Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling; therefore I do not rightfully own the whole Harry Potter theme-thing…got that sorted out?
Good.
NB: towards the end it gets a little dark. For those who were happier with the perambulating junk of the previous chapters, then it may be a little unsettling. Just felt obliged to put in a warning of a sort.
Chapter 4 – Cold wind blowing
Life lingered somewhat impatiently for Mel and his mother. Each morning as Mel would go to bed he'd compare his present soul to that before his educational endeavour. His personal meter suggested he was becoming more and more sober. A week or two trenched by, Mel had worked through 26 kilograms of historic Daily Prophets, read through 82 personal accounts and studied 4 families that involved themselves in dark matters.
In a notebook that was meant to be pocket size - but was breaking free, Mel noted that 'dark' families were closely linked by blood; this could suggest an ingrown ideology amongst them.
He had reserved one day of the week for complete reflection and pondering over the matter. Though secretly Mel considered it his holiday, his seventh day – hallelujah!
Mel let himself sleep longer, bathed in hotter water and stretched out wider on the couch. He would designate an hour or so for reflection but found it far too depressing and evil on such a holy day.
On morning the clock stopped, Mel looked up at the analogue face with a smile; it was like a silver crane flying out of stormy weather; Aaah, the symbolic nature of it all. Never mind reality, the ordinary folk are happy with a dove and some leaves shoved down its throat.
The second hand had struck up a coup. It wasn't the governing force but was foundation and while it caged itself up between 7 and 8 with homemade-fertiliser-bombs, time was on standstill.
"Fix that won't you Mel?"
"Oh, now?"
"Now? What do you mean? Unless that clock is fixed there is no 'now' or 'later' everything happens simultaneously, and then what would be the point? Now? Pfft! Really Mel, what did they teach you at Hogwarts?"
Mel pulled the clock down, he could almost hear the revolutionary screams from the second hand, "we demand! Equality! and distribution of wealth! onto all hands! This CAPITALIST carrot-feeding donkey machine is governed by tyrannical minutes and hours, let us live in a seconds world! Where we shall all be the same! EQUALITY, FREEDOM… the time will be so productive! Life will pick up pace!"
Mel shook the clock; it rattled and squeaked for a while. The second hand glared angrily at Mel and moved on. The rumours that spread around, divine intervention stopped the revolution and of course secondism do not believe in divinity only in seconds, so the whole time was brought to their senses.
End of that story and beginning of this.
The second hand pulled into 12 with a knowing chuckle.
At that second: a lunatic laugh rammed its needle fine point into Mel's eardrums. Commotion splashed down heavy in the streets outside, spraying the houses with a cold-slap-in-the-face. Attention whirred to the event outside. Mel found his feet whirring under him as he flew out the door and crunched over the path, bursting with colour and desperate inquisitiveness onto the road.
His expression could have housed all 15 pool ballsjaw swinging loose at his feet Mel took in the cause of the sound.
Gustav Meadowbank, long time acquaintance, colleague and transfiguration rival was propelling himself along the street in a miniature Morris Minor.
The fact the pea size car was suspended upside down in the air attracted a lot of attention from dizzy widows and gob smacked, bored grandchildren.
Gustav was howling, his crow neck balancing a yahooing, fun spitting head that rolled and shook with excitement.
Mel found a hysterical bubble inflate in his acidic, foul gut and rise up through his oesophagus with ease similar to an elevator car and popped innocently in his mouth.
Tumult was unleashed and a scream of laughter ripped from his throat. Mel's tongue threw itself around in exhilaration; his stomach panted to keep up with the strenuous jitterbug dance his laughing chords had struck up.
"Mel!" A horrified shriek screamed.
"Mel! Oh – DO get inside Mel!"
His mother was ignoring or hadn't seen Gustav Meadowbank's clown size, floating car.
However she heard it when Gustav threw his weight on the brakes. The car screamed to a shuddering stop, Mel watched paralysed with violent giggles as Gustav attacked the gears, slamming the mechanics of the Morris Minor into action. Slowly the pea car reversed, nearing Mel and his mother.
("OH MEL!!")
Gustav's hanging head sidled up to Mel.
"My…" He breathed.
Mel chuckled, "always had to make the bravo entrance."
Gustav blinked happily from behind his round glasses.
"Well, you…know..aaarr, I wasn't really heading any place. Aaar, no entrance then. But, arrr you know, now that you aaar mention it. I might, aaar camp out, at-ar-your place."
Mother screamed after her baby, her shrill yell bouncing off terrified houses.
"MEL! THAT'S AN ENTIRE MINUTE!"
Gustav, did a flicky manoeuvre in the ignition and suddenly the car rotated sharply and found the ground.
Mel marvelled at the compact size of it all.
"What are you doing in a car?"
Gustav coughed like a sick cat, his massive globular glasses teetering violently, the crowd's breath was bated, Gustav gave his shaggy round head a shake and his glasses righted themselves, applause.
"Well, I…aaar, don't know, if you….aaar, read…the newspapers…"
Mel shook his head, "You've no idea, I've been reading every one since Louis XXIV…nothing of present day however."
Gustav blushed violently, each little red particle laughed at his folly and shouted out, "Look over here! Little Goo-stav's blaaashing!"
"Ahem." Gustav shook his throat clear, "aaar, they suspended me."
Mel's face opened up with knowing, "Aaah. I see."
Gustav mumbled on, "Not….arr…permitted, to, you know… arr, magic."
"Oh Gustav, you crazy fool."
"Aaar."
"Come in you sorry sod, poor thing, how do you manage?"
"MEL!" (Another screech from mother).
Gustav and Mel trudged slowly up the path.
With little pops, busy ant like men and women appeared outside all the houses on the street. They rushed into the living rooms and fished out all the children and old folk, mind-altering spells were issued out every window.
Then the ants would gather in the middle of the road,
"Johnson's Road next."
Then 'pop' they were gone, leaving the freshly stunned street swaying in a mute bewildered state.
Mother's face sagged with relief as the two stepped through the front door. She hardly took in Gustav but seized him by the shoulders and propelled him towards the kitchen. Sitting him down, she muttered nonsense about helping out the fellow soldier.
Mel sat down opposite Gustav and they 'aar-ed' the rest of the evening, drinking watered-up-powdered-down milk.
Gustav had been banned the use of magic, due to his philosophy and the actions that resulted in his philosophy.
"Mel, aar, you remember me… arr, I was very in tune… arrr with the-aar, muggles social aaar… revolution, the 60's were really aaaar…. Really something… and I believe if we can get that… arrrr, you know aaarrr… free love feel about….arrr, the country wouldn't be in… arrr, such a state."
Mel looked at his with disbelief,
"So you administered several tonnes of love potion to Ireland?"
"Aaarrr…"
"Hmm?"
"Yes."
"Any reason, Ireland?" Mel said shaking his head.
"No.. no, no aaar reason."
Mel raised his eyebrows, "well, is that all? I mean, suspension for a bit of love dosage…"
Gustav laughed in a paternal matter, "aar, well…you know Mel, you should aaar, be reading the current day papers…arrr, much more…. arr-hahahaw."
Mel shook his head.
"It really is absurd."
Gustav shifted in his seat.
"I guess the ministry's aaar little shifty, you know aar, considering the times."
"Hmph," Mel retorted. Mel lent back in his chair and lifted a finger to his bow of a jawbone and struck a thinker's pose.
"But there have been scenario's far worse that have got little less than a raised eyebrow."
Gustav looked unimpressed, "yeah? Well, there are the odd aar, cases… but you know…aar, can't really assume these aar things."
"Well I've got a few cases in mind actually."
"Hmm?"
Mel snapped out of his thinker's pose and leant over the table.
"Mildred Ark, from Kent, was a bumbling thing. Convinced the entire province she was Duchess of Kent and performed three-hundred-and-four memory charms, luckily, her bumbling rumbling ways resulted in a memory-backfire, she was clueless and was judged (the judgement was very lenient however due to her popularity and the fact she recalled next to nothing)."
Gustav frowned, "You aar just made that up, that would have to be aar carbon copy of the Lockhart Case…aaar Harry Potter discovered he was a fraud and Gilderoy attempting aaar to brainwash his aar lost his mind."
Mel was on the verge of launching into something else when his mouth froze, the cogs in his brain reversed and a few sparks flew to light up the dark.
"Yes, they are very similar … aren't they?"
"You've aar been influenced by the aar Potter craze?"
"Eh…no. I don't think so."
"Aar."
Mel shook his head.
"But do you know what I'm saying, that Mildred Ark thing was from yonks ago… but get this, 50 years ago some old bag from Sussex went berserk and cleared out the local forests all 'impure' species. And for her that meant centaurs, an entire herd was erased… I can imagine the local council still has to make amends with the centaur race.
She also got hold of some mer-folk and tied them to an old mill house, do you know how painful it would be for a mer-fold to die of sun exposure, you slowly roast and the vertigo! The dehydration causes you to spin in and out of a painful conscience.
Now that is a case of mis-using your magic. That demands for suspension. Distributing a large batch of love potion?"
Gustav nodded, "now I'll – aar – take you on that, it is unfair isn't it?"
Mel felt the victory like champagne bubbles; rising with a golden aura to the cool, calm neck.
Gustav cocked his head, "now where'd did you aar get all information?"
"Oh don't you know?" Mel said playfully.
Gustav shook his head, a dumb saint smile budding on his round head.
"Well," Mel started. "I'm on a mission…I'm getting to the bottom of all the black and white pish posh the media is leaking to us… and I am becoming a master of the history of magic, or of such sorts, you see…"
Blah-bity blah-hah blah.
Mel was reflecting on the day as his toes savoured the smooth cool linen, like silk dog tongues the sheets held him, the slip sycophant.
It had been a marvellous day. Gustav was also convinced that the media was turning into propaganda and that the Ministry smelt of dictatorship, it was still a newborn of a scent… a whiff on a cold day, which is a rare thing as smells are humid and heat loving beasts.
His body was only just slipping into the steamy, warm sleep that was promised when a coded knock rapped softly at his door.
"Mother?"
"Oh Mel, they've got something into him!"
Mel propped himself onto his elbows and glowered,
"Not more of your war pish posh."
Mel couldn't see his mother, she was just a darker spot in a haze of black dust, if he had he would have lurched from his bed and catapulted over the stair railings.
Mother continued, her voice gaining a pleading tone.
"Please Mel, he's in danger."
"Who is?"
"Who else!" Mother said exasperated, "Gustav."
Mel threw his sheets off, "fine. Show me."
Mother snatched Mel's hand, they were icy and bit into his soft, podgy, little muffin hands. Mel caught a whiff of sincere fear in her sharp actions and whimpers and stiffened slightly.
Mother began to mutter, like a docile old lady, "I made a bed for him on the couch, he didn't seem to mind. I would have given him a water bottle, but you know… this is a hard time, and it didn't seem right. He was baffled, what was it then? 11:00. Past this old chooks bed time, what year was it? 1975.. oh no '76. That's it. Poor Gustav."
Had Mel feathers they would have ruffled themselves quite comfortably.
Mother reached the foot of the stairs and paused, he could feel her straining herself to hear any peculiar signs. Mel heard a low violent whisper from the lounge room.
"This is how I found him." Mother said and drew Mel into the lounge room.
A sliver of street lamp danced over a sweaty round face, Mel could see the epilepsy-state Gustav was under. He groped for the lamp, and as the yellow light kissed the room hello a cry escaped Mother's lips.
Gustav reminded Mel of a mad dog. The man, they had known to be the quirky, shy fellow with a cow hip of hair had transformed to a grey faced, wrinkled hag with a violent twitch seizing his face. His body shook and guttered, like a jitterbug dance gone dark. Arms flailed and tears from Mel were shed.
"Gustav…" Mel said softly. Mel knelt to Gustav's level. "Gustav." (A little louder).
Mother trembled, "he can't hear you Mel."
Gustav's diluted eyes bore into the flaky ceiling above, he did not sense Mel or Mother.
"Oh don't let him speak!" Mother wailed, horrified eyes transfixed at the bleeding lips of Gustav's.
Mel hardly had time to issue a bleak huh? When Gustav, on cue, delivered his little nightmare of a monologue.
"Break your back birdie! Finger lick little dog! I'll break you… aaarr," Gustav smacked his lips, crimson spit flying. "Oh let me, do… do! DO! Let's see how to can swim my duck; duck's can swim. Why can't you? You're a toad I see. I hate toads; I will break your back. Oooh, I hear the sounds. The little popping, aaa-a-a-aaa"
Gustav's body shook even more violently as sent his shuddering laugh to the bottom of Mel's spine.
"Listen hear you little muggle loving fuck! You see these hands…" Gustav's fingers gnarled themselves into a twisted claw (a snap and a snarl) "…you wouldn't be able to count the number of ears I've torn off, the number…hoho! The number of BACKS! I've twisted, I've snapped."
Mother screamed. Anyone could hear the sound. It was her last defence against all the hatred shooting from Gustav. The scream soared above the dark atmosphere and turned the clouds red and yellow.
Edvard Munch was inspired by the very same scream in 1893.
Gustav's eyes turned into lamps of grey, maniacal delight brimmed and flowed as tears. "SCREAM! SCREAM MY LOVELY!"
Mel seized his mother and staggered outside; lurching and sobbing Mother seized the geraniums and tore them.
"How could you say things like that?"
Geranium petals wept as their sisters lay battered on the saluting grass below.
Mother wept on a different plane, reaching for her son, she called for forgiveness. Like a howl on a mountain, the hollow sound bounced throughout the streets. Mel was frozen, his own tears, first shed at the site of his new friend, had become a clinging ice cube.
His mother hot tears did not touch his icy exterior.
And the trees shuddered; their teeth were on edge. They tucked their leafy crowns away and blended in with the flora crowd, turning a collar up against the cold wind blowing from the two in the backyard.