1 Chapter 3: Cleanliness is Godliness
(A/N: How do you get rid of these numbers at the top?)
John tried to maintain his optimism as he approached the Merlin building, which contained the main offices of the Ministry of Magic. The meeting with Dumbledore hadn't been encouraging, and he didn't even know this, John looked at the card, Swift person. But he told himself that anyone would listen if he stated his case well enough.
Walking in the lobby, John noticed that some spell had vaporized the dirt off his boots before he walked on the solid gold floor. He wondered how many poor people that floor would feed. He had been thinking about things like that a lot lately.
The walls under the vaulted ceiling were filled with paintings of famous wizards. He saw two wizards in paint-splattered robes arguing while the figure they were painting looked bored. Even though the top of his head hadn't been painted on yet, John recognized Harry Potter. They had been in the same house at Hogwarts, but John was a few years older and they didn't talk much. He seemed like a nice enough sort, though. John bet that Potter, with all his fame, never had to deal with crap like this.
He walked up to an oak panel on the wall and said the password on the card.
It slid aside to reveal a set of randomly moving stone steps. John sighed and began to climb. Wizards seemed to like to use at least eight spells for something that required twenty pounds worth of muggle hardware. John recognized that he was just trying to stop thinking about Rebecca, and pushed the thought aside so he could concentrate on his argument. He knew it was good, and if he presented it in a calm, logical manner, Swift would have to listen.
The door at the top of the stairs swung open to a richly appointed office where all the furniture was covered with red dragon hide. A bald, sweaty looking man sat behind a massive desk.
"John!" said the man who could only be Swift. "Come in and take a load off." John always found it sleazy when people he had never met before addressed him like an old friend. He was too wired to sit down, and instead stood in front of the desk.
"So, John," said Swift. "Dumbledore tells me you're at the top of your class. Maybe you'll be after my job soon." He followed this with a very loud, fake laugh. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," said John, "but my friend isn't. You see she-"
"Oh," interrupted Swift, "a man who doesn't like to beat around the bush. I admire that. I've never been one for small talk, so I thank you for not requiring it. I'll return the favor by getting right down to business." He slid a form letter across the desk. "This is a letter rejecting your request. You can fill in the details yourself, if you feel it necessary."
John was too stunned to be angry. "Rejection? But I haven't even told you-"
"I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking," interrupted Swift. "He surely couldn't have thought I would break the rules for some muggle. That man is entirely too naïve for his station."
The powerful countercurses that pervaded the building were the only thing that kept John from cursing Swift right there. "I'm only asking for one spell! My best friend is dying! Let me tell you about her, she's-"
"I'm not interested in your maudlin little descriptions, Mr. Dennison," said Swift. "Policy says no magical aid for muggles without extraordinary circumstances. I wish I could help you, but I'm bound by policy."
"Who made the policy?" John yelled, gripping the front of the desk. "I'll talk to him!"
"I did, of course," replied Swift, without a trace of irony. "Now leave my office, I have another appointment."
John screamed and tore the blotter off the desk. He threw it against the wall and the inkbottle shattered, spraying its contents on the dragon hide wallpaper. Swift sighed, took out his wand, and teleported John outside the building.
The pager on John's belt started to vibrate when he found himself outside. He was still pissed at Swift, but he also vaguely thankful for muggle technology when he looked down at the message. REBECCA DYING. SHE WANTS YOU. John didn't know if he could calm down enough to apparate.
Swift said a few words and the objects on his desk flew back into place. He made a note to have the aurors watch that Dennison kid. Some people could snap over anything..
(A/N: How do you get rid of these numbers at the top?)
John tried to maintain his optimism as he approached the Merlin building, which contained the main offices of the Ministry of Magic. The meeting with Dumbledore hadn't been encouraging, and he didn't even know this, John looked at the card, Swift person. But he told himself that anyone would listen if he stated his case well enough.
Walking in the lobby, John noticed that some spell had vaporized the dirt off his boots before he walked on the solid gold floor. He wondered how many poor people that floor would feed. He had been thinking about things like that a lot lately.
The walls under the vaulted ceiling were filled with paintings of famous wizards. He saw two wizards in paint-splattered robes arguing while the figure they were painting looked bored. Even though the top of his head hadn't been painted on yet, John recognized Harry Potter. They had been in the same house at Hogwarts, but John was a few years older and they didn't talk much. He seemed like a nice enough sort, though. John bet that Potter, with all his fame, never had to deal with crap like this.
He walked up to an oak panel on the wall and said the password on the card.
It slid aside to reveal a set of randomly moving stone steps. John sighed and began to climb. Wizards seemed to like to use at least eight spells for something that required twenty pounds worth of muggle hardware. John recognized that he was just trying to stop thinking about Rebecca, and pushed the thought aside so he could concentrate on his argument. He knew it was good, and if he presented it in a calm, logical manner, Swift would have to listen.
The door at the top of the stairs swung open to a richly appointed office where all the furniture was covered with red dragon hide. A bald, sweaty looking man sat behind a massive desk.
"John!" said the man who could only be Swift. "Come in and take a load off." John always found it sleazy when people he had never met before addressed him like an old friend. He was too wired to sit down, and instead stood in front of the desk.
"So, John," said Swift. "Dumbledore tells me you're at the top of your class. Maybe you'll be after my job soon." He followed this with a very loud, fake laugh. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," said John, "but my friend isn't. You see she-"
"Oh," interrupted Swift, "a man who doesn't like to beat around the bush. I admire that. I've never been one for small talk, so I thank you for not requiring it. I'll return the favor by getting right down to business." He slid a form letter across the desk. "This is a letter rejecting your request. You can fill in the details yourself, if you feel it necessary."
John was too stunned to be angry. "Rejection? But I haven't even told you-"
"I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking," interrupted Swift. "He surely couldn't have thought I would break the rules for some muggle. That man is entirely too naïve for his station."
The powerful countercurses that pervaded the building were the only thing that kept John from cursing Swift right there. "I'm only asking for one spell! My best friend is dying! Let me tell you about her, she's-"
"I'm not interested in your maudlin little descriptions, Mr. Dennison," said Swift. "Policy says no magical aid for muggles without extraordinary circumstances. I wish I could help you, but I'm bound by policy."
"Who made the policy?" John yelled, gripping the front of the desk. "I'll talk to him!"
"I did, of course," replied Swift, without a trace of irony. "Now leave my office, I have another appointment."
John screamed and tore the blotter off the desk. He threw it against the wall and the inkbottle shattered, spraying its contents on the dragon hide wallpaper. Swift sighed, took out his wand, and teleported John outside the building.
The pager on John's belt started to vibrate when he found himself outside. He was still pissed at Swift, but he also vaguely thankful for muggle technology when he looked down at the message. REBECCA DYING. SHE WANTS YOU. John didn't know if he could calm down enough to apparate.
Swift said a few words and the objects on his desk flew back into place. He made a note to have the aurors watch that Dennison kid. Some people could snap over anything..
