Cut and Captured

The Gryffindor in him wanted nothing more than to throw himself across the table and use whatever power hex or fist would grant him to make it stop. He couldn’t take it anymore. Not only had the world gone insane—it seemed hellbent on driving him insane too.

But Ronald Weasley did nothing of the sort. He couldn’t. And so, he pushed the peas around on his plate, driving them into his mashed potatoes until they had amassed into a veritable green-spotted fort.

‘It was only a matter of time before he tried something like this—’

‘Considering how easily he broke into the Chamber of Secrets, I’m hardly surprised—’

‘—You really should eat something, Ron—’

‘—Not that there is any chance of escape—’

‘Are you,’ Ron paused for a moment, ‘absolutely mental?!’

The young wizard didn’t even realise he was standing, but the Hufflepuffs at the next table over quickly whipped their heads around.

‘Ron, sit-down-before-you-make-a-scene,’ Hermione said, her voice fervent, yet quiet as she eyed Ron imploringly.

‘Make a scene? Oh, I’ll make a scene—Harry, going to Azkaban for a Portkey, Hermione! Are you not listening to this codswallop?’ Ron flailed his arms, gesturing vehemently at the Hufflepuff table.

‘Yes, I overheard. They were being rather loud,’ Hermione said, casting the Hufflepuffs a disapproving glance. ‘Makes it hard to enjoy one’s dinner conversation, really.’

‘Well, what do you expect, Weasley? That the Ministry’s just going to give Potter a slap on the wrists just because he’s the Boy Who Lived?’ said one of the seventh year girls.

‘I mean, Morgana’s tit, man,' Zacharias Smith said, only too keen to throw in his own two sickles on the subject, 'Potter bloody high-tailed it out of Hogwarts with an illegal Portkey and kidnapped our champion in the process—’

But before the Hufflepuff boy could finish his thought, his teeth, one by one, began to fall out of his mouth, causing a tumult to erupt at the Hufflepuff table.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose as the scene devolved into chaos. Of course, Snape, evidently the first professor to have finished eating dinner, was the one to come to sort out the chaotic scene before him.

‘Macmillian, take Smith to the hospital wing,’ the potions master said sardonically. ‘Weasley, 10 points from Gryffindor and you will report to my office tomorrow evening at 7 o’clock sharp for attacking another student.’

‘Alright, alright,’ Ron huffed, but just as Snape was about to open his mouth, he threw in a quick, ‘Sir.’

‘What? I wouldn’t have hexed him if he hadn’t been such a git,’ Ron said to Hermione once Snape had stepped out of earshot, but Hermione only half heard him, already having turned her attention to Neville, who had arrived late to dinner, only said a quick hello before beginning to eat in silence, and now seemed to be regretting having taken the seat next to Ron.

‘What is it, Neville?’ Hermione asked as she took in the nervous expression on the other boy's face. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘D-D-Don’t hex me,’ Neville gulped, looking from Hermione to Ron and back before saying in a low voice, ‘It’s… it’s been c-c-confirmed. The M-M-Ministry said today. My gran, she sent me this. It’s a special bulletin from the Prophet. I’ve only s-s-seen a few people with them s-s-so far, but…’ Neville trailed off as he shakily handed the newspaper across the table to Hermione, evidently determining she would be the less likely of the two to cover him in pustules if the article on the front page didn’t agree with her. Hermione promptly took it from him, held it under the table’s edge and rapidly read the piece through twice.

‘Oh,’ was all Hermione said in response, and Neville looked as though he might start sweating buckets at any moment.

‘Oh?’ Ron said, ‘What is that even supposed to mean, oh?’

‘It means I’m thinking,’ Hermione said, her face determined as she hastily turned the page.

Ron looked at Neville with a this-can’t-be-good expression on his face, when all of the sudden Hermione let out a sudden gasp beside them. The Prophet flew out of her hand, nearly knocking her in the face in the process, as though pulled by an invisible string. Not an instant later and the bloody thing was being waved teasingly in the air, caught in the grasp of none other than Ron’s older brother Fred.

‘Oh no, please don’t,’ Ron said as he caught the mischievous look on his brother’s face.

Hermione furrowed her brow, wholly unamused. ‘Ha ha, very funny, Fred. Now if you wouldn’t mind returning that—’

‘First Harry, now you three,’ Fred said, waving the Prophet in the air for all to see as he cast a playful but by no means unaccusatory glance at Hermione, Ron and Neville.

‘Secrets, secrets are no fun,’ George cheekily chimed in beside him, much to the older students’ enthusiasm; within an instant it seemed that half of Gryffindor house was listening in on them.

‘Really, Fred, I don’t think now’s the best time to—’ but whatever Hermione was going to say was cut off by the sound of the oldest Weasley twin clearing his throat quite loudly, drawing the attention of even more students at the Gryffindor table and even some Hufflepuffs.

And then, Fred began to read:

The Boy Who Defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has done it again. On Saturday last, Harry Potter stunned magical visitors to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by seizing the Triwizard Cup, only to vanish moments later.

Ministry officials confirmed Monday morning that an unregistered Portkey did in fact take off from the centre of the maze where the Cup was positioned. The destination of said Portkey remains unknown.

‘The stadium was in an uproar, not that anyone could see it with that terrible fog,’ Ludo Bagman revealed. Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, has been responsible for organising and executing the first Triwizard Tournament in two centuries, the final task of which was interrupted by the unexpected disappearing act.

When asked how the Boy Who Lived managed to get past the wards, Bagman only shook his head. ‘That will be a question for the inquiry. At any rate, congratulations are in order, and a belated closing ceremony will take place once Potter has made his whereabouts known. No, I don’t know when.’

‘I’ve always said Harry’s got a talent for magic, but a Portkey just goes to show how powerful he really is,’ said Hogwarts third-year Colin Creevey, a close friend and avid admirer of the Hogwarts champion. ‘Just when you think he’s done it all, Harry’s off at it again. He’s always up to something absolutely wizard!’ (Editor’s Note: ‘Wizard’ is muggle slang for ‘wicked’.)

While Creevey and many of his peers agreed that Potter’s feat was just another one for the biographies, not all in attendance were as convinced.

‘As hard as the boy’s fans may find it to believe, Mr Potter’s magical abilities are insufficient to accomplish such a task as producing a Portkey,’ said one Severus Snape, current potions master and head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts. When asked to elaborate Mr Snape told your Daily Prophet reporter to stop wasting his precious time with nonsensical idiocies.

Speculations regarding Harry Potter’s magical aptitude have been on the dragon’s scale since Halloween night, 31 October 1981, when (cont. page 2, column 3)

‘Well, well, well, would you look at that. It seems mischief has been managed,’ Fred said as he thumbed along to where the article continued, gave it a once over, and shook his head slightly before rolling his eyes.

‘Even Malfoy looks impressed,’ said George over the excited whispers that had erupted around them, and he pointed openly at the Slytherin table where the blond-haired fourth year sat with the same issue clutched in his elegant fingers. Indeed, Draco Malfoy was nodding fervently to Blaise Zabini, his eyebrows nearly arched nearly into his hairline; meanwhile, the latter's expression seemed to be frozen somewhere between stunned disbelief and weak acceptance.

‘If you’re not going to finish the article, then—’

‘Calm down, Hermione, you can have it back,’ Fred said, gently tossing the Prophet in the space between Hermione and Ron’s plates, ‘although I’m sure you can guess what comes next. How powerful is Potter? Is The Boy Who Lived destined to be the next Dumbledore or Dark Lord? Honestly, it’s a bit insulting to ruin such a masterful feat of harmless tomfoolery with all the usual drabble.’

‘Too right you are, Fred.’

‘But Harry wouldn’t do—’

‘Just because Harry doesn’t tell yours truly all his pranking plans doesn’t mean you should get all bent out of shape, Ron. There are pranks, schemes, shenanigans you could... never even begin to...’ Fred started, only to trail off as he and George locked eyes, and Ron was seconds before telling the lot of them where they might stuff it, when Fred and George nodded at each other and said simultaneously and for all to hear, ‘Bets!’