Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.
Derek Osaka was bored.
No, that was understatement, he thought, digging around in his duffel coat for the few Every Flavour Beans that he knew were mildewing quietly in the bottom of his pocket. Boredom had long been replaced with whatever it was that mummies felt before their sarcophagus' were opened and they got to walk around again (after some clever obliviate spells had been cast upon the daft muggles who had opened them up for reasons best known to themselves of course). And what did mummies think of when they were all locked up like that? He wondered. Amon Ra, the newly re-instated head of wizard and mummy relations looked like a fairly nice bloke when he was interviewed by the Daily Prophet, but having nothing but your own thoughts to listen to must drive you a bit mental - not to mention having to wander around wrapped in what looked like toilet paper all the time. But not as mental as having an over-protective mum who takes you to work because she's scared to leave you alone, Derek thought grumpily, abandoning all thoughts of Egyptian so-called allies.
Leaning against the cold stone of a particularly quiet corridor, he picked the fluff from an elderly Every Flavour bean. From the green colour it could have been anything from peppermint to algae, but he popped it into his mouth nonetheless, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was in fact pear. Albeit pear with a distinct aftertaste of ancient-bits-at-the-bottom-of-his-pocket.
He hadn't wanted to go with his mother to the Ministry of Magic, although when he had been younger he had begged to do so. He had been really young then though, he thought to himself. That had been before Voldemort had taken it over, before his mum came back from work with smiles that looked too tight on her face and cried when he had gotten his owl inviting him to Hogwarts. Now he was at the place that had always seemed vast and mysterious and actually found himself wanting to go back to school, even though he knew that professor Binns would most likely give him detention for the scroll he had written - or to be more accurate- not written, on eighteenth century Troll wars.
Rubbing a hand through his short dark hair, Derek paused mid chew when he heard the echo of footsteps approach. He wasn't supposed to have wandered away from his mother's office, and for the first time since slipping away he realised quite how much trouble he might get into if he was caught. More importantly, he realised how much trouble his mother might be in if he was discovered wandering around the inventory warehouses without a permit spell. Whoever it was that was coming was walking fast, and trying to be as quiet as possible, Derek darted down the corridor he had been lurking in, trying first one door before the next. None of the doorknobs turned either by an Alohomora spell or by physical force, until unwittingly falling back after a failed spell, Derek found himself tumbling backwards through a doorway.
He was in some sort of storeroom, Derek realised. The room must have been magically extended, because dimly lit or not this was a bloody big place, far bigger than would comfortably fit over the offices that must have been built upon it. Turning slowly, he took in his surroundings. To call it a warehouse would have been being too kind. The ceiling was high, the walls wide, but the many different things crammed into the place seemed to have been stuffed in haphazardly. A stuffed Kneazle was squashed beneath a statue of… Derek squinted but couldn't quite work out what the marble figurine was supposed to represent. Several hundred glass orbs sat upon shelves in the centre of the room, those that seemed to have been broken emitting smoke that whispered quietly to themselves. And beyond that was a heap of gold that would turn any dragon green (well those that weren't Welsh and green already) with envy. The temptation to go over to the pile and stuff his pockets was tempting, but Derek fought the urge down. This wasn't a wizarding jumble sale; it was obviously a place where important, perhaps dangerous things were kept. After the fall of the ministry and the triumph of Harry Potter over the Dark Lord there had been a lot of things that had needed sorting out - the long hours his mother worked was testament to that. This room could hold anything from cursed items taken from Death Eaters to the contents of Dumbledore's attic (and the old headmaster had been a legendary hoarder from what his uncle had said). It was best to keep his hands to himself.
The faint bang of a door being opened nearby reminded Derek of the reason that he was currently ankle deep in ancient wizarding memorabilia, and glancing swiftly around for a hiding place, he scurried behind what looked like a giant curtain. Holding his breath for as long as he could, he let it out with a sharp sigh when it became clear that no-one was following him. In the silence that followed his sharp exhalation, Derek became aware of a faint noise. Not anything frightening, nor indeed noticeable had he not been so aware of every sound around him, but there nonetheless. A soft whispering that sounded as though it came from the curtain. He gave the curtain a distrustful look. It would be just his luck if a boggart was hiding behind there, ready to leap out in the form of a giant Eagle with an old woman's head and glowing eyes. Pulling his wand from the pocket of his jeans, Derek curled his fingers around the slender piece of wood and started a mental chant of Riddikulus,Riddikulus,Riddikulus. Imagine a harpy with no eyes, he thought frantically. No, that was scarier than a harpy that actually did have eyes, he realised. Okay, a harpy with only…
Stumbling backwards, he tripped over a wooden chest, his hands flailing for any sort of purchase and catching on the curtain. The material ripped from its frame with a noise that could only be described as a scream, the heavy cloth knocking a dozen glass globes from the shelves beside it, before settling gently upon the ground, covering Derek and muffling the shriek of fright he had emitted when the glass had come hurtling towards him.
The cloth that covered his face was musty smelling, but it had shielded him from any serious injury, Derek realised when he calmed down enough to disentangle himself from it. Being careful not to cut himself on the many shards of glass that surrounded him, he watched in wonder as a half dozen tiny wraiths slipped free of their broken prisons and started speaking. They all spoke quietly, and it was impossible to distinguish one voice from another, but Derek got up reluctantly; who knew what secrets the little ghosts had to tell? Time, however, was not on his side. Getting away with a quick wander and sulk was one thing, demolishing a… well a big thing in a warehouse of Merlin only knew what was quite another. The sooner he escaped from the scene of the crime the better. If he managed to get to his mum and act innocent before the damage was discovered then no-one need even know that he had been here. He was halfway to his feet, his eyes fixed firmly on the door, when the the room seemed to shudder, knocking the remaining glass globes over and sending half a dozen bookcases crashing to the ground. Derek staggered, regained his balance, and looked in baffled surprise at the lump that had suddenly appeared beneath the fallen curtain. Sort of person sized, he thought warily. But that was stupid wasn't it? He'd have seen a mannequin or another person if they'd been here before he'd effectively trashed the place. It was just a load of junk that had fallen in a weird way, that was all. Torn between running for the door or investigating further, his inquisitive nature overruled his common sense and he tentatively poked the side of the fallen curtain.
Nothing happened.
Turning away he almost giggled in relief when a hand suddenly grabbed his wrist, causing him to drop his wand in shock.
"Who are you boy?" The voice was low and commanding, the man who had uttered the words looking up at him with fierce dark eyes. Derek watched as the man untangled himself from the remnants of the destroyed curtain, his neck craning backwards when the stranger got to his feet. Tall and imposing, the man stood before him, his shaggy dark hair falling over his eyes, his fingers digging painfully into the soft flesh of his arm. Swallowing hard, Derek spoke the first word that came to mind.
"Eeep!"