Chapter 4: Minerva's Big Day Part 2: Wands and Woes.
A/N: For those wondering why I am making Diagon Alley a bit... different, it's because in my mind, magical shopping alleys do not look like medieval tourist traps. In my mind, it's a cross between Transmetropolitan's City and Disneyland, so there. Oh, and I heartily recommend Transmetropolitan for any of you that happen to like comics. This stuff will blow your mind, even if it does tend to be brutal most of the time.
P.S.: I know Hermione's wand is a Vinewood and Dragon Heartstring core. I don't care. In this story, she gets elder while all other wand factors remain equal to her. Why, you ask? Because I can, nyah!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Or the rights necessary to genetically engineer a completely separate sentient species and release them in countries ruled by dictators. Or the intellectual property needed to build a version of Skynet without being sued after John Connor wins. But what really is frustrating me today is that I do not have the imagination available to come up with a snazzy 'I don't own Harry Potter because this bit just doesn't make sense' one-liner today. Which I don't have the rights to anyway either, but still...
"Ah, a tricky customer indeed. Here, birch, 11 inches. with the pickled brainstem of a hinkypunk as a core. Good for charms, transfiguration and bibliomancy." The creepy old man explained, though no-one was listening by that stage. Hermione waved the wand. An oompa-loompa appeared on the sales counter. The most telling thing about the magical world, Sarah thought to herself, is that an oompa-loompa appearing out of thin air merely elicits a yawn from me now.
The young girl (no, witch now) sighed as yet another random yet totally expected mishap came to be. "No, it just doesn't feel right sir." She said, placing the wand on top of a large stack of pre-tested ones. Ollivander started to get excited. Everyone else, however, did the sensible thing and started to get frustrated. Only Harry, it seemed, was not miffed at how long it was taking. After all, it was difficult to be bored when you're exploring. And, just like at Madame Malkins, he found that the dusty backwater sections of the shop were far, far more interesting than whatever was going on in the testing area. While Hermione basked in the attention that two surly adults and one very suspicious old man directed her way, Harry found a door near the back of a badly illuminated section of the store and opened it.
The entire room was wrapped up in a deep gloom, with the lighting suggesting it was the twilight period experienced at sunset rather than the bright midday sun the rest of Britain was experiencing. Thick, very thick layers of dust coated every conceivable surface, his exploring ways kicking up generations worth of the dark grey substance. And oh, what treasures lay hidden under the depressing snow of entropy! He passed a rack of books whose titles were written in bizzare looking mini-pictures. He recognised some of them as hieroglyphs, but the origins of others were harder to pin down. Each and every single one of those books' spines twisted around to look at him, their undersides seemingly glued to the shelf. He waved at them. They nodded back at him.
Further down, he came across staves, swords and strange articles of clothing. Rainbow-hued gauntlets, glowing boots, capes whose shimmering patterns shifted to mirror the world around them... it was the strangest clothes rack he'd seen yet. Still, the hats were nifty-looking, even if they too turned to follow his figure as he moved around the shelves. One hat even had a pair of eyes stuck to its brim, the brownish-yellow orbs staring at him as he passed by. He arrived at yet another door at the other end of the rack. He'd seriously considered using the Force to see what the true shape of things were, but decided against it once he noticed that he was sweating from the heat the Force Weaves gave off in the display room. He opened the door.
Immediately, a number of... odd things stood out. First, this room was huge. He could barely make out the other end of the room even with how well-lit this section of the store was. The next odd thing was that the whole room looked like a modern jewellery shop rather than the dust-covered second-hand-store feel the rest of Ollivander's went for. And then... there was the noise. He could make out a number of voices, but none of them made any sense. He heard a stream of Latin from somewhere, what sounded like shouts in German, Russian, French and many more he'd never heard before.
None of the shouting was coming from inside the shop itself, but from the large windows letting the light in from either side. It was almost as if every window had a unique language being spoken aloud. And then, there was the downright weird. He'd looked to the windows on the left, and saw the sun shining through them. Then, he looked to the right, and saw the sun shining through them too. He did a double take at that, almost knocking one of the display cases over as he advanced to look out through one of the windows on his left. What he saw amazed him.
The sky was purple and pink, with the deep, deep velvet hue that his mind associated with sundown. The few clouds he could see on the horizon were violet, almost black against the sky. The outlines of humungous birds and aircraft cast shadows on the ground, which was covered in some kind of transparent bluish-green material that reminded Harry of the colour of lake water in summer. The sun was setting, flanked by what looked like a giant cigar that could be seen just floating above the planet. And then he saw the city. He fell off the stool he'd used to climb up and see through the window, narrowly avoiding bashing his head in on a counter.
Was that for real? He shook his head to dislodge the spiders he felt crawling all over his frontal lobe, blinked and climbed back onto the stool. This time, he was confronted with a landscape he associated more with ancient Rome than any of Hermione's sci-fi books. A column of Legionnaires stood to attention in front of an important-looking building, merchants hawked strange-looking food and people dressed in either robes or tunics hurried around, doing whatever they needed to do at midday.
Harry saw a street kid wolfing down some kind of meat in a small alley to the window's right. He felt jealous. He would have killed to have some meat for lunch before Hermione found him.
He shook his head, climbing off the stool and exploring the massive department he found himself in. The further inside he went, the duller the noise got. Everything was just so... strange here.
Most of the items for sale called to Harry and his connection, seemingly anxious to be tested by him. He remembered looking at a jewelled sword in one of the display cases, only for it to start talking about how cool and awesome it was, how much it could do for him and what adventures they would have together. He'd learned something new about magical swords then. They could pout without a face. That was a pretty cool trick in Harry's opinion, though that somewhat disqualified the sword in question from being used as a weapon. After all, it wouldn't do for your weapon to start sulking about how hard it was to get the taste of blood out of its pommel in the middle of a fight. Downright embarrassing thing to happen, in Harry's opinion.
There were tiaras, bangles, amulets, rings, more gauntlets and various bits of armour (all gilded, of course), all in display cases and all seemingly eager to channel. Even the basket of uncut crystals he came across halfway through could probably connect to the Force with minimal effort on his part. But the most interesting thing Harry found was at the back of the room. There, sitting on a velvet cushion, were two of the most beautiful watches Harry had ever laid eyes on. The case opened as Harry approached, the two watches floating towards him as he stared at them, completely entranced. He reached up to grab both of them. And jerked back as he did so, an electric shock running up and down his spine on contact. He cried out in pain and then made to grab them as they started falling to the ground. There. Now to go and pay for them. But beforehand...
He moved past the empty case, eyes intent on yet another room at the back of the shop. He operated the crude-looking handle on the door, but got no further. The door was locked. But there was one of those old peep-holes with a sliding cover on them. Harry worked the slide away. There was a muted discussion coming from the other side.
"Ah, you are a tricky customer." Ollivander? But isn't he at the other side of the shop? He could see the back of the shopkeeper through the peep-hole, head bent over until it was almost out of Harry's sight ."So, what to do, what to do. Ah! I have just the thing!" He exclaimed, making for an unidentifiable section of the front shop. His departure revealed a large, large stack of wands sitting in a corner, the pile defying all known laws of gravity by staying upright. The whole shop had a slightly singed look, with the display case holding the wand holsters still burning merrily away.
And in the middle of it all stood a tall, scrawny kid trying to take all the things he could see around himself in at once. His hair was a dark chestnut brown, his skin was slightly pale and his deep blue eyes, though still bright with wonder, were slowly succumbing to the dullness of fatigue and boredom. He was wearing black clothes that were a mere half-step away from being classified as rags, rougher than the cast-offs Harry normally wore and coated in what Harry suspected was blood, given the sheen some of the newer layers of 'varnish' still posessed. He rather doubted the kid could even bend in that stiff overcoat of his. Odds were even if Harry would still have a sense of smell left if he had to spend any time at all in the kid's mere presence.
Ollivander made his way back to the counter."Here you go, try this one! Yew, 13 and a half inches with a phoenix feather core." The boy touched the wand, his eyes lighting up in gleeful joy as Harry felt a large backwash coming from the Force. He looked at the kid again, as that moment of innocent joy was almost instantly replaced by a look that Harry felt was... familiar. Wrong, somehow, but familiar.
He blinked. The look was gone, replaced by a bright child's smile. He was happy alright, but there was something else nagging at Harry. No, scratch that, something in his mind was screaming at him to run away. "Congratulations, Mr. Riddle! That is a very powerful wand you have there. I am sure you will do great things with it. Would not surprise me, anyway. It is in your blood." The boy turned his angelic face to look at the old man, questions clearly working their way through his mind before he seemingly dismissed the comment. Harry, however, wasn't fooled at all. Both he and Hermione did this when shelving away details for later examination. "That will be seven Galleons, please." Seven gold pieces clattered and came to rest on the counter top, a slight murmur of thanks passing the child's smiling face.
He then nailed Harry with a vicious-looking smirk.
Harry was halfway through to the side he'd come in through by the time his higher brain functions managed to re-establish their authority over the outlying areas that'd somehow acted on their own volition. Not that that changed anything. Harry had come to rely on those instincts a lot from a very early childhood, so he knew what to trust them with. Running away from dangerous predators was one of those things he knew his instincts were right about.
He ran past the moping sword, the uncut gems, the absolutely gorgeous jewels on display, the mostly empty displays at the entrance of the department and slammed the entrance closed behind him. He took a breath, relaxed and proceeded to browse through the dusty section again in an effort to calm down.
This time, the books greeted him far more enthusiastically, straining against whatever was holding them in place in an effort to jump on him. Harry, acting on a whim, grabbed himself a fedora from the hat display, a bag from another shelf and picked up as many books as he could. Almost half the rack was gone before he could no longer pick any more of them up. He gasped as he looked out of the window. The illumination was no longer coming from the setting sun, but rather from the bizarrely designed street lamps that lined the street outside. He must have lost track of time while he was having fun. He hoisted the bag over his shoulder, stuck the fedora on his head and jogged towards the way he'd come in.
He opened the door to a distracted-looking Sarah. "Harry, where have you been?"
Harry fidgeted, he felt tired from all the exploring he'd done today and he was sure Ollivander would be mad at him for sneaking a peek into his storeroom. "I was just looking around, Mrs. Granger."
Sarah just looked at him skeptically "Really? And where, pray tell, did you spend the last ten minutes 'looking around'? Without telling any of us, hmm?"
"Ten minutes? Really? But it-" And Sarah chuckled. "- Felt like you'd only gone two minutes, right? Like time just stopped?"
He rallied himself. "Yeah... Yeah... Like no time at all." The elder Granger woman just nodded, then assumed what Harry privately called the 'righteous Mother' pose and pointed her left index finger at him. "Well don't do it again, Harry. I mean it, alright?" Relaxing her pose and smiling at him, she led him back to the front of the store, where the others were waiting for him.
Ollivander turned a beaming smile at Harry. "Hello again, mister Potter. I am happy to tell you that me and young miss Granger have just finished finding her the wand that wants her. 10 and a half inch elder wood, with a dragon heartstring core. Extremely powerful, yet very unstable, and good for charms. It's now your turn! Not to worry, miss Granger already indicated that you were right-handed" And with that, Harry was surrounded by magically animated measuring equipment. Ollivander's expression steadied as he called some of the tapes to him and read off random areas of said tape, muttering all the way.
Sarah was back to staring off into space while Hermione and Minerva were staring at the wand the young witch held in her hands. "It's a work of art" Hermione intoned, an awestruck expression stuck on her face.
"It's an abomination." Minerva said, surprise, horror and revulsion felt by the two children through the connection. The only thing that showed on her face was a thin-lipped frown as she stared at the wand. Hermione turned purple and almost started shouting when the older witch put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Be very careful, Hermione. There's an old saying in the wizarding world, 'wands of Elder never prosper'. They're never truly loyal to their masters, young girl, so beware. They are known to betray you at the worst possible time. Sirius Black's wand was made of Elder Wood as well. Turns out the traitorous wood fit the traitorous bastard's personality to a tee."
Hermione's spike of anger dulled, leaving her chewing on the underside of her lips. "And why is that, Professor? Why is an elder wand considered so... bad? And just who is Sirius Black?"
Minerva sighed, fiddling with the hem of her robes. "Elder wands don't... discriminate the same way normal wands do. When they choose you, it's based on some criteria known only to the wand itself until one of its owners subjects it to an intrinsic runic causality revelation spell. Few wands like this one have ever been sold, so it is rare indeed for someone to actually wield such a monstrosity. They also tend to be very, very powerful. And unstable, never quite functioning right for anyone that they disagree with. Never tell anyone you don't completely trust that you own such a wand, my girl, for though they are almost uniformly dangerous, they also tend to end up in legends as the wand to defeat the monster of the story."
The girl just nodded at her, imploring her to continue. "Elder is truly a cursed wood to wield, my dear. Many of their wielders, no matter if the wand was one of legend or not, tend to end up dead in very unpleasant and painful ways. Not because they could not perform the spells or survive the situation, oh no, but because their wand failed to respond. Do not, whatever you do, rely on it to save you girl. I trust you understand what I am saying?"
"To continue my studies with Harry." The old woman nodded. Hermione sighed, looking around the Victorian-era décor just as yet another of Harry's attempts at finding a wand blew a hole through the back wall again. "Honestly professor, we were never going to stop. You see, a wand is all well and good-" Boom "-but we need the training if we want to do anything that isn't covered by the -" Crack-splat-shriek-'sorry' "- curriculum. And Harry?" She said in a sickly sweet voice, turning towards her best friend and student, who was rooted on the spot.
"Yes, Hermione?" He said, perspiration and a tinge of fear showing on his features.
"If you aim a wand, any wand, anywhere near me again when trying them out, I will tear your eyes out and feed them to the seagulls. Do I make myself clear?" The little witch said, smile turning into a frightful scowl. Harry gulped. "Yes Hermione." "Good."
Harry waved yet another wand as far away from Hermione's vicinity as he could. Unfortunately, that happened to be a window onto an alley just outside the shop. There was a massive fwoosh, followed by a demonic wailing. Ollivander swished his wand faster than Harry thought the man was capable of. "Dear Merlin, mister Potter. You seem to have set a cat on fire."
Minerva smirked. "Mister Ollivander, I daresay that mister Potter has had little to no luck with normal wands so far. Are there any others that have been, say, difficult to place?"
The shopkeeper's face lit up. "Why yes, I have just the thing!" He said, bustling off into a back area of the shop. Harry looked up and gasped. There was a door behind where the wizened old shopkeeper had stood throughout Harry's waving about. The peep-hole was still open. Harry could feel someone there, but dared not look straight into the small gap at whoever it was that was currently looking through. A pile of wands was stacked high on the counter. Harry fidgeted. This was far too similar for him to be comfortable with. Ollivander came back straight away. "Ah, here we go! Holly and phoenix feather, 11 inches. Give it a swirl!"
The moment Harry grabbed hold of the wand, he knew something was... different. For one thing, he felt a foreign presence in his mind dumping joy and satisfaction straight into his system without even acknowledging his brain. For another, he felt his wand form its own connection, both with his internal store of purified Force and... somewhere else. Then, he felt the Force flow through him. Not the raw, powerful stuff but the purified, distilled stuff. And he felt euphoric as the air around him burst into song somehow. "Wow... wow. I think i've found my wand, then." He said, giving everyone a joyful smile. Ollivander, however, had lost his enthusiasm and was frowning at the boy.
"Curious, curious, very curious." Harry stiffened. The way the creepy old man said it... almost like when Professor Robbins, the old science teacher, called atomic weapons 'interesting'. "You know, Mister Potter, I remember every wand I have ever sold. And this wand, Mister Potter, this wand has a brother."
"And what about it, mister Ollivander?" Sarah asked, noticing the look of anxious apprehension Harry was desperately trying to hide.
"Why Mrs. Granger, the brother to Harry's wand... that wand was the one to give Harry his scar." The four people in the shop paled as they stared at the wand Harry was clutching in a death grip. "It did great things, that wand. Terrible, but great."
Harry looked at the old man, a glare on his features. "Say, Mister Ollivander..." "Yes?" "Was the owner's family name 'Riddle', by any chance?" Now it was the shopkeeper's turn to pale and stare at the boy. "And was whatever 'greatness' he did really in his blood when you met him? Was it that very 'greatness' that led him to kill my family and try and conquer the wizarding world? Do I have you to thank, Master Wandscraftsman, for putting him on that path then?" An ugly expression came over Harry's face, his anger fuelling the force running through him, almost overpowering all the connections he'd opened in an effort to dump the emotions into the Force before they got out of hand. "Tell me, please." He said, unconsciously emulating another smirk he'd encountered not long ago. A smirk... no, a grin you couldn't help but feel belonged to something with a lot more teeth than a mere child. Let's see that old bastard deal with that.
The elderly man stammered as he tried to stop himself from stuttering. "H-h-how- how d-d-d-do you even know this, Mister Potter?" Both him and Minerva were horrified at what was being said. Ollivander due to this child knowing about a conversation that had taken place almost sixty years ago, Minerva for finding out who You-know-who's real name was. I remember him... we danced at the Italian Ministry Gala in honor of the '56 olympics. That man was Voldemort?
Harry dropped any outward sign of emotion, letting his face become an expressionless mask. "All I am going to say about this is..." "How much for me and Hermione's wands, please, sir?"
The shopkeeper blinked, the panic quickly being replaced by the instincts of a man seeking to make a profit. "F-fourteen Galleons, mister Potter." 14 coins landed on the counter as the children grabbed the two gaping adults' hands "Thank you sir. Sucks when someone's being cryptic, doesn't it?" All Ollivander could do was wave goodbye at the group, still too stunned to answer adequately.
The four stopped outside, savouring the noonday sun as they pondered how their day had gone so far. They'd been in Diagon Alley for only three hours, but it almost felt like a lifetime for the four staring at yet more wizarding weirdness. Minerva, ironically, was having the hardest time of them all as she contemplated the incredibly colourful denizens of wizarding Britain's biggest shopping district. An elder wand and the brother wand to You-Know-Who's own? She thought as the group was passed by a man wearing an orange jumpsuit listening to Polish chamber music coming out of two sunflowers he'd glued to his ears using a sticking charm. These children will have a hard time of it here, if those wands are any indication. She let her gaze travel up and down the alley, taking in the sights the tight street offered to her. She looked over at Sarah, who was doing the same. It struck her that this whole place, seeing how it is exhausting even to purebloods, must just be incredibly bizarre and frightening to the average parent of a muggleborn, no matter how open-minded she is.
"You know, it's just sinking in now-" Sarah said, waving in the general direction of an outdoor poker table occupied by what looked to be blue-scaled lizards, a banner proclaiming the need to save the South American Narflogant from extinction hovering above them. "-that this is the world I would be giving my daughter to." She wore a sad expression as she stared at the world passing the group by.
Minerva decided to interject. "Look, I know it feels that way, but your daughter will come back. It's just a boarding school, after all. Your daughter is still free to do whatever she wants afterwards. As I said, she'll even receive a scholarship to further her education after Hogwarts in whatever way she wants. Many muggles don't get that chance, mrs. Granger."
Sarah sighed, eyeing a man passing by with a trunk following him. The dull rumble from the trunk's tank treads gave her time to think about what was being said. "I know, it's just... she's so young, you know? I pictured this happening five, six years from now. Not September next year!" Minerva saw that the woman was close to tears. "I don't want to give her up so... early. It's just unfair." She said, staring down at the pavement.
The deputy headmistress patted her on the back. "Yes, but she will be going to the most exclusive school in all of Britain. It's still one of the best magical schools in Europe, and she will doubtlessly be at the top of her class both in terms of power and intelligence. Think of it as being admitted to, say, Eton. Or even a university, if you wish. Honestly, she could get into these institutions now if she wanted to as well, and they would require her to do the same as Hogwarts; live at the school, or at least close by. It's a hard choice to make, sure, but she will get the best education that's out there this way." "Really?" "You have my word, mrs. Granger."
Sarah smiled. "Good." She eyed a passing troupe of dancing trousers curiously, a man in his underwear following close behind and waving his wand at them. That's something you don't see every day. "Hey, is it true that witches ride on broomsticks?"
Minerva smiled at the studiously blank face the woman was trying to project. "Why yes. I, myself, still own a Comet 140, you should know." Sarah snorted, the laughter getting the better of her. "Why Mrs. Granger, if I didn't know any better I would say that you are laughing at the fine tradition of broom flight! Why, a lady of good standing such as yourself would surely never debase yourself in such a way!" The mock scolding just drove Hermione's mother into further hysterics, even louder than Hermione's laugh at something Harry had told her.
After a few minutes, the elder Granger managed to compose herself. "I know, i'm sorry. I didn't mean to be cruel or mocking or anything, but I just couldn't help it! It's just so... cliché."
Ah, so that's it. Minerva smirked. Her and Severus had come up with the perfect comeback to this, having heard it so many times.
"Have you ever watched Citizen Kane, Sarah?"
The elder Granger was taken aback by the question that seemed to come from nowhere. "Yes, of course Professor. It's a classic. How do you know about it?" "What do you mean?" "Well, you don't seem to know a lot about anything in the normal world... I mean, the way you looked at the cars outside-"
Minerva chuckled "Picked up on that, have you? In my defence, I haven't had much to do in the muggle world for more than ten years, really. Only really come to visit muggleborns now, so most of my knowledge about muggle culture is extremely dated. Now, back to the topic. Have you ever noticed just how many clichés there were in the movie?"
Sarah looked for a second as she tried to remember the film. "Yeah, I have. But they were well used, though."
"Well, Sarah, those weren't clichés when they were filming that film. In fact, almost none of these 'clichés' existed in films when that film came out. And do you know why?"
"No, professor."
"It's because Orson Welles came up with those ideas. Citizen Kane was the film he used them in. That film introduced the ideas behind those clichés little children." She noticed that the children had turned an ear towards her. "And, just like with Citizen Kane, you will find that all these clichés about magic exist because wizards and witches invented them all. Do you understand now?"
She smiled at the look Sarah gave the Head of Gryffindor house. "Good. Because I got that exact same speech years ago, when I confronted a muggle about how formulaic Citizen Kane was. And as they say, turnaround is fair play." The three newcomers to the wizarding world snickered.
"So does that mean we'll have to dance around naked during Sabbath, professor?" Harry quipped.
Minerva reared on the boy, who by all appearances was buffing his nails on his shirt. "WHAT? What did you just say young man?" The professor asked, disbelief and anger clear in her tone of voice.
Hermione just reached up and clipped the back of Harry's head. "I'm sorry about Harry, professor." She said in her sweetest 'I am innocent, you are innocent, let's all be innocent' tone of voice. "It's just that another commonly held Muggle belief was that witches would dance around naked for solstice rituals. That's probably what Harry was referring to, am I right Harry?"
He winced at the hissing voice and the glares all three women were sending his way. He then decided to smile in what he believed to be a placating manner. "Why yes, Hermione, yes indeed. You are Right, of course. That is exactly what I was referring to."
They weren't buying it. "You, young man, will serve a week's detention with me, come next year. Is that understood?" Minerva's voice could have frozen lava.
"Yes ma'am. I'll be good ma'am."
The smile he got back from all three women was anything but friendly. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Hermione will keep you in line." Sarah said, putting both her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Won't you, Hermione darling?"
Hermione's death glare and predatory smile told him everything he needed to know about his immediate future. "I would be delighted to, Mother dear. Harry -" cue super powered death glare "- will behave, i'll make sure of it."
Harry just sighed. He wondered why he even bothered with his Potter mouth. "Yes Hermione. I will behave."
Minerva smiled. "Good. Come on, then! We still have the bookstore to go to." and with that, the group of four strange individuals marched deeper into Diagon Alley, hands clamped firmly over their ears as they passed the Personallised Howler Delivery store. All in all, their day was turning out to be memorable.
Aftermath: Minerva
Albus Dumbledore's floo connection flared to life as he sat down to enjoy his nightly cup of tea."Ah, Minerva, and how was your day?" He said, eyes twinkling as he observed his second-in-command glare at him for some reason.
Professor McGonnagall, transfiguration teacher, head of Gryffindor house and deputy Headmistress, wordlessly slipped behind Albus's desk, opened the second drawer on the left, tapped on the drawer's fake bottom and withdrew a very old bottle from the now open compartment. She then conjured herself a glass, poured herself a shot, drank, poured herself another shot, drank again, put the bottle back in its place, left the Granger's acceptance letter on his desk and made to leave the room. Just as she reached the door, she stopped.
"My day, Albus, was a very long one. I am exhausted. We may talk about it tomorrow, when you are as ready to answer some of my questions as I am to tell you what happened. I warn you, Albus, that I have a store of Veritaserum on hand and have found a reason to use it. Good night, sir."
The Headmaster chuckled as his deputy slouched out of the office. It seemed that Minerva had forgotten just why senior staff were allowed to foist introduction duties off onto the current defence professor whenever they were 'otherwise occupied'. He was sure that tomorrow's debriefing would be interesting.
The sound of her footsteps echoed down the stairs as the door to the Headmaster's office slowly closed behind her. Thoughts about Harry, Hermione and destiny swirling around inside her head. She'd met shy children, boisterous children, spoilt brats and abused alley rats bearing the same message; you are special. But none, in her long career as a teacher, felt as special as those two did. I think the next few years will be refreshing. She thought to herself, smiling and whistling an old tune her grand-dad used to sing to her on stormy nights as she roamed the quiet corridors of her true home.
A/N: And there you have it kiddies! Yet another chapter for your consumption. So that section's almost done, the last part of the Diagon Alley Day arc to post and then it's interlude + Hogwarts in chapter six! Finally! By the way, what do you guys think about me starting a sequel to the storyline right now? The working title is "Commander Creevey in the 71st century". The idea is this;
'The Creevey family are the only ones to somewhat successfully oppose the rulers of the Dread Empire, our very own Harry and Hermione. Of course, the only reason that there are still Creeveys running around the two's multi-galactic empire is because the Dread Lords have directed, shaped and manipulated the Creevey family to fit the air-headed heroing mold, sucking in all the rebels and malcontents of the empire under the banner of a clan that couldn't Lead them out of a paper bag.'
'Problem is that, after 5000 years of uninterrupted rule, the two perennially bored Heroes turned Dark Rulers finally lose power over their throne and are on the run from the very empire they created. Their only chance at recapturing their empire before it crumbles into a civil war likely to span dozens of galaxies and millions of worlds? One Aldo Creevey, hero-for-hire and commander of the mercenary Cruiser Ivanhoe. Things are about to get dicey.'
So, any thoughts?