Of Wizards, Akuma, and Exorcist
Thirty-Eight: Article
Disclaimers: I do not own any D. Gray-Man or Harry Potter characters/settings. They rightfully belong to Mr. Hoshino (D. Gray-Man) and Ms. Rowling (Harry Potter). Also, some conversations between the Harry Potter characters are direct quotes from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and that also does not belong to me!
Recap:
"Hermione, you're good on feelings and stuff, but you just don't understand about Quidditch."
"Maybe not," Hermione replied darkly, "but at least my happiness doesn't depend on Ron's goalkeeping ability. Right, Lenalee?"
"Hmm?" Lenalee said, looking up from a doodle she and Lavi were making. Blinking, she shrugged. "Everyone has their values, I guess, and Quidditch isn't something that creates tension between houses. After all, it's a game, games are supposed to create bonds. Besides, it's fun, isn't it?"
"She understands!" George said triumphantly.
"But that doesn't make me feel better about Saturday," Fred said. "I swear on Merlin's beard, we're going to wish we never tried to kill Draco Malfoy, andthat's saying something."
"He's drowning in the chorus," Lenalee explained when Allen cast a questioning look in Ron's direction. Allen hadn't gone to the Quidditch match, and neither had Lavi, because Hagrid had called them to his hut at the last minute. "It was so loud, I was wondering if you two might hear it too."
"We didn't," Lavi said, "but he looks pitiful. Like Krory when he first joined us- remember, Allen? He had a curtain of gloom around him."
"Yes," Allen nodded in agreement, deciding it better to let Ron mope.
Yawning, Lavi stretched his arms and followed with his eye as Ron stood up and walked into the boys' dormitories. "Let's wait five minutes, then I'm going to hit the hay. I'm beat. And my whole body is in pain."
Wincing, the white haired Exorcist grimaced. "We should've expected it, although, it being Hagrid that were helping out..."
"What were you guys doing?" Lenalee asked.
"Oh, nothing, just feeding some of his wild creatures. I swear they're worse than Panda."
The next morning came peacefully. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were still half asleep when the Exorcists left the common room for breakfast, and they three came in when the post owls were just arriving. Allen watched the birds with longing: he would never receive a mail from them, for he had no contact outside the castle walls, none that he could communicate with freely.
"Arg!" Lavi suddenly exclaimed from his seat next to Harry.
"Mnphah?" Allen said through a mouthful of potatoes he had yet to swallow. He glanced over at the redhead and was shocked to see five owls hovering over and crashing into him, trying to get to Harry. Before Allen had any time to make a comment, another seven owls landed on the table, knocking Lenalee's coffee onto his lap. "Ow!" Timcanpy fluttered around excitedly, occasionally being swatted by a wing or bumping into Fred and Ron's heads.
"What's going on?" Allen asked, grabbing the golem and diving under the owls to ask Lenalee, who was busy taking an envelope away from a barn owl.
"The interview with Rita Skeeter," she said quickly. "They're probably letters from readers. Here, could you grab that owl?"
"Alright," Allen said unsurely, unwrapping a package from the owl. "Should I read it?"
"Go ahead," Harry told him with a look of suppressed amusement. "Help yourself," he said to an eager looking Hermione as Luna, who'd waltzed over from the Ravenclaw table, smiled down at him proudly.
"This one bloke thinks you're off the rocker," Ron announced. He exchanged looks with Lavi. "Ah well..." they said, tossing away the letter.
"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," Hermione grimaced and crumpled up the parchment.
"This one bloke looks okay, though," Harry said excitedly. "Hey, she says she believes me!"
"This one's in two minds," Fred, who'd joined in on the letter opening with great enthusiasm, said. Beside him, George was opening up his own letters. "Says you don't come across a mad person, but he doesn't really want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now...Blimey, what a waste of parchment..."
"Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!" Allen exclaimed, and Hermione snatched the paper away from him.
"'Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has been treating you unfairly," she read. "Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth...' Oh, this is wonderful!"
"Another one who thinks you're barking," Ron said, throwing another crumpled letter and hitting a first year's head behind him.
"But this one says you've got her converted, and now she thinks you're a real hero," Lavi announced. "She's even put in a photograph too- wow-"
"What is going on here?" a voice asked, falsely cheerful and sweet.
Allen looked up from the letter he was reading and saw Dolores Umbridge standing behind Fred and Luna, her toady eyes glaring down at them with as much suspicion as her large body could hold.
"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" she asked.
"Is that a crime now?" Fred retorted loudly. "Getting mail?"
"Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," Umbridge snapped. "Well, Mr. Potter?"
Harry paused, glancing down at the table and letters. Then, he said, "People have written to me because I gave an interview. About what happened to me last June."
"An interview?" Umbridge repeated in a high, thin voice. "What do you mean?"
"I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," Harry replied. "Here," he added, throwing a copy of The Quibbler at her.
"When did you do this?" Allen heard Umbridge asked as he looked away to sip his coffee.
"Last Hogsmeade weekend," Harry replied.
"There will be no more Hogsmeade weekends for you, Mr. Potter," the teacher said after a silence heavy with rage. "How dare you...how could..." There was a pause. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detention."
"More pain medicine, Harry?" Allen asked politely as Umbridge marched away.
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Thanks."
------------------------
"Twenty," Lavi said, tapping the wall of the corridor again as he waltzed beside Allen after lunch.
"What exactly are you counting, Lavi?" Allen asked him curiously, curling Timcanpy's tail around his finger idly. The golem fluttered by his head cheerfully, occasionally bumping his forehead affectionately.
"Look around, Allen," the Bookman-in-training nodded. "It's everywhere."
"Huh?" Allen blinked and glanced at the wall Lavi was pointing at. A notice was tacked up on it: yet another Ministry decree.
It read:
--By Order Of--
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with
Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
HIGH INQUISITOR
Allen stared at the sign for a few moments, then smiled widely. He resumed walking down the hall, humming cheerfully as he continued playing with Timcanpy.
"What are you so happy about?" Lavi asked, catching up with him.
"Umbridge is playing in Hermione's hands," Allen told him. "She's got no clue."
"Explain," Lavi replied suspiciously.
"Lavi, what would you do if Bookman told you not to touch something?"
"I'd go touch it, of course! Why resist the temptation?"
Allen beamed at him. "Exactly."
By the end of the week, it was apparent that every student had read the article on Harry's interview. No matter which corner he turned or which classroom he stumbled into, Allen found himself surrounded by the buzzing conversations regarding Harry's story about what had happened between him and Lord Voldemort in June last year. Umbridge bustled about every which way, demanding students to turn out their books, scavenging around for any telltale signs of an issue of The Quibbler. It was futile effort, of course, for most students were steps ahead of her in concealing the magazine.
"Hey Allen," Lavi said to him sometime during Friday afternoon. "Did you hear that Professor Trelawney didn't predict Harry's early death? I think the world may end."
"That won't be good," Allen replied seriously. "But really? She created a miracle, did she? What did she say to him?"
"He'll die old and be Minister of Magic and have twelve kids. Imagine! Twelve kids! Think about how-"
"Shut up, you stupid rabbit," Kanda said at the moment, interrupting a cackling Lavi and glaring at a confused Allen. He raised an eyebrow at the latter. "Don't tell me you're thatsheltered, Moyashi...damn."
"What was that about?" Allen asked as the samurai stomped away. Lavi, still giggling, shook his head and waltzed away.
"Hi Allen," a breathless voice said, and Cho Chang scurried past with a bright face. Even more confused than he already was, Allen walked down the hall and caught up with Harry, who looked very pleased about something. Allen guessed it had something to do with Cho, but didn't comment on it.
"Where are you headed to?" he asked the bespectacled boy.
"Transfiguration," Harry answered.
The two boys struggled through the ever-crowded corridor, talking about anything they could think of as they went. Allen realized that he hadn't much of a conversation with Harry in a long time, and was glad to have the chance to do so now.
"Hey," a voice said, and the two boys looked up to see Seamus Finnigan staring at Harry grimly.
"I just wanted to say," Seamus said, ignoring Allen, who was tactful enough to begin a conversation with a passerby first year. "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam."
"Er, thanks," Harry said, and bidding good-bye to Allen, he walked into McGonagall's class with Seamus, who was smiling slightly.
Later that afternoon, Allen and Lenalee were sitting in the library reading the weekly reports they received from Komui when they were approached by an excited Hermione and a grinning Harry.
"Hi guys," Hermione greeted breathlessly and sat down beside Lenalee. Turning to Harry, who'd seated himself across from her and next to Allen, she said, "And the best bit is, they can't contradict you, because they can't admit they've read the article!"
"Luna said her father's reprinting the article," Allen told them. "I heard that from Komui earlier. She was saying something about how bewildered her father was that the article was more popular than the one about the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."
"They don't even exist," Hermione sighed.
"Fred and George were with Lavi earlier," Lenalee informed them. "Should we be worried?"
"No, they're just planing a celebration," Allen said.
"What for?"
"Harry, what else? The article is a holy item for the Gryffindors."
"Geez..." Harry said sheepishly.
"I have been badly advised, it seems." He spoke coldly and menacingly, murderous intent hanging on his every syllable.
"Master, I crave your pardon..." begged the man he stared down at. He was a trembling shadow on the cold ground, and the back of his head glimmered in the light from the only light source in the room, the single branch of candles.
"I do not blame you, Rookwood," he told the man, and walked around the chair in the room, slowly yet gracefully, stopping when he was standing directly over the lowly figure. "You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?" he inquired.
"Yes, My Lord, yes... I used to work in the department after- after all..." the man whimpered.
"Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it."
"Bode could never have removed it, Master... Bode would have known he could not... Undoubtedly that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse..."
"Stand up, Rookwood," he ordered the man in the same wispy, cold tone.
Rookwood stumbled over himself when he raised himself out of his kneeling position, but he kept his back hunched in a slight bow, but the candlelight shone on his face and threw the scars on his pockmarked face into relief. His eyes shone the most fear he'd ever seen on a human face, and they darted back and forth between the floor and his face.
"You have done well to tell me this," he told Rookwood. "Very well... I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems... But no matter... We begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood..."
"My Lord... yes, My Lord," Rookwood gasped hoarsely in relief.
"I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me."
"Of course, My Lord, of course... anything..."
"Very well... you may go. Send Avery to me."
Rookwood backed away quickly, like a rat, bowing, and disappeared out of the room. Alone in the dimly lit room, he slowly spun around toward the wall. His eyes fell on a cracked and dirty mirror, stained with age, hanging in the shadows. The reflection staring back at him was unfamiliar, yet frighteningly nostalgic. A chalk white complexion and snake like eyes, staring, menacing... Lord Voldemort's eyes.
He was Voldemort.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Author's Note:
Yes! I finally updated. It took me...20 days! (Wow.) But I fianlly updated, and I will be devoting myself to this story more form now on!