+ THE
WICKED GAME - BOOK II +
A story inspired by the Harry Potter books of JK Rowling
planning & presented by MadHatter - all rights reserved
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MORNING RAIN - special chapter
«Unscrew your face from your laptop screen
See the people, the places in your magazines
They're a big headed bunch, you know what I mean
Someone made them out of plasticine.
I'm the morning rain, it's me again, I won't go away
I'm the morning rain, it's me again, I won't go away…»
I am Kloot, "Morning Rain"
'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.'
The female voice sounded cool and loud in the little telephone-box, almost as cool as the tapping of the rain on the glass windows, outside.
The man in the box held the receiver with a hand, trying to shrug the shoulders, which looked totally soaked, at the same time.
'Martin Carroll, Auror Headquarters.' He said, speaking to the air, like if an invisible woman were standing right beside him.
'Thankyou,' replied the voice. 'Is this your first time here?'
A shrug. 'No.'
'Please remember to present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium…'
Martin shook the head, murmuring something while the floor of the telephone-box shuddered and started to sink slowly into the ground.
Thursday, rain. Wednesday was the same, and so it was Tuesday and Monday and the whole past weekend. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had had the permission to keep his damned umbrella with him, instead of leaving it somewhere before to enter the Ministry.
No muggle artifacts inside the building, this was the rule.
Not that the other wizards were so worried about it… life is simple when you can charm your clothes and make them water-proof. You need a wand to do it, though.
A golden light came from the floor, rising and illuminating the little box until the floor stopped to move. 'The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,' said the female voice and the door sprang open.
The inside of the Ministry was warm, and crowded, even at that hour in the morning. Martin stepped out the telephone-box, walking quickly across the hall without paying attention to the other people around him. He indolently waved a hand in the air when he passed in front of a small desk beneath a sign saying
Security, but he didn't stop walking.
'Hi Eric,' Martin said.
'Good morning mr. Carroll,' said back the wizard sit behind the desk, in a bored voice, the eyes firmly caught into his
Daily Prophet. 'It's raining again, huh?'
'Sure. I wonder how did you guess it…' Martin replied, coldly.
All the wizards in the hall wore bright colored robes and capes, even the high offices… Martin was the only one dressed in black, from head to feet. He didn't lose his habit of wearing his old uniform of the Saint Augustine college, even if he looked like a black sheep among all the other Aurors. He
was the black sheep, after all. The only slight change was at the level of his throat… no more golden rings pinned there, just black velvet.
Unperturbed, he walked past the golden gates that guarded the small hall beyond the entrance, reaching the crowd that was waiting for the lifts to come. Nobody seemed to recognize him, and nobody talked. Everyone had something more important to do than wasting time talking, especially with a black sheep.
People are the same everywhere, he thought. Muggles, wizards, there's no difference.
Patrick, his older brother who held the chair of Muggle Studies in a little college outside London, used to tell him this almost once a day.
'We're all the same. You should see what wizards said and do when they think they're all alone in a room… they're just like the last silly hairdresser all worried about the new episode of her favourite soap.' And he spoke with full knowledge of the facts, since they both were born in a muggle family.
Patrick was at home, that morning. He had been eating when Martin walked down the stairs, perfectly dressed, ready to go out.
'Don't you take something, before to go?' he'd asked. 'Not a coffee either?' Marting had shaked his head. 'I'm in a hurry,' he'd said, but he'd stayed in front of the entrance door, still, looking towards his brother.
Patrick had lowered his Independent, with a tea cup in the other hand. 'You look like a walk-on from a B-movie horror.' Martin had raised an eyebrow, but hadn't replied.
'Take something before to run out in the rain, dude. I don't think you'll find some good muggle coffee inside the Ministry… it doesn't fit their taste, apparently," Patrick had added, the voice a bit more warm. Martin had shaked his head, slowly. 'Not today. I really need to go, or they'll start to send us owls… you know what Dennings thinks of my schedule, right?'
'You can't go out with anything in your stomach, Martin. Don't act like a child,' Patrick had started, but Martin had simply turned his back at him, holding the handle and opening the door. 'See you later, Pat.'
A whoosh, then the door had closed. Someone would have probably said he was doing that on purpose.
After forty minutes up and down the buses, Martin had started to thought his brother wasn't totally wrong.
The Auror Headquarter was six floors down the Ministry's entrance, at the Level Two. Martin had a cubicle there, in the same office of his supervisor, Lucas Dennings, who was one of his old college's teachers. Surprisingly, the Ministry called him back from his chair and assigned him to the Headquarter, as new chief manager, as soon as Martin had been hired. It was a personal choice of the Minister Fudge. Not particularly brilliant, but surely perfect to keep Martin monitorized.
So now Martin was trapped in that golden cage, without his wand and with no other choice than working as researcher in the Headquarter. When the nearest lift came with a ring, Martin just joined the closest queue, walking to the lift's opposite wall, until the door closed.
His wet clothes seemed to keep people at distance. Martin fixed the eyes on the ground while a familiar female voice started to count the floors.
'Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports…' A couple of wizards entered the lift, talking of the results of the latest Quidditch matches with a hushed tone.
'Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority…'
An old wizard dressed in bright green entered the lift a second before the door closed, panting. 'These damned lifts…' he murmured, while the cage fell.
'Level Five, Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body…'
When the doors opened, a bunch of paper areoplanes swooded into the lift. One of the wizards in the lift shook the hand, trying to push them away from his head. The paper was of several different colors, and there was a little writing says
Ministry of Magic stamped along the edge of their wings. Half of the wizards in the lift left the cage, even the green-dressed man - who was still panting.
'Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures…'
'Well Darren, I don't think wererabbits could be considered as pets, you know?' said a faded voice oustide the lift, when the door opened. A bunch of airplanes flew out quickly, before the door closed again. The lift was almost empty, now.
'Lever Three, Deparment of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes… Obliviators Headquarter… Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee…'
The lift stopped its run for a little while, to let wizards exit the cage without hurry. Martin was still lost into his private thoughts when the empty lift closed the door and started to sink again. He was completely alone, now.
A little bell rang. 'Level Two, Department of magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.'
Martin left the lift followed by a couple of paper airplanes.
The corridors were pretty empty. Martin walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles. All the wizards were working and airplanes flew quietly across the room.
His desk was in a cubicle on the other side of the room, near the Chief's office. Martin walked slowly, without talking - not that the rest of the other Aurors were very talkative, anyway - trying to think to a good way to dry his clothes before to catch a cold. Fun, all the windows at that floor shown clear skies and bright landscapes… even the one behind his desk.
Martin was about to hang his cloak on the hatstand when his attention was caught by a pile of paper airplanes on the desk's shiny surface.
He checked the clock on the opposite wall… nine o' clock, perfectly on time.
'It can't be Dennings…' Martin murmured, annoyed, stretching out a hand to take one of the memo.
'Good morning, mr. Carroll! Did you take the umbrella before to go out, today? I bet not, huh?' Martin raised an eyebrow. He grabbed another one from the pile, and he opened it.
'Oh, and Deidre sent me an owl yesterday, she asked me to greet you. No rain in Scotland, how luck
:) - Malcolm (I forgot to sign the other one)'
A nerve twitched on Martin's forehead. He grasped another memo, the hand less still.
'Remember to pay me a visit when Dennings is busy with his Quidditch forecasts, ok? - Mac'
There were a dozen of little airplanes still closed. While Martin was still looking at that paper surface another little airplane entered the cubicle, landing gently on the desk.
Be quiet, Martin. There's no need to yell… no need to… yell…
'That blasted IDIOT!' Martin shouted, crushing the memo he still held in the hand. Then, without any further word, he turned his back and walked back to the lifts.
His face was probably quite scary because nobody followed him while he entered the first available lift, hissing 'Level Three, please.' in a icy tone.
--
Martin slammed the palms on the wooden desk, causing the pile of colored memos to collapse. 'What
this means?' he hissed, throwing the screwed memo to the blackhaired boy sit on the other side. The boy rose the head, kept writing on a little piece of paper. 'Oh, Mart… so you'd arrived, after all,' he said.
Martin lowered his voice of a couple of tones, aiming the boy a cold glance. 'What are you doing, for God's sake?'
The boy smiled. 'You look pretty when you're angry, do you know?' he replied in a conversational tone, adding the last swirl on the memo. 'I'm writing you, of course. I would have visited you but I'm blocked at this desk so… memos are easier,' he finished.
'Are you particularly dull today, Donahue, or is it just a case?' Martin replied. 'Don't you have to work on something? If you've plenty of freetime you could annoy some of your colleagues instead of
me,' he added, coldly. 'All those pink memos… they look like love
letters, damnit! It's shameful!'
Malcolm open the eyes wide, fakely surprised. 'But these are love letters,' he added, rising the voice on purpose. Still smiling, he picked up the memo he had just finished to write - folded like a little paper airplane, now - and he thrown it in the air. 'To mr. Martin Carroll, confidential,' he said, widened his smile.
Martin caught the plain in mid air, with a homicidal look on his face.
'Hey!' Malcolm said, 'You're so boring, Mart… you never take a joke!'
'You, stupid…' Martin started, but before he could finish, a loud growl came from his stomach.
Malcolm aimed him a long glance before to say 'Sorry?…' and start laughing madly.
'Man, I think you didn't have breakfast this morning, or am I wrong?' he added between a laugh and another.
Martin was deeply regretting the lack of his wand. Too bad the unforgivable curses couldn't be cast without it… but maybe a muggle punch would have been better, after all.
Before he could rise his fist, Malcolm standed up and walked past the desk, aiming him a pleased glance. 'Come on, let's go and take something to eat, before you died on my desk,' he said, in a happy tone. 'Hey John, I take my coffee break!' he added, addressing someone at the other end of the room.
'Come on,' he spelt to Martin, beckoning him to follow him, and he simply keep on walking across the corridor.
'Donahue… Donahue! Malcolm!' said Martin, furious, 'I was talking, for God's sake!' but the boy didn't reply.
With a sigh, Martin got ready to follow him.
--
The room was totally empty and very silent once Malcolm closed the door. There were a couple of velvet couches along the walls and a small table filled with cups and teapots at the center ot the room.
'You shoud stop acting like a teenager,' said a voice behind him. 'People just know we were schoolmates… you shouldn't increase gossip…'
Malcolm, who was right in front of the table, turned his back to face Martin with a devious look on his face. 'Oh, right, we're just
friends. They don't know this, yet…' he added, coming closer and kissing Martin on the lips.
Martin stepped back. 'Have you heard what I said, idiot?' he bursted out, pushing Malcolm aside with an arm. Malcolm stared at him, the lips curled in a pouty smile.
'Oh, see… your shirt is still wet… this damned rain, what a pain… why don't you take it
off?' Malcolm replied, crumpling the edge of Martin's black shirt with a hand. They looked at each other's eyes without saying a word, for a couple of seconds.
'You're a dumbass.' Martin ended, raising an eyebrow.
'Oh come on! You come here with that mournful face every day, I was just trying to boost your spirits!' Malcolm replied. Then he hid the face on the other boy's chest. 'I miss you, stupid.' he whispered.
'This doesn't mean you can fill my desk with your useless memos,' Martin replied, curtly.
'Oh, shut up!…'
Martin sighs. He raises an arm and put it around Malcolm's back. 'I don't like this place at all, you should know it,' he murmured, 'it drives me crazy. That stupid Dennings, all the time… shit,' he added, dropping the head on Malcolm's shoulder.
'Hmph. You could change work and try to become an Obliviator too. Then we could sit close and do our private business all the day…' Malcolm replied, trying to hug Martin back.
'I don't think The Ministry would let me change work… maybe in my next life, but not now.'
'Well, then I could try to become an Auror. Since you did it, it shouldn't be
excessively difficult…' Malcolm said, with a hint of a smile in the voice.
'I stand your babblings just because I need some love, beware.'
'Oh-oh, you said it!…' Malcolm replied, grinning.
'I said I need some love, not your hands on my arse, Donahue…'
'I'm just hugging you!'
'You're hugging my arse, yes. Come on, this place doesn't trig my lechery,' Martin said. 'Maybe you, but not this place…' he added, after a moment.
'But I want you so baaad…' Malcolm murmured, before to start kissing him on the neck.
'I said not here, Mac, please! Not in this damned… cafeteria, or what is it… stop, damnit…'
--
Sounds of steps. The door opened. A blonde witch came into the room, flashing her blue eyes around. Martin was sank into one of the armchair, with a strange expression on the face, and Malcolm - perfectly calm - was pouring some tea into a cup.
'Oh, Lydia… coffee break, you too?' asked Malcolm, with a smile.
The girl smiled back. 'Have I disturbed you?' she asked.
Malcolm took a sip of tea, seraphic. 'Not at all, dearie. Not at all.'
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