The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts
The streets of were still shrouded in darkness. The first glimmers of morning light were not due to pierce the oppressive smog of London for hours. It was certainly more night than morning. A young man ambled alone down the street. His feet shuffled and scuffed the cracked sidewalk, evidently hampered by recently dispelled sleep. The man abruptly halted and thrust both of his arms towards the sky; his monstrous yawn awakened a few rats and sent them scurrying. With fists again snug in his pockets to ward off the predawn chill, the man continued along his way.
It the man's clothing was any indication, he was struggling financially. Though neatly pressed and immaculately maintained, his pants and blazer painfully displayed their wear. The young man was far from sloppy, but had failed to achieve the impeccable appearance he had no doubt strived for. His brown hair was neatly combed and parted. He stood about six feet tall and was solidly built. In fact, he looked as if he could have been a young investor impacted by the current financial climate; that is if it wasn't for the wand he firmly clutched in his pocket.
A nondescript telephone booth materialized in the distance, and the man glanced about to determine his location. Satisfied, he hurried and entered the red box. He placed the phone to his ear and loudly cleared his throat.
"Hello and Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business clearly." The voice rang in his ear, its chipper timbre incompatible with the mornings early hour.
"Leif Jahn. Reporting for an interview with Mr. Harris Perlman of the Misuse of Muggle artifacts office."
"Thank you, I hope today's business goes well. Please remain in the booth while it is in motion."
Leif hung up the phone and waited. The ground suddenly seemed to rise upward as he began his descent. He would have taken the floo, but the small boarding house he had been staying in charged an exorbitant amount of money for access. Besides, he preferred this entrance. There was more magic to it, more dignity than being thrown around and spit out like trash. Anything was better than apparition of course, he cringed at the thought.
It was then that Leif finally woke up. He began to get nervous. He was always nervous at interviews. He snatched a small sheet of paper from his coat pocket and began looking it over. Muttering to himself, Leif committed some names and recent happening involving muggle artifacts, few as there were, to memory. Any little bit of information could help. This interview was extremely important after all.
While most people would have been furious to have been awoken by an ungodly early phone call and forced out into the cold, Leif was ecstatic. This might very well be his last chance, his funds had run dry. Leif was a promising graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry only a year ago, but things had never fallen into place. While he watched other less talented graduates find jobs, Leif floundered. There was an easy explanation, family. Young men like Christopher Cameron Scott got cushy jobs because of prominent fathers, while Leif was muggleborn. He was laughed out of his interview with the unspeakables. Gringotts had no use for him. He put his name in for consideration for some ministry positions, but never got a response. He had just about given up, resolved himself to reenter the muggle world and work with his parents. The magical world was fascinating no doubt, and he would hate to leave it, but he had truly run out of options.
That was of course until today. He was given a shot and planned on taking advantage of it. Though the timing was certainly strange, Leif would not complain.
The booth came to a halt and the door slid open. His tattered clothing looked even more pitiful when contrasted with the opulence of the Ministry's entrance hall. Leif felt small beneath the towering ceilings and monstrous sculptures of gold. His worn shoes squeaked obnoxiously against the scrumptiously polished marble and onyx floors. A guard was sitting behind his desk to the right, only looking up after he had completed a piece of his crossword puzzle. "Leif?" He did not wait for a reply. "Elevator straight ahead and to the right. 6 Floors down. Perlman is 13 doors down on the left." He was again engrossed in the paper before Leif could thank him.
The inner turmoil that Leif felt internally leading up to his interview was not manifested elsewhere in the building. The Ministry was largely deserted, and only a few flying paper messages interrupted the calm. Leif arrived in front of a door marked with the name Perlman in chipped gold lettering. He sucked up a deep breath before wrapping sharply at the door, attempting to exude a sense of confidence he in no way felt.
The door was pulled open nearly instantly, and Leif found himself face to face with a man possessing searingly bright red hair. The man was perhaps ten years older than Leif, but his clothing looked in no better condition. It seemed as if The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department was in fact the haven for the downtrodden.
"Arthur Weasly, nice to meet you!" He thrust his hand into Leif' clammy grasp. After a few animated arm pumps Weasly let go. "Exciting isn't it? Very exciting. Something is going on. Why else would they have called us in this early?" Lack of sleep clearly had no effect on Arthur, he could even be described as bubbly.
"Ahh, really I have no clue. I should be getting into see Mr. Perlman now however." Leif looked around the room uncertainly.
"Why yes, of course. Right through there." Arthur turned and walked towards a rather ragged looking man sitting in the corner who appeared to be sleeping. Leif had not noticed him before. Shrugging off his curiosity, Leif strode into the room.
Harris Perlman was talking on a telephone. It was an antique, but still impressive for a wizard to posses. Even more impressively, was that Harris was speaking into the horn perfectly. Leif allowed a slight grin, remembering his friend Balthazarius Inverso's first encounter with such an object. His eardrum buzzed for a week. He hastily found a seat in front of Mr. Perlman's desk.
The face across from him was slightly familiar. Leif has seen Mr. Perlman a handful of times before. His son, J.P. Morgan Perlman, was 3 years ahead of Leif in Hogwarts. Every year before term , Mr. Perlman could be found at King's Cross seeing his son off. To Leif, Harris Perlman seemed a vain man. He constantly fiddled with his carefully groomed hair, tightening his tie and brushing of his jacket. He would even sneak glances of his reflection in the windows of the train.
It was now evident why Harris Perlman invested so much energy into his appearance. Harris looked like an absolute mess. His hair was knotted and greasy. Buttons on his shirt and jacket were left unfastened. One shoe was untied. The normally calm and confident man was fidgeting uncontrollably. Amongst all of the disorder, his beaming smile shown forth like a beacon.
Harris' ecstasy crept into his voice. "Well Leif is it? Well welcome to…" he caught himself and shrugged in embarrassment. "Errm this interview. Lets get this started shall we?" He leaned back in his creaking swivel chair and cleared his throat. "Well, what is your experience with muggle artifacts?"
Leif was set on edge by such a simplistic inquiry. Was this some kind of trick? Was Harris really so cunning as to lull Leif into a false sense of security. He responded uncertainly, completely devoid of self confidence. "Well Sir, I am muggle born. I grew up surrounded by nonmagical artifacts."
"Capital!" Harris exclaimed bursting from his seat. "Welcome to the force. You must forgive me for the lack of formal introduction. There is work to be done. No time. No time at all." Harris grabbed an expensive coat from a nearby hanger and beckoned Leif to follow him outside. "Everyone gather here!" Arthur skipped over excitedly dragging the previously reclining fellow with him. "There is great news tonight my friends, great news indeed. These are momentous time; years from now you will look back and remember where you were at this very moment! You will tell your grandchildren…"
His energetic speech was cut off by the crackling voice of a loudspeaker. "ATTENTION ALL MINISTRY EMPLOYEES. ATTENTION. The Minister of Magic has hereby declared today to be a national day of celebration. Employees are exempt from work today to be with their families. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as fallen! He has been vanquished!"
Leif would later look back at this day with complete understanding. The Early morning phonecall. Harris' excited state. The mad rush to hire more help. It all fit together. However at that moment, such musing was far from his mind. At first he was seized by bitter doubt and disbelief. Then he was overcome with absolute joy. It was if he was born again. Entering an entirely new world, untainted by fear and oppression. The excitement surpassed anything he had experienced prior; even the receipt of his Hogwarts letter, his entry into this magical world, could not stand before this newfound excitement. He wiped the tears of joy from his face and looked at his new workmates. Their faces mirrored his own. Even the lazy fellow was wide awake and filled with joy. Harris' huge grin had opened and booming laughter was issuing forth.
Their jubilation was interrupted by an obnoxious buzzing. A strange machine on the wall began shaking violently before spitting out a small piece of paper. Harris glanced at it and handed it to Arthur Weasley. The red haired man read it and disappeared with a pop. The lazy man was next to leave under similar circumstances.
Harris glanced at the next paper and frowned, pocketing it. A few seconds later another was printed, apparently achieving the man's satisfaction. "Here you go Leif, I'm sorry to interrupt the joy you're no doubt experiencing, but as I said there is work to be done. We cannot rest on this occasion, while wizards are in celebration, they will often use muggle artifacts for an unwise purpose. At times like that members of our department must be there to set things right. I realize that you are new to the job and are unsure on your own, but it cannot be avoided." He handed Leif the slip of paper. "Normally I would have someone accompany you, but staff is in short supply, explaining your abrupt hire."
Leif read the paper. 482 Weston Street. He apparated off with a bloodcurdling bang.
The streets of London were as Leif had never seen them. People were all over the streets, celebrating with pride. Leif knew how they felt, and he even wanted to join in, but he knew that such celebration would certainly raise many a muggle eyebrow. This was never good, and as such, Leif knew he had a job to do. The celebration alone would seem out of place, but wouldn't suggest wizardry, but there were plenty of things that needed to stop. First and foremost, there was a wizard among the crowd enchanting the streetlights to blink in tune with the music blaring from every speaker in the city. Leif spotted him easily enough, as he was twirling his wand like a conductors baton. Leif chuckled at the man's display. He was quiet short and resembled a gnome flailing his arms about wildly.
Leif called out to him and the man turned. He had to scream over the blaring of the triumphant music, "Come on now, you know better than this! Keep your celebrations inside we don't want any muggles seeing all of this." The man's face colored with embarrassment and he dropped his wand. The lights went black momentarily before flickering back into their ordinary level of illumination. Leif patted the short man on the shoulder, knowing he held no malicious intent.
The next man that Leif dealt with was not so easily dealt with. At first, Leif noticed not him but the target of the man's spell. A dancing car paraded down the street, metal crunching with each fantastical pirouette. The car, an old Renault, flipped twice in the air before landing ungracefully on its trunk and continuing with its dance. Leif sent off a quick spell hoping to restrain the lawbreaking vehicle, but the sedan dodged the brightly colored flash with astounding agility for such a large object. Leif ran down the street after it, firing spells half-hazardly as he went. He was finally able to conjure a noise cancelling sphere around the offending vehicle, but nothing he cast hindered its progress. At least he had stopped the clatter from awakening any more muggles, but he still needed a way to stop it.
Leif smelled the culprit before he saw him. The odious scent of firewhiskey seared his nostrils. Sniffing about experimentally, Leif narrowed down the smell's origins to a cluster of bushes in front of a small house. As he approached he heard the man; he was giggling whilst slurping noisily from a bottle. Leif called out for him to reveal himself. The car crashed to the pavement upside down, and simultaneously Leif dodged a weak itching hex.
"Get ouda here. Can't a man have a little fun?" The man slurred wobbly getting to his feet. "It's only once in a lifetime that ye get to celebrate He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's death!" The man attempted to cast another hex, but his incantation was interrupted by a large belch. Leif quickly disarmed and stunned the man. He dragged him over to a comfortable spot of grass and confiscated the bottle; he hoped the affects of the alcohol would wear off by the time the man awoke. That was the best he could do at this point—he couldn't take him back to the ministry for a trial without even entering the party he came to investigate.
Satisfied that surrounding area had been cleared of threats to muggle ignorance, Leif entered the address on his assignment paper.
Inside was an elaborate party. It seemed everyone in the area was here, including his old friend Balthazarius Inverso! His friend rushed over to him, wrapping Leif in a firm hug. "Can you believe it?" He hollered, hopping from foot to foot. "Its over. Its all over." Leif reluctantly peeled himself away from his friend.
"I know Balthazarius, I can hardly believe it. Look, I have some work to do now, but let's catch up after all this celebration ends." He turned and began to scan the room for wrongdoers. The reason Leif was called here was obvious. It seems a small crowd was summoning objects, such as phones, televisions, dog toys, and even light bulbs, from neighboring homes. They used these as makeshift fireworks to celebrate.
"ACCIO RAWHIDE BONE" Someone behind Leif shouted. There was a faint tinkling of glass from a neighboring house and a much louder crash as the dog toy entered the place of celebration. Leif spun around, a reprimand already forming on his lips, when a light bulb exploded right in front of him. The colorful streamers of light momentarily blinded him. The shapes of the people in the room were obscured by blotches of blackness and he furiously rubbed his eyes. His ears were also assaulted; the room erupted in mirthful laughter at his misfortune.
Pushing himself back to his feet, Leif pointed his wand at his throat and bellowed. "ENOUGH! Everyone stop what you are doing now or suffer the consequences of ministry action." The crowd quieted at once, for no one wanted to suffer any permanent consequences of their revelry.
The silence allowed for a terrified scream to be heard in the room. Leif rushed out of the house to determine the source of the disturbance. A flash of light from a muggle home down the street caught his eye. He almost fainted in fright as he saw a sickly green snake twist upward above the roof. It tangled around a monstrously large skull. The symbol shined through the sky like a beacon. Leif's stomach dropped. The Dark Mark. Leif refused to believe it. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated. How could he still be causing problems?
The realization hit his gut like a punch. There was more than one dark wizard in the world. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not alone; he had followers. Perhaps the deatheaters were having one last hurrah before they went into hiding or joined their master in death. Leif had never been so frightened, but he knew he had a responsibility to the ministry to uphold. He clutched his wand and raced forward.
A man caught up with him from the gathering. He turned to see Balthazarius, his normally grinning mouth stretched into a thin line of concentration. His forehead was creased and fists were clenched. "Get out of here man, what the hell are you doing?" Leif pushed Balthazarius away from him.
"No Leif, I can't let you do this alone. We all have a duty to fight darkness, I refuse to stand by and watch defenseless muggles be tortured and killed." His grave expression faltered into a slight grin, "Besides, you aren't strong enough to take on deatheaters by yourself."
At that moment the two young men arrived on the scene. A group of four menacing deatheaters stood before them. Their identities concealed behind grotesque and ghostly masks. Leif had never encountered death eaters before. He had tales about them, which often described chilling laughter and an almost playful manner in which they toyed with their victims. The men before him were devoid of any such humor, no matter how insane. All four were quaking with rage and sucking in labored breaths. Between the two assembled groups, the mutilated corpse of a muggle woman fell.
Unthinkingly, Leif dodged the unforgivable green curse sent his way. The close proximity of the beam seared his flesh, but he felt no other ill effects. He rolled away as tree other spells pulverized the asphalt around him. Springing to his feet, Leif conjured a shield to redirect five quick minor curses sent his way. He found his balance and retaliated.
His spell casting was nowhere near as fluid and powerful as his adversary's. Leif was not a natural duelist, and he wasted precious seconds planning and implementing a course of action. This limitation hindered him greatly, and the sole effect of his endeavor was to draw a drop of blood from a deatheater's shoulder. Baby steps he thought to himself.
A banishing curse crashed into his shoulder, and Leif was smashed against a building's wall. It took him a few seconds to recover, but that was all the deatheaters needed. He was hit with a petrificus totalis and went still. All Leif could do was watch Balthazarius with no way of providing aid. Aid that would have been greatly appreciated. Balthazarius was skilled, he had held out better than Leif against a divided group of opponents, but now that all four deatheaters were focused on him his fortune shifted. Balthazarius was being overwhelmed; utterly exhausted, his curses were shrugged off and his shields shattered.
In an instant Balthazarius was screaming. Cruciatus. His limbs were quaking, muscles contracted in agony. Despite the hell he was experiencing, Balthazarius pressed on. Leif screamed out, warning his friend of deadly missiles, telling him which way to dodge. These actions were in vain however, for Balthazarius could not break focus to hear his friend's shouts.
Balthazarius' wand dropped to the ground along with his arm. The dismembering curse of a short deatheater had found its mark. Clutching the stump of his left arm, Balthazarius fell to his knees. Balthazarius kept his eyes downcast and mouth closed throughout the first five seconds of the unforgivable torturing curse. He finally snapped, his screams of pain pouring out towards the sky. For the first time in the confrontation, the followers of Voldemort laughed. Their sadistic pleasure overcame the realization of their own demise.
The short deatheater stepped forward, and his companions turned to him. They backed away, seemingly deferring to his command. With a flick of man's wand, Balthazarius was suspended in the air. With a twist, he was upside down. Leif's friend was screaming all the while.
Behind Leif fireworks began erupting with a bang. The deatheaters turned. They ignored him and instead focused on the dancing embers in the sky. The short man raised his wand again and something in the distance sped towards the group. Leif saw that it was a light bulb, pulsing with magical energy. The bulb popped into Balthazarius' mouth, which had been wide open in horrific hollering.
It took a few seconds for something to occur. Balthazarius began to gag and tried spitting to expel the foreign object from his oral cavity. To no avail. Yellow light sparked into life within his mouth and gradually gained intensity. Sizzling sounds joined the screams and the light bulb began to give off heat. The Firework ignited and Leif found himself blinded by the flash and covered in his friend's gore. The screams had been replaced by the buzzing of damaged eardrums.
What remained of Balthazarius lay motionless on the ground. He was missing his head and right arm and his legs were bent unnaturally. Balthazarius was dead.
The short deatheater placed his wand to his lips and whistled. The night was filled with the flapping of wings. A flock of crows descended from all angles, they swopped down onto the corpse. Balthazarius was shrouded in the blackness of their wings. They began to peck away at his flesh and feast upon his organs. Next the short deatheater swished his wand again. Bones emerged from the tangle of blood and feathers and stood erect. Small pieces of pulverized bone flew together until a complete skeleton stood. The skeleton began to dance a jig upon the dead tissue, pounding the bloody mess into the concrete.
At this monstrous sight, Leif was enraged beyond belief. His vision blurred and his body began to struggle against the paralysis curse. The spell shattered and he found himself barreling towards his friend's murderers. The words of an immolation curse already on his lips. A blazing inferno exploded from his wand. A tall deatheater was engulfed in the flames; he stumbled around momentarily before collapsing. His wand send out multicolor sparks as it burned to ash.
At that moment, the aurors finally arrived. Leif did not see them. He did not see the brief battle, the frenzied exchange of spells. He did not hear the aurors spit curses as the criminals disapparated away. He did not hear them call out to him. Did not feel them shake him.
All he saw was Balthazarius. His friend's pleading expression as the light bulb burst. He had been looking straight at him.