REWRITTEN
Chapter One: Of Koalas and Chaos
I believe in self assertion,
Destiny is like diversion
Now it seems I've got my head on straight
I'm a freak without provision
Seems I made the right decision
Try to turn back now, it might be too late...
Self, "Stay Home"
Somewhere, the sun was rising...
Pink lights streaked the sky, tinted the cottonwood leaves, gave a reddish tone to the first few owls bearing Daily Prophets to their customers, among other things. They all seemed to have the same destination: a castle squatting on the crest of a hill, its stonework crossing from medieval into slightly unreal. For example, there was a neon-green Bug parked in front of the iron gate, a blonde leaning slightly on its hood as she stared up at the castle.
Her eyes were fixed on an open window set high in the first of the towers.
The room was filled with a gentle snoring. As the bed's occupant exhaled, a shelf of dangerous-looking potions shivered slightly above the headboard; where their formidable numbers ended, a copy of Lord of the Rings sat, its well-loved pages dog-eared and stained with acidic fingerprints. Everything was slowly being tinted pink as the sun's rays filtered in, half-blinding, coloring everything they touched (unless, of course, the item is already pink).
And it is doubtful that Hello Kitty sunglasses can get much pinker.
The alarm went off.
Oyster mumbled blearily and stuck a hand out of bed, fumbling blindly on top of his bedside table. He successfully knocked off an empty Coca Cola can, a Remembrall that did not belong to him, his wand, and the sunglasses. The drone went on, and he mumbled something else, a word that indicated he was probably a little more awake.
His hand found the clock, and pushed a couple of buttons in vain. It was growing in volume now.
With groggy accuracy, he made a freckled fist and slammed it down on the clock, effectively smashing it without opening his eyes. If the clock still said 7:00 that afternoon, who would know? The useless thing was old anyway...
Oyster's eyes flew open as the alarm continued to beep. What was wrong with the stupid batteries? Did it even have batteries? He couldn't remember. He didn't think he even had an alarm clock. Staring at it, he rapped on the top of the clock. The drone hiccupped slightly and then continued.
Slightly afraid now, he sat up in bed and tentatively poked the OFF button. It bit him.
"Bloody hell!" Red juice welled up from the nip on his thumb. He stared at it, wondering, How does an alarm clock bite someone?
The drone went on, gaining volume and pitch, and Oyster picked it up gingerly. He carried it over to the window, opened the panes, and threw it out.
The blonde laughed at him, leaning heavily against her lime-colored car. Oyster swore as he noticed her. Understanding and annoyance suddenly dawned in his brown eyes and he leaned out the window. "Next time you want me to get up on time, send an owl, not a monster!" he shouted down. "The thing bit me, Janet!"
"I don't care. You probably deserved it," she called. "Get your scrawny ass down here! We're going to be late! Or did you forget that I told you to be ready by seven?"
"Why don't you pick on Keith for a change?" he demanded, yanking robes on over his pink pajamas.
"Because he doesn't attempt to sleep for two days at a time!"
It was true. They both knew it.
"Are you coming?!"
Oyster growled something, snatched up his wand and a tattered Nimbus 2000 that lay by his bed, and vaulted out the window. A stunt that would have made Minerva flinch.
It's bloody cool for mid-July, the redhead thought as he descended. The fact that their premises was in Canada might have had something to do with the chill breeze, its brittle fingers ruffling his trademark auburn hair.
"You'd better have a comb or something in the car," he muttered, more to himself than to Janet as his broom weaved and plunged towards the ground. "I'll get you for this one. Where on earth do you find these things? A biting alarm clock? That cuts me deep, Janet, real deep."
His feet skimmed the grass and he came to a halt abruptly, sliding from flight into a dead-out run for the car. Janet Starlight watched him with a scowl as she held the passenger door open. "Get in. Right now. I can't believe you're doing this to me. I told you not to be late bloody eight times!"
"More like eighty," Oyster said under his breath as he climbed in.
Janet slammed the car door on his broomstick. "Jerk."
"Terrorist."
The Ministry of Magic for North America was in New York. The earlier ministers had built it in the shabbiest, most dilapidated part of the city, shrewdly assuming that most intelligent Muggles would not be caught dead around the black neighborhoods. There were drugs, brawls, and uncensored activity rumored to lie thick around those streets. However, as the old riddle would have it: rumor is invisible but everywhere, swift as a wind but has no feet, and has as many tongues that speak yet has no face...
Nobody ever thought to ask if the disrepair was intended.
Similar to its twin in Britain, the American Ministry of Magic's entrance was an old, unstable telephone booth, with a directory stained past recognition and numbers faded to dust from their square buttons. Cobwebs robed the dirty glass, and dust, long undisturbed, was scuffled and scraped to one side as two travelers entered, looking around with shifty expressions.
The ministers had thought that perhaps their precaution would keep idiots out. This would have been a marvelous system if they had warded against idiocy in general, not just Muggles.
"How do you turn this thing on? It said press 24264 and I did and it didn't do anything except flash the little light. Why the hell do they even have this light? It's so stupid. It doesn't even do anyth- what, it's on? How can you tell? Well nobody told me that the light meant it was on! They used to have a funky little buzzer! I want to know what happened to the buzzer!"
Janet pushed her incompetent partner in magic aside with disgust and stepped up to the receiver. Condescendingly, she pressed 24264 with slow deliberation. The white light flashed again.
"This is Janet Starlight," she informed the receiver, speaking with careful enunciation. "Oyster and I are here for the Ministry hearing at seven fifteen?"
"It was green. Bright green. And it did this cute little thing where it hiccupped at the end. It was nasal... it reminded me of the cucumber person from Veggie Tales... wow, and cucumbers are even green!"
"How can a buzzer be nasal?" demanded Janet, distracted for a moment by her companion's rambling. "It doesn't even have a nose to be nasal with."
They were interrupted by a cool female voice, copyrighted by the British Ministry. Two Visitor pins rattled out of the change slot as she spoke. "Thank you for your time... have a pleasant visit at the Ministry."
Muttering darkly to herself, the blonde pinned one to her pale blue hoodie. Her companion inspected his carefully first, however.
OYSTER
WET CARPETS FOUNDER
MINISTRY HEARING
"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium," the cool female voice declaimed in their ears.
"What?" Janet Starlight protested as the booth prepared itself to descend into the lower levels of New York City. "We don't have time, we're going to be late!"
"I don't think we have much of a choice," Oyster commented, watching the booth intently as it gave a massive shudder and began to descend into the suddenly permeable asphalt. The vandalized scenery around them passed out of view. His stomach clenched at the eeriness. Riding an elevator was an entirely different sensation... it never made you feel that you were being swallowed up by the earth.
Janet was swaying from one foot to the other, bobbing nervously as she, too, watched the Underground rise up around them. "We're going to be late..." she repeated anxiously.
Every year, before the first semester of their college started, the trio had a Ministry hearing. They were bloody good teachers (if slightly insane), and everyone knew that, but Keith was poor, and Oyster and Janet had put all their savings into construction of Wet Carpets. It cost a lot to start the school (especially since they had just emerged from Hogwarts, with hardly a Knut in their pockets), but the three soon discovered that it cost nearly as much to maintain it. Nevertheless, it was one of only three wizarding colleges, and so the Ministry granted them a generous lease for its continuation every year... if they could be convinced that Wet Carpets was more than a pathetic whim. So far, Janet had won them three sponsorships: it had covered all of their first three years.
Now, in mid-July, with a month and a half to go before the college would open its fourth year, they needed rent again.
Hence the hearing.
They had just finished their third round of instruction, meaning that the upcoming year's end would herald the graduation of Seniors. Janet was far more worried about it than the boys were; she kept saying that they would have more students this year in Wet Carpets than they knew how to handle, since all four years' worth would be filled, from freshman to Senior. Their castle would cost more than ever to maintain.
Oyster didn't think it was that big a deal, but if Janet Starlight did, than the Ministry might. And it was the Ministry that was responsible for the growing knot in his stomach.
The telephone booth shuddered to a stop.
Both twenty-one-year-olds barreled out of the tattered confinement. There was a moment when they stood, completely lost, as a crowd surged around them, bits of conversation piecing together to form a kaleidoscope of confusion.
"Morning Peebles! What news from Egypt's unit?"
"Chuck got flamed by a what??"
"I kept telling you, someone's forging Gallions, but noo..."
"Hey Daffy!"
"Step right this way, please..."
"- tried the new Muggle thing, some sort of glazed doughnut, odd stuff-"
"Fabulous hat, Eileen..."
"'M a Wal-Mart customer..."
"Excuse me? Step over here, please?"
Oyster became aware that this last was directed to them. A short, stocky man with pointed ears was bobbing up and down on the stone floor nervously, much as Janet had in the booth. He tapped his friend on the shoulder and gestured. She let out a huff of impatience. "We don't have time!"
"This will just take a moment," the short wizard said sympathetically, and skimmed them both over with a slender golden rod, being efficient in his haste. "Wand check?"
Silently Oyster handed his over. Janet groaned.
"Used ten years, oak, nine inches, hair of a..." The wizard stumbled. "purple koala, is that correct?"
"Yes," the redhead said tersely.
"Funny, we had one of those just this morning..." their guide mused as he accepted Janet's wand. "Never seen the like. British bloke, same accent as you two."
"Keith!" She jumped in her excitement. "Where is he now, do you know?"
"Ministry hearing, I believe, level five, courtroom five. Willow, twelve inches, hair of a purple koala. Ten years in use." He frowned at the slim wood. "Three in one day... that's unusual. Didn't think that purple koala hair was that popular anymore."
"Fascinating." Janet snatched at her wand and turned on her heel, staring wildly over the heads of the crowd. A Magical Brethren fountain, an exact replica of its twin in Britain, caught her eye across the lobby. Just beyond it was a sign that said Ministry Lifts. "There they are, Oyster, let's go!"
"Thank you," Oyster called to the affronted wizard. Janet grabbed his wrist and pulled him along.
"We're three minutes late!"
"Calm down, would you?" Oyster demanded as they skidded to a halt in front of the lifts. His companion danced frantically as she punched at the Down button. "Everybody's late to their hearings. It's traditional."
"How can you say that when the next two semesters of Wet Carpets depend on our punctuality!"
"Janet. Breathe with me, okay? It's a twenty-minute conference. It's not that important! Keith is probably already th-" Oyster was cut short as Janet yanked him into an empty lift.
"Level five!" she hissed at the audio –command panel.
Her friend turned a sickly white as the wizard elevator dropped obediently. "Oooh, I'm glad I didn't have time for breakfast..."
They were hurled backwards as it sprang to a halt. "Level Five: Judiciary Courtrooms, Wizengamot, Leases and Ministry Grants, trial offices," a mechanical voice recited dully.
"Come on," Janet gasped, as pale as Oyster, and dragged him out into the corridor.
He sprinted at her heels, sucking for air as the lithe blonde darted through the empty halls. Words burst in little bubbles from his lips. "I - don't – think – running is – necessary – not that – late! – slow d-"
She stopped abruptly. Oyster's legs pedaled themselves past her before they noticed, much to their owner's chagrin. Ignoring the succession of crashes behind her, Janet lifted a finger and traced the number on the bronze plaque.
"Courtroom five."
"Is that it?" Oyster lurched to her side.
She took in a huge breath and finally seemed to relax a little. Turning, she adjusted his robes so that they didn't show the pink cotton pajamas underneath.
"Yes. Try not to act stupid, will you?" She patted his head, a random but kind gesture.
The redhead decided that this would be a very good time not to say anything.
They went in.
"You're late."
It was the first thing Oyster heard as he stood in the light, blinking stupidly to adjust his eyes.
"His fault, Minister," Janet said piously. "He always tries to sleep as long as he can. I think the record is two days."
"We're not interested. Take your seats," the masculine voice rapped out.
A lease hearing was dissimilar to a trial, where the accused was isolated and possibly shackled. Instead, there were reserved seats to one side of the courtroom, just to the side of the nine-member jury. All members asking for the Ministry's lease were questioned, then timed, each allowed a two- minute speech. There was no Wizengamot assembled, for they dealt only with crime. The solemnity of the situation, however, was equally forbidding, as a voluntary jury voted for a grant or not.
This was where the American wizards' judicial differed from the Britain; the bank was really a branch of the Ministry, much as legislative is to government. The Minister and his peers themselves granted all huge land rights, as well as the larger of the allowances, and let the Gringotts managers decide smaller matters and handle transactions.
The pair of aspiring teachers knew the ritual well, after three previous hearings, and found their way over to their assigned seats.
Someone was already there.
Two someones.
"Keith!" Janet flung her arms around him. "You beat us here! You wouldn't have believed Oyster this morning, I had to set a bloody biting alarm clock."
Oyster was ignoring her. His eyes were fixed on the creature in Keith's lap.
"You brought Panda??" he hissed.
"Yes... I thought she could help us..." Keith asserted defensively, but in an undertone.
"It's a bloody freak of nature!"
"You didn't think she was a freak when we charged our wands with her hair!"
"'Cos purple koalas are magical, not intellectual! I can't believe this."
"You just don't like her 'cos she talks Latin and you don't know what she's saying!" Keith whispered furiously. "She's our mascot!"
"Will you be silent!" The Minister, a chap by the name of Tom Hanks, had a voice damning in its ferocity.
Janet squeaked. Oyster sighed and sat up obediently, though he cast another look at the purple koala sitting in Keith's lap. It blinked irritably at him and said, in tones loud enough for the whole courtroom to hear, "Vis consili expers mole ruit sua."
A portion of the jury started laughing as they deciphered the comment. The redhead exploded, on his feet in an instant. "See! Do you see! What does that even mean?"
"If we may," Tom began dangerously, as Keith began protesting loudly, "begin this entire assembly over?"
"That would be most wise," an incredibly dry voice commented from Tom's right.
All three miscreants stopped shouting at the sound of the familiar tones.
"P-professor?" Janet said blankly.
Oyster knew how she felt. None of their old teachers had even come to see Wet Carpets, much less attend a meeting to decide its fate. Most had just been bloody thankful to get rid of them, and turned their attention to more important matters, such as repairing the damage that their ventures had caused. Not one of their old teachers had even attempted to invest time for some madbrain college.
Certainly not Dumbledore!
A bewildered frown crossed Oyster's face. Why in God's name was Dumbledore here? He had never been concerned about Wet Carpets before... why was he suddenly so interested?
The sage wizard, for it was he, rose slowly to his feet on the other side of the Minister, frowning at his former students. The trio immediately sat up straight, muttering inaudible apologies.
"He must have got my letter," Oyster breathed to the others.
"Excellent discipline," Tom commented, nodding to Dumbledore. "Allow me to use that to get back to the subject of a sponsorship, for it is such discipline we look for in..." his stern gaze trailed on each one of them "...candidates."
"Self-discipline, or just discipline?" Janet piped before Oyster could step on her foot.
Dumbledore's eyebrows snapped together. "Both."
"This is a small matter. It shouldn't take us more than another ten minutes to sort out! Your purpose here?" Tom intervened, madly trying to get everyone back on a course of some formality.
This time it was Keith who spoke up, talking fast as he caught wind of his Minister's urgency. "We need a lease for our wizard's college, Wet Carpets."
"Why should we give it to you?"
"'Cos we're bloody broke," Janet muttered. This time Oyster could, and did, stomp on her foot, and she swore loud enough for the entire jury behind her to hear. One of them hacked into a Kleenex to hide her unholy giggles.
"Because we wish to educate, and prosper, and help our students prosper," Keith suggested, shooting a glare over his shoulder.
Tom was scowling. "Seems like you just want to make a commotion."
"That too," whispered Janet. Oyster sat on her.
"How much were you considering?" the Minister demanded of Keith, whom he seemed to have dubbed the sanest person there.
Keith looked at Janet, their treasurer. Composing herself, she named their amount.
Everyone else winced.
"That much?" Oyster hissed. "Try half of that!"
She ignored him. "We have to pay for board of nearly a hundred students. We pay minimal wage to our house-elves, in accordance with the S.P.E.W. committee." Dumbledore smiled to himself, remembering Hermione Granger's elation when the bill was passed in her sixth year. Almost two years ago now. "We also pay for food intake, spell provision, and general management, as well as an emergency reserve."
Tom stared at her and then at the clock. A meeting that was only supposed to take half an hour at the most was already half over. They had to speed things up if he was to get out in time for the International Quidditch conference.
"You each have two minutes," he sighed. "Tell us why we should give you so much."
Janet got to her feet, long strands of golden hair falling away from her face. Her countenance almost would have been pretty if she hadn't been frowning. "Three years ago we came to this Ministry with a proposal," she began, talking fast. "We had three thousand Gallions saved, which is a lot, but not nearly enough. We had nothing except for our wands, a purple koala, and an ambition. They told us – you told us – to go ahead and start making our childhood dream come to life.
"We did. We bought the premises and shaped the school with the best of our peers and some Ministry specialists. It's not as wonderful, or as intricate as Hogwarts-" and she flashed a timid smile at Dumbledore, who returned it heartily "-but it's enough.
"It's not enough for our students. They need food, and board, and above all, lessons to fulfill their time at our college. We are paid well, fairly well, by their applications. But not as many applied this year as we would like. In fact, we only have six freshmen, and our entire year depends on more students and more funding.
"We need the Ministry's help if we're going to turn Wet Carpets into a-"
The timer dinged, drowning out the words she murmured almost to herself. "A real school."
"Go," Tom ordered Oyster, unmoved by Janet's nostalgia. "Two minutes!"
He stood up as the blonde sat down, uncertain. Everyone was watching him; the nine jury members, Dumbledore, the Minister, his peers. For a moment his tongue was stuck. A diary moment.
"Go!" the Minister of North America all but shouted. He was entitled. He hadn't had caffeine that morning... damn Starbucks and its new working hours anyway.
Startled, the redhead was spurred into speech.
"I came to Hogwarts... ten years ago. And I met these two. And we just kind of. Clicked. We wanted to do something brilliant together. All right, we're not that composed. Or sane." Oyster fumbled for the right words. "But we are determined, and that's something that no amount of Gallions or Ministers can change!... If's we're broke, we'll teach on the streets. Or something. Cos it's what we always wanted to do. Right from the beginning. And our teachers won't speak for us 'cos we drove the lot bloody nuts, but..."
He thought for a long time. Janet buried her head in her hands in despair.
"We should get this sponsorship for the same reason we always have. We're trying to do something good."
Tom stared at him. Silence stretched on until the timer dinged.
"Alright. Keith, was it? Speak up, la- now what?"
Keith was holding up Panda. "She'll speak for me," he said proudly, displaying the koala to everyone in the room.
"I refuse to sit here and listen to a purple koala!" a member of the jury growled, fingering his ginger moustache. "This is insane! Why should we listen to it?"
"Inceptis gravibus plerumque et magna professis purpureus, late qui splendeat, unus et altar adsuiter pannus," Panda said coldly.
There was a moment of silence, and then Dumbledore began to clap, slowly but loudly, a twinkle glittering in his eyes. Two members of the jury, who had understood, joined him, chuckling softly.
Oyster pointed at it, shakily. "It's creepy isn't it?!"
Tom scowled. "I don't understand Latin. Will someone decipher it?"
"'Often on a work of grave purpose and high promises is tacked a purple patch or two, to give an effect of colour,'" Dumbledore quoted, looking over his half-moon glasses with approval. "Horace, 65-8 B.C. Let it speak, Tom. It's a smart one."
"Her," Keith murmured, barely audible, but still firm. "Panda is a her."
Tom silenced him as the koala began to speak, a human voice tinged slightly with femininity and the long slow language of leaves.
"Felices ter et amplius," Panda began, slowly. "Quos irrupta tenet copula nec malis divulsis querimoniis suprema citius solvet amor die."
"Horace again," commented Dumbledore. "'Thrice happy they, and more than thrice, whom an unbroken bond holds fast, and whom love, never torn asunder by foolish quarrellings, will not let loose until life's last day.'"
"Igneus est ollis vigor et caelestis origo seminibus."
"Virgil, 70-19 B.C. 'To these seeds a flame-like vigor pertains and an origin celestial,'" the Headmaster translated as the timer went off.
"She wasn't finished!" Keith protested.
"I don't have time for this," Tom declared disgustedly, head in hands. "I have a bloody conference! All in favor of denying them the lease, raise your hands."
Oyster didn't count fast enough. Was that four, or five out of the jury?
"In favor of giving it to them?"
The other four displayed palms, as well as Dumbledore. Five to five. The trio looked up at their Minister in desperation, begging without words.
He sat and glared at them for a while, and then at the clock.
"Oh, damn you all to hell. Take it, then." Getting to his feet, he swept out of the courtroom. The door banged shut on his muttering. "I'm already bloody late, going to plague me with those damn owls..."
There was a brief moment of incredulous silence. The jury members sighed and rose to their feet as one. Oyster's eyelid twitched slightly.
"WE GOT IT! WE GOT IT!"
Janet and Keith flung their arms around each other and squealed, dancing round in little happy circles as they repeated their new mantra. Panda ran away from their trampling feet. Filing out, the jury cast them looks, some disgusted, some amused.
Oyster looked up at Dumbledore, who was walking towards him purposefully. Passing close to his former student, he pressed an immense folder into the younger wizard's arms.
"Recommendations... I got your letter and put this together almost instantly," the sage headmaster commented dryly.
"Thank you." The redhead fumbled for a moment. "You saved us, pretty much. Up there."
Dumbledore shrugged and winked.
"Have a nice school year, Oyster."
"Oh, we will," Oyster whispered, looking down at the folder. "We will."
Dumbledore chuckled to himself, in recollection of some private jest, before moving out after the jury. "Indeed." Pausing at the doorway, as though he had just remembered something, he called, "Keith, may I have a word?"
Keith looked bewildered, for all he assented quickly enough. Oyster's eyes followed them keenly as they moved into a corner; his former headmaster began talking urgently under his breath, so quietly that the redhead only caught snippets of conversation.
"It is absolutely imperative that..... mumble... still endangered. You know.... boy has no idea.... mumble. His friends will know. No... Head Girl can be trusted... You do understand why this is so important... Minerva says mumble..."
Keith cut in with a sharp, indignant reply.
"No, I know that.... look, just make sure that they all get in, I'll take care of the rest."
His former student finally nodded, almost reluctantly, and Dumbledore left, with a nod to the insatiably curious Janet; Keith rejoined his companions looking decidedly worried.
"What was that about?" Janet demanded.
"Nothing," he replied, but he sounded unsettled.
Oyster followed them out of the courtroom in utter bewilderment.
I've never seen the like. Ten bloody pages. I outdid myself. And I don't know if I'm too happy with the result... I might come back and edit this one later. Latin speaking koala bears! Tom Hanks... yup, I outdid myself.
Overdid, more like.
This was kind of a fast-paced chapter. I'll mute it down next time... if I do another chapter, and that balances on my REVIEWS!
Don't forget, if you want to be a student, tell me in your review
Happy... continuated birthday, Ethan?
Ta,
Tessa
Oh, btw, "Vis consili expers mole ruit sua" means, to some effect, "Force without mind falls from its own weight". Something like that. I can't find the direct quote. XD Poor Oyster!