Chapter 22: Skirmish at the Ministry

It was clear after about eight and a half hours of play that something was up. The teams were not only getting pissed at their respective Seekers, but also the opposing team’s.

 

Needless to say, but I was having fun.

 

You want to know what would make this situation even better? Well, first, I bumped up the storm to something akin to a tropical depression. Then, I found a sheep out in the countryside I’m hoping no farmer notices is missing, and I turned it into some parchment.

 

Then, in the ways of the American Founding Fathers, I drafted my Declaration of Revisions and Grievances. It’s my list of suggestions and rule changes to be applied to all quidditch games in the world!

 

Scaling the wall, the drenched and exhausted teachers all turn to me in unison. Well, they’re not all that drenched actually. Flitwick seems to have put some kind of rain barrier above them…

 

New addition to the Declaration.

 

“Young Dreamer,” Dumbledore…calmly begins as the rest of the teachers begin to notice my presence, “do you have something to do with this?”

 

“Swadloon!” I thrust the indestructible parchment out of my sphere with the force of an angry toddler.

 

Wordlessly, Dumbledore takes the parchment, his brow furring towards his spectacles with each line read. He glances up at me a few times, and, of course curious, the other teachers peek over his shoulder to read the demands.

 

“Young Dreamer, we cannot enforce these rules. Some would be hard to enact, others…simply unreasonable, and we aren’t in charge of the Quidditch rules—the Ministry is.”

 

I pout and harumph. “I don’t think calculating adding one point to each teams’ totals, multiplying them, and taking the natural log and multiplying that by ten for the Golden Snitch’s points is asking too much.”

 

Dumbledore simply takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, then puts his glasses back on. “Young Dreamer, that is only barely unacceptable. I’m referring to the statement where the Bludger is unable to…as you put it, smash through the spectators and environment.”

 

“T-That’s completely acceptable!” I sputter, wadding back and forth. Almost like a petulant child, Snape scoffs.

 

I stare right at him. “Do you know what happened with Mary? You told Lily it was just a laugh.” He stops, his disinterest turning into a glare.

 

“I know lots of things. I’ll get these rules passed…one way or another.” With that ominous note, I let myself down with the hundreds of tentacles that were supporting me.

 

I think that was sufficiently creepy! Hoh-oh! I’m giddy!

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

I walk into the telephone booth, snapping the rats watching me out of existence, and dial 62442. A woman’s voice calls out, “Please state your name and business.”

 

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“Dreamer. Filing a complaint to the entire Quidditch department.”

 

A ticket prints out like a fax. I stare blankly at it as I wait, little by little, for the silver badge-ticket thing to be finally made. Rolling my eyes, I ignore the text saying, ‘Another one for you, Ludo’ and stick it on my purple dress.

 

As the elevator slowly drops down, I cross my arms and impatiently tap my foot.

 

I skip the rest of the ride by teleporting. I stomp through the Atrium, cracking stone with each step. The employees and bureaucrats milling about clear away from me, and the guards are blasted back by my pure annoyance rending reality.

 

I toss my wand to the attendant, impaling them through their hand. It cracks the oaken table, then splits the table open as the wand returns to my waiting hand.

 

Entering one of the elevators, the people inside either file out to find another or give me a wide berth.

 

“Which floor?” One, shockingly stoic, man asks.

 

“Seventh.” I watch his barely shaking hand tap the ‘7’ button. Is this act really working? It’s almost as if he thinks there’s vitriol in my voice…s. Maybe the reverb was too much.

 

Eventually, people flee or stay. It doesn’t matter as we reach the seventh floor.

 

It’s…a mess. However, like most issues when they block your path, this can be solved with arson!

 

I retch, vomiting gasoline into the various directions limited only by three-dimensional space moving through the fourth. However, I managed to get some into the sixth, so everything’s good!

 

Shoveling a lot of electrons with a lot of force, a static spark occurs, and then flame.

 

I’ve had nightmares occasionally, and creatures like me but not me get made. Normally I change them a little then eject them to vast worlds that are as far as possible away from me. I think they could be my children, but they’re not. They aren’t made from love, lust, meat, and piss, but rather from an errant thought. Those things are usually weak to fire.

 

Plus, if I were to have children, it would be more like the Tenta-Spiders I make. However, they would probably be like drones with genetic material acquired from another parent. Or I could make an actual child, but they’d be half-me, like those others and half-not-me.

 

Anyway, fire. Yeah. Doesn’t affect me.

 

Screams, begs, whimpers. Yadda yadda yadda. I open up the door to Ludo’s office, finding it not on fire. Also, soundproofed. Hmmmmmmmm… I toss the parchment in his face. “New rules. Don’t care what you think. Make other countries do it too. Tell them I’ll destroy them otherwise.”

 

I teleport away, wiping memories but not emotions. I quarantine the fire to the office, but un-melt their bodies and toss ‘em to the Atrium. The government can have a little collateral damage though, as a treat. Because they’ve been so cooperative today.

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