sfftmom: the sands of time--violence against others

The only scene visible as they walked into the next room was what seemed to be a river of light, almost sparkling, with particles of sand speeding through it like a sandstorm.  It was impossible to see its origin or destination, but the sand stream blocked the two travelers from seeing anything else.

“These are the Department of Mysteries’ Sands of Time, Potter.  They used to be contained into time turners, used for precise time travel.  But when your father broke in here as a young wizard, his little band thought it would be amusing to smash the entire cupboard of them.  So now this is the destination for those who commit acts of violence against others.”  Snape walked forward a few paces, then seemed to be mounting something.  Squinting, Albus made out a giant Manticore.  Snape looked over at Albus expectantly.  Nervously, the boy followed his lead.

Inside the stream, people would stand in the sandstorm momentarily, screaming, and then disappear.  Occasionally, someone would attempt to run to escape the storm, but those who tried were immediately stung or blasted by Blast-Ended Skrewts who seemed to run rampant through the stream of sand.  Out of the corner of his eye, Albus noticed a striking woman with dark hair and heavy eyelids.  She screamed in agony, her throat hoarse and her mouth filling with sand.  And then she was gone.  Albus turned to Snape.

“Where did she go?”

“Bellatrix?  No one can know exactly.  But she, like the others here, travels back in time to all the times she has tortured or killed someone, and must now experience it from their point of view.”

    “Why are we not swept away that way?”

“You are not swept away because this Ministry building is no longer a place for the living; therefore, these punishments have no effect on you.  I am not swept away because I have been appointed as your guide.”

sfftmom: the time room--the violent

They turned around to enter the next room, but as they did so, a long, black stem-like structure shot out from behind the brain tank and blocked the door.  Albus thought to himself that this must be what a bent flower stem would look like if it was grown to several hundred times its normal size, had hair, and then was charred by a fire.  Then another black stem-thing came out, and Albus inhaled sharply.  For the two stems began pulling a gigantic black orb, which housed several sets of eyes, and out from which came six more black stems--spider legs.

“Aragog!  You shall move for us!” shouted Snape.

“There are no exceptions.  You will not escape; instead, you will be my dinner.”  The spider turned toward Albus.  “It has been long since I have had the pleasure of eating fresh meat.”

“Lumos Arachnos!” Snape bellowed.  Instantly, his wand produced a light so powerful that for a moment, Albus thought that he would surely go blind.  But his eyes soon adjusted, and he saw the spider cower, then stumble blindly from side to side.  Snape raced to open the door, then slammed it shut behind them.

sfftmom: the brain room--the heretics

The room seemed brightly lit compared to the round room.  Around the room were strewn bodies, alive, but bound up in strands of something that looked like camera film.  The film-like strands all originated from brains that had attached themselves to the bodies.  Albus then noticed that on most of the bodies, the strands of film had branched off and started to take root and expand under their hosts’ skin, giving the figures a gnarled, bloated appearance.  A tank at the end of the room kept more of the brains in a greenish solution.

“Potter, these are the heretics; that is, those who practice magic, yet spread false ideas about the magical world.  As a punishment for using their brains to try to alter reality, now their brains shall be . . .” Snape paused in satisfaction, “. . .altered.”

Albus approached a large man wearing a Ministry robe.  “What do they call you?” he asked sternly.

The man’s face, which looked as though it had once been friendly and amicable, now expressed great pain, misery, and bitterness.  He seemed to be having a great physical struggle because of the brain, though he clearly had no power over it.  “Cornelius--Fudge,” he mustered with great effort, “former--Minister--Magic.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of you in school.  You were the one who sent the whole country into denial about Voldemort’s return.  The one who discredited Professor Dumbledore, and my father.”

Fudge’s eyes widened.  “Your--father?”  A pleading look came into his face.  “Please--have mercy--thought tendrils--consuming my brain!”

Paying no heed, Albus approached another figure; this time, it was a centaur.  Unlike many of the others, the centaur stood tall, though it was obvious that he was still in a great deal of pain.  As Albus approached, the centaur looked him squarely in the eye.

“Human, my mind no longer knows of the world or the stars.  What news can you bring me?”

Albus considered him for a moment.  “What is your name, and how long have you been here?”

“I am called Bane.  I was once a prominent member of a herd hidden in what you humans call the Forbidden Forest.  My last day there, a great evil fell from power.”

“You mean the day Voldemort was defeated?”

Bane stared at Albus, then looked off distantly.  “That night, Mars disappeared from sight to make room for Venus and Jupiter.”  He looked back, wincing slightly.  “But what of the world now?”

“Er . . . it’s a great deal better off than when you left it.  It has been freed from much darkness.  The Ministry of Magic fell, and a new Ministry was built elsewhere.”  Curious, Albus asked, “Sir, how did you come to be here?”

The centaur stiffened.  “Centaurs were never meant to be ruled by wizards, nor do we readily help them.  We do not stoop to that level unless it is a great emergency.  We live on our own and guard our own.  And if one of our own leaves us, we forget him.  We see no need to associate ourselves with inferior beings, especially those as invasive as wizards.”  With that, Bane was clearly finished talking.  Taken aback, Albus looked at Snape questioningly.

“Ah yes, Potter.  You will recall from your studies, I hope, that most centaurs see themselves as superior to all others.  They are an ancient race; for that they are insufferably racist and proud.”

“But it doesn’t really make a difference, does it?  There isn’t one race that is greater than others.”

Snape searched Albus’ face curiously.  “No, there isn’t.”

sfftmom: the round room--the city of dis

At last, Buckbeak landed in front of a plain black door.   As soon as he dismounted, however, he jumped back.  For at his feet slithered three enormous snakes.  Hissing violently, they seemed to be communicating to one another.  Then, from the opposite end of the corridor came a low, loud slithering sound.

“Basilisk!  Quick--open the door, Potter!  DO NOT LOOK UP!”

They entered the room and found themselves in almost complete darkness.  The only light came from a few blue-flamed candles interspersed throughout the room.  Straining his eyes, Albus noticed that the room was round in shape, and entirely black.  In the round wall were a dozen black doors, all looking exactly like the one from which they had just entered.  Around the edge of the room strolled what looked like a great lion--except that it had the head of a woman.  Albus recognized the creature as a Sphinx.  The Sphinx wore a mysterious look on her face.

“I know which door you seek.  But you may not enter it unless you can solve my riddle.”

Albus looked up at Snape.  It seemed that they had no alternative.  “All right.  Let’s hear it,” Albus said warily.

The Sphinx smiled and sat directly in the middle of the room.

“At the beginning, it sounds like a light

But the candles alone don’t make it that bright.

To follow it up is one higher than friend

A teacher, a leader, to get to the end.

Put all together, a kiss may be won

But one that’s unwanted; it puts out the sun.”

Albus breathed deeply.  “‘At the beginning . . .’  Ok, it’s the beginning of something.  But-- ‘sounds like a light’?”

“Try the second part of the clue: ‘higher than friend,’” advised Snape.

“Teacher . . . leader . . . mentor?  ‘All together, a kiss may be won.’  Oh my!”  Chills went down Albus’ spine as a horrible thought came to him.  “You don’t think it means ‘dim-mentor’? Like a Dementor’s kiss?!”  He turned toward the Sphinx.  “That’s what it is, isn’t it?  A Dementor’s kiss.”  Smiling, the Sphinx moved toward the edge of the room and the door directly across from them swung open, revealing a long, rectangular room.

sfftmom: floor 5--the maze of styx, and the wrathful and sullen

“This is the lowest level of the Ministry of Magic, Potter.  It goes by many names.  Some wizards refer to it as the ‘Lower Ministry’ or the ‘Unknown City’ of the Ministry of Magic.  In this, they unknowingly display their ignorance and weakness, for they do not understand what is down here, and they fear what they do not understand.  Down here is the Department of Mysteries, accessed only by the Styx Hallway.”  This floor seemed especially daunting, for unlike the straight layout of the other floors, this hallway had no doors before it veered off around the corner.  The hallway was filled with a dank mist.

Albus then noticed Snape walking over to the side of the hallway where a hippogriff stood.  Snape bowed low to the ground.  Albus watched as the hippogriff studied the wizard, then bowed back.  “Buckbeak, Mr. Potter is on a journey through the depths of the Ministry,” he said to the hippogriff.  “You will guide us through the Department of Mysteries until we reach the gateway into its rooms.”  Snape then motioned for Albus to come over.  “For security reasons, the hallway to the Department of Mysteries is laid out like a labyrinth.  We should never be able to reach its depths on our own; we must use the hippogriff’s guidance.”  Snape mounted, and Albus got on behind him.  Without warning, Buckbeak took off down the hallway, his enormous wings keeping them well above the ground.

As they flew through the corridors leading to the Department of Mysteries, Albus noticed a mix of people--all of them angry.  Some jumped about the hallway, lashing out on the other inhabitants, often without even the slightest provocation.  Wherever their feet hit the ground, flames burst out under them.  One such person, a portly man with a magenta-colored face, shouted at Albus and Snape at the top of his lungs: “Another Potter!  Curse you, as well as your freakshow father!”  Albus noticed the corners of Snape’s mouth twitch.

Confused, Albus looked up at Snape.  “Vernon Dursley, your father’s uncle.”

Those who weren’t jumping around and picking fights all had enormous smiles on their faces.  Albus studied them, puzzled.  Even as they muttered curses under their breath and their eyes glared, their mouths stretched into unnaturally wide grins at everyone around them.  It was among these that Albus spotted another familiar face.

“Merlin’s beard!  It’s Moaning Myrtle!”  Hearing this, the ghost broke out in loud wails--but wails that came out as a strangely happy tune.  Her caterwauling seemed to agitate the people of the hallway even more.

“Professor, what’s wrong with them?”

“This is the Maze of Mysteries, where the wrathful and sullen wander.  Those who were especially prone to take out their anger on others during their lifetime were sent here, where their fiery tempers manifest themselves physically whenever they touch the floor.  Those who spent their lives sulking have now been charmed: their faces are eternally stretched into a smile against their will.  Their mouths can only speak in cheerful songs, which they hate; their minds are always full of these joyful sounds, but it only deepens their resentment.”

sfftmom: floor 4--the hoarders and squanderers

Snape and Albus continued on to the fourth floor.  When Snape reached for the door directly to their right, a form popped out of the cleaning cupboard next to the elevator.  Albus screamed in terror; for looming in front of him was an enormous faceless figure in a hooded black cloak: a Dementor.  The Dementor approached, and Albus felt the blood drain from his face.

Quickly, Snape sidestepped in front of Albus.  The Dementor disappeared, and in its place was a life-size scene of a lone figure in an empty room, weeping to himself.  Snape waved his wand and the whole scene disappeared, leaving the two travelers alone once more.

“It was a boggart the whole time?”

“Of course, Potter!  It was set there as a demon to guard the floor.  I would have expected you to know the signs of a boggart better than this, especially given your parents’ experiences with the Dark Arts.”

Albus felt anger starting to well up inside him, but determined to maintain a cool and respectful exterior, he only said, “Well, I don’t exactly run into boggarts every day.”  Then, in a moment of curiosity and guts, he added, “What was that scene?”

A flash of pain crossed Snape’s face, but it was quickly swallowed by anger.  “That does not concern you, Potter!” he shouted furiously.

Albus looked down, slightly hurt, but also embarrassed.  “I’m sorry Professor.  I did not mean to be too forward.”

Snape looked over at the boy’s face in surprise.  “Not all fears are tangible, Potter,” he said quietly.  He opened the door.

All the inhabitants of this room were in some kind of fight with the others: the whole room was filled with chaos as people bickered and dueled.  The pair closest to Albus was a ghastly-looking house-elf and a tall man with whitish blonde hair.

“. . . disgrace to the name of Kreacher’s Mistress to associate with someone so careless with their things and money.”  He went on to mutter, “Oh yes, if Mistress could only see the way her own relatives throw around Dark Objects, trading them for luxury goods . . .”

“How dare you speak to me in such a fashion, House Elf!  I am a wizard, and one of high standing at that!  Don’t think that your few cheap secrets about the Order have elevated you from your inferior birth.  Anyway, I know how you take care of possessions.  You don’t.  You collect them in your disgusting house, stealing from your masters, hoarding them in your nasty little cupboard.  Oh yes!  I have ways of finding out the workings of the most ancient house of Black.”

“Sir shall not slander the name of Black!”  The house-elf muttered an incantation, and both he and the wizard slid across the floor.

The man then turned to Snape.  “See the gall of this rabble, Severus?”

“You have brought this on yourself, Lucius,” replied Snape coldly.  He and Albus watched as the wizard turned on the house-elf.

“Sectumsempra!”  Both wizard and house-elf began bleeding from every orifice, as well as from new slashes all over their bodies.

With no attempt to quiet his voice, Snape told Albus, “Those of this room have lived lives of either obsessive hoarding or careless squandering of many resources: money, possessions, magical skills, or even time.  They constantly battle one another because each believes the others to be more at fault.  But the fools are really just two sides of the same coin: agents of misuse.  Their pride prevents them from seeing their error, but their spells here can only work two ways, punishing both parties equally.”

Albus watched the misusers fight, a feeling of contempt forming inside him.  “They deserve this fate.”  For a moment, the boy thought he saw something like approval on Snape’s face, but he couldn’t be sure.  Together, they left the room of the fighters and returned to the elevator.

sfftmom: floor 3--the gluttons

They continued down to the third level, where the door opened to a three-headed dog blocking their path.  Baring its teeth, it snarled at the pilgrims, clearly set near the elevator door to guard the rest of the hallway.

Albus leaped back instinctively, but Snape continued on.  “Come now, Potter--don’t tell me you’ve never learned how to defend yourself against a three-headed dog!  Have you learned nothing in Care of Magical Creatures?”

“Oh--yes.  Professor Hagrid said something about playing music for them?”

“Very astute, Potter. ‘Something about,’” Snape said sarcastically.  “Well I’m glad to see that you pay more attention than your father, anyway.  This was once one of Hagrid’s unfortunate pets, which he used to call ‘Fluffy.’  For your information, music of any kind lures a three-headed dog to sleep almost instantly.”  He pulled out his wand.  Out of thin air, he conjured a set of bagpipes, then charmed them to play.  As the obnoxious sounds lulled the dog into a restless sort of sleep, Snape stepped over the dog’s tail and opened the second door on the left side of the hallway.

As soon as the door opened, a pungent sour-savory smell wafted out, and Albus came close to being sick.  He looked up.  The room was a large dining hall filled with every type of food and drink imaginable, and every inhabitant of the room was frenziedly devouring it as if he had not eaten in weeks.  It reminded Albus of the Great Hall at the Christmas Feast, except that instead of ornate decorations, all of the furniture and the carpet was badly stained.  Occasionally, someone would turn away from his food in order to be sick--and then return to his eating.

“This is the Hall of Gluttons, Potter.  Because they have chosen overindulgence and greed, they must now empty these tables of all the food.  What they don’t know is that the tables of food are enchanted, and are constantly refilling.  Those who once turned to food and drink to satisfy their greed now long to be rid of it.  But they never shall be.  Tell me, Potter, do they look as if they are enjoying themselves?”  

Albus had to admit that they didn’t.  The only expression on the faces of the gluttons was misery.  “But sir, surely it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that the table refills itself.”

Snape’s lips curled.  “True.  But that doesn’t make a difference in the task, does it?  For if they stop eating, that doesn’t mean that the table will stop refilling itself; they would only be getting farther from their goal.  If anyone rebels and refuses to eat, they are force-fed Puking Pastilles from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”  He pointed to a trough in the corner, where several people were retching violently.

Disgusted, Albus averted his eyes, which fell instead on a small house-elf sitting up against a couch with a bottle of butterbeer in her hand (and several empty bottles around her).  She appeared to be unconscious.  Noticing Albus’ gaze, Snape filled a cup with water and splashed it on her.  The house-elf winced and waved her hand around in the air, apparently to prove that she was awake.

“What do they call you, elf?” asked Snape.

“My name is Winky, sir.  Winky was greatly distressed because she was shamed and freed. House-elves is not supposed to be free!  The bottle was Winky’s only escape, sir.”  She looked up at Albus.  “Sir reminds Winky of someone . . .”  But before she could finish her thought, she dropped off again.

Suddenly another person caught Albus’ eye.  In the middle of the room, the largest young man he had ever seen began shouting unintelligibly in a way that would make a five-year-old’s tantrum seem mellow.

“Who is that, Professor?”

With a disdainful glance in the young man’s direction, Snape replied, “That is Dudley Dursley, your father’s cousin and the spoiled-brat son of your Great Aunt Petunia.”  A dark look passed across Snape’s face before he stormed from the room, with Albus straggling behind.

sfftmom: floor 2--the lustful

As the door opened to the second floor hallway, Albus and Snape were met with the sight of a familiar old and worn hat set atop a wooden stool.

“The Sorting Hat?”

“Potter, do not be ridiculous; the Sorting Hat is at Hogwarts, and will remain so indefinitely.  This is the brother of that Sorting Hat, cut from the same material, but ordained for a different purpose.”  Albus had a retort ready on his tongue, but thought better of it at the last second.  If getting through this--whatever it was--was the only way to get home, he would be hopelessly lost without Snape’s guidance, no matter how unpleasant.  As if he had understood Albus’ thoughts, Snape quickly glanced over and then looked away again, the corner of his mouth curling slightly.  As they stepped forward, the Sorting Hat began to sing:

I am the Sorting Hat of Magical Hell

Singing the tunes you know all too well

Transposed into a dissonant key--

Get used to knowing this version of me.

Take care and heed, o reckless stranger

For you’re well past the point of danger

Watch your thoughts, and take no bait

Or you may be sealing your own fate.

For I will search you through and through

Discovering the depths of you

Until a judgment I can find

Condemning a level for your mind.

   

“What does it mean?”

“Weren’t you listening, Potter?  To put it in abundantly simple terms for you, it searches each person’s mind in order to determine the floor to which they need to be sent for their crimes.”  Turning to the Sorting Hat, Snape commanded, “You will allow us to pass.  Mr. Potter needs to see the full depth of the darkness of this Ministry.”  With that, he strode past the Sorting Hat and through the next doorway.

As soon as Albus stepped into the room, his knees began to quiver and his palms began to sweat profusely.  For in the opposite corner of the room stood the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.  She had whitish-gold hair and a face that shone like starlight.  He had to do something spectacular, something daring.  What could possibly be good enough?  Perhaps if he were to grab her and break out of this place, then--

“Potter!  Don’t be such an idiot!  You’re falling for her veela charms--I can see it in your mind!”

With a snap, Albus realized that there were, in fact, other people in the room.  He flushed an admirable shade of crimson.  The starlight lady strutted up to him.

“Ahh, and what eez your name?  You must be a relative of ‘arry Potter!”

“Um, well . . . er . . . he’s my father,” stammered Albus, still very warm.

“Ah, so zat makes you my nephew!  I am Fleur Delacour; in my lifetime, I was married to your uncle, Bill Weasley.”
    Vaguely, Albus began to recall some of the stories told by his Weasley relatives--many happy memories to be sure, but also many of exasperation.  Feeling exceedingly awkward, he mustered, “Why are you here?”

“Zis eez ze circle of ze lustful.  I was never unfaithful to Bill, but unfortunately, I did cause ze lust of many others.  Eet seems to ‘ave been a talent of mine.  ‘Ence, I am ‘ere, where all ze delicious food in ze world turns sour or bitter een my mouth, all ze joys of normal life are turned to sorrows, and all of my dreams turn to nightmares.  For zat eez ‘ow lust eez for ze lustful--all ze anticipation, only to lead to disappointment.”

As Albus nodded, another girl, probably a few years his senior, ran up to him.  “Harry?  Is it really you?  Oh how I’ve longed to see you.”

Albus stepped back as he explained, “Oh, no--you must be confusing me with my father.”

With an odd expression, the girl drew closer.  “Oh, is that so?  How strange.  Well I’m Romilda Vane.  You see, we knew each other at Hogwarts, your father and I.  Once I even slipped him a love potion in his chocolates because I was so enamored with him.”  She giggled annoyingly.  “I was sure it would work, and then he would be all mine.  But the prat gave them to old Ron Weasley instead.”  As Romilda looked off into the distance nostalgically, giggling every so often, Albus backed away, anxious to leave as quickly as possible.

sfftmom: floor 1--the incomplete

As Snape and Albus opened the next door, a flood of soft light flooded through it.  This room was full of windows, each enchanted to show its own beautiful view of a sunny garden outside.  The walls that were not windows were lined with books, and there were comfortable-looking armchairs and poufs all throughout the room.  Those occupying this room looked out the windows or read their books with pleasant, yet slightly saddened, expressions on their faces.

“Professor, what is this place?” Albus asked.

“This is the Department of Limbo, where the well-intentioned with incomplete magic go.”

“Doesn’t seem so bad.”

“It doesn’t seem so bad to you, Potter,” Snape spat.  “But think about an eternity, if you can trouble your little mind.  You’d soon grow tired of pictures and stories of reality.  Yet these people have chosen fake versions of life during their lifetime; now after death, they have more than they ever wanted, and no way to fulfill their true desires.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Albus saw a young girl with blonde hair and brown eyes sitting on a stool.  She looked peaceful, but her eyes seemed to speak of loss.

“Professor Snape, who is she?”

“That is Ariana Dumbledore.”

“Professor Dumbledore’s sister?”

“The same.  She was always so troubled that she could not be sent to school, and so her magic was never developed properly.”  Snape pointed to a tall wizard next to her, older, but with similar features.  “And that is her brother Aberforth, who, though he had magic at hand, refused to use it to make a difference in the world.  The one exception--when he showed his goodwill--was when he helped your father to get into Hogwarts to fight the Dark Lord.  But even then, he did not complete the act by joining the fight.”  With a swift turn, Snape continued leading Albus out the door and down the hall, to the far elevator.

sfftmom: the dragon--acheron

When the door opened, Albus immediately wished that it had not.  He stared into a square room with a single door directly in the middle of the opposite wall.  It would have been very simple to just stride across and open it, had there not been lava flowing all over the floor, and had the door not been guarded by an enormous black lizard-like dragon.  It glared menacingly at them, as if they were a threat to its young.

Albus’ grip tightened on his wand.  Terrified as he was, he was not about to let the dragon destroy him without putting up a fight.  The dragon began advancing.

“Stupefy!” shouted Albus, pointing his wand.  A jet of orange shot out of his wand, bounced off of the dragon’s scales, and left a burn mark on the side wall.

“Potter! Don’t you realize what you’re up against?  This is the great dragon Acheron.  Or did you think that your simple little spell could defeat an entire dragon?”  Snape shot Albus a superior look.  “No, not even the son of the great Harry Potter could do that.  A beast of this size would require at least three people performing a spell like that in order for it to have any effect at all.”  Snape turned to face the dragon.  “By Merlin’s beard, you will let us pass, for I am under divine orders to take this boy all the way through wizarding Hell.”  The dragon snarled at them, and at first Albus thought that the dragon would pay no heed.  But then he heard a distant sound: a single note, but by far the most beautiful note he had ever heard.  Suddenly, the door opened, and Albus saw that the note came from the mouth of a crimson and gold bird.

“Wait--is that--?”

“Fawkes.  The old phoenix of Professor Albus Dumbledore,” answered Snape.

Fawkes swooped down and Snape grabbed onto his tail feathers.  Albus hesitated, questioning the weight ratios of both him and Professor Snape against the bird.  At a glare from Snape, however, he grabbed on, hoping against hope that the bird would actually be able to move.  With ease, Fawkes lifted them up off of the ground, swooped around the dragon, and sped through the door, landing gracefully on the other side.  Snape quickly slammed the door, and he and Albus continued their journey down the first floor hallway.

sfftmom: the atrium--vestibule

Snape moved so quickly that Albus had to jog to keep up.  He led Albus down an old street, full of ramshackle-looking buildings.  At last, they came to a worn-down old telephone booth.  Panting, Albus looked up at Snape.

“Well, Potter?  Get inside.  Let’s not spend an eternity here.”  He made no attempt to hide a bitter smirk, which Albus found exceedingly annoying.  Reluctantly, the boy stepped into the tight space, and Snape followed, closing the door behind them.  Snape picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic.  Please state your name and business,” sang a voice from inside the booth.

“Ahh yes.  Severus Snape, taking Mr. Albus Potter on . . . a bit of a tour.”  With a whirring and a click, two silver badges slid down the coin return.  Snape took them and held out one that said Albus Potter, Infernal Tour.  Albus hardly had time to pin it on before the floor of the telephone booth began to sink slowly into the ground.  Albus shuddered, thinking of being buried alive, and of tunnel collapses, and of his father’s stories about the Chamber of Secrets in Hogwarts.

“Uncomfortable, Potter?” Snape sneered.  What was the matter with this lunatic?  After what seemed like an hour (but what was probably closer to a minute), the telephone booth door opened into a magnificently long, dark hallway of a business office.

“Visitor, you must submit to a search and a wand registration at the security desk, at the far end of the Atrium.  Thank you, and have a pleasant day,” said the elevator voice.

Albus followed Snape down the hallway.  On his left, he noticed a looming black statue of a witch and a wizard on intricate thrones.  Albus leaned in to get a closer look, and gasped.  For instead of beautiful carvings, he now saw that the thrones were instead made from the crammed, twisted, naked bodies of humans--muggles.  At the base of the state were engraved the words: MAGIC IS MIGHT.  Clearly, the intent of the statue was to proclaim the hopelessness of muggles to resist the domination of the wizarding world.

Presently, they came to the security desk and handed in their wands to a handsome young man with wavy blonde hair.  Albus thought that the man’s face looked strangely familiar...

“Oh, I recognize you!  Aren’t you Gilderoy Lockhart?  My mom has some books of yours.”

The wizard looked surprised.  “Books?  Did they belong to me?  Well, I certainly shan’t be needing them here!”  He examined the wands.  “Very pretty.  Very very lovely.  Look how easy they are to wave around!”  From Snape’s wand shot out a yellow jet of light that narrowly missed Lockhart’s ear.  “Well well!  That is a finicky one, isn’t it?  Wouldn’t want to be careless with those!”  With that, he handed the wand back to Snape, who rolled his eyes.  Giving the other wand to Albus, Lockhart remarked, “Now, boy, be careful with that.  A famously handsome face like yours could bring some cockiness with it.”  Utterly confused (and slightly annoyed), Albus rejoined Snape to proceed to the search.

As they walked into the search area, Albus suddenly felt an icy breeze go through him, chilling him to his bones.  Looking up, he saw Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of the Gryffindor house.

“Nick!  Finally a familiar face.  What are you doing here?”

“Ahh, Albus, my boy!  This is where the other half of my soul lives.”

“The other half?!  You mean like a horcrux?”

“Hush!  Not so loud!  The security here takes dark magic very seriously.  No, it’s not like that at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Albus, look around you.  Everyone you see in the Atrium here--everyone besides you and Snape, that is--is here because they refused to commit to one side or another during their lifetime.  You already met Lockhart.  During his time at Hogwarts, even as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, he never committed to the fight for good or for evil.  As for me, I refused to accept death.  So in my case, my soul is split; I have an imprint here and an imprint in your world, but no full life anywhere.”

“I’m not sure I understand . . .”

“Think of it this way: the Atrium is really little more than a hallway, right?  Well, those of us who never committed to anything in life are stuck here in this hallway.  We aren’t tormented by any of the other departments, but we also can’t experience the joys of anywhere else.  Our choice has been revoked, and we must work here, in this hallway, for all eternity.”

Nearly Headless Nick turned back to continue scanning the souls of the Atrium as Albus followed Snape into the nearest elevator, thinking upon the strangeness of the encounter.  What had Nearly Headless Nick meant by the “torment” of the other departments?  Albus held his breath as they began to descend to Level 1.

secret files from the ministry of magic (sfftmom): the dark alley

“Now remember: Destination, Determination, Deliberation!  Concentrate on the place you want to go.  Concentrate on the circle in front of you.”

The dark-haired boy tried to reel in his mind, but was so angry that he couldn’t concentrate on anything except for that Malfoy boy.  Why, he could just--

“One...”

Okay, okay.  Clear mind, he thought.  But once this was over . . .

“. . . two . . .”

. . . he’d show that pale coward . . . FOCUS, NOW!

“. . . three!”

The boy had no more time.  He spun around spectacularly, then everything went dark.  It felt as though every part of his body were being compressed--squeezed into the space of an atom.  Just when he thought he would burst from the enormous pressure, everything released, and he found himself on dark, damp cement.  Taking an inventory to make sure he was fully there, he stood up and looked around.  It appeared that his apparition had worked extremely well--too well, in fact.  Not only was he no longer in the Great Hall, but he was clearly nowhere near Hogwarts anymore.  Instead, he was in a dark alley, lined with soot and bits of rubbish.  Not far away, the boy noticed King’s Cross Station, and then Hogwarts far in the distance.

“Okay, all I have to do is apparate back.  Now, what were the three D’s . . .?  Desperation, divination . . . no, that’s not it at all.  But if I concentrate hard, I can make it.”  But however he concentrated, the boy could not get even one of his dark, messy hairs to move.  

“Perhaps if I can just get to King’s Cross Station, I can get back to Hogwarts and explain to Professor McGonagall why I am missing her class.  I’m sure she’ll understand.”  Cautiously, the boy made his way to the end of the alley, where he was stopped by a tall figure in a dark cloak.  Instinctively, the boy drew his wand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” warned the figure, drawing his own wand--a long wand made from sturdy elder wood.  Trembling, the boy turned around to escape, only to be stopped by another cloaked figure.  He held a small, roundish object in one of his hands.

Laughing sinisterly, the second figure jeered, “Heed his warning, boy.  He has no control of himself, especially where his temper is concerned.  Oh, but don’t worry.  Should any harm befall you, I can always revive you.  I am greater than my brother in that sense.”  He gave another snicker.

Attempting to keep his distance from both figures, the boy backed up and tripped over--nothing?  Except that the nothing exclaimed, “Ouch!  Now was that really necessary?  Antioch, Cadmus--you’ll give it all away!”

And before the boy stood a third figure--at least, the head of one.  He did not appear to have any body, though the boy had definitely tripped over something.  And yet, he had heard those names.

“Impossible.”

“Is it, boy,” cackled the first figure, “or have you just stumbled upon the world of your nightmares?”

Stunned, the boy looked questioningly to the third figure’s head, who gave what seemed to be a warm smile.

“It is true.  You have been called into the realm of the world’s past evils.  And once here, no soul may escape.”

“You are the Peverell brothers?”

“It is so.”

“Why are you here?”

“We are the guards of this realm.  Once called here, no soul may escape unless he is so pure that he can pass through every level unscathed.  My brothers and I are destined to forever guard the world of the dead as embodiments of the three greatest character fouls: wrath, pride, and fraud.”

“Well, I can understand about your brothers--they seem the wrathful and proud sort.  But what about you?  You were Beedle and Bard’s hero.”

“Ah, yes, but the peace of an invisibility cloak does little to excuse a life of using it as a fraud.  Anyway,” he added, giving a cunning grin, “how well did they know me?  How well do you?  It was I who disguised myself from Death for the longest time.  And now, we must keep you here until it has been determined what your next destination will be.”  His smile, though it did not seem malicious, made the boy rather uncomfortable.

“That, I believe, is my responsibility,” spoke another voice quietly.  Shivers running down his spine, the boy spun around.  He saw a figure several yards off, but the darkness hid his features.  The Peverell brothers eyed the figure disdainfully, then reluctantly backed away.

“W-who are you?” quivered the boy.

The figure laughed bitterly.  “That depends on whom you ask.  Some would call me a hero, others a villain.  I have spent many years fighting dark powers, though many have questioned my methods and hated me because of them.  I was once the headmaster of Hogwarts, before being killed by one who had once trusted me.”  At this, the figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing a narrow face, sallow-skinned and framed by greasy black hair.  At the same time, a dazzling light appeared, revealing a lovely woman with dark red hair and almond-shaped green eyes--like the boy’s own.  She looked strangely familiar.  The sallow-skinned man turned toward her, with an expression of mingled anger and pain.

“Lily, you did not tell me I would be dealing with Potter.  I will not do this again.  Please find someone else!  Wasn’t one lifetime of this enough?”

“Sev, this is important.  It’s not just my decision; you know already that Dumbledore and Merlin himself have chosen you for this task, just as they chose him.  Just as they chose me for my tasks.”  The man looked down, but immediately looked back up hungrily.  

“But . . . how can I?  Don’t you understand?  He represents the passing of everything I’ve ever wanted!”  He paused, as though he wanted to say more, but dared not go on.

The red-haired woman spoke gently, but firmly.  “Severus, the boy is still mine.  He needs direction, and I am unable to stay in this place to give it to him.  He needs it from you.  I trust that you will guide him in the right.  Give him a chance, Sev--please!  He may prove to have a better soul than you think.”

Turning to the boy, she said, “My son, you have been brought here to see the world of your parents and grandparents.  It was a world where evil reigned and held all its inhabitants in bondage.  You are in the house of Gryffindor not because you have inherited it, but because you have chosen it.  Take courage now, for this will not be your fate, as long as you are brave enough to fight against the evil that could make it so.  Professor Snape will guide you, and you will come out safely.”  With these words, she disappeared.

Staring up at the man in bewilderment, the boy stammered, “P-professor Snape?  My name is Albus Severus Potter.”

At the boy’s name, Snape turned sharply--almost as though he were caught off guard--and gazed intently into the boy’s green, almond-shaped eyes.  Eyes just like the boy’s beautiful grandmother’s.  For a tiny fraction of a second, Snape’s expression softened, but then he regained his resolve.

“Potter, follow me.  We wouldn’t want you getting lost down here, would we?”  He gave a sardonic smile, then turned.  Robes billowing behind him, Snape strode out of the alley and up the street.