Mafalda Hopkirk brushed herself off before knocking on the door to the
Aurora Headquarters in the Ministry of Magic. She smoothed her hair down
and smiled at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had opened the door.
"Mafalda, how nice to see you," he murmured.
"Yes, well, I wish this was only a social call. However, it seems we have a problem that may or may not be major." As she finished talking, Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. This was not a woman to get fussy over something little. It must be serious.
"What seems to be the problem," he asked, listening intently.
"It seems that young Harry Potter has gone slightly... rebellious, perhaps. He vanished his uncles belt, and then used a...a Diffindo on the Ministry owl that took him his warning letter." Shacklebolt winced. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be ripped in half.
"I think this is a little more serious then we thought," Shacklebolt murmured thoughtfully. Potter was a special case, everyone knew that. Not just because he was famous, but because of his supposed power over Lord Voldemort. Most people put their faith back in Harry after the infamous articles by Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet had been claimed false. They couldn't jut rush in and knock the boy out, even if he had single-mindedly ripped a living creature in half. "The minister shouldn't be busy. Let's go see what he has to say."
Together they walked down the corridors to the relatively empty elevator, earning a few odd stares at the grim looks on their faces. The both stepped into the elevator and watched the walls sliding past. When the cool female voice rang overhead announcing the appropriate level, they stepped off the lift and hurried down the next corridor. They drew a few more looks, but ignored them and made for a large set of double doors, inlaid with gold. Shacklebolt raised a hand and knocked sharply.
The voices inside were cut off suddenly and there was the sound of footsteps. The door opened to reveal the portly Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, looking somewhat annoyed to have been interrupted.
"Yes?" he said shortly, looking at the two people standing in front of him. What a curious pair, he thought.
"We have something we think you should hear," Mafalda said. She looked directly into Fudge's eyes and he grunted his assent, motioning them in. They stopped halfway towards the table and chairs situated in the middle of the room, slightly surprised to see Albus Dumbledore sitting at the table, holding a cup of tea.
"Good afternoon," he beamed at them. "Ah, perhaps I should step outside?" He made to rise, but Shacklebolt stopped him.
"No, Albus, it might be better if you stayed."
The Headmaster of Hogwarts, looking slightly bemused, sat down.
"Its about Harry Potter...he's become very...destructive," Mafalda said hesitantly. Dumbledores eyes darkened and he pulled his chair in.
"Details?"
Harry picked up a piece of glass from his fetal position on the floor. He looked at it, holding it up to the thin light streaming through the window. The light glittered of its jagged edge. Harry thought momentarily that it might've come from the sneak-o-scope Ron had given him, but the thought slid easily from his mind. Holding the piece tight, he dragged it along the wall, leaving a hideous scratch. A strange half smile stretch its painful path along the wizards mouth.
Almost absentmindedly, he imitated his previous movement.
On his arm.
A soft hiccup-y sigh escaped his mouth as he watched the thin trail of blood seep down his wrist. With curious eyes he watched it pool in the crook of his elbows. Frowning, he dragged the piece of glass through his arm again, harder this time, and the blood flow was much thicker and faster. A half-grin crossed his mouth, making him look painfully thin and unhealthy. He almost giggled at the sight of something so vibrant and alive on his pale, dead flesh.
In an instant, his face changed. A snarl wrought his otherwise delicately- strong features into a mask of hatred. With no apparent reason, he hurled the glass shard at a wall and watched in agony as the many pieces fell to the ground, shining in the sunlight and making him feel impure, tainted. He cowered, shielding his eyes.
Looking the other way, he stood up. A hollow roaring sound rushed through his ears as he fought off waves of nausea. He stumbled over to his now filthy bed, wondering if he needed new glasses – his vision was swimming. He clutched at the frame of the bed, guiding himself onto the mattress. He sat on it, gathering the sheets around him. He watched the red stain spread, then fell over, unconscious.
Dumbledore knocked on the front door of the Dursley's house. He waited a moment before the door opened to reveal the astonishingly thin Petunia. She peered at him in fright.
"Good day, or evening," he said politely, smiling at her. The quickly dying sunlight glinted of his silvery beard, almost giving the effect of flames.
"What do you want?" she snapped uncertainly.
"Why, to see Harry, of course."
Petunia wanted nothing to do with the brat. She didn't know quite how to respond.
"He's up in his room," Vernon's voice came from behind Petunia. "You may go and see him...if you can. He's gone insane." With that, Vernon grabbed Petunia's arm and yanked her into the kitchen. Dumbledore stepped into the over-clean house and shut the door behind himself. Walking up the stairs, he looked at the doors, immediately seeing Harry's. It had scratches all over it. He sighed and knocked on the door.
No response.
"Harry?" he called gently. "Harry, can you hear me?" Still nothing. Tensing himself, Dumbledore turned the doorknob. The sight that greeted him was appalling. Blood, broken glass and shattered wood lay all about the wastelands of Harry's room. The sheets, holding an obviously curled up Harry, were soaked in blood.
"Sweet Merlin," Dumbledore whispered. He whipped out his wand and rushed over to his young wards bed. Stripping the sheets off the bed, he threw them in a corner. He gently rolled Harry onto his back and straightened out his arms and legs, which were still curled tightly against his body.
"You look like you've lost a lot of blood..." Dumbledore murmured. He looked down at the now faintly bleeding arm and sighed. Quickly, he murmured ?, and watched as Harry's arm was wrapped in bandages.
"Mobilicorpus," he murmured, and as he held Harry in the air, he summoned new bed sheets and quickly settled them over the bed. "Much better," he murmured while setting the boy back down. He swallowed back a sob as he looked over the destruction in front of him and in his memories. And it's the poor boys birthday, too, he thought sadly. He stood up and stretched out his back muscles to relieve the cramp of kneeling. He looked around at the shards of destruction littering the floor.
"Reparo Totalus," the old man whispered. He watched as the cupboards, glass, and parchment floated back together. He breathed deeply – that took a little more energy than a normal reparo. There wasn't much e could do about the walls – that required a more delicate touch. Instead he summoned a chair and sat down beside Harry's bed, waiting for him to awaken.
Downstairs, Vernon and Petunia sat at the kitchen table with their Duddikens. Vernon had a baseball bat. Dudley held his Smelting stick. Petunia had her faithful frying pan. They were slightly perturbed by the various muffled thumps and vaguely heard spells. They huddled together, glaring at the ceiling, checking the staircase every now and then, as thought there was a murderer in their house, and not just a kindhearted wizard. To them, there wasn't a difference.
Authors notes:
Well, that was fun to write. Plot scenes keep coming from all over, so if you want an idea incorporated then you'd better hit the review button fast. The plot seems to be settling like a deck of cards. If that makes sense. If not, oh well. Be assured that I know what I'm doing now. Still room for more ideas though!
Yes, I am also aware that the exact locale of the Ministers office was probably totally inaccurate, as well as the office itself. But as I had nothing to work with...that was the best I could come up with. You see, this story I'm trying to keep 'straight': that is, no making new spells, no new characters, no resurrection or the like. Just using what you know. The other story which I will be posting soon will have lots of new characters, spells, plot, new main character, even. That's right, I'm taking Harry out of the spotlight! ...until its sequel.
Snake
"Mafalda, how nice to see you," he murmured.
"Yes, well, I wish this was only a social call. However, it seems we have a problem that may or may not be major." As she finished talking, Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. This was not a woman to get fussy over something little. It must be serious.
"What seems to be the problem," he asked, listening intently.
"It seems that young Harry Potter has gone slightly... rebellious, perhaps. He vanished his uncles belt, and then used a...a Diffindo on the Ministry owl that took him his warning letter." Shacklebolt winced. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be ripped in half.
"I think this is a little more serious then we thought," Shacklebolt murmured thoughtfully. Potter was a special case, everyone knew that. Not just because he was famous, but because of his supposed power over Lord Voldemort. Most people put their faith back in Harry after the infamous articles by Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet had been claimed false. They couldn't jut rush in and knock the boy out, even if he had single-mindedly ripped a living creature in half. "The minister shouldn't be busy. Let's go see what he has to say."
Together they walked down the corridors to the relatively empty elevator, earning a few odd stares at the grim looks on their faces. The both stepped into the elevator and watched the walls sliding past. When the cool female voice rang overhead announcing the appropriate level, they stepped off the lift and hurried down the next corridor. They drew a few more looks, but ignored them and made for a large set of double doors, inlaid with gold. Shacklebolt raised a hand and knocked sharply.
The voices inside were cut off suddenly and there was the sound of footsteps. The door opened to reveal the portly Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, looking somewhat annoyed to have been interrupted.
"Yes?" he said shortly, looking at the two people standing in front of him. What a curious pair, he thought.
"We have something we think you should hear," Mafalda said. She looked directly into Fudge's eyes and he grunted his assent, motioning them in. They stopped halfway towards the table and chairs situated in the middle of the room, slightly surprised to see Albus Dumbledore sitting at the table, holding a cup of tea.
"Good afternoon," he beamed at them. "Ah, perhaps I should step outside?" He made to rise, but Shacklebolt stopped him.
"No, Albus, it might be better if you stayed."
The Headmaster of Hogwarts, looking slightly bemused, sat down.
"Its about Harry Potter...he's become very...destructive," Mafalda said hesitantly. Dumbledores eyes darkened and he pulled his chair in.
"Details?"
Harry picked up a piece of glass from his fetal position on the floor. He looked at it, holding it up to the thin light streaming through the window. The light glittered of its jagged edge. Harry thought momentarily that it might've come from the sneak-o-scope Ron had given him, but the thought slid easily from his mind. Holding the piece tight, he dragged it along the wall, leaving a hideous scratch. A strange half smile stretch its painful path along the wizards mouth.
Almost absentmindedly, he imitated his previous movement.
On his arm.
A soft hiccup-y sigh escaped his mouth as he watched the thin trail of blood seep down his wrist. With curious eyes he watched it pool in the crook of his elbows. Frowning, he dragged the piece of glass through his arm again, harder this time, and the blood flow was much thicker and faster. A half-grin crossed his mouth, making him look painfully thin and unhealthy. He almost giggled at the sight of something so vibrant and alive on his pale, dead flesh.
In an instant, his face changed. A snarl wrought his otherwise delicately- strong features into a mask of hatred. With no apparent reason, he hurled the glass shard at a wall and watched in agony as the many pieces fell to the ground, shining in the sunlight and making him feel impure, tainted. He cowered, shielding his eyes.
Looking the other way, he stood up. A hollow roaring sound rushed through his ears as he fought off waves of nausea. He stumbled over to his now filthy bed, wondering if he needed new glasses – his vision was swimming. He clutched at the frame of the bed, guiding himself onto the mattress. He sat on it, gathering the sheets around him. He watched the red stain spread, then fell over, unconscious.
Dumbledore knocked on the front door of the Dursley's house. He waited a moment before the door opened to reveal the astonishingly thin Petunia. She peered at him in fright.
"Good day, or evening," he said politely, smiling at her. The quickly dying sunlight glinted of his silvery beard, almost giving the effect of flames.
"What do you want?" she snapped uncertainly.
"Why, to see Harry, of course."
Petunia wanted nothing to do with the brat. She didn't know quite how to respond.
"He's up in his room," Vernon's voice came from behind Petunia. "You may go and see him...if you can. He's gone insane." With that, Vernon grabbed Petunia's arm and yanked her into the kitchen. Dumbledore stepped into the over-clean house and shut the door behind himself. Walking up the stairs, he looked at the doors, immediately seeing Harry's. It had scratches all over it. He sighed and knocked on the door.
No response.
"Harry?" he called gently. "Harry, can you hear me?" Still nothing. Tensing himself, Dumbledore turned the doorknob. The sight that greeted him was appalling. Blood, broken glass and shattered wood lay all about the wastelands of Harry's room. The sheets, holding an obviously curled up Harry, were soaked in blood.
"Sweet Merlin," Dumbledore whispered. He whipped out his wand and rushed over to his young wards bed. Stripping the sheets off the bed, he threw them in a corner. He gently rolled Harry onto his back and straightened out his arms and legs, which were still curled tightly against his body.
"You look like you've lost a lot of blood..." Dumbledore murmured. He looked down at the now faintly bleeding arm and sighed. Quickly, he murmured ?, and watched as Harry's arm was wrapped in bandages.
"Mobilicorpus," he murmured, and as he held Harry in the air, he summoned new bed sheets and quickly settled them over the bed. "Much better," he murmured while setting the boy back down. He swallowed back a sob as he looked over the destruction in front of him and in his memories. And it's the poor boys birthday, too, he thought sadly. He stood up and stretched out his back muscles to relieve the cramp of kneeling. He looked around at the shards of destruction littering the floor.
"Reparo Totalus," the old man whispered. He watched as the cupboards, glass, and parchment floated back together. He breathed deeply – that took a little more energy than a normal reparo. There wasn't much e could do about the walls – that required a more delicate touch. Instead he summoned a chair and sat down beside Harry's bed, waiting for him to awaken.
Downstairs, Vernon and Petunia sat at the kitchen table with their Duddikens. Vernon had a baseball bat. Dudley held his Smelting stick. Petunia had her faithful frying pan. They were slightly perturbed by the various muffled thumps and vaguely heard spells. They huddled together, glaring at the ceiling, checking the staircase every now and then, as thought there was a murderer in their house, and not just a kindhearted wizard. To them, there wasn't a difference.
Authors notes:
Well, that was fun to write. Plot scenes keep coming from all over, so if you want an idea incorporated then you'd better hit the review button fast. The plot seems to be settling like a deck of cards. If that makes sense. If not, oh well. Be assured that I know what I'm doing now. Still room for more ideas though!
Yes, I am also aware that the exact locale of the Ministers office was probably totally inaccurate, as well as the office itself. But as I had nothing to work with...that was the best I could come up with. You see, this story I'm trying to keep 'straight': that is, no making new spells, no new characters, no resurrection or the like. Just using what you know. The other story which I will be posting soon will have lots of new characters, spells, plot, new main character, even. That's right, I'm taking Harry out of the spotlight! ...until its sequel.
Snake