Maddening
Level 10 of the Ministry of Magic, London, England, the United Kingdom
9th October 2003
Elder Kelyari is mad at me for ditching my two minders, without excusing myself to them, to a place they were not able to easily follow – namely my Potter land that is somehow located in a patch of the Afghanistan desert, through the direct Portkey that is operable only for the Potter Head of House, along with Andy, for total privacy in our Q&A – read: interrogation – session).
Andy is mad at me, it turned out in the said Q&A session, for ditching Earth so summarily, without leaving any message to her, despite Luna being the actual culprit of that and me reuniting with my “other mother” by a somewhat happy coincidence.
Teddy is mad at me, I knew once I reunited with him, too, right after that session had ended, for ditching him before an “exciting adventure” in a foreign planet – not even a foreign land – for days.
Neville is mad at me, I found when I retrieved him and Luna, fleeing from Andy and teddy and our little residence away in Kent (deliberately ditching them, this time), for ditching him in the guest wing of the lodge with eight upset milaðen, although Luna being also there has tempered his temper some.
Luna is somehow mad at me for ditching her before my “desert picnic,” and for not checking and stocking up the little infirmary section in my Afghanistan wizarding hut while I was there.
Eðlenstr – who has been insisting that I call them Ýto Etta – is mad at me for ditching them whenever they declare it’s my “nursing session,” which is actually whenever they manage to corner me somewhere.
Ron is mad at me for ditching his latest invitation to one of the Quidditch games played by the Chuddley Cannons – with him still their Keeper, of course.
Ginny is mad at me for ditching her invitation to a meet-and-greet with Hollyhead Harpies, with her starring in it after their latest winning streak.
Amma is mad at me for ditching the contingent (whose name-label is better capitalised from now on, seeing how self-important its members have been behaving in my eyes, those tattlers), after one or maybe all of them as one – most likely Elder Kelyari, though – has managed to send that particular communiqué to her.
Well, I am mad at Amma, too, and those others mentioned, but mostly at Amma, for sicking it all on me. And, especially at Amma, for concealing something that I can sense is awefully terrible; because, in our last chat via the imaging sphere she’d given me before I departed Utgarð, she looked so strained, even pained, although whatever her condition was didn’t prevent her from lecturing about safety and necessity and fulfilling my needs – and fulfilling my obligations, too, by staying put and studying and keeping alive and what-not.
Well, Hermione still hasn’t sent me a letter or a word or anything, so, instead of thinking about how many people are mad at me right now, I occupy myself with fashioning plans to get her to come out of the bowels of the Ministry of Magic building for at least a brief – face-to-face – chat.
I am used to people being mad at me, anyway, and shunning me, and calling me all sorts of names, and accusing me – whether legitimately or not. I don’t like situations like this, of course (Who does?); but… well… we take what we get, don’t we? The Dursleys have taught me amply about that; the people round me needn’t worry about instilling that in me.
It’s why, presently, I’m strolling down the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries, alone but with a letter of permission written and signed by Kingsley – now the official Minister of Magic, after more than four years in a limbo of sorts – tucked in one of my inner robes pockets, ready to confront Hermione; for the last time, should she wish to sever all ties with me. Ron and Ginny seem to have chosen to distance themselves from me after this so-called latest blunder of mine regarding the two of them, and I’m just waiting to rip the last figurative bandage off with this one: the fourth friend I’ve ever made in my whole life, after Hagrid and Hedwig and Ron.
`We take what we get.` I repeat it, on and on and on, as my legs pump along like a pair of pendulums, getting closer to the grim, unadorned black door that leads to the heart of the Ministry.
And then, somewhat expectedly, just as the door opens for my letter of permission, I get ambushed by non-descript people in non-descript charcoal-grey battle robes, whose unified intent seems to be not to escort me, not to kill me, but to make use of me, with how eager and intensely curious and greedy they all feel.
I have never been more thankful of the new senses and flexibility that have bled over to this human form of mine ever since the barrier to my old self has been broken.
Still, despite the fact that I manage to escape, despite the fact that I manage to avoid whatever they wish to do to me, one thing remains, and it feels especially vexing with how near it has just been: I am yet to meet with one Hermione Jane Granger.
And, to top it all off, everyone at home – in both senses of the word – is mad at me for persisting to go to the Department of Mysteries despite the notion that I might get ambushed on the way there, and Amma is mad at Hermione for letting me walk into such ambush.
“Whoa. Wait there, Amma! Loí’s not going to be a second Dudley Dursley! The decision was all me and not her so don’t lump it with her!”