Gen Fic: "Cracked" (Harry, G)
Title: Cracked
Author: Flora
Character: Harry
Rating: G
Words: ~1350
A/N: A quickie, unofficially for marksykins for the HP Gen ficathon; Marks is the only one not to either have a fic in the works for her or to have already gotten one, and you KNOW I can't let that go. She asked for Harry being an Auror and having a problem doing his job, with no romantic relationships.
Cracked
Harry stared at the cracked globe and cursed under his breath. This had to stop. Simple spells just shouldn't do the kind of damage they kept doing, and as it was only when he was around, it was clearly him.
He turned to O'Shea and shook his head. "You need to tell the Ministry to assign you someone else for a time."
O'Shea shook her head. "Not a chance. We'll work it out."
They'd had this conversation several times over the past two weeks, and each time, she'd convinced him it was silly for him to remove himself from their caseload over accidents; after all, he had the best capture rate of them all, and if there were sometimes little problems, well, that would happen.
Not this time, though. This time he'd cracked a solid metal ball casting the first charm he'd ever learned, and that wasn't a little accident; that was a mess. He was afraid to try to cast anything more complicated; something like Expecto Patronum would probably open a fissure in the earth itself. "Not this time, Rachel. I'm out. Someone's going to get hurt."
He turned and walked out the door, afraid to Apparate or even summon a broom.
Even calling the Knight Bus seemed a bit risky, but given it was a passive sort of call--just a raise of the wand--he decided to risk it. The bus squealed to a stop before his toes three seconds later, and he climbed aboard.
Ernie didn't seem to object when he said he'd some thinking to do and to please drop him last, so he went on back and found a bed, then took off his shoes and lay down.
It wasn't so much that he was tired, as that he wanted to pull up the covers over his head. Probably not the healthiest mindset for the Most Powerful Auror The Ministry Had Ever Had (And Who Lived!), but he decided to give himself the amount of time it took to get where he was going to wallow, and then go out and figure out what the hell to do about his new tendency toward shattering things.
He pulled the covers right on up and lay there, staring into the orange glow of light filtered through the layers of blanket and imagining the cracks that were all the same, were all perfect reflections of the scar that no longer throbbed on his brow. There had been the ball, just now; a mirror on Monday; a window, a block of concrete along the road, a wooden bench; and, the first instance, a cheesecake.
He couldn't help but grin as he thought of that one; he'd cast a simple summoning charm and the cooling cheesecake on the table before him had split all the way across in familiar lightning-bolt shape, upon which the subject of their questioning had immediately remarked. It hadn't been until the phenomenon had repeated that he'd become concerned.
Although, he had to say, splitting solid objects to reflect one's own body with a thought had a rather profound impact on a subject's willingness to talk. That had been why he'd gone along with staying on the job, really--deliberate or not, it was damned effective.
But today, that had been a four-kilo solid ball of steel, and the crack had opened as smoothly as if it had been the cheesecake again.
And that kind of power, deliberate or not, was downright scary.
He closed his eyes and let the irregular swaying and swerving of the bus lull him, vaguely aware he was dropping off to sleep, enjoying the fuzzy uncaring state between slumber and wakefulness.
The clang as the bus stopped jolted him fully awake and he looked around, momentarily confused by the blanket over his head. Finally, he pulled it free and sat up, then stared in astonishment at the remains around him. The front half of the bus had been neatly sheared off.
Evidently with pinking shears; the perfect lightning bolt shape of what was left of each side was clear even from this odd angle.
Right. No sleeping.
He sat up and put on his shoes, then went to examine the cut edge, which was red-hot and smoking--and that was new; none of the other bolts had been like that. He looked around, then called out. "Hullo?"
Apparently no-one else had been in the back half of the bus.
Just as well, he supposed, though he did wonder how far the front half had got without the back. It wasn't in sight, although given the way the Knight Bus traveled, it was possible the two halves hadn't been in the same space when it had come apart. He hoped the thing was still invisible to Muggles, or someone was going to happen along and have questions for him, and the way things were going, they'd probably wind up neatly sliced in two by Harry's own involuntary sectumsempra.
The wind whistled as it passed over the jagged edge, and Harry went back to the bed in which he'd been sleeping and plunked down on it, trying to work out whether there was any way to leave, in case of Muggles.
There wasn't, not really; any ideas he might have would involve casting something, and as he had no idea where they were, it wasn't as though walking out was a particularly compelling option. He fingered his wand in the pocket of his jeans and sighed.
He didn't even have a coat.
The wind whistled louder, and Harry could have sworn it was laughing at him. Fair enough, really--the situation certainly did entail a sense of the bizarre. He shrugged. He did have a blanket, and he might as well walk as sit here, after all.
It wasn't until he was half a mile down the road that he realized the whistling hadn't stopped when he left the bus. He slowed and turned in a full circle, then stopped entirely as all at once he realized what was happening. "What do you want?"
No answer was forthcoming.
He started walking again. "Nagini was afterward, then, replacing the diary. This one was from before."
The wind silenced, and Harry nodded. "It can't be very strong, then, can it? To have been quiescent all this time. It shouldn't take that much to destroy."
The sound of laughter echoed again, and Harry's mouth formed a grim little smile as he put one foot in front of the other. "I suppose I can't very well take this back to my colleagues. Oi, Rachel. Dark Lord in my head after all!"
He listened as the laughter sped, then stopped once again and drew out his wand. "I don't suppose you want to show yourself?" He pointed the wand at his own forehead.
All he heard was the sound that had receded to shallow breathing.
He shrugged. "Have it your way." He took a deep breath and muttered, "And so it ends."
And then he spun, pointed, and fired, a binding spell that created a ripple in the air as it hit his mark. The second charm put an end to the concealment charm and the third dragged a very disheveled Lucius Malfoy toward him along the road. "Shouldn't have played your hand so soon," Harry growled, "nor progressed things so quickly."
Malfoy struggled against his bonds, but said nothing, and Harry shook his head. " You had me concerned until you overdid it, though. Too bad. Loyal to the last, and the last of the Death Eaters." He reinforced the bindings, then Apparated them both to the Ministry. "Honestly," he said as he handed over his captive. "Do you really think we didn't check the scar every way we could imagine?"
"No." It was the only thing Malfoy had said yet, and Harry grinned.
"You expected me to panic, then. Well. I didn't with the first Horcrux I destroyed, so I've no idea why you'd expect it now. I'm not Draco, you know."
He watched that hit home, then turned away and went to file his report, tracing his scar bemusedly as he went.
Author: Flora
Character: Harry
Rating: G
Words: ~1350
A/N: A quickie, unofficially for marksykins for the HP Gen ficathon; Marks is the only one not to either have a fic in the works for her or to have already gotten one, and you KNOW I can't let that go. She asked for Harry being an Auror and having a problem doing his job, with no romantic relationships.
Cracked
Harry stared at the cracked globe and cursed under his breath. This had to stop. Simple spells just shouldn't do the kind of damage they kept doing, and as it was only when he was around, it was clearly him.
He turned to O'Shea and shook his head. "You need to tell the Ministry to assign you someone else for a time."
O'Shea shook her head. "Not a chance. We'll work it out."
They'd had this conversation several times over the past two weeks, and each time, she'd convinced him it was silly for him to remove himself from their caseload over accidents; after all, he had the best capture rate of them all, and if there were sometimes little problems, well, that would happen.
Not this time, though. This time he'd cracked a solid metal ball casting the first charm he'd ever learned, and that wasn't a little accident; that was a mess. He was afraid to try to cast anything more complicated; something like Expecto Patronum would probably open a fissure in the earth itself. "Not this time, Rachel. I'm out. Someone's going to get hurt."
He turned and walked out the door, afraid to Apparate or even summon a broom.
Even calling the Knight Bus seemed a bit risky, but given it was a passive sort of call--just a raise of the wand--he decided to risk it. The bus squealed to a stop before his toes three seconds later, and he climbed aboard.
Ernie didn't seem to object when he said he'd some thinking to do and to please drop him last, so he went on back and found a bed, then took off his shoes and lay down.
It wasn't so much that he was tired, as that he wanted to pull up the covers over his head. Probably not the healthiest mindset for the Most Powerful Auror The Ministry Had Ever Had (And Who Lived!), but he decided to give himself the amount of time it took to get where he was going to wallow, and then go out and figure out what the hell to do about his new tendency toward shattering things.
He pulled the covers right on up and lay there, staring into the orange glow of light filtered through the layers of blanket and imagining the cracks that were all the same, were all perfect reflections of the scar that no longer throbbed on his brow. There had been the ball, just now; a mirror on Monday; a window, a block of concrete along the road, a wooden bench; and, the first instance, a cheesecake.
He couldn't help but grin as he thought of that one; he'd cast a simple summoning charm and the cooling cheesecake on the table before him had split all the way across in familiar lightning-bolt shape, upon which the subject of their questioning had immediately remarked. It hadn't been until the phenomenon had repeated that he'd become concerned.
Although, he had to say, splitting solid objects to reflect one's own body with a thought had a rather profound impact on a subject's willingness to talk. That had been why he'd gone along with staying on the job, really--deliberate or not, it was damned effective.
But today, that had been a four-kilo solid ball of steel, and the crack had opened as smoothly as if it had been the cheesecake again.
And that kind of power, deliberate or not, was downright scary.
He closed his eyes and let the irregular swaying and swerving of the bus lull him, vaguely aware he was dropping off to sleep, enjoying the fuzzy uncaring state between slumber and wakefulness.
The clang as the bus stopped jolted him fully awake and he looked around, momentarily confused by the blanket over his head. Finally, he pulled it free and sat up, then stared in astonishment at the remains around him. The front half of the bus had been neatly sheared off.
Evidently with pinking shears; the perfect lightning bolt shape of what was left of each side was clear even from this odd angle.
Right. No sleeping.
He sat up and put on his shoes, then went to examine the cut edge, which was red-hot and smoking--and that was new; none of the other bolts had been like that. He looked around, then called out. "Hullo?"
Apparently no-one else had been in the back half of the bus.
Just as well, he supposed, though he did wonder how far the front half had got without the back. It wasn't in sight, although given the way the Knight Bus traveled, it was possible the two halves hadn't been in the same space when it had come apart. He hoped the thing was still invisible to Muggles, or someone was going to happen along and have questions for him, and the way things were going, they'd probably wind up neatly sliced in two by Harry's own involuntary sectumsempra.
The wind whistled as it passed over the jagged edge, and Harry went back to the bed in which he'd been sleeping and plunked down on it, trying to work out whether there was any way to leave, in case of Muggles.
There wasn't, not really; any ideas he might have would involve casting something, and as he had no idea where they were, it wasn't as though walking out was a particularly compelling option. He fingered his wand in the pocket of his jeans and sighed.
He didn't even have a coat.
The wind whistled louder, and Harry could have sworn it was laughing at him. Fair enough, really--the situation certainly did entail a sense of the bizarre. He shrugged. He did have a blanket, and he might as well walk as sit here, after all.
It wasn't until he was half a mile down the road that he realized the whistling hadn't stopped when he left the bus. He slowed and turned in a full circle, then stopped entirely as all at once he realized what was happening. "What do you want?"
No answer was forthcoming.
He started walking again. "Nagini was afterward, then, replacing the diary. This one was from before."
The wind silenced, and Harry nodded. "It can't be very strong, then, can it? To have been quiescent all this time. It shouldn't take that much to destroy."
The sound of laughter echoed again, and Harry's mouth formed a grim little smile as he put one foot in front of the other. "I suppose I can't very well take this back to my colleagues. Oi, Rachel. Dark Lord in my head after all!"
He listened as the laughter sped, then stopped once again and drew out his wand. "I don't suppose you want to show yourself?" He pointed the wand at his own forehead.
All he heard was the sound that had receded to shallow breathing.
He shrugged. "Have it your way." He took a deep breath and muttered, "And so it ends."
And then he spun, pointed, and fired, a binding spell that created a ripple in the air as it hit his mark. The second charm put an end to the concealment charm and the third dragged a very disheveled Lucius Malfoy toward him along the road. "Shouldn't have played your hand so soon," Harry growled, "nor progressed things so quickly."
Malfoy struggled against his bonds, but said nothing, and Harry shook his head. " You had me concerned until you overdid it, though. Too bad. Loyal to the last, and the last of the Death Eaters." He reinforced the bindings, then Apparated them both to the Ministry. "Honestly," he said as he handed over his captive. "Do you really think we didn't check the scar every way we could imagine?"
"No." It was the only thing Malfoy had said yet, and Harry grinned.
"You expected me to panic, then. Well. I didn't with the first Horcrux I destroyed, so I've no idea why you'd expect it now. I'm not Draco, you know."
He watched that hit home, then turned away and went to file his report, tracing his scar bemusedly as he went.