Fake Entry
QUOTE:
Georgie: Yes! *coughs* I vote Vic most slashable person at MLC.
Hehehehe. Yes, me and Sanna were going through teh archives. I miss people. I haven't been to friday!at!four for two weeks now if you count tomorrow. *is sick of stupid IB peoples* [/joke]
Also I am sick of TEH MEDEA. Anyone who likes it (except possibly Sarah-Mae) wouldn't like it as much if you were where I am (the Home Ec corridor, waiting for people to come out of BJ). YAWN, much?
Anyway, enough complaints because there's a lot of that going around lately. I will share with you some random writing I have done while unable to concentrate on actual homework.
Story Title: Six O'Clock
Status: Unfinished one-shot
Type/Genre: HP fanfic/mystery/romance
Author: Andy
It was six o’clock in the evening when a man knocked on a door in St. Ives, and a woman opened it. It was dark already, but the streetlights threw a soft yellow light on he doors of the houses and the man was illuminated by the light from the hall. A woman stood in the doorway. She was short, plump and grey-haired - she was the kind of person you expected by default to ‘take no nonsense’.
“Where’s Potter?” the man growled. The woman narrowed her eyes. The man was huge and unattractive, and he held a bundle of what looked like old jumpers in his arms.
“Mr. Potter is on holiday with his family,” said the woman, eyeing him warily. “If you are from the press I sincerely advise you to take the matter up with his personal secretary -”
“What family?” the man scoffed. “I happen to know Potter’s family and they’d rather die than have him over for Christmas.”
“Take your issue up with Mr. Potter at his office after the holiday,” said the woman firmly - starting to slam the door, but the man stuck his foot in the door.
“I have something of his,” he said, and opened the bundle.
There was silence. Then the woman reluctantly opened the door. “I’ll get the address.”
--
Dinner had seemed to last all night, but it was only nine o’clock. Twenty-three year old Harry Potter sank gratefully onto the sofa in the living room at the Burrow, next to his girlfriend. “I’m stuffed, Molly,” he congratulated the woman stoking the fire.
“Big surprise,” said his friend Ron, who up until this point had appeared to be engrossed in a chess match with his brother, Bill, watched over carefully by his girlfriend, Hermione. The entire Weasley family (or at least, all the members Harry had met) had decided to stay at the Burrow for Christmas. The atmosphere was constantly, warm, content, and above all, jovial.
“Yes, hardly takes much to fill you up,” said George.
“Always were a titch,” said Fred. Harry glared at him.
“I’d hit you but I’m way too comfortable,” he said. “What is it about these sofas that makes them impossible to get out of?”
“Years and years of being sat in, probably,” said Charlie, who was attempting to read, and failing. His wife Chantelle was upstairs putting their three-year-old to bed.
“Sweetie, will you fetch my book from the kitchen?” Ginny asked Harry, wickedly.
He stared at her. “Are you serious?”
“Of course,” she said. “You wouldn’t refuse me this tiny thing, would you?”
Hermione giggled. Harry heaved himself out of the sofa just as there was a heavy knocking on the door. “I’ll get it,” he said, “since I’m up.”
“Wonder who it could be?” Ron asked. “Everyone we know lives here.”
“Quite an exaggeration, Ron,” Molly scolded. Even now that all of her offspring were of age, it seemed she was not willing to give up her role as a mother so quickly.
Harry staggered to the front door, causing much amusement among Certain People With No Feelings.
When he opened it, all the fun and laughter in his heart stopped, though he could still hear it from the living room.
Silence.
“Harry?” called Ginny. “You all right?”
“Fine.” Harry growled.
Ginny jumped up at the sound of his voice. “You don’t sound fine.”
Everyone moved into the corridor.
The man in the doorway looked at them. “Nice army,” he said to Harry.
“What do you want?” Harry asked. “Why the hell are you here?”
“The nice lady at your house was very cooperative,” said the man, grinning.
Harry’s hands balled into fists. “You bastard - what did you do?”
“What? Nothing! I asked nicely.”
“Really? I thought you were incapable of asking for anything nicely.”
“I have my ways of getting what I want.”
Behind the man a car on the driveway was visible. It was large, dark blue, ominous.
“And what do you want exactly?” Harry asked, one hand on the door as if waiting for a chance to slam it in his face.
“Nothing. I want to give you something.”
“Come off it, Dudley. Get to the point.” Dudley Dursley grinned. He took a step forward, but Harry’s wand was already at his forehead. “Or I’ll get there first.” Dudley looked shocked. “Yeah, big surprise, Cuz. I’m not ten years old anymore.”
“I noticed,” said Dudley, raising his eyebrows at Ginny, who had one hand on Harry’s arm.
“Do you have a death wish?” Harry growled.
--
Story Title: Doppelganger
Type/Genre: HP fanfic/mystery/adventure
Status: Unfinished Short Chapter story
Author: Andy
DOPPELGANGER
Chapter 1
He stumbled out of the fireplace at half past three in the afternoon. The sun, streaming through the huge window, pierced his neglected eyes and he fell to the ground with a cry. Carpet, soft and forgiving, met his knees and the palms of his hands. He brushed it delicately with his fingers as though it was unworthy of his touch.
Reaching out with one hand, eyes firmly closed, he came into contact with a wooden leg. Groping upwards he discovered the flat surface of a table or desk.
“Hello?” he called out softly, his voice harsh with disuse. A fluttering of wings made him freeze. Makor! But the raven could not have followed him here, surely… if he was even in the right place…
Sure that he’d been caught, he made no movement, knowing it could only make his situation worse. There was a great whoosh of air as something swooped over to him and landed softly on his head.
Not Makor then. He was sure the horrid bird didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘soft’. He breathed a sigh of relief. The thing flapped again, and cold liquid suddenly splashed onto his eyes. His hands flew to his face, but his eyes simply felt cool, and tentatively he opened them. The light still pained him slightly, but at least he could see. The room was medieval like the mansion, but brightly coloured and filled from top to bottom with strange silver instruments and old books.
He reached up a hand and the thing on his head hopped onto it. It seemed be a cross between an eagle and some kind of buzzard, with right auburn and red feathers. It seemed regal, and gave him a slight sense of foreboding. He ignored this, however, in favour of the fact that the thing had apparently just restored his sight.
“Well,” he whispered. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
The bird cocked its head to one side, as if confused. Then it opened its beak and trilled a short note of annoyance. It didn’t sound like any bird he’d ever heard before. Without warning it took flight, circling the room once before swooping out the open window. He shielded his eyes in order to watch it.
“Well… thanks,” he said to himself, feeling a little foolish for talking to a bird that couldn’t even hear him.
Looking around, he saw a door wedged between two bookcases, he hadn’t noticed before. Taking a final glance around the office, he walked through it.
The moving staircase didn’t really phase him, although he’d never seen an escalator that was made of wood and descended in a spiral. The gargoyle at the bottom wasn’t a problem either, nor the moving portraits since he’d seen plenty of those at the mansion. Most of them ignored him but once he’d wondered round the empty halls for a while he started to get dizzy, so he decided to ask one of them for some kind of direction.
“Are you all right dear?” the friendly looking woman when he knocked politely one the wall next to her portrait. “My, you’ve been through the wars, haven’t you? Hasn’t taken you long this year, has it?”
He stared. “You’ve… seen me before?”
“Of course,” she said, shrugging daintily, if this was possible. “You pass by here everyday on your way to the stairs. Not that you ever notice me, of course. You children hardly ever notice anything around you. You’d think you’d be a little more -”
“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I’m looking for Albus Dumbledore. You don’t know where he is, do you?”
“Well if he’d not in his office he’s probably out of the castle,” said the woman, sniffily. He half expected her to ask whether the matter was urgent and could she take a message. Instead she asked him the time.
“No idea,” he said. He hadn’t had a watch for months
“Well,” she said. “My guess is that it’s nearly time for afternoon tea in the Great Hall. You might look there if you’ve a mind.”
“Where’s that?”
The lady in the portrait grudgingly gave him detailed instructions, and feeling better now that he had a goal, he began to follow them.
Before he’d gone far however, a loud bell ringing and a thundering noise made him bolt for the nearest cupboard. Hating himself for his cowardly behaviour, he listened as what sounded like a huge flock of children, screaming and laughing, moved in a rush past the cupboard door. The sound almost brought tears to his eyes. It continued for some time but eventually died down a little as the footsteps receded into the distance.
Slowly he opened the cupboard door and, on seeing no one, he followed the sound of laughter.
~
Harry Potter was having a staring contest with a scone. He was winning until something knocked him over the back of the head and he lost his concentration.
“Harry will you EAT something instead of staring at your food?” Hermione snapped.
“Do I look hungry?” Harry shot back. “Are you done yet?”
“If you’re so bored, go up to the common room,” said Hermione sounding fed up. “But I’m going to eat properly so I don’t faint while trying to finish that Transfiguration essay later.”
“She’s got a point,” said Ron with his mouth full.
Harry said nothing, but didn’t go up to Gryffindor tower. While he knew that Ron and Hermione were a little tired of his attitude after a week back at school, he still didn’t want to go anywhere by himself. As things stood, if someone said a wrong word around him he’d probably punch them if Hermione wasn’t there to stop him, or Ron, to shout a comeback. He didn’t want people thinking he was more of a psycho than they already did.
He couldn’t think about this for long however, before the heart-binding sound of phoenix song resounded around the walls of the great hall. Looking up, he saw Fawkes enter the high windows of the hall, but then stared in confusion as the large bird dove straight towards him.
“What the -”
The bird drove himself into a frenzy, flapping round and around Harry’s head, pulling on his hair and trying to scratch at his eyes.
“Quit it, Fawkes!!”
The hall was staring, but no one except Ron and Hermione seemed to want to help pry the dangerous looking bird off him.
“Fawkes, get OFF!” Harry yelled. “Professor!”
Dumbledore had stood up, looking more curious than worried at Fawkes’ odd behaviour.
“A little help…” Harry gasped, “Would be great….”
“Fawkes,” Dumbledore said softly. The bird immediately left Harry and alighted on his Master’s shoulder.
“What was that about?” Ron breathed.
Harry wiped his face with his sleeve and it came away a little damp. He was bleeding. “What’s his problem?” he asked the headmaster angrily from across the room.
Dumbledore waited, as Fawkes leant over and appeared to whisper in his ear. The hall held its breath. “Staff,” Dumbledore said into the silence. “To my office. Harry, I will see you there in half an hour.”
The staff, looking a mixture of puzzled and worried, left. As soon as they’d gone the hall burst into sound, the prefects trying in vain to maintain order.
“Well,” said Ron to Harry, who was rubbing at his cut cheek with a serviette. “That was weird.”
--
He had almost reached the Entrance Hall when once again he heard the sound of footsteps, coming steadily his way. Frantically, he looked around once more. There was no where to hide.
Running, then, seemed to be the best option.
Before he could even move, the sound of wings reached his ears. Probably to a normal person this sort of thing wouldn’t have been audible, but the last few months had trained his ear to it. The sound meant trouble.
The big orange bird swooped around the corner and went for him. He ducked, but the thing was fast, and it was quite obviously severely confused. It dove for him again but zoomed away at the last moment, as if unsure as to whether to attack him or not.
He ran. The thing followed him, and so did the footsteps, which were getting nearer by the second. His legs aching from lack of running for so long, and his eyes stinging from the light, he fumbled blindly along the corridors. Eventually, when he could run no further, he stopped. He had reached a window, a large one. He looked out of it, squinting to protect his damaged eyes.
The footsteps drew closer. He put both his hands on the windowsill and lifted one knee. The bird went for his head, he whacked it away and swung his other leg over the sill. This had gone on for too long. Let it end now.
--
“Wait!” Professor Snape, by far the youngest and fittest (though he’d never say as much) of the staff, had swooped on ahead, surpassing even Professor Dumbledore. Seeing the boy about to throw himself from the window, he lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his robes, which, he realised in a moment of casual observance, were little more than rags. His jerk sent the boy sprawling in a heap.
He growled as he turned onto his front, and Snape took a step back. Impossible!
Dumbledore came up behind him and raised his spectacles up his nose to make sure he was seeing properly. “My word,” he muttered.
“Leave me alone,” snarled the boy. “Don’t touch me.” Fawkes landed on Dumbledore’s shoulder and the boy glared at him. “Damn bird. Stop staring at me, won’t you?”
The other teachers caught up. One by one their mouths dropped open when they saw the boy - and the corridor started to get a little bit crowded.
The boy on the ground before them, thin, bedraggled and dirty - was Harry Potter.
Chapter 2
The boy - Harry? - struggled to his feet. As one, the staff drew their wands. The boy didn’t even flinch. “Go on then,” he said. “Curse me. See if I care.”
“No one’s going to curse you, young man,” said Professor McGonagall, who looked about as unravelled as anyone present had ever seen her.
“Unless of course you make another attempt to jump out the window,” Snape muttered.
The teachers glanced at each other.
The boy seemed to relax - but only a little. He looked at Snape. “Are you Dumbledore?”
Snape’s mouth opened - and shut again. “No,” he said finally.
“I am Albus Dumbledore,” said the Headmaster, kindly, putting his wand away. Reluctantly, the rest of the staff followed suit. “How can I help you?”
The boy made a face. “You don’t look as powerful as they make out.”
The teachers were shocked at the boy’s total disrespect for their Headmaster, but Dumbledore merely smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Age has, I’m afraid, diminished my menace. But I’m afraid you have the advantage of me…what is your name?”
The boy managed a half-smile. “Matthew,” he said.
“Um… excuse me...” said Professor Sinistra, at the back of the crowd. “But, ah… if you don’t mind me saying… you look the spitting image of… well…”
“Harry Potter,” piped up Professor Flitwick.
At the sound of Harry’s name, Matthew’s eyes flashed dangerously and his nostrils flared. “Really?” he spat. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Ah, I think… perhaps we ought to get you…ah, seen to,” said Dumbledore, motioning to the boy’s hand, which was dripping blood onto the stone.
“Oh,” said Matthew, temporarily losing his cool. “That’s… it’s nothing… really…” then he looked at it properly. “Oh,” he said, holding it in the light. “Um… that wasn’t so bad, earlier.”
“I suppose not,” said Professor Sinistra, in a patronising voice. The boy glared at her.
“I’m not a child,” he said. “I can handle it.”
“Even talks like Potter,” Snape remarked cruelly.
Matthew chose to ignore this remark.
--
Harry’s face, after ten minutes or so, was starting to hurt like hell. It turned out that Phoenixes, while they had tears that could heal, also had claws that could tear like the blazes and make cuts that didn’t close again.
“I give up, Harry,” said Hermione, exasperated. She’d been attempting the stitch-up charms they’d been learning from Professor Flitwick (in preparation for what, they could only guess). “There’s something up with it. You’ve still got ten minutes before you have to see Professor Dumbledore - let’s go to the hospital wing.”
They grabbed their bags. They passed several staff members on their way - they all stared at Harry like he’d grown another head.
“The next person who does that, I’m going to ask them what the hell is going on, Dumbledore or no Dumbledore,” Harry muttered. “This is insane. First Fawkes, now this…”
“When has school ever been normal?” Ron remarked, knocking absent-mindedly on the hospital wing door. “Especially when you’re concerned.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Harry.
The door opened. They all took half a step back, trying to make it noticeable. Professor Snape had opened the door. He had a horrible smile on his face. “Can I help you?” he said in a tone Harry had definitely heard before. It meant Snape knew something he didn’t.
“Um… is Madame Pomfrey in?” Hermione asked quietly. “Only Harry’s bleeding and we can’t make it stop…”
“Oh dear,” said Snape. “A week into the school term and Potter’s already got himself hurt, well…”
“I didn’t hurt myself,” Harry protested before he could stop himself. “It was Fawkes!”
Snape didn’t even seem angry. “Well,” he said. “Come on in.”
Suspicious, Harry walked past Snape into the room. What he saw made his heart stop for a second. Dumbledore was sitting on a nearby chair, and Madame Pomfrey was leaning over a boy sitting on the edge of a bed. A boy that looked exactly like him.
“Ah…” said Dumbledore. “Severus, do you think you could…” but it was too late. Ron and Hermione followed Harry in.
“Bloody hell,” whispered Ron.
Madame Pomfrey stood up. “Thankyou,” said the boy. He lowered a hand with a bandage wrapped tightly around it. He looked up at Harry without showing any element of surprise whatsoever. “You’re bleeding,” he said.
“Who… who the hell are you?” Ron spluttered. Harry still hadn’t found his voice.
“Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione. “He’s obviously…” she trailed off.
The boy stood up. “Matthew,” he said. “You must be Harry,” he sounded though he was trying not to shout. He held out his hand. Harry didn’t take it. Matthew shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “I guess you are as arrogant as they say.”
Harry cleared his throat. “And they are?”
Matthew glared, but didn’t answer.
“Matthew was just about to tell us how he came to be here,” said Dumbledore, pointedly. “He is, it appears, a Muggle.”
“Really?” said Ron.
Matthew rolled his eyes. “Not everyone has pointy hats and the ability to curse people, you know.”
“You know… we do use them for other things,” said Madame Pomfrey, irritably.
“Yeah,” said Matthew. “I noticed. That thing you did with the bandage was pretty cool.”
Matthew looked about as dirty as one could be without diving into a compost heap. He basically looked as though he hadn’t washed for months.
Story Title: Forgotten
Type/Genre: HP fanfic/mystery/guiltfest
Status: Unfinished Short Chapter story
Author: Andy
FORGOTTEN
Chapter 1
A letter lay on the desk of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At a simple glance, it was nothing out of the ordinary, a short letter written neatly in reddish black ink. Professor Dumbledore, after a most fulfilling dinner in the great hall, entered the office and sat down cheerfully in the high seat behind the desk. Noticing the letter, no doubt set there by an owl, he picked it up, in relatively high spirits.
The last few months had been absolute hell for the Order of the Pheonix. The situation was gradually getting worse, and they were no closer to determining what Voldemort’s next move would be. Everyone knew that if something - anything - happened, they would be unable to retaliate. Be helpless. But there had been little to no attacks during the last week and things were starting to, in some small way, look up.
By the time he’d finished reading the letter, Dumbledore’s mood was all but cheerful. His hand whitened as he clutched the parchment, scarcely able to accept what it said. A look of abrupt weariness came across his face.
At the same moment, at least eight people - all Gryffindor students in their seventh year barring one Remus Lupin, burst into the room, all trying to say the same thing at once; “Professor - Harry’s gone!”
“I know,” Dumbledore said softly.
“You know?” Lupin said, incredulously.
“Where is he, Professor?” asked Ron Weasley, who was supporting a nearly hysterical Hermione Granger. Dumbledore hesitated before handing him the letter. It read:
‘Professor Dumbledore.
We have Potter. He’s dead. Who will you turn to now?’
It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. Ron shook as he passed the parchment around. They all read it in silence. Remus sniffed the letter when it was passed to him, and blanched. “Blood?” Dumbledore asked.
Remus nodded, and returned the parchment. “It’s his. I know it. He’s really gone, then.” There were tears in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“That’s it?” Ron asked. “You’re just going to let this happen?”
“It’s probably already happened,” said Remus, his face a blank. “And if not - we still haven’t discovered where Voldemort’s hiding.”
“We’ve lost,” Hermione stated, sitting down hard with her face in her hands.
“I’ll kill Malfoy,” said Neville Longbottom, in a voice that was hardly his own. “I know he had something to do with this.”
“Unfortunately we no more know the location of young Mr. Malfoy than we do Voldemort’s hideout,” said Dumbledore, gravely. “There is nothing for it. We will have to continue this war without Harry Potter.”
Three Years Later
Muggleborn Hogwarts student Lucy Green was sitting alone on the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall, doing her Transfiguration homework. She was a third year, but she didn’t feel like going to Hogsmeade - she’d gone the last time and had got bored after going to the sweet shop and the book store, and besides, she hated exercise and got tired quickly. Her classmates - she didn’t want to go so far as to call them ‘friends’, had told her she was mad to miss out on the opportunity, but at least she was going to get her homework done before Sunday evening, and it was peaceful out here on the stairs.
Describe three ways in which switching spells can be applied to substitute for continental Transfiguration. Lucy sighed and pushed her hair behind her ear, and it immediately sprang back again. She hated her hair. It was brown, it was springy, and it was boring.
One of the doors to the Entrance Hall started to creak open. Lucy looked up, quickly, thinking it must be the students back already. Had there been some accident? An attack? Or maybe it was one of the teachers, back early to mark some papers?
It was not either. In the doorway, holding tight onto the heavy oaken door as if for support was… a creature. It was the height of a man, and had two arms, two legs and a head like a man, but it was so wild and overgrown that Lucy grabbed her books and made to run.
“Wait -” the thing croaked.
Lucy stopped, hardly daring to breath, and turned to face the thing that had spoken to her. It did not speak again, but took two shuddering steps forward… and collapsed. The door closed with a clunk behind the fallen figure. “Um… hello?” Lucy whispered. There was no answer. Leaving her homework, quill and ink on the stairs, she got up tentatively and took a few timid steps towards it. “Are you ok?”
The thing stirred. Lucy carefully stayed out of reach as the thing got to its knees. It looked up at her and she gasped and took a step back. It had matted, tangled hair that looked black but it was impossible to tell beneath the dirt and it almost reached to his waist. Lucy knew it was a he because a scraggly beard covered his mouth area and chin and reached halfway down his chest. There was a cut on his forehead that looked infected - it was pussy, and there was blood streaking down one cheek. He was wearing what looked like well-made robes - they were blue silk and untorn although obviously soaking wet. He was holding one hand in the folds of the garments, and the area around them was soaked in something red…
Lucy held one hand to her mouth and looked back up at the creature’s face. The eyes…
There was nothing extraordinary about the eyes. They were dark green, and seemed to see right through her, but they were neither red, nor gaping black holes, either of which she might have expected. This somehow shocked her more than if she’d seen something horrible.
“Hermione?” the wild man croaked.
Lucy took another step back as the man squinted. “No,” he said, “You’re too young. What’s your name?”
Lucy did not know why she answered, but she did. “I’m Lucy,” she said, quietly, walking slowly backwards towards her things on the steps
“Please…” said the wild man. “Come back…”
Lucy ran. Grabbing her bag and stuffing her parchment and quills inside it, she hurtled up the marble stairs as fast as her plump legs could carry her. Panting, she took another stairway and turned sharply right. Only one teacher, barring the
Headmaster and Professor Trelawny, had remained in Hogwarts while the others went to Hogsmeade - Lucy knew because she’d watched them all leave. Her Charms Professor was here… somewhere…
Finding the office at last, Lucy pounded on the door with her fists. Professor Granger opened it. “Miss Green?”
“Professor!” Lucy gasped. “Professor, I -”
“Miss Green - Lucy, are you all right?”
“There’s a… man… downstairs…”
“A man?”
“It’s horrible, he…”
“Take me to him.” Professor Granger grabbed her cloak and closed the office door behind her as she led Lucy out into the corridor. “You did the right thing to come and find me, Miss Green. “Did this man say anything to you?”
“He didn’t want me to leave - he looks really beat up,” she added. She was still out of breath but felt better now they were at normal walking speed. “And…”
“And what, Miss Green?”
“He… called me Hermione. I think he thought I might be you, Professor.”
Professor Granger stopped in her tracks. She looked at Lucy as though seeing her for the first time. “Hurry,” she said suddenly, and sped up. Oh no, not again, Lucy thought, but started running again to keep up with the older woman’s stride.
The man lay collapsed in the centre of Entrance Hall - he’d obviously crawled a little before giving up. Professor Granger did not stop; she merely came within five metres of the fallen wild man, pulled out her wand and levitated him, gently. As he rose into the air, his arms fell to either side of his body, revealing a hand missing two fingers, the infected stumps oozing pus, making Lucy feel sick. The Charms Professor also seemed sickened, but only before she noticed the fold of cloth that had fallen aside with her spell. The blue robes were decorated in one corner with a silver snake curling around a large letter M.
“What the…” Professor Granger knelt by the levitated figure to examine the delicate embroidered crest. Standing up, she looked at the man’s tattered face, standing still for a few minutes without saying anything.
“Um… Professor?”
Professor Granger jumped as though she’d forgotten anyone was there.
“Should we take him to the hospital wing?”
“Yes,” her teacher said, absent-mindedly. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Miss Green, please go and fetch Professor Dumbledore and Professor - oh no, they’ve all gone to Hogsmeade, haven’t they?”
“Professor Dumbledore is still here,” said Lucy, helpfully.
“Really? Oh, good. Go and fetch him for me, would you please? The password is ‘Ice Mice’. And when Professor Snape returns, ask him if he would care to join us in the hospital wing, as well.”
“Professor Snape?” Lucy disliked the greasy Potions Master and did not fancy the idea of asking him for anything, even if it was for another teacher.
“Yes, Miss Green, Professor Snape,” said the Charms Professor, switching into authoritive teacher mode. “I will be escorting our guest to the hospital wing. I will see you there.”
“Me?”
“Yes, no doubt we will need a runner. Go, now!”
A runner, thought Lucy, as she sped up the stairs, this time leaving her bag in the Entrance Hall - she could return for it later. More running - just great. The most exciting thing that’s happened to me for ages and it has to involve running.
She had to stop to breath and ease a stitch every so often, but somehow she made it to Dumbledore’s gargoyle. “Ice Mice!” she panted, and the gargoyle sprang aside, allowing her to climb onto the moving staircase. Thanking Merlin for the wizarding equivalent of escalators, Lucy caught her breath until she reached the top and she could hop onto the platform and knock on Dumbledore’s door. She’d only been here once before and it had been for something she hadn’t even done - thankfully she’d been let off and had stayed resolutely away from Professor Snape for a long time afterwards.
“Do come in,” said a cheery voice. Lucy entered.
“Professor Dumbledore?”
The old man was sitting behind his desk, working his way through a mound of paperwork. He motioned to it as she came in. “Dear me. Parchment seems so thin when it’s a single sheet, but pile it up in numbers of a hundred or so and it suddenly becomes so daunting. May I help you, Miss Green?”
Lucy had already gotten over Dumbledore’s innate talent for knowing the first and last names of every single student in the school, so she answered without surprise.
“Professor Granger says to come quickly. There’s a man she’s taking to the hospital wing.”
“Ah,” said Dumbledore, standing up. “Lead the way then, Miss Green.”
Lucy was fairly sure Dumbledore knew the way to the hospital wing, so she walked beside him instead. Gratefully, she noticed that Dumbledore shortened his steps so that she could keep up with him. She was tired of running.
“Do you know the man’s name, Miss Green?” Dumbledore asked as they walked.
“Um… no,” said Lucy. “But he looks like a tramp, really. I bet he’s just some Muggle tra…” then she stopped. “But he knew Professor Granger, I think.”
“Really?” mused Professor Dumbledore, apparently not really expecting an answer.
By the time the hospital wing came into view, Lucy had filled the headmaster in on everything she had seen. When Dumbledore opened the door, Lucy slipped in behind him and closed the door, trying to be helpful so he wouldn’t send her away.
Professor Granger was standing behind the bed which now held the unfortunate man with the missing fingers. She looked both puzzled and agitated, and held her wand quite tightly in one hand.
“Hermione?”
“Oh, Professor, thank goodness!”
Dumbledore stepped over to the man and leaned cautiously over him. “Curious.”
“He was just lying there in the Entrance Hall! Lucy said he just walked on in!”
“Yes, I was informed of the situation on the way here.”
“But sir - no one can breach the wards around Hogwarts unless they have the proper clearance!”
“I realise that, Hermione.”
Professor Granger calmed down slightly at Dumbledore’s firm voice.
“Who is he, I wonder?” Dumbledore mused, his forehead creased as though he was trying to remember something.
“Well, there’s this,” said Professor Granger, flipping over the man’s robe to reveal the silver ‘M’ embroidered in the corner.
The headmaster’s eyes widened. “A Malfoy?”
“Doesn’t exactly fit the persona, does he?”
Lucy looked at the man again. He certainly didn’t look like a Malfoy, from what she’d heard about them. They were all in hiding now, of course, except when they attacked people. Lucy balled her fists. Death Eaters had killed her uncle and cousins. Everyone in the school had been affected by them in one way or another. If word got out that there was one in the castle, there’d be a riot.
“Has he said anything else?” Dumbledore enquired.
“No sir. And I stunned him, just to make sure he wasn’t faking. I don’t like this, Professor.”
Dumbledore sighed. “One day we will live in a world where strangers can be trusted at face value.”
“I don’t think I’d trust him anyway,” said a voice. Lucy suddenly realised it was her own. The two Professors stared at her. “Well, I mean - look at him.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, Miss Green,” said Professor Granger, eventually.
“Where is Poppy?” Dumbledore asked.
“In her office, getting supplies. We might even recognise him if he’s cleaned up a bit. However, I don’t think it’s wise to wake him up without Professor Snape present.”
Dumbledore looked surprised.
Lucy suddenly remembered her second duty. “I’ll - just go and see if he’s back yet,” she said quickly, and vacated the hospital wing.
Well, she thought as she jogged down the corridor, a stitch building in her side. Today’s turning out to be a bit more exciting than I thought it was going to be.
Enjoy :D
Georgie: Yes! *coughs* I vote Vic most slashable person at MLC.
Hehehehe. Yes, me and Sanna were going through teh archives. I miss people. I haven't been to friday!at!four for two weeks now if you count tomorrow. *is sick of stupid IB peoples* [/joke]
Also I am sick of TEH MEDEA. Anyone who likes it (except possibly Sarah-Mae) wouldn't like it as much if you were where I am (the Home Ec corridor, waiting for people to come out of BJ). YAWN, much?
Anyway, enough complaints because there's a lot of that going around lately. I will share with you some random writing I have done while unable to concentrate on actual homework.
Story Title: Six O'Clock
Status: Unfinished one-shot
Type/Genre: HP fanfic/mystery/romance
Author: Andy
It was six o’clock in the evening when a man knocked on a door in St. Ives, and a woman opened it. It was dark already, but the streetlights threw a soft yellow light on he doors of the houses and the man was illuminated by the light from the hall. A woman stood in the doorway. She was short, plump and grey-haired - she was the kind of person you expected by default to ‘take no nonsense’.
“Where’s Potter?” the man growled. The woman narrowed her eyes. The man was huge and unattractive, and he held a bundle of what looked like old jumpers in his arms.
“Mr. Potter is on holiday with his family,” said the woman, eyeing him warily. “If you are from the press I sincerely advise you to take the matter up with his personal secretary -”
“What family?” the man scoffed. “I happen to know Potter’s family and they’d rather die than have him over for Christmas.”
“Take your issue up with Mr. Potter at his office after the holiday,” said the woman firmly - starting to slam the door, but the man stuck his foot in the door.
“I have something of his,” he said, and opened the bundle.
There was silence. Then the woman reluctantly opened the door. “I’ll get the address.”
--
Dinner had seemed to last all night, but it was only nine o’clock. Twenty-three year old Harry Potter sank gratefully onto the sofa in the living room at the Burrow, next to his girlfriend. “I’m stuffed, Molly,” he congratulated the woman stoking the fire.
“Big surprise,” said his friend Ron, who up until this point had appeared to be engrossed in a chess match with his brother, Bill, watched over carefully by his girlfriend, Hermione. The entire Weasley family (or at least, all the members Harry had met) had decided to stay at the Burrow for Christmas. The atmosphere was constantly, warm, content, and above all, jovial.
“Yes, hardly takes much to fill you up,” said George.
“Always were a titch,” said Fred. Harry glared at him.
“I’d hit you but I’m way too comfortable,” he said. “What is it about these sofas that makes them impossible to get out of?”
“Years and years of being sat in, probably,” said Charlie, who was attempting to read, and failing. His wife Chantelle was upstairs putting their three-year-old to bed.
“Sweetie, will you fetch my book from the kitchen?” Ginny asked Harry, wickedly.
He stared at her. “Are you serious?”
“Of course,” she said. “You wouldn’t refuse me this tiny thing, would you?”
Hermione giggled. Harry heaved himself out of the sofa just as there was a heavy knocking on the door. “I’ll get it,” he said, “since I’m up.”
“Wonder who it could be?” Ron asked. “Everyone we know lives here.”
“Quite an exaggeration, Ron,” Molly scolded. Even now that all of her offspring were of age, it seemed she was not willing to give up her role as a mother so quickly.
Harry staggered to the front door, causing much amusement among Certain People With No Feelings.
When he opened it, all the fun and laughter in his heart stopped, though he could still hear it from the living room.
Silence.
“Harry?” called Ginny. “You all right?”
“Fine.” Harry growled.
Ginny jumped up at the sound of his voice. “You don’t sound fine.”
Everyone moved into the corridor.
The man in the doorway looked at them. “Nice army,” he said to Harry.
“What do you want?” Harry asked. “Why the hell are you here?”
“The nice lady at your house was very cooperative,” said the man, grinning.
Harry’s hands balled into fists. “You bastard - what did you do?”
“What? Nothing! I asked nicely.”
“Really? I thought you were incapable of asking for anything nicely.”
“I have my ways of getting what I want.”
Behind the man a car on the driveway was visible. It was large, dark blue, ominous.
“And what do you want exactly?” Harry asked, one hand on the door as if waiting for a chance to slam it in his face.
“Nothing. I want to give you something.”
“Come off it, Dudley. Get to the point.” Dudley Dursley grinned. He took a step forward, but Harry’s wand was already at his forehead. “Or I’ll get there first.” Dudley looked shocked. “Yeah, big surprise, Cuz. I’m not ten years old anymore.”
“I noticed,” said Dudley, raising his eyebrows at Ginny, who had one hand on Harry’s arm.
“Do you have a death wish?” Harry growled.
--
Story Title: Doppelganger
Type/Genre: HP fanfic/mystery/adventure
Status: Unfinished Short Chapter story
Author: Andy
DOPPELGANGER
Chapter 1
He stumbled out of the fireplace at half past three in the afternoon. The sun, streaming through the huge window, pierced his neglected eyes and he fell to the ground with a cry. Carpet, soft and forgiving, met his knees and the palms of his hands. He brushed it delicately with his fingers as though it was unworthy of his touch.
Reaching out with one hand, eyes firmly closed, he came into contact with a wooden leg. Groping upwards he discovered the flat surface of a table or desk.
“Hello?” he called out softly, his voice harsh with disuse. A fluttering of wings made him freeze. Makor! But the raven could not have followed him here, surely… if he was even in the right place…
Sure that he’d been caught, he made no movement, knowing it could only make his situation worse. There was a great whoosh of air as something swooped over to him and landed softly on his head.
Not Makor then. He was sure the horrid bird didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘soft’. He breathed a sigh of relief. The thing flapped again, and cold liquid suddenly splashed onto his eyes. His hands flew to his face, but his eyes simply felt cool, and tentatively he opened them. The light still pained him slightly, but at least he could see. The room was medieval like the mansion, but brightly coloured and filled from top to bottom with strange silver instruments and old books.
He reached up a hand and the thing on his head hopped onto it. It seemed be a cross between an eagle and some kind of buzzard, with right auburn and red feathers. It seemed regal, and gave him a slight sense of foreboding. He ignored this, however, in favour of the fact that the thing had apparently just restored his sight.
“Well,” he whispered. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
The bird cocked its head to one side, as if confused. Then it opened its beak and trilled a short note of annoyance. It didn’t sound like any bird he’d ever heard before. Without warning it took flight, circling the room once before swooping out the open window. He shielded his eyes in order to watch it.
“Well… thanks,” he said to himself, feeling a little foolish for talking to a bird that couldn’t even hear him.
Looking around, he saw a door wedged between two bookcases, he hadn’t noticed before. Taking a final glance around the office, he walked through it.
The moving staircase didn’t really phase him, although he’d never seen an escalator that was made of wood and descended in a spiral. The gargoyle at the bottom wasn’t a problem either, nor the moving portraits since he’d seen plenty of those at the mansion. Most of them ignored him but once he’d wondered round the empty halls for a while he started to get dizzy, so he decided to ask one of them for some kind of direction.
“Are you all right dear?” the friendly looking woman when he knocked politely one the wall next to her portrait. “My, you’ve been through the wars, haven’t you? Hasn’t taken you long this year, has it?”
He stared. “You’ve… seen me before?”
“Of course,” she said, shrugging daintily, if this was possible. “You pass by here everyday on your way to the stairs. Not that you ever notice me, of course. You children hardly ever notice anything around you. You’d think you’d be a little more -”
“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I’m looking for Albus Dumbledore. You don’t know where he is, do you?”
“Well if he’d not in his office he’s probably out of the castle,” said the woman, sniffily. He half expected her to ask whether the matter was urgent and could she take a message. Instead she asked him the time.
“No idea,” he said. He hadn’t had a watch for months
“Well,” she said. “My guess is that it’s nearly time for afternoon tea in the Great Hall. You might look there if you’ve a mind.”
“Where’s that?”
The lady in the portrait grudgingly gave him detailed instructions, and feeling better now that he had a goal, he began to follow them.
Before he’d gone far however, a loud bell ringing and a thundering noise made him bolt for the nearest cupboard. Hating himself for his cowardly behaviour, he listened as what sounded like a huge flock of children, screaming and laughing, moved in a rush past the cupboard door. The sound almost brought tears to his eyes. It continued for some time but eventually died down a little as the footsteps receded into the distance.
Slowly he opened the cupboard door and, on seeing no one, he followed the sound of laughter.
~
Harry Potter was having a staring contest with a scone. He was winning until something knocked him over the back of the head and he lost his concentration.
“Harry will you EAT something instead of staring at your food?” Hermione snapped.
“Do I look hungry?” Harry shot back. “Are you done yet?”
“If you’re so bored, go up to the common room,” said Hermione sounding fed up. “But I’m going to eat properly so I don’t faint while trying to finish that Transfiguration essay later.”
“She’s got a point,” said Ron with his mouth full.
Harry said nothing, but didn’t go up to Gryffindor tower. While he knew that Ron and Hermione were a little tired of his attitude after a week back at school, he still didn’t want to go anywhere by himself. As things stood, if someone said a wrong word around him he’d probably punch them if Hermione wasn’t there to stop him, or Ron, to shout a comeback. He didn’t want people thinking he was more of a psycho than they already did.
He couldn’t think about this for long however, before the heart-binding sound of phoenix song resounded around the walls of the great hall. Looking up, he saw Fawkes enter the high windows of the hall, but then stared in confusion as the large bird dove straight towards him.
“What the -”
The bird drove himself into a frenzy, flapping round and around Harry’s head, pulling on his hair and trying to scratch at his eyes.
“Quit it, Fawkes!!”
The hall was staring, but no one except Ron and Hermione seemed to want to help pry the dangerous looking bird off him.
“Fawkes, get OFF!” Harry yelled. “Professor!”
Dumbledore had stood up, looking more curious than worried at Fawkes’ odd behaviour.
“A little help…” Harry gasped, “Would be great….”
“Fawkes,” Dumbledore said softly. The bird immediately left Harry and alighted on his Master’s shoulder.
“What was that about?” Ron breathed.
Harry wiped his face with his sleeve and it came away a little damp. He was bleeding. “What’s his problem?” he asked the headmaster angrily from across the room.
Dumbledore waited, as Fawkes leant over and appeared to whisper in his ear. The hall held its breath. “Staff,” Dumbledore said into the silence. “To my office. Harry, I will see you there in half an hour.”
The staff, looking a mixture of puzzled and worried, left. As soon as they’d gone the hall burst into sound, the prefects trying in vain to maintain order.
“Well,” said Ron to Harry, who was rubbing at his cut cheek with a serviette. “That was weird.”
--
He had almost reached the Entrance Hall when once again he heard the sound of footsteps, coming steadily his way. Frantically, he looked around once more. There was no where to hide.
Running, then, seemed to be the best option.
Before he could even move, the sound of wings reached his ears. Probably to a normal person this sort of thing wouldn’t have been audible, but the last few months had trained his ear to it. The sound meant trouble.
The big orange bird swooped around the corner and went for him. He ducked, but the thing was fast, and it was quite obviously severely confused. It dove for him again but zoomed away at the last moment, as if unsure as to whether to attack him or not.
He ran. The thing followed him, and so did the footsteps, which were getting nearer by the second. His legs aching from lack of running for so long, and his eyes stinging from the light, he fumbled blindly along the corridors. Eventually, when he could run no further, he stopped. He had reached a window, a large one. He looked out of it, squinting to protect his damaged eyes.
The footsteps drew closer. He put both his hands on the windowsill and lifted one knee. The bird went for his head, he whacked it away and swung his other leg over the sill. This had gone on for too long. Let it end now.
--
“Wait!” Professor Snape, by far the youngest and fittest (though he’d never say as much) of the staff, had swooped on ahead, surpassing even Professor Dumbledore. Seeing the boy about to throw himself from the window, he lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his robes, which, he realised in a moment of casual observance, were little more than rags. His jerk sent the boy sprawling in a heap.
He growled as he turned onto his front, and Snape took a step back. Impossible!
Dumbledore came up behind him and raised his spectacles up his nose to make sure he was seeing properly. “My word,” he muttered.
“Leave me alone,” snarled the boy. “Don’t touch me.” Fawkes landed on Dumbledore’s shoulder and the boy glared at him. “Damn bird. Stop staring at me, won’t you?”
The other teachers caught up. One by one their mouths dropped open when they saw the boy - and the corridor started to get a little bit crowded.
The boy on the ground before them, thin, bedraggled and dirty - was Harry Potter.
Chapter 2
The boy - Harry? - struggled to his feet. As one, the staff drew their wands. The boy didn’t even flinch. “Go on then,” he said. “Curse me. See if I care.”
“No one’s going to curse you, young man,” said Professor McGonagall, who looked about as unravelled as anyone present had ever seen her.
“Unless of course you make another attempt to jump out the window,” Snape muttered.
The teachers glanced at each other.
The boy seemed to relax - but only a little. He looked at Snape. “Are you Dumbledore?”
Snape’s mouth opened - and shut again. “No,” he said finally.
“I am Albus Dumbledore,” said the Headmaster, kindly, putting his wand away. Reluctantly, the rest of the staff followed suit. “How can I help you?”
The boy made a face. “You don’t look as powerful as they make out.”
The teachers were shocked at the boy’s total disrespect for their Headmaster, but Dumbledore merely smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Age has, I’m afraid, diminished my menace. But I’m afraid you have the advantage of me…what is your name?”
The boy managed a half-smile. “Matthew,” he said.
“Um… excuse me...” said Professor Sinistra, at the back of the crowd. “But, ah… if you don’t mind me saying… you look the spitting image of… well…”
“Harry Potter,” piped up Professor Flitwick.
At the sound of Harry’s name, Matthew’s eyes flashed dangerously and his nostrils flared. “Really?” he spat. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Ah, I think… perhaps we ought to get you…ah, seen to,” said Dumbledore, motioning to the boy’s hand, which was dripping blood onto the stone.
“Oh,” said Matthew, temporarily losing his cool. “That’s… it’s nothing… really…” then he looked at it properly. “Oh,” he said, holding it in the light. “Um… that wasn’t so bad, earlier.”
“I suppose not,” said Professor Sinistra, in a patronising voice. The boy glared at her.
“I’m not a child,” he said. “I can handle it.”
“Even talks like Potter,” Snape remarked cruelly.
Matthew chose to ignore this remark.
--
Harry’s face, after ten minutes or so, was starting to hurt like hell. It turned out that Phoenixes, while they had tears that could heal, also had claws that could tear like the blazes and make cuts that didn’t close again.
“I give up, Harry,” said Hermione, exasperated. She’d been attempting the stitch-up charms they’d been learning from Professor Flitwick (in preparation for what, they could only guess). “There’s something up with it. You’ve still got ten minutes before you have to see Professor Dumbledore - let’s go to the hospital wing.”
They grabbed their bags. They passed several staff members on their way - they all stared at Harry like he’d grown another head.
“The next person who does that, I’m going to ask them what the hell is going on, Dumbledore or no Dumbledore,” Harry muttered. “This is insane. First Fawkes, now this…”
“When has school ever been normal?” Ron remarked, knocking absent-mindedly on the hospital wing door. “Especially when you’re concerned.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Harry.
The door opened. They all took half a step back, trying to make it noticeable. Professor Snape had opened the door. He had a horrible smile on his face. “Can I help you?” he said in a tone Harry had definitely heard before. It meant Snape knew something he didn’t.
“Um… is Madame Pomfrey in?” Hermione asked quietly. “Only Harry’s bleeding and we can’t make it stop…”
“Oh dear,” said Snape. “A week into the school term and Potter’s already got himself hurt, well…”
“I didn’t hurt myself,” Harry protested before he could stop himself. “It was Fawkes!”
Snape didn’t even seem angry. “Well,” he said. “Come on in.”
Suspicious, Harry walked past Snape into the room. What he saw made his heart stop for a second. Dumbledore was sitting on a nearby chair, and Madame Pomfrey was leaning over a boy sitting on the edge of a bed. A boy that looked exactly like him.
“Ah…” said Dumbledore. “Severus, do you think you could…” but it was too late. Ron and Hermione followed Harry in.
“Bloody hell,” whispered Ron.
Madame Pomfrey stood up. “Thankyou,” said the boy. He lowered a hand with a bandage wrapped tightly around it. He looked up at Harry without showing any element of surprise whatsoever. “You’re bleeding,” he said.
“Who… who the hell are you?” Ron spluttered. Harry still hadn’t found his voice.
“Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione. “He’s obviously…” she trailed off.
The boy stood up. “Matthew,” he said. “You must be Harry,” he sounded though he was trying not to shout. He held out his hand. Harry didn’t take it. Matthew shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “I guess you are as arrogant as they say.”
Harry cleared his throat. “And they are?”
Matthew glared, but didn’t answer.
“Matthew was just about to tell us how he came to be here,” said Dumbledore, pointedly. “He is, it appears, a Muggle.”
“Really?” said Ron.
Matthew rolled his eyes. “Not everyone has pointy hats and the ability to curse people, you know.”
“You know… we do use them for other things,” said Madame Pomfrey, irritably.
“Yeah,” said Matthew. “I noticed. That thing you did with the bandage was pretty cool.”
Matthew looked about as dirty as one could be without diving into a compost heap. He basically looked as though he hadn’t washed for months.
Story Title: Forgotten
Type/Genre: HP fanfic/mystery/guiltfest
Status: Unfinished Short Chapter story
Author: Andy
FORGOTTEN
Chapter 1
A letter lay on the desk of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At a simple glance, it was nothing out of the ordinary, a short letter written neatly in reddish black ink. Professor Dumbledore, after a most fulfilling dinner in the great hall, entered the office and sat down cheerfully in the high seat behind the desk. Noticing the letter, no doubt set there by an owl, he picked it up, in relatively high spirits.
The last few months had been absolute hell for the Order of the Pheonix. The situation was gradually getting worse, and they were no closer to determining what Voldemort’s next move would be. Everyone knew that if something - anything - happened, they would be unable to retaliate. Be helpless. But there had been little to no attacks during the last week and things were starting to, in some small way, look up.
By the time he’d finished reading the letter, Dumbledore’s mood was all but cheerful. His hand whitened as he clutched the parchment, scarcely able to accept what it said. A look of abrupt weariness came across his face.
At the same moment, at least eight people - all Gryffindor students in their seventh year barring one Remus Lupin, burst into the room, all trying to say the same thing at once; “Professor - Harry’s gone!”
“I know,” Dumbledore said softly.
“You know?” Lupin said, incredulously.
“Where is he, Professor?” asked Ron Weasley, who was supporting a nearly hysterical Hermione Granger. Dumbledore hesitated before handing him the letter. It read:
‘Professor Dumbledore.
We have Potter. He’s dead. Who will you turn to now?’
It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. Ron shook as he passed the parchment around. They all read it in silence. Remus sniffed the letter when it was passed to him, and blanched. “Blood?” Dumbledore asked.
Remus nodded, and returned the parchment. “It’s his. I know it. He’s really gone, then.” There were tears in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“That’s it?” Ron asked. “You’re just going to let this happen?”
“It’s probably already happened,” said Remus, his face a blank. “And if not - we still haven’t discovered where Voldemort’s hiding.”
“We’ve lost,” Hermione stated, sitting down hard with her face in her hands.
“I’ll kill Malfoy,” said Neville Longbottom, in a voice that was hardly his own. “I know he had something to do with this.”
“Unfortunately we no more know the location of young Mr. Malfoy than we do Voldemort’s hideout,” said Dumbledore, gravely. “There is nothing for it. We will have to continue this war without Harry Potter.”
Three Years Later
Muggleborn Hogwarts student Lucy Green was sitting alone on the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall, doing her Transfiguration homework. She was a third year, but she didn’t feel like going to Hogsmeade - she’d gone the last time and had got bored after going to the sweet shop and the book store, and besides, she hated exercise and got tired quickly. Her classmates - she didn’t want to go so far as to call them ‘friends’, had told her she was mad to miss out on the opportunity, but at least she was going to get her homework done before Sunday evening, and it was peaceful out here on the stairs.
Describe three ways in which switching spells can be applied to substitute for continental Transfiguration. Lucy sighed and pushed her hair behind her ear, and it immediately sprang back again. She hated her hair. It was brown, it was springy, and it was boring.
One of the doors to the Entrance Hall started to creak open. Lucy looked up, quickly, thinking it must be the students back already. Had there been some accident? An attack? Or maybe it was one of the teachers, back early to mark some papers?
It was not either. In the doorway, holding tight onto the heavy oaken door as if for support was… a creature. It was the height of a man, and had two arms, two legs and a head like a man, but it was so wild and overgrown that Lucy grabbed her books and made to run.
“Wait -” the thing croaked.
Lucy stopped, hardly daring to breath, and turned to face the thing that had spoken to her. It did not speak again, but took two shuddering steps forward… and collapsed. The door closed with a clunk behind the fallen figure. “Um… hello?” Lucy whispered. There was no answer. Leaving her homework, quill and ink on the stairs, she got up tentatively and took a few timid steps towards it. “Are you ok?”
The thing stirred. Lucy carefully stayed out of reach as the thing got to its knees. It looked up at her and she gasped and took a step back. It had matted, tangled hair that looked black but it was impossible to tell beneath the dirt and it almost reached to his waist. Lucy knew it was a he because a scraggly beard covered his mouth area and chin and reached halfway down his chest. There was a cut on his forehead that looked infected - it was pussy, and there was blood streaking down one cheek. He was wearing what looked like well-made robes - they were blue silk and untorn although obviously soaking wet. He was holding one hand in the folds of the garments, and the area around them was soaked in something red…
Lucy held one hand to her mouth and looked back up at the creature’s face. The eyes…
There was nothing extraordinary about the eyes. They were dark green, and seemed to see right through her, but they were neither red, nor gaping black holes, either of which she might have expected. This somehow shocked her more than if she’d seen something horrible.
“Hermione?” the wild man croaked.
Lucy took another step back as the man squinted. “No,” he said, “You’re too young. What’s your name?”
Lucy did not know why she answered, but she did. “I’m Lucy,” she said, quietly, walking slowly backwards towards her things on the steps
“Please…” said the wild man. “Come back…”
Lucy ran. Grabbing her bag and stuffing her parchment and quills inside it, she hurtled up the marble stairs as fast as her plump legs could carry her. Panting, she took another stairway and turned sharply right. Only one teacher, barring the
Headmaster and Professor Trelawny, had remained in Hogwarts while the others went to Hogsmeade - Lucy knew because she’d watched them all leave. Her Charms Professor was here… somewhere…
Finding the office at last, Lucy pounded on the door with her fists. Professor Granger opened it. “Miss Green?”
“Professor!” Lucy gasped. “Professor, I -”
“Miss Green - Lucy, are you all right?”
“There’s a… man… downstairs…”
“A man?”
“It’s horrible, he…”
“Take me to him.” Professor Granger grabbed her cloak and closed the office door behind her as she led Lucy out into the corridor. “You did the right thing to come and find me, Miss Green. “Did this man say anything to you?”
“He didn’t want me to leave - he looks really beat up,” she added. She was still out of breath but felt better now they were at normal walking speed. “And…”
“And what, Miss Green?”
“He… called me Hermione. I think he thought I might be you, Professor.”
Professor Granger stopped in her tracks. She looked at Lucy as though seeing her for the first time. “Hurry,” she said suddenly, and sped up. Oh no, not again, Lucy thought, but started running again to keep up with the older woman’s stride.
The man lay collapsed in the centre of Entrance Hall - he’d obviously crawled a little before giving up. Professor Granger did not stop; she merely came within five metres of the fallen wild man, pulled out her wand and levitated him, gently. As he rose into the air, his arms fell to either side of his body, revealing a hand missing two fingers, the infected stumps oozing pus, making Lucy feel sick. The Charms Professor also seemed sickened, but only before she noticed the fold of cloth that had fallen aside with her spell. The blue robes were decorated in one corner with a silver snake curling around a large letter M.
“What the…” Professor Granger knelt by the levitated figure to examine the delicate embroidered crest. Standing up, she looked at the man’s tattered face, standing still for a few minutes without saying anything.
“Um… Professor?”
Professor Granger jumped as though she’d forgotten anyone was there.
“Should we take him to the hospital wing?”
“Yes,” her teacher said, absent-mindedly. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Miss Green, please go and fetch Professor Dumbledore and Professor - oh no, they’ve all gone to Hogsmeade, haven’t they?”
“Professor Dumbledore is still here,” said Lucy, helpfully.
“Really? Oh, good. Go and fetch him for me, would you please? The password is ‘Ice Mice’. And when Professor Snape returns, ask him if he would care to join us in the hospital wing, as well.”
“Professor Snape?” Lucy disliked the greasy Potions Master and did not fancy the idea of asking him for anything, even if it was for another teacher.
“Yes, Miss Green, Professor Snape,” said the Charms Professor, switching into authoritive teacher mode. “I will be escorting our guest to the hospital wing. I will see you there.”
“Me?”
“Yes, no doubt we will need a runner. Go, now!”
A runner, thought Lucy, as she sped up the stairs, this time leaving her bag in the Entrance Hall - she could return for it later. More running - just great. The most exciting thing that’s happened to me for ages and it has to involve running.
She had to stop to breath and ease a stitch every so often, but somehow she made it to Dumbledore’s gargoyle. “Ice Mice!” she panted, and the gargoyle sprang aside, allowing her to climb onto the moving staircase. Thanking Merlin for the wizarding equivalent of escalators, Lucy caught her breath until she reached the top and she could hop onto the platform and knock on Dumbledore’s door. She’d only been here once before and it had been for something she hadn’t even done - thankfully she’d been let off and had stayed resolutely away from Professor Snape for a long time afterwards.
“Do come in,” said a cheery voice. Lucy entered.
“Professor Dumbledore?”
The old man was sitting behind his desk, working his way through a mound of paperwork. He motioned to it as she came in. “Dear me. Parchment seems so thin when it’s a single sheet, but pile it up in numbers of a hundred or so and it suddenly becomes so daunting. May I help you, Miss Green?”
Lucy had already gotten over Dumbledore’s innate talent for knowing the first and last names of every single student in the school, so she answered without surprise.
“Professor Granger says to come quickly. There’s a man she’s taking to the hospital wing.”
“Ah,” said Dumbledore, standing up. “Lead the way then, Miss Green.”
Lucy was fairly sure Dumbledore knew the way to the hospital wing, so she walked beside him instead. Gratefully, she noticed that Dumbledore shortened his steps so that she could keep up with him. She was tired of running.
“Do you know the man’s name, Miss Green?” Dumbledore asked as they walked.
“Um… no,” said Lucy. “But he looks like a tramp, really. I bet he’s just some Muggle tra…” then she stopped. “But he knew Professor Granger, I think.”
“Really?” mused Professor Dumbledore, apparently not really expecting an answer.
By the time the hospital wing came into view, Lucy had filled the headmaster in on everything she had seen. When Dumbledore opened the door, Lucy slipped in behind him and closed the door, trying to be helpful so he wouldn’t send her away.
Professor Granger was standing behind the bed which now held the unfortunate man with the missing fingers. She looked both puzzled and agitated, and held her wand quite tightly in one hand.
“Hermione?”
“Oh, Professor, thank goodness!”
Dumbledore stepped over to the man and leaned cautiously over him. “Curious.”
“He was just lying there in the Entrance Hall! Lucy said he just walked on in!”
“Yes, I was informed of the situation on the way here.”
“But sir - no one can breach the wards around Hogwarts unless they have the proper clearance!”
“I realise that, Hermione.”
Professor Granger calmed down slightly at Dumbledore’s firm voice.
“Who is he, I wonder?” Dumbledore mused, his forehead creased as though he was trying to remember something.
“Well, there’s this,” said Professor Granger, flipping over the man’s robe to reveal the silver ‘M’ embroidered in the corner.
The headmaster’s eyes widened. “A Malfoy?”
“Doesn’t exactly fit the persona, does he?”
Lucy looked at the man again. He certainly didn’t look like a Malfoy, from what she’d heard about them. They were all in hiding now, of course, except when they attacked people. Lucy balled her fists. Death Eaters had killed her uncle and cousins. Everyone in the school had been affected by them in one way or another. If word got out that there was one in the castle, there’d be a riot.
“Has he said anything else?” Dumbledore enquired.
“No sir. And I stunned him, just to make sure he wasn’t faking. I don’t like this, Professor.”
Dumbledore sighed. “One day we will live in a world where strangers can be trusted at face value.”
“I don’t think I’d trust him anyway,” said a voice. Lucy suddenly realised it was her own. The two Professors stared at her. “Well, I mean - look at him.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, Miss Green,” said Professor Granger, eventually.
“Where is Poppy?” Dumbledore asked.
“In her office, getting supplies. We might even recognise him if he’s cleaned up a bit. However, I don’t think it’s wise to wake him up without Professor Snape present.”
Dumbledore looked surprised.
Lucy suddenly remembered her second duty. “I’ll - just go and see if he’s back yet,” she said quickly, and vacated the hospital wing.
Well, she thought as she jogged down the corridor, a stitch building in her side. Today’s turning out to be a bit more exciting than I thought it was going to be.
Enjoy :D