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And The Walls Came Tumbling Down | ||||
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Category: Hogwarts Discovery Challenge (2005-6) Characters:None Genres: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Fluff, General, Humor Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 27 Summary: ** Winner of Best Humor in the Hogswarts Discovery Challenge ** A mysterious door shows that the barrier between magical and Muggle may be thinner than anyone had expected... Oh, and the rating's just for language, pretty much the level that's in the books. And the warning.. well, that's just to be on the safe side. Doesn't really need it, but there's a tiny bit of innuendo. Hitcount: Story Total: 4486 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. |
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Author’s Notes: Due to a horrendous combination of writer’s block, packing, and the last week of term (not to mention having to move out of my room at college because of redecoration, which they forgot to tell anyone about), I didn’t manage to get anything written on this until an hour and a half ago. It’s not up to my usual standard, I’m afraid, but with any luck I’ll be able to go over it and tidy it up a bit over Christmas. It’s far too rushed for my tastes, with all the actual writing done in just under two hours before the deadline, but oh well. “D’you reckon anyone’s not staying here over Christmas?” Ron asked incredulously as they climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. “So much for having the place to ourselves,” Harry chuckled. The autumn had seen massive increases in Death Eater attacks, and after a particularly heavy attack on Hogsmeade earlier that autumn, most parents had concluded that the safest place for their broods was at school. Now, with the Christmas holidays less than twenty-four hours old, people were already getting under each other’s feet. Normally, there would have been Quidditch to provide a distraction, grounds to wander in, the lake to swim in, but the bitter weather forced most to stay inside. Extra Hogsmeade visits had been contemplated, but the village was still out of bounds while repairs were completed after the attack two months earlier. By the fifth day, tempers were starting to get frayed. The first to snap was a fifth-year Hufflepuff who had snuck up the northern tower looking for peace and quiet. The resulting altercation had left a well-meaning Ravenclaw with a black eye and an exceedingly bad mood, but had at least led to students finding more imaginative means of entertainment — if only to avoid injury. And so it was that Harry Potter had taken to systematically exploring the castle from under his invisibility cloak, aided by the Marauders’ Map. His explorations, in light of all the extra spare time, were much more detailed and methodical than his earlier wanderings, and he spent his days carefully examining every inch of the corridors. One evening, he and Ginny were exploring the cellars. Well, mostly exploring. Oh, all right, they explored a bit, but then got sidetracked as they found a secluded corner in one of the far corridors of the northern cellars. The alcove had once housed three suits of armour; the far one, however, had clearly been removed some years before, and the middle one had taken quite a beating from the years of neglect. This, obviously, was so far out of the way that even the house-elves rarely passed through. In short, it seemed to Harry, the shadows behind the remaining suits were the ideal spot for a quick snog. The two of them hurried, giggling, into the darkness behind the armour, and within moments Ginny was pressed up against the wall. Then the wall sunk away from them, tipping them onto the floor. They scrambled to their feet, hurriedly adjusting their clothing, and tried to see what had happened. Harry pulled out his map and, activating it, scanned it for hidden passages. But, he found, there were none in this remote corner of the school. “Ginny!” he hissed, keeping his voice low, even though his face radiated glee. “This one’s not on the map! We found one the Marauders didn’t know about!” She grabbed the map and stared at it, her eyes gleaming. “You’re right!” Turning towards the tunnel, she handed the map back to him and started inwards. “Let’s see what’s in…” Meeeeeeeoooooww… The plaintive sound pulled them back to reality as a dusty-grey cat padded round the suits of armour, pinning them with its glowing yellow eyes. “Bugger!” Ginny spun, caught Harry and pulled him out into the corridor. With a flood of relief, she just heard the heavy stone door whisper shut behind them, but the accusing figure of Mrs Norris still stared at them. Then, from down the corridor, they heard footsteps. “Bloody cat,” Ginny muttered as Harry pulled her to him, flung the cloak over them and started edging away up the corridor. “What’s that, my sweet?” Filch’s voice wheezed through the gloom as his shuffling footsteps drew nearer. “Is someone sneaking around my cellars? After lights-out, too, oh, in the olden days we’d get the shackles out, dear, yes…” The dreadful feline just sat, staring at a slowly-moving patch of emptiness. Filch glared around, daring the walls to make his day. But nothing moved. Now almost thirty feet down the corridor, nothing started moving ever so slightly faster. Filch’s eyes settled on the remaining suit of armour. They narrowed, and he moved closer, squinting maliciously into the visor. Ginny saw her chance. “Quassotremens Lorica,” she whispered, pointing her wand at the armour. It trembled slightly, and Filch dodged back, a quick look of triumph flickering over his face. “I know you’re in there,” he gloated. “Who might it be this time, eh? Potter, perhaps? What do you think, my sweet? He always seems to be involved somehow, doesn’t he? Or no, maybe it’s Peeves… oh, who could I call?” Ginny whispered the spell again, more forcefully, and the left greave of the armour blasted out and back. Filch looked momentarily startled, and then he gaped as the ancient armour started clattering loudly, piece by piece, to the floor. Siezing the opportunity, Harry and Ginny ducked into the nearest stairwell and sprinted up as fast as they could. “Wow,” Ron breathed as they recounted their exploits a few minutes later after returning to the Gryffindor common room. “You really demolished a suit of armour as a distraction?” Harry nodded. “Yeah, but think about that door. There’s got to be something down there. What do you reckon? Third period tomorrow, if we’re all free?” The others nodded. “Then we’re decided,” Hermione confirmed with a gleam in her eye. “It’s… been a while, hasn’t it?” She looked mildly abashed, admitting that she had enjoyed their escapades over the years. “Rules lawyer Hermione, looking forward to breaking the…” Harry started to smirk, but she cut him off. “Yes, well, I think it’s probably time for bed,” she interrupted hurriedly. “Early start tomorrow, um, and I’m really rather sleepy.” She feigned a yawn. “Um. Yes. Um. Good night, anyway.” And with that, she was gone. Ginny followed a moment later, after giving Harry a swift kiss goodnight — and, catching Ron’s frown, a broad, lascivious grin. Ron stood abruptly, clearly still uncomfortable seeing Harry kissing his sister so openly. “Right, I’m heading up. Coming, Harry?” Harry started to get up, then seemed to think better of it. “Um, I’ll be along in a minute. I’ll just… er… plan tomorrow’s expedition.” He shifted slightly in his seat. “Be up in three or four minutes.” Ron raised a sceptical eyebrow, but carried on up the stairs. Harry woke up the next morning, smiling gently after a particularly pleasant dream. He dressed quickly, then hurried down for breakfast. The morning passed quickly, and they soon found themselves in the cellar in front of the blank stone wall again. A couple of DA members had been posted at the entrance to the corridor, ready to stage a diversion should Filch make an appearance, but some quick research had shown that he was on his way to Hogsmeade for supplies and would, with any luck, be away for some time. Actually opening the door proved more difficult than they had anticipated; however, after much searching and (at Hermione’s suggestions) a hideously embarrassing re-enactment of the previous night’s activities, the door swung quietly open. The dark tunnel behind it extended perhaps twenty feet before taking a sharp right turn. The damp stone walls became less damp — and, oddly, less stony — as they progressed, and suddenly they found themselves staring at a glowing glass ampoule dangling from a wooden ceiling. “What’s that?” Ron gaped, pointing. Hermione was the first to speak. “It’s… it’s a lightbulb. But… but that’s not right!” “Um, guys…” Harry stood a few yards further on, curiously picking at the wall. “Guys, this isn’t rock. It’s papier-mache.” Ginny stepped up beside him, glanced at the scratches he had inflicted on the wall, then unceremoniously put her fist through it. “Harry,” she said slowly, withdrawing her hand, fragments of paper and plaster cascading off it, “I think you’re right.” A few minutes’ work created a hole large enough for the four of them to get through, and they found themselves in another world. The tunnel they had been in only a few moments ago, that had been solid, damp rock on the inside, was built of pine battens and chickenwire. Hermione, in full research mode, found a recognisable chunk of newspaper embedded in the wall. “Eleventh of May 1989… This can’t be right!” “This…” Ron spluttered. “But… but Hogwarts is thousands of years old! How can the bottom levels be made of paper just a few years ago?” “Not thousands, Ron, just a thousand,” Hermione corrected. “It says so in Hog…” A thought crossed her face. “But… but what if…” Just then footsteps approached behind them. They spun as a man in paint-flecked coveralls came round the corner. He saw them. He goggled. “Oh, boll… hey, Ernie,” he said into a small black box on his shoulder, “Could you come down to sector nine PDQ? We’ve, er, got a bit of a problem.” “Who are you?” Harry demanded, gathering himself, “and what’s happened to Hogwarts?” As an afterthought, he drew his wand and pointed it at the man. “Um… you should probably ask Ernie about that.” “Who’s Ernie?” “I am,” said a deep voice as a man stepped round the corner behind the paint-spotted man. There stood Argus Filch. In a suit. “Stupefy!” Harry shouted, ready to grab his friends and make a break for it. But nothing happened. He tried again. “Stupefy!” And again. “Um… Lumos?” An abundance of buggerall occurred. “Um, guys…” he said uncertainly, “why isn’t my magic working?” “Because there are no effects off the set, Harry.” Filch said. “And don’t call me Filch.” “But… you are Filch.” “No, I’m Ernie, the associate producer.” He chuckled. “Come with me, kids. I think we need to have a chat.” “…and that’s how you found your way in here?” ‘Ernie’ said a few minutes later as they sipped their tea. “Yeah, pretty much. So… none of this is real?” “Not the Hogwarts you know, no. You did sign a waiver beforehand, you know.” He picked up a folder and gestured to it. “It’s a competition. The world’s longest fly-on-the-wall TV series, with the exception that our participants don’t know about the cameras. We had a bugger of a time developing the spell effects, I can tell you. And oh, the engram codecs… horribly tricky. The players in the first series found themselves wondering why they suddenly started quoting ‘Muggle’ music for no apparent reason after, as far as they knew, spending the entirety of their lives isolated from non-magical influences.” He sighed. “The second series wasn’t much better. We tried to liven things up by bringing in an American contestant in the guise of an exchange student, but that went down like a lead balloon. But by the eighth series — that’s where you came in — we had pretty much established the format. That scar was brilliant, probably got you the part. Well, let’s face it, kid, it wasn’t your acting, was it? Anyway,” he grinned, “bet you never thought falling off your bike when you were five would prove so lucrative, eh?” Harry was stunned. “You… but… Well, what happens now?” “Now? That’s the crux, isn’t it?” Harry sat up with a start. A series of quick glances showed him that he was still in his dormitory, with Ron reassuringly snoring like a sawmill in the next bed along. He clambered out of bed and staggered downstairs to the common room. The enchanted calendar on the wall showed that it was, indeed, only the next day. No missing days, no temporal oddities. Then it finally sank in. It had all been a dream. The reality of the hidden room, when they investigated it four hours later, was rather more mundane, though no less… interesting. The dark corridor Harry and Ginny had seen when they fell into it led, eventually, to a wooden door. Inside was a brightly-lit room with workbenches around the edges and a bowl of mince marked “Mrs Norris” under a desk. But the focus of the room was the vast expanse of landscape on the huge table in the centre of the room. Green flock covered rolling meadows, exquisitely detailed vehicles on inch-wide roads, and, encircling the whole thing, dozens of yards of minute rails. They stared in astonishment for several moments before Ron finally burst out laughing. “Filch has a train set? Bloody hell, I thought only Dad was mad enough to get one of them! And even he didn’t go this mad with it!” As he spoke, he caught the evil grin working its way across Harry’s face. “I… have… an idea…” Harry turned and headed for the door. “Come on, quick!” They scurried out and towards the staircase. “Hermione, you’re best at transfiguring things, I’ll need your help with this. Ron, can you find me a small teapot? Ginny, can you hijack some wrapping paper and a shoebox from Lavender? I think she’s running the Christmas frenzy up in the common room. I have,” he grinned, “a feeling that Filch might not bother us so much next year.” Meanwhile, in his dingy office, Filch found a small, gift-wrapped box on his desk. “What’s this, then?” he muttered, tearing the paper off and removing the cardboard lid. He sat down heavily as his gaze fell on the small steam engine inside. Nobody was supposed to have known about his hobby! Who… Then he spotted the card at the bottom of the box, and the single sentence printed on it in a tidy hand: This will be a secret between you and me. |
| Reviews 27 |
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