FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("Policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye: Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer to the Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.
"Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" A blond boy whose hair was slicked that when he shook out the paper slightly and folded it into a neat rectangle, a strand didn't get swept onto his forehead. The paper fell to the stone ground of the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, and all the students that had been rushing to their classes all stopped to watch. The only sound came from a trilling bird; it sounded far away. "And there's a picture Weasley!" said Draco Malfoy, pointing daintily at the crumpled photo with his leather shoe clad foot. "A picture of your parents outside their house- if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?" A trio of the oddest sorts stood across from the boy with pale skin and pale hair and pale eyes. The one with hair of flaming red and thousands of freckles covering his skin was shaking with fury, making the speckled spots look abuzz with vibrations and something too obscure to notice.
"Get stuffed, Malfoy," it was a chivalrous act. Speaking up in his gangly, red-head, freckled friend's time in need. The black haired boy with olive skin and bright green eyes that were currently slanted clenched his fists in unbridled rage and annoyance. But he didn't dare strike a common enemy in front of the masses. 'Bad publicity' his godfather had explained when the boy asked why he couldn't continue on with such frivolous and inconsequential arrogance and behavior. "C'mon, Ron..." Alas, walking away was a path too easy for fate to agree with, and the pinched-faced teen with white-blond hair spat in the wake of the two mismatched friends.
"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter? So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?" Time virtually stoped, and brown eyes sharpened as they gave away to unbridled rage and utter loathing.
"You know your mother, Malfoy?" Ron Weasley spoke, not giving a chance to Harry Potter nor the girl that had decided to voice her concerns. "That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?" Harry's lip twitched to form a slightly amused smirk, though his eyes came away as conflicted, though they quickly shifted back to a blank stare. Not that anyone noticed, of course, but if one had, they would have found it rather odd. Malfoy's pale face, however, went slightly pink.
"Don't you dare insult my mother, Weasley."
"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," said Ron, turning away. And the cloud slowly dispersed back into thin lines and small groups. The trio made their way to the library, Ronald only for the reason that he wanted nothing more to do with the terrible talk of planets they had had earlier that day- the dark-haired boy had been glad he'd been encouraged to give up the subject- and Harry only for the reason that he had a rather conceited view to opinionate on in a class taught by a ghost. The very first day and he already had piles of homework that lay up to his knees! And just as they were about to reach the alcove of nicely carved wood, a bang was brought to the trios attention.
Several of the pedestrianing people screamed and rushed off in a large gaggle of hands and legs and nails scratching flushed faces and hairs pulling and braids coming out (chaos really). Harry felt something white-hot graze the side of his face, and he plunged his hands into a common black robe for his wand. But, before he'd even touched it, a second bang was sounded, and a roar much akin to an enraged beast's echoed through the hall.
"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"
Everyone spun around, the crowd towards the end of the hall though teetered terrifyingly before groans were heard as everyone found themselves on the ground. A man with a copious amount of horrible scars slashed across his misshapen face, with a large chunk of flesh missing from his bulbous nose, whirring glass eye that appeared to have been jammed into his socket- coupled with a watery blue one- and a wooden clunk heard against the stone as he came near to the three and a new rodent of sorts that stood in unbridled fear. Mad-Eye Moody was not a man to be tried with. Nor was he a man anyone of the student body- and anyone of the wizarding body in general- wanted to fight.
There was terrified silence in the now once more filled hall. Nobody but the ex-Auror was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry- at least, the watery eye was looking at Harry; the other spinning one was pointing into the back of his head in a most uncomfortable position that no natural eye could ever hope to achieve.
"Did he get you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.
"No," Harry Potter snapped to attention, and rubbed his hand against the grazed cheek, checking for any unwarranted marking. He smiled to himself slightly at the unseen turn of events- though a certain... eccentric, bug-eyed woman would claim otherwise. "Missed."
"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted, and once more, everyone in the hall flinched and their faces twisted to expressions of shock and disturbance. It was such a shame that no Defence professor could ever be a decent fellow, though no one would voice such concerns to this certain... fellow for fear of their lives.
"L-leave - what?"
"Not you- him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to a large, lumbering figure, who had just frozen with a stance of his toes set on their tips, about to pick up a white ferret. It was a rather docile and dainty position. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head. And though Harry was not well versed with how glass-eyes worked, he knew that it should have been obvious that one that moved of it's own accord would not harbor any normal abilities either.
The disfigured man started to limp towards the oafish boy that was clutching the ferret with one hand, while the other- slightly bigger one- was standing just behind him, an unknown expression on his face, but one that looked remarkably like confusion. As Alastor Moody approached the duo, the white rodent gave a terrifies squeak! and took off, streaking towards the dungeons.
"I don't think so!" roared the man, pointing his wand at the ferret again- it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the cobbled floor, and then bounced upward once more. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in obvious pain. The crowd only looked on in shock, and Harry Potter's expression was sallow and disturbed unlike his Ron Weasley who looked greatly amused. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..." The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. "Never - do - that - again-" with each word the ferret was awarded another sickening bounce. And though the crowd was oddly immersed in the brutal embarrassment that the ferret was going through, no one noticed five people parting to let a stern which through.
"Professor Moody!" a familiar, indignant, voice sounded throughout the Entrance Hall, and everyone snapped to look at a stern which with black, greying, hair that was stretched back into a tight bun that hung at the nape of her neck, and a smart witches hat resting on her head. Minerva McGonagall looked appalled and furious- even though her hands were occupied by a stack of books- and several of the students in the vicinity flinched at the ire that was radiating off her.
"Hello, Professor," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret higher still. His watery eye didn't shift from its position, but the glass one lolled to the side and rolled around to spot the headmistress in the crowd.
"What- what are you doing?" her eyes were following the bouncing ferret and its terrified squeals.
"Teaching."
"Teach- Moody, is that a student?" The books spilled out of the witch's arms, and a few covers and bindings burst open, scattering the parchment that inhabited them everywhere, as the bounced down the stairs. If looks could kill, half of the student population would, in fact, be dead. And several of said students flinched and ran away in fright at the thunderous expression McGonagall wore.
"Yep," Moody said simply, and the witch could only leave her mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish.
"No!" She ran down the steps with her wand in hand, and a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.
"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment! Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"
"He might've mentioned it, yeah," the man scratched his chin unconcernedly, "but I though a good sharp shock-"
"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!" The Headmistress snapped, and her eyes stared at the other man's (both glass and real) with steel and cold hatred in them.
"I'll do that, then," Mad-Eye Moody said looking away, staring at Malfoy with great dislike. The younger wizard who was still on the floor, had his pale eyes watering with pain and humiliation, and when the older man looked down upon him, he looked malevolently up at the ex-Auror and muttered something in which the words 'my father' were distinguishable.
"Oh yeah?" All murmurings had ceased, and the crowd appeared to have grown in size as everyone watched the wizard limp forwards a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy... You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son; you tell him that from me. Now! Your head of House'll be Snape, will it?"
"Yes," the voice that spoke was resentful, and no one could mistake the loathing that was on Draco Malfoy's face for anything else.
"Hmm... another old friend. I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. Come on, you..." And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons. Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen and broken books, causing them to soar up in the air and back into her arms.
The trio walked forward as the girl- who had a mess of bushy hair and bright, copper skin- huffed at the misconduct. And Harry Potter just smiled nervously at the two, as his shoulder was knocked back by a stoic girl and her yapping friend that seemed to be speaking in a hurried fashion on what had just occurred. The dark-haired wizard stumbled, though he didn't mind, and simply brushed himself off as he caught up to his two friends that were sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.