Small Victories

by dead2self

A/N: Alright, I've really got to apologize. I've had this written for about a month, but I was holding out in hopes of getting a beta reader. Unfortunately that did not go through (I had a beta who didn't return my emails for about two weeks and then told me she wasn't betaing any more... great) so I'm posting this raw too. If you happen to catch any typos or discrepancies, I'd appreciate if you could point them out. Enjoy!

Marie still remembered what time of day it was and what she had been doing when they first came. It had been 11:46 and since it was raining outside she had been helping her mother with lunch. Her mother had just burnt the toast when the doorbell rang. Eager to escape the disasters in the kitchen, Marie had run to answer the door. She had not gotten three steps into the front hall when the door simply blew off its hinges.

Two men in long black robes and faces like skulls stepped over the smoldering threshold as Marie screamed and tried to retreat into the kitchen, only to find that she was frozen in mid-step. With a silent shriek she toppled to the floor and laid there, trying to roll her eyeballs far enough to the side to get a glimpse of the two men. Marie heard her mother appear in the hallway and then hit the floor in – Marie hoped – the same state that her daughter was in.

Abruptly calloused hands closed around Marie's shoulders and she was propped up against the stairwell. Both of the men had taken off their skull faces – which had turned out to only be masks – and one was reading silently from a large packet of papers.

"Looks like it's her," he said after a moment, a sallow faced youth with teeth bigger than what fit his face. The other nodded his agreement, looking simply bored with the current events.

"Then let's go already," he answered. He snapped the mask back into place before Marie could get a good look at him, and then hefted her stiff body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Marie was frantic as they headed for the front door. She managed to get a glimpse of her mother, who wasn't moving, just as they cleared the front porch and something exploded inside her head. Suddenly she was screaming – and she was surprised to hear that it was outloud now – and she had somehow ended up two driveways down, hurtling towards their garbage cans. Without looking back she pounded up the sidewalk towards the main road. Officer Stephen sometimes camped out in the mouth of their neighborhood to catch speeding drivers and Marie just had a feeling if she could make it…

And there he was. The police cruiser was in sight, she was safe, and then suddenly a burst of red hit her from behind and she flew a foot or so before crashing to the asphalt, frozen again. The man in the skull mask picked her up again, none too lightly, and she tried to scream but then everything was gone and it was dark and her lungs were being squeezed so tightly she'd never be able to breathe again—

Then Marie could breathe again. She could see as well, and after the man had thrown her to the floor and cords came out of the stick he was waving around to bind her wrists and ankles, she could move again also. Another flick of his stick and she was floating along beside him as they started walking. Marie could not help it; she screamed again.

"Be quiet!" snapped the bucktoothed one. "Silencio!"

Sound, it seemed, was stolen from her mouth. No matter how she tried nothing came out, though when she started floating jerkily to the side Marie could not help but let out a silent squeal. From her new perspective she could see men and women in funny clothes all rushing all around her, though most of them were going the same direction as her. None of them seemed to notice she was floating beside a man, and those who did only glared at her before glancing away. Her view of the people was blocked suddenly by a towering fountain of a regal looking man in a silly hat, sitting on an ugly throne of distorted, disgusting people. She managed to read the inscription MAGIC IS MIGHT before they passed through the golden gates into a smaller hall packed with people. They seemed to be standing in line, but the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Marie and the two men, freeing up a lift just as grilles slid open.

The men let Marie float in after them and nearly knocked her head on the side of the grate while turning her around. She ended up floating on her back, head lolling back so she could see out the open grilles. Although the lift was still quite empty, none of the people waiting outside made a move to board. When the grilles clanged shut they were still the only ones on the lift.

The lift only stopped once, on "Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee" according to the disembodied voice. Marie could not quite figure where it was coming from, but assumed there was a speaker somewhere behind her head. A man had started to get on, then nearly tripped over his own feet backpedaling out of the lift. "Sorry, sorry," he said as the grilles clanged shut once more. Marie was not sure why he had been so scared. She was the one dangling in the middle of the lift, not him.

They finally exited on Level one while the disembodied voice droned, "Minister of Magic and Supporting Staff." There were less people hurrying around on this floor and those who were, were quiet. Very quiet. Marie wondered if they had had their voices stolen like she had.

The maze of hallways opened suddenly into a small sitting area, at the end of which sat a frazzled looking young woman twitching around a stick like the bucktoothed man was using and sending papers flying all over her desk like a miniature snow storm.

"Ms. Parkinson, we've got the girl," said the man who had the bored voice. The secretary gave such a start that the papers around her burst out onto the floor. She recovered herself and a moment later they streamed back onto her desk in a neat pile. Sitting up primly, Ms. Parkinson pressed the stick to her throat and said. "Patterson and the young Malfoy are here, my Lord. They have the Mudblood."

A high, cold disembodied voice replied, "You may enter," and this time Marie was sure it had not come from a speaker. Before she could help it her hands started shaking uncontrollably, and she almost missed seeing the broad mahogany doors at the end of the hall open of their own accord. Patterson and Malfoy marched before her and quite abruptly she was pushed in front of them and dropped to the floor. The cords slipped off her legs and arms, but before she could scramble to safety the doors swung shut behind her.

"You're sure this is the correct girl?"

It was the same high, cold voice. Marie spun on the spot and huddled back against the door, immediately locating the voice's owner in the middle of the room. He was a very pale, bald man leaning over an ornate desk in the middle of the room.

"Yes, my Lord," Patterson answered quickly, and Marie was sure he was trying to get a word in before the Malfoy fellow. "Marie Hangleton."

The man raised his hand wordlessly and waved a stick – what were those things! – at her. "Girl," he said, finally raising his head to fully regard her. "Is that your name?"

Marie did not hear a word the man said, but simply stared as she tried to press further back against the doors. He did not even look human! There was no real nose, only slits like a snake… and the eyes! What terrible, searing red eyes! They burned into hers and she could not look away and her skin was crawling. Finally a scream gurgled up from her throat and her voice vanished again.

"Be quiet you disgusting little creature," the grotesque man snarled as he rounded the desk brandishing the stick. At first Marie thought he was going to hit her with it, but he stopped short. Instead he repeated, "Is your name Marie Hangleton?"

"Y-Yes," Marie stammered, and then remembered that her voice was not present. She nodded frantically instead before the man could think she was trying to be cheeky. The man's lip curled nonetheless.

"Wonderful," he drawled.

"She almost escaped too, my Lord!" Patterson piped in eagerly. "Damn accidental magic! But I got her with a Stunning spell, you see—"

The man turned on Patterson and a look of horror crossed his face so that his teeth were protruding more than normal. "I would not be so quick to boast," said the man quietly, "that I was almost overtaken by a small, Mudblood girl."

Patterson nodded shakily, looking just as scared as Marie felt.

"Get out." The command was quiet, but absolute. Both of the young men scrambled for the door, and Marie was shoved aside by the doors when they opened to admit them. She had barely regained herself when she found herself floating again, this time to be set down heavily on her feet. Marie watched warily as the man walked slowly and silently back to the desk.

For the first time she noticed another man slumped over in the chair behind the desk. His head was lolling dangerously on his neck and Marie wondered if he was dead and if that was what they were going to do to her. Then he stirred slightly; the red-eyed man picked him up by the collar of his robes and dropped him unceremoniously to the floor, taking his seat.

"You, come stand here." The man indicated the space in front of the desk with a long, pale finger. Somehow – she was not quite sure how – Marie managed to hobble her way across the room on legs quivering like jelly. She could not bear meeting his eyes again and instead stared down at the immaculate desk top. Not a paper out of place, except for where the unconscious man had clipped the desk with his head when he fell.

Marie's head snapped up as if someone had yanked her ponytail back. "You will listen to me when I am speaking," the man said; their eyes connected and Marie felt like she was going to throw up.

"You will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he continued with an air of annoyance. Marie suspected he had said this once already, and was very careful to hang on his every word now. "You will not be expected to perform on the same level as true witches and wizards, since you are of purely non-magical birth, but as there have been some… problems with the castle itself, and you will at least prove to be useful in that regard."

For the first time Marie was happy she was unable to talk; so many questions were swimming through her head that it would have been impossible to keep her mouth shut, and something told her the man did not take well to interruption. Before she could fully appreciate her silence he waved the stick at her and said, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Marie fidgeted with the hem of her skirt and looked down at the floor. Did he not realize she could not speak? Yet he expected her to talk, so Marie gave a small, experimental hum before speaking.

"Um… S-Sir—I mean, my Lord…" The title felt strange rolling off her lips but it was how all the others had referred to him. "Does this mean I'm a – a witch? And you're a… wizard?"

The man's scarlet eyes narrowed, and there was a strange mix of pride and defeat in his voice. "I am a wizard. You are a Mudblood, not worthy to hold a wand. Nonetheless, Hogwarts will not open its doors this year unless Muggle-borns are allowed admittance. That Mudblood will be you."

"And w-why me?"

The man did not skip a beat – if anything, he replied as if he were discussing the weather. "Because you have very little magical potential. It is unlikely you will be very proficient with a wand, thus making you much easier to kill after your seven years at Hogwarts are completed." Marie's legs finally gave out and she would have been on the floor had it not been for the magic – for now she knew that was what it was – holding her up. "Surely you can't expect me to let a Muggle-born witch run amok?" the man added with a short, cool laugh, "I've finally just rid Britain of them."

Unshed tears stung Marie's eyes and her voice cracked slightly as she asked her last question. "W-Who are y-you?"

The man's lips curled into a smile, a vicious smile that terrified Marie more than anything she had seen so far. "I am Lord Voldemort," he answered, "but you would do good to call me the Dark Lord."

Marie nodded quickly; the Dark Lord seemed satisfied and stood up, wand pressed to his throat. "I am done with her. Send Malfoy and Patterson back in."

There was a pause, and then, "Sir, they've already left… I believe they thought you had dismissed them."

The Dark Lord grumbled a curse under his breath that made Marie gasp, and the broad doors slammed open before him as he stalked across the office, robes billowing around his skeletal frame. Before he could say anything more to the secretary, who seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, several loud cracks split the air. Marie caught sight of several small animals for a split second before the air cracked again and they were gone, leaving behind only a large pile of envelopes.

Immediately the Dark Lord's rage was redirected to the pile. He let out a frustrated scream and letters went flying in all directions. "Those BLOODY LETTERS!" he bellowed. "You said had been stopped this year!"

"They were, my Lord," Ms. Parkinson said frantically. "I mean, I was told they were, my Lord. I'm sorry, my Lord, I'll dispose of them, of course." Her wand started twitching feverishly between her fingers and the letters started flying into the fireplace. In contrast, Lord Voldemort had settled and when he spoke again the anger in his voice was merely smoldering.

"And when you're done with that, rouse the minister and recast the Imperius curse… I think it may be slipping." He cast a quick glance at Marie. "And find someone to take the Mudblood home. Have her paperwork ready by the 1st of September."

"Of course, my Lord," Ms. Parkinson said smoothly, shooting Marie a glance that clearly said she did not appreciate the added workload. Marie only had eyes for the Dark Lord, or more specifically, the floor where he had been standing. With a start she realized that the man had just vanished into thin air!

"You. Sit there." Ms. Parkinson's voice was no longer the purr it had been when she spoke to the Dark Lord. "I'll deal with you when I'm through with this." The letters, however, were proving difficult to dispose of, and when they started sending off sparks the secretary threw up her hands and rounded on Marie.

"Fine, I'll deal with you first. Come along."

The woman walked with such long, fast strides, heels clicking the whole way, that Marie had to jog to keep up with her. They were moving with such purpose that when Ms. Parkinson simply cornered the first person they came upon in the hall, Marie nearly bumped into the woman in shock.

"You, take the girl home." Marie peeked out from behind Ms. Parkinson. The man was wearing the same skull mask that the others had, but a shock of vibrant red hair was sticking messily out the sides of his, as if it had been snapped on in a hurry. Even with the mask on, he looked confused.

"Me! But I—"

The secretary pulled herself up to her full height and poked him solidly in the chest. "Yes, you. Take her home. Dark Lord's orders." With that she swirled and clacked off in a billow of fancy robes.

Marie regarded the man warily and he did the same to her. "So… who are you?" he asked, beginning to wring out his hands.

"M-Marie Hangleton, sir."

"Mark Clearwater," he answered, holding out his hand and then thinking better of it; Marie had just brushed his fingertips when he pulled it back. Now he adopted an authoritative tone; the encounter with Ms. Parkinson must have left him temporarily out of sorts. "Where do you live?"

"Ipswich, sir. Number 7, Mandeline Lane."

"Very well," he replied, waving her to follow him. "I don't suppose you have a Floo, do you?"

"A what?"

"Oh… Oh dear…" As they boarded the lift, the man flipped up his mask and dragged a freckle-speckled hand across his forehead. Marie thought he looked tinted slightly green. Before she knew it they were back in the giant hall standing next to the towering stone fountain. Mark was muttering feverishly under his breath – "Never did quite get the hang of Side-Along Apparation… hope I don't splinch her, that would be bad. Yes, very bad…" – while Marie found herself face to face with one of the snarling characters that made up the wizard's chair.

"S-Sir," Marie said, pulling on the hem of Mark's sleeve. Maybe it was because he was acting so nervous, but he seemed the most approachable of all the wizards she had met thus far. "Who are theses people supposed to be?"

Mark jumped, startled out of his mumbling, and stared down at Marie incredulously. "Why, they're Muggles of course. What else would they be?"

"Oh, um… right." Marie sensed that it would be best not to ask what a Muggle was, and averted her eyes to the floor.

Mark suddenly plucked her hand up in his, heaving a deep breath. "Right then, let's be on our way." Before Marie could even steel herself for the departure she was being squeezed, as if someone were trying to fit her through a tube she was much too large for, and then she popped out, reeling, on her own driveway. At first she wondered if it had been a dream, and then she saw the door, still blown off its hinges.

Tearing herself away from Mark, who looked rather shellshocked, Marie tore up the driveway and launched herself over the rubble by the front door, sliding to a stop on her knees next to her mother's prone body. "Mum!" she shrieked, trying to shake the stiff body. Mark appeared in the doorway, nose wrinkled in revulsion as he took in the front hall.

"So you're the new Muggle-born student."

Marie spun, not yet aware of his sudden attitude change. "Please, sir, I think they've killed her!"

"No, she's simply stunned." Mark swished his wand and Marie's mother began stirring. Marie flung herself on top of her, clinging for dear life, and began to sob. There was only so much emotion her tiny body could handle in one day; Mark, in the meantime, looked eager to be rid of the place. "Good day then," he said stiffly, and abruptly disappeared.

Marie did not notice he had gone; she was too busy trying to explain to her mother between sobs what had happened. When her father arrived home from work they were still huddled together in the front hall, stuck there in shock. He would have thought them both deranged had it not been for the front door, and that night Marie slept with her parents, her dreams filled with flying papers and bright scarlet eyes.

When she woke up early the next morning, the door had been fixed; there was not even a chip in the paint to indicate it had been blown in the day before. Silently Marie wondered if she was going insane, but when she was mindlessly slurping the milk out of her cereal she saw the two owls perched outside the kitchen window. They must have noticed her watching them, because immediately they began rapping on the glass most insistently. Curious, and a bit frightened, Marie let herself out the back and walked around to the kitchen window, where both owls held their legs out to her expectantly. It was then that she noticed something attached to their legs; parchment, she realized, as she untied them. Freed of their missives, the birds took flight, startling Marie so fiercely that she threw her arms over her head with a shriek.

Once she recovered, Marie chided herself and retreated to the kitchen with the papers, which turned out to be letters addressed to her, both bearing a Hogwarts crest. The first read:

Miss Marie Hangleton,

It is our deepest regret to inform you that, although you have been gifted with an extraordinary talent, you will not be allowed entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite whatever you might be told in the future, you are a witch and are perfectly capable of doing magic – which should explain some very confusing circumstances in your childhood! Accidental magic is the greatest evidence that even non-magical born witches and wizards are still witches and wizards.

Unfortunately, current administration at Hogwarts and in the Ministry of Magic feel differently on this matter and have closed off admissions to Muggle-borns – students of non-magical parentage – deeming them unworthy of magical education. Please voice your complaints to the Ministry of Magic by sending long, angry, anonymous letters with the owl that delivered this letter, as you have a full right to your magical education.

Regretfully,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Marie set this letter carefully aside on the table, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she recalled the one situation the day before that seemed out of the wizards' control. Carefully she picked up the next letter, which was more formal and on thicker parchment.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Antonin Dolohov

Dear Ms. Hangleton,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Severus Snape,

Deputy Headmaster

The first thought this letter brought forth was how she was going to reply by owl if both of the owls she had ever seen up close had just flown away. Then she remembered the finality with which the Dark Lord had told her she would be attending, and decided it was probably not necessary. Absentmindedly she read over the second page of the letter: the list of equipment.

Then it struck her. How in the world was she going to find something like dragon hide gloves or a size two pewter cauldron by September 1?