A/N: Happy New Year (from my time zone)! Since I won't be actively writing until mid-to-late January because of exams, I expect that the next chapter will be posted in February, hopefully by Chinese New Year. I'm sorry that you'll have to wait, but hey, I hope that you enjoy the chapter!
Chapter 9: Intervention VII – The Eagle Has Landed
Lyrical Title: Let's Go, If It's for Justice
Date of Writing: 28 November 2018 –5 December 2018
Date of Typing and Editing: 13-14, 23, 25, 29-30 December 2018
Warning: Mild romance and trauma. I'm sorry if this isn't realistic – research can be so difficult sometimes. I'll also be using a lot of surnames (last names), since this is mostly Harry Potter's PoV and he doesn't trust them all automatically. I apologize for any inaccurate Singlish or accents (if any), once again.
Tuesday, 31 October 1995
It was Halloween.
Harry had been dreading this day for weeks. It was practically ingrained into him at this point that All Hallows' Eve was bad news: 1981, his parents died at the hands of Voldemort; 1991, a Troll in the "dungeons" (it was in the first floor girls' bathroom); 1992, the Chamber of Secrets was re-opened for the first time since 1943; 1993, Sirius tried to break into Gryffindor Tower (it counted only as he hadn't known that his Dogfather was innocent yet); last year, his name came out of that goddamn Goblet; and that wasn't counting the times when he was locked into "his" cupboard while Dudley the humanoid hog went trick-or-treating with his various animalistic amigos. (Hey, that boa constrictor taught him a teeny bit of Portuguese, didn't he?)
This time though, his heart was running around in a blind panic in his chest, not knowing what to expect. It's the Halloween Ball. You have half your school day off. You'll be fine! C'mon, just double Charms and Transfiguration. No Care of Magical Creatures, no double Herbology, no detention with Umb!tch, it's gonna be okay!
As he dug through his trunk for his costume (for the ball, which he had bought in Hogsmede), he picked up a set of paper, stapled together – yes, paper, not parchment, his head reminded him. If there weren't a Halloween Ball that night, Heathers, as she had said, "would've totally set a quiz for [that day]'s lesson." Then she proceeded with distributing notes on all the magical creatures that they had learnt of: Bowtruckles, Clabberts, Crups, Diricawls, Fairies, Fyrserpents, Hippogriffs, Knarls, Kneazles, Salamanders and Unicorns. She had further stated, "We'll learn the more interesting ones once we're done with your exam requirements…which are lower than the probability of two parallel lines intersecting."
He'd have to study that.
Maybe tomorrow.
8:00 am
Minutes after Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor Table, hundreds of owls swooped in through the windows. A collared scops owl and a barn owl landed in front of one of the representatives, carrying a teal, white and sky-blue box. An exchange student at the Slytherin Table was dipping her bacon into condensed milk. The teachers that came with Causeway were chowing down on scrambled eggs and hotcakes (pancakes). A girl at the Gryffindor Table (who was younger than him) was pelting boiled eggs at the Slytherin Table…which only made it to the Hufflepuff Table, at most Ravenclaw. Umbridge was sipping on some tea…and instantly spat it out. (Someone probably put some disgusting substance in it.)
It was right after his beloved Hedwig had snatched a couple of rashers of bacon from his plate when one last bird of prey so much larger than an owl soared in.
The bird's feathers were a shade of deep ebony from a worm's eye view, except for the head and the tail – a shade of white that seemed slightly like ivory – and has an orangey-yellow beak. It (or is that a He? Or a She?) dove towards the Staff Table, snatching what looked like a kipper off of Umbridge's plate –
"Hey!" A red jet of light shot at the bird of prey – eagle, perhaps, that dodged the Stunner, dropping the kipper in the process. Said kipper landed on the head of that exchange student who ducked under the Table when the post arrived every day. What's his name again, Jonathan? Joshua? Josiah? Jeremy?
"Stupefy!" The eagle(?) swerved around that Stunner, as well as another few dozen, which barely missed. It(?) was still 'performing' manoeuvres through the Great Hall – ones that would make even professional-level star Quidditch players ooh and aah in admiration or green with the Deadly Sin of Envy, but it(?) was gradually slowing down in flight…
The 'diplomats' for the British Isles had gone stiff, watching the bird of prey frantically dodge the barrage of spells coming its(?) way. The other two diplomats' faces were incomprehensible, but their emotions were clear – the Hongkongese one had dropped his…it looked like a custard tart but it clearly wasn't one, with its strange slightly-burnt surface, and the Singaporean one had whipped out his wand. Heathers seemed to be chanting the word "no" over and over again quietly. Everyone else's eyes were on the flailing creature, pointing, muttering, gasping, sighing in relief every time it(?) sidestepped (or should it be side-flew? Whatever…) a spell. Umbridge's face was now pinker than her robes, but her wand was still in hand.
"Impedimenta!" A dodge. A sluggish dodge. It had been 13 minutes. Most duels barely lasted past five. Maybe the eagle(?) was getting tired…though he was only assuming – he knew nothing about bird of prey biology.
"Incarcerous!" Ink-black ropes wrapped themselves around the bird of prey as it(?) was struck by Umbridge's fiftieth spell, and down it(?) fell…onto the Gryffindor Table. And that was how Harry got a good look at the Toad B–Witch's latest victim.
Its (His? Hers?) wide-open eyes were a strange colour for a bird of prey – not yellow or amber, or anything along those lines; but an odd cerulean hue, darker than the sky on a sunny, cloudless day, yet lighter than teal. Feathers of an even darker shade of brown (black?) lined its(?) sides and wings. A series of slightly darker feathers (platinum, perhaps?) surrounded each of its(?) eyes, forming sort-of rectangular shapes…reminiscent of McGonagall's glasses markings when she's in her Animagus form.
Merlin's pants!
That was when…
Whoever this is, he or she is –
…the predator on the Table turned into a person.
– an Animagus!
And the Gryffindor Table shuddered and broke into two, plates of and jugs/goblets/mugs/glasses of British, Irish and (East/Southeast) Asian breakfast foods and drinks slipping, sliding, spilling. Brilliant.
He was bespectacled (*cough* as if the markings weren't an obvious indication *cough*) and had a strange blond ahoge that seemed to defy gravity by sticking up. (This time, he wasn't bothered with questioning how that was possible anymore – ah, the things that happen when you've been in the magical world for too long.) His eyes were half-closed, but their bright cerulean hue was still visible. For whatever reasons, he was breathing strangely…wait a second.
The ropes.
Umbridge's ropes.
One of the pitch-black cords had wrapped itself around his neck.
Well c**p.
Harry stepped forward and placed his wand tip on the rope around the precarious position. Please don't cut his throat open, please don't cut his throat open… "Diffindo." Fortunately, the stretch of rope was cleanly sliced into two, not more, not less, or he would be facing murder charges or something. But beneath the rope were…are those…faded rope burns? They can't have been from Umbridge, they look like they've been there for a long time…
"Mr. Potter, what are you doing?" a saccharine voice rang out behind him, and oh no, it's Umbridge, what the bloody hell do you want now? He turned to face her.
"Mr. Potter, what are you doing?" the Toad repeated. Dumbledore, McGonagall, the rest of the staff, To (why is it pronounced as 'toe'?), the other Hongkongese teacher whose name escaped him at that moment and the miniature army called the Campbell-Kirkland family (kind of…basically, all the 'diplomats') were right behind her, faces in various states of shock, concern or…unreadable expressions.
"Making sure that you don't strangle him, Professor," he replied, making sure that he dragged out the last word so that it felt like the sarcasm was dripping from it like melted chocolate off a fruit skewer from a chocolate fountain.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for intervening in professional matters," Umbridge said in a clipped tone, "and stand aside. Now." She didn't seem to notice the anxious and/or indignant looks on the faces of the people behind her, especially the diplomats'. Well, of course, except for Wong-Kirkland and Chia, but he could clearly see that they were soundlessly voicing their disapproval with their eyes. If looks of disapproval could kill (Basilisks unincluded), Umbridge would have dropped dead on the Great Hall floor if she were looking at them.
"He has to go to the Hospital Wing," Pomfrey ordered firmly, but to the youngest (European) Kirkland's dismay, as he had noticed, she was ignored too.
Harry looked back at the fallen Animagus. He appeared to be hyperventilating and trying to sit up while slightly quivering…ah, it must be the freezing-cold pumpkin juice soaking his jacket. One of his arms was oddly bent…uh oh.
"Whoever you are, Mister, you are under arrest for trespassing, theft and being an illegal Animagus," the High Inquisitor declared shrilly, wand pointing at the young man's neck. She did not seem to have noticed that said Animagus – illegal or not – in front of her was still looking like he was snapping out of his daze from his fall, while edging away from the wand tip, eyes almost whimpering, what the f**k are you doing to me? In the tone of an anthropomorphized puppy. An abused anthropomorphized puppy.
The Hall around them was silent.
Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, but his facial expressions were stern. "Dolores, stop pointing your wand at our guest." Surprisingly, Umbridge complied, although still shooting a glare at the Animagus, who didn't flinch. Which was a bit surprising too, considering his previous subconscious body movement.
"Good morning, Alfred. I trust that your…flight was successful?" Dumbledore asked, in a much friendlier tone. A flurry of murmurs spread throughout the Hall.
The young man – "Alfred", apparently – finally managed to sit up and gave his answer, "Totally amazing, dude: I almost missed my plane, didn't sleep all night, haven't had breakfast; my internal clock says it's 3am, this place hasn't got coffee, that f**king Toad –" here several jaws dropped at the casual use of the F-bomb, but the guy that sounded suspiciously like whomever called the younger Kirkland brother "Eyebrows" went on with his tirade, "– shot me down, my jacket's soaked with pumpkin juice and – hey, Iggy!"
The blond diplomat with green eyes looked like he was smirking with…pride…before hearing the last word, then flushed redder than his oldest brother's hair. "Do not call me that, especially not in public, you git!"
"Aww, c'mon, don't be such a grouchy-pants, Eyebrows," the newcomer continued to tease.
"Shut up, and don't call me that." the youngest full-blooded Kirkland brother snapped. "Emancipare. Mendu osto. Tergeo." The ropes immediately came loose and…the obviously broken arm was fixed. The mess created by the spilled pumpkin juice was cleaned up. He'd have to learn that first spell.
"Jeez, thanks, dude!" Suddenly, "Alfred" sounded like a carefree child on a sugar high despite the fact that he literally crashed down on the Gryffindor Table and broke it minutes before…and he pretty much glomped the other guy, to the almost fond(?) laughter of the rest of the full-blooded Campbell-Kirklands (except for the Welsh one. Emrys?). He also saw several professors aw-ing or grinning like idiots.
"Hem, hem." Oh sh!t, Harry forgotten that Umb!tch was still there. What does she want now? Does she know that she could have caused an international incident?
"What is your name? Your full name," said b–witch demanded coldly, pointing her wand at the American's throat, not noticing – or ignoring a silent, slight flinch.
"Alfred F. Jones, and stop invading my personal space, woman! It's precious!" came the answer, loud, confident and slightly offended…what is up with this guy? Why is he flickering between this and…being scared?
"Excuse me, mister," interjected Hermione, who he hadn't noticed since this Jones man arrived, "but what does the 'F' stand for?"
"I do believe that we would all like to know that, Miss Granger," Umbridge appeared to add…grudgingly in agreement. Harry couldn't believe himself, but he was curious about the weird initial that stood for who-knows-what as well.
The 'diplomats' and the one newcomer glanced at each other in silence…he swore that he could hear crickets chirping beyond the castle walls, even though it wasn't night (at least not in the current time zone).
Several seconds later, a collective sigh of almost resignation – or is it a laugh? – came from the eight individuals…why is the Irish one the only female one? Ugh, whatever.
The Hongkongese one – Wong-Kirkland – was the first to give an answer. "No one know."
"I bet you ten Galleons that not even Arthur knows, even though he's…you know, with Alfred. Like, they're together-together," added Chia in a slightly uncomfortable tone, as though that were a kind-of taboo subject. Oh. So that's what's up between them. Another flurry of mutters spread from the four House Tables. A look of horror-shock-disgust flickered across Umbridge's face, but it appeared that she was the only one with such a reaction.
"No bet. It can mean anything that start with letter F. Can be Franklin or Foster," continued Wong-Kirkland.
"Or variation of Frederick," Chia went on.
"It can be Francis," Heathers admitted, but then the youngest Kirkland immediately snapped that it couldn't be…only that he termed it rather crudely.
"Or Freedom," suggested one of the other Kirklands…Harry wasn't sure which one though.
"O' even F**k," another one of the 'diplomats' added bluntly, "F**k-yeah, F**kin' –"
"Yes, we know that. You've said it enough, Ayarlāntu," sighed Chia in the end. Somehow, during that whole discussion, Jones had not spoken once.
"Hem, hem." Not again… "Now, as I was saying, Mr. –"
"High Inquisitor Umbridge, I do not believe that you can just arrest Mr. Am– Jones like that." Was that a slip-up or…hmm…
Umb!tch turned to Heathers icily, "Why so, Abigail? Have you worked in the Ministry of Magic?"
"No, Madam, but my mom–"
"Do you," the Pink Toad interrupted once more, "have a full understanding of our laws, Abigail?" This was starting to sound like the first lesson with Umbridge.
"No, Madam. Seriously, like that time with the Fwooper flock in the Wizengemot? Y' know, that one time when–"
"Yes, yes, we needn't listen to you blabber, Professor Heathers. You have only just got off probation, and if you ever mess up again, you, not will – are going to be fired on behalf of the Ministry. Do you understand?"
Heathers didn't look very happy about that. "Oui, ma'am."
So Umbridge continued, "My apologies. Why–"
This time, it was her turn to be interrupted. "Did you get our Howler?" asked Jones.
"How could I forget?" muttered the High Inquisitor, though loud enough to be audible for the entire Great Hall.
"Good!" A smile was plastered on the blond's face, although it looked 'oddly' false. "We told you beforehand that we're gonna come."
"I did not say that you could cross the boundaries of Hogwarts!"
"You didn't tell us we couldn't!" The grin suddenly seemed a tad smug. "And Dumbledore let me in, so it's not trespassing."
There was a pause before Umb!tch could give a response. "…Even if your…entrance was not unauthorized, it most certainly is not legal. Your charge on being an unregistered Animagus still stands, Mr. –"
"That's bulls**t," Jones interrupted again. "I'm registered at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The MACUSA one. Yeah, I'm not a big fan of it, considering that I …well, never mind." All of a sudden, the atmosphere around him seemed to change, and not in a good way. Specifically, it felt like…haunted, like the trauma kind of haunted. Harry wondered why the young man less than a metre away from him had reasons to harbour such dislike and even be traumatised by the American magical government (that's what he assumed it was)…maybe it was something like his own personal experiences with the law…maybe worse.
"So your warrant is invalid," Jones concluded, before turning to his…partner. "Wait, Iggy, can the Senior Undersecretary of the Minister of Magic even arrest people at your place?" A few teens sniggered at the nickname, but it appeared as though the atmosphere could be cut through with a blunt Play-Doh knife.
"For the ten-thousand-two-hundred-and-thirty-third time in your life, do not call me any of your silly nicknames!"
"But Kiku made that one up!"
"Belt up. However..." the youngest full-blooded Kirkland smirked, "no, I don't think she can, pet."
"So ya can't arrest me for anything, madam. Including the theft charge – I didn't even know it's yours!" Once again, all of a sudden, the mood seemed to change…as Jones seemed to be addressing the students and not Umb!tch anymore. "Hey, dudes! What's for breakfast?"
As the horde of 'diplomats' and professors headed for the Head Table, Harry swore that he heard a couple of the 'diplomats' chatting,
"She know she can be charge with attempted murder? Rope could have killed Mei Gwok!"
"Don't worry, we not die like this. We call NATO?"
"Fifty points to Gryffindor for saving a life…kinda," he also swore that he heard Heathers murmur. But…what does Chia mean, "not die like this"? And can anyone please come back and fix the Gryffindor Table? It's still broken, and I don't reckon we can mend this thing by ourselves! How did Jones even break it?
Translations:
Mendu osto – original healing spell
Ayarlāntu – Tamil for 'Ireland'
Mei Gwok – Cantonese for America (as in USA), long form is almost never used
Calculation Notes (You may skip this if you don't want to read what goes on on the other side of the screen.):
By the map (please remove spaces) at www. city metric sites/ default/ files/ article_ body_ 2016/ 12/ hogwarts_2. png (note: I know Hogwarts is Unplottable and all but let's just assume that this is the school's location), the closest major city to Hogwarts out of Dundee, Edinburgh and Glasgow in terms of direct distance is Dundee. Since the distance between Dundee and Perth is about 29km, by approximate measurement, the distance between Hogwarts and Dundee is approximately 57km.
Since the average gliding-flapping speed of a bald eagle is 56-70km/h, a bald eagle can theoretically fly between the two cities in an hour.
As of Halloween 1995, the UK had already switched back to GMT, as opposed to BST. Suppose that the flight landed at 7am, so that the arrival at Hogwarts is 8am. According to www. happy zebra distance- calculator/ New York- to- Dundee. php, the estimated flight time between NYC (JFK International Airport to LaGuardia Airport) is 6 hours 49 minutes, which I will round up to 7 hours, post-flight airport procedures included. This means that the plane takes off at midnight GMT, while it was 7pm at NYC (because EST is GMT/UTC-5).
God, it took me so long to work out the most realistic, pragmatic approach to this.
A/N: I ended up editing the second half of the chapter quite a bit…to make the tone a little more upbeat…and for characterization purposes. Can't have canon 'uns too OOC, right? (Over 2700 words of actual content, wow!)
Plus, I need costume suggestions for the Halloween Ball, for…Singapore, Prussia, Australia, New Zealand, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and Ireland. You can add more Commonwealth-related Nations should you wish to make the Halloween Ball extra crazy.
Remember that anything created after Halloween 1995 cannot be acceptable suggestions as they didn't exactly exist back then. The topics for this are 'Their Respective Histories' and 'Their Pop Culture'. Anything to show that they are themselves.
Please leave reviews/comments on ideas and suggestions, because I seriously don't have a poll – I don't know enough about any of them, and I haven't got time for research.
Anyways, I'll see you in a month or two, I hope!
-Yingzau
