally good, tended to stick to the bottom of the pan when she didn't use Mr. Saucier's Patented Sauce Stirrer. After six days of lumpy, gelatinous glop on his pasta, Harry was almost beginning to wish he'd married Hermione, who had grown up Muggleborn, and probably was making homemade Hollandaise without trouble. Almost.
Now it was finally the last day. Harry could smell the impending relaxation, even in himself. After today, he could go back to his Auto-Quill and his Patented Ped Polish. After today, no more smoggy train rides on overcrowded buses. He was free, gloriously free, free as a bird, free as a–
"Mr. Potter, would you come into my office, please?"
Yes, it was the Supervisor of Departments, Mr. Mortimer Ronald Savant. Known as "Mo" by his acquaintances (he had few), and "Moron" by his enemies (he had many), Savant never forgot when your report was due, but was completely incompetent at everything else. A small, dull man, with a thin mop of pale brown hair and small, rat-like eyes, he was a legend – in his own mind, at least. So what did he want with the Head of the Auror office?
"Mr. Potter."
Harry ended his musings and followed the man to his office, as drab as the man who worked there and painted the same color brown as his hair. Like a lord welcoming a humble vassal, Savant waved Harry to a chair before sitting himself. Harry sat.
"Yes, sir, you wanted to see me?" asked Harry. One could never tread too lightly with Savant.
"Yes, Potter, it's about your reports," Savant snapped. He never spoke – he either snapped or smirked.
"What about them?" asked Harry.
Savant smirked. "Those reports I received from your employees on the raid at Antioch have been very impressive, Potter. Tell me, why have I not been given the pleasure of reading yours?"
Harry felt his heart skip two or three beats. The reports. He had entirely forgotten them. This wouldn't look good when his contract came up for renewal. In this situation, Harry remembered Mr. Weasley telling him, the best thing is to apologize, promise you will do whatever it is, and get as fast as you can out of that office.
"I apologize, Mr. Savant," said Harry, thinking fast. "I'll – I'll get working on them as soon as possible."
Savant smirked again. "I certainly hope so, Mr. Potter. I think we understand each other, don't you?"
Yes, thought Harry. I understand that you are a famous imbecile and a bloody git.
"Yes, sir."
"Good then, Potter. Get on with it, then."
"Get on with it, then" he says. What am I, a bloody butler?
Harry sighed, and walked over to his cubicle. Taking a stack of parchment from the dispenser, he took up his quill, and reached for his wand. Which was not there. Because it was Know Thy Neighbor week. Wonderful.
Harry snuffled. I suppose I could write it by hand, he thought. Then he shook his head. Scratch that, I am far too lazy. Harry thought some more. Then it hit him. Mr. Weasley.
"Um, your marvelous idea is… a computer?" asked Harry.
"Why, of course!" said Mr. Weasley. "It wasn't obvious?"
"Considering the fact that you called it a 'pootcomper', and that you referred to it as a magical being related to unicorns… I would have to say no."
"Oh," said Mr. Weasley, looking disappointed. "Well, then, off you go!"
Harry picked up the laptop, dejected. Then he straightened. He could do this. He was an Auror. He'd faced Voldemort every year since he was eleven. He could take on a piece of metal. Brightening, he strode back to his office.
Once there, he set it on the table. Now, how do I do this? he thought. Well, first you plugged the thing in. Harry looked for a cord. There wasn't one. Ah, yes, thought Harry. This is a laptop, that I do not need to plug in. Carefully, with the measured carefulness of a bomb squad, Harry opened the laptop and looked for something to push. Having found the extraordinarily flat button – what is the point of a flat button anyway? – Harry waited for the screen to light up and start doing something. He got half of it accomplished. Yes, the screen had lit up, but it was showing the same little picture of a beach ball spinning over and over again. Harry stared at the little beach ball. It just kept going around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around… What time is it? thought Harry in a panic. He had no idea how long he had been staring at the beach ball. Worse, it was still going around and around and around – Stop it, Harry! His sterner self shrieked. Snap out of it!
Finally, the blue screen was replaced with a picture of a rubber duck – Arthur's desktop. Harry, fumbling with the touchpad, attempted to move the little arrow in the direct of the word processor. The little arrow jumped and jittered, like an electrocuted housefly. With painfully slow movements, he dragged the arrow towards the icon. Clicking twice (alright, it was closer to ten, but only because he couldn't click fast enough!), he was able to open the processor. Success!
From then on, it was a piece of cake. Harry still remembered his third-grade typing lessons from Muggle elementary, and within an hour or two he had completed his Antioch raid report. Finished, Harry massaged his aching fingers, and slumped onto his desk in relief. And that was when it happened.
In an instant, the screen turned black, then blue. Harry could only watch and whimper in horror and disbelief as a string of white words scrolled along the page.
HAIKU FOR EVIL BLUE SCREENS OF DEATH, BY ANONYMOUS
THE BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH.
I'VE BEEN SENT BY VOLDEMORT.
NO ONE HEARS YOUR SCREAMS.
And then the computer shut off.
Harry lost it. He fell on his knees and begged it to turn on, sobbing, wishing he had remembered to save his document. But the cold black screen did not comply. Harry freaked out, shaking the laptop, whacking it with pencils and outright punching it. Still the heartless metal husk refused to revive. Coaxing it, screaming at it, and swatting it in turns, it looked for all the world as if Harry had had a nervous breakdown. This could be bad...
It was at that moment that God decided to add a punchline to Harry's joke, for it was right then that half a dozen reporters, including a washed-up gossip columnist from the Daily Prophet known as Rita Skeeter, flooded into Harry's cubicle, following the live broadcast from the Know Thy Neighbor Cubicle-Cam. Harry took one look, and fainted. The reporters took one look, and took pictures.
Fin.
A/N: To see where I got this idea, and to find others like it, please visit my homepage, or Google "The Plot Bunny Adoption Center site:". Special thanks to Nassa for the bunny, and to whoever sent the haiku to my dad for me to destroy and Potter-ize.
A/N 2: Please review. I like reviews. They are my sustenance in life. A simple "I liked it" would suffice. If you review, I'll give you a virtual chocolate chip cookie! (;:)