Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Case Study #65

Students of the newly developed Magic & Psychiatric department in St. Mungo’s sat in a small lecture theater. They were studying the techniques of dealing and treating mentally deranged patients through the collaboration of muggle science and magic. Today, they were shown a unique case; case study number 65.

Right in front of the class was a pensieve. It was no ordinary one as it had mirrors around the wide glass bowl. Smoke was also puffing excessively from the liquid within, and a thick cloud had gathered a feet above the bowl. In the cloud itself was a memory, playing out an interview.

“Does it make you feel good to watch people suffer?” The interviewer’s voice echoed throughout the small lecture theater.

“Great pleasure,” the subject replied.

“And do you think what you did was right?”

The subject merely laughed in reply.

“So, you think it was right?” the interviewer asked again.

“My right and wrong is defined by you isn’t it? You are here to call me crazy, to justify my actions, to… help me?”

“Yes, I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help doctor. I’m not your patient, so you don’t have to test your patience on my sanity.”

Slowly, the dark room started to fade away within the cloud, and that was all with the short memory.

“At the age of six, the subject had already showed intense sadistic, brutal and violent tendencies. Subject was also highly intelligent and could learn quickly. Interestingly, subjects personality is claimed to be hereditary. Both aunt and cousin were also short tempered and easily distracted,” read Dr. Batred, the senior lecturer of the first badge of students.

“For today’s class, I would like you to go back and write a one thousand word discussion on whether you believe the subject had been born or nurtured with such traits. If you have no questions, class is dismissed.”

Once Dr. Batred had turned his back against his students, he expected to hear them leaving, but instead, one of the asked, “Sir, I’m afraid you have not given us enough information to write on, if you do not mind showing us the other memory bottle you have with you?”

Dr. Batred took a quick glance at the two bottles of memory sitting on his desk. He had earlier planned on showing both of them, but thought of saving one for the next class.

“I was actually planning on showing this one in our next class,” Dr. Batred picked the bottle up as he spoke. A label pasted onto the bottle read, ‘1st Interview’.

“Sir, as much as you would like to chase us off, we would like to know more,” another student added in.

Chuckling to himself, Dr. Batred felt rather happy at his students’ response. Such keenness should be credited.

“Very well. If you are all so very keen.” Dr. Batred headed to the pensieve and retrieved the earlier memory before pouring in the new.

As he did so, he briefly mentioned, “This was an interview conducted by a family friend of the subject. The subject’s parents were rather worried of their child’s state and decided to call for help. It wasn’t easy getting this memory, but thankfully for us, I knew the interviewer. He thought this memory would come in useful one day, so he decided to sent it to me with an invitation to his funeral.”

The class chuckled along with uncertainty of the premise of the statement. Thankfully, the awkwardness of the supposed joke dissolved when the memories in the bottle rose into the cloud above the pensieve.

“Hello,” the interviewer greeted the child.

They were seated in a cozy living room. The fireplace was burning brightly, casting flickers of light on their faces.

“Hello sir,” the child replied politely.

“How are you today?”

“Rather fine, thank you.”

“I would like to ask you a few questions. I hope that it is alright with you?”

“Does it have to do with me hurting my sister?”

“There is a question or two on that.”

“If you must know, I don’t like my sister. Father and mother pays too much attention to her, and she’s rather stupid if you ask me.”

“Is that why you have tried to suffocate her?”

“Yes,” the child answered expressionlessly.

“Why do you do that?”

“I want her to die.”

“Do you want your youngest sister to die too?”

“Cissy? No. I like Cissy.” An expression crossed the little girls face as though the interviewer was asking a ridiculous question.

There was a short pause as the interviewer tried to decipher her expression. But not being able to conclude anything, he continued.

“How old is Andromeda, Bella?”

“What a stupid name,” Bella replied as she stared right into the interviewers eyes.

“She’s four am I right?”

“She’s four. And Cissy is two.”

“Do you know why your mother locks your bedroom door at night?”

“Because she’s afraid I might kill Andromeda in her sleep.” Bella paused before she continued, “They think I might kill Cissy too, but I love Cissy.”

“I see. Is that why you left dead baby birds on Cissy’s crib?”

“They are presents. So Cissy know’s I love her.”

“And did you kill those baby birds?”

“Yes. I squeezed them with my hands,” Bella answered proudly.

“Why did-“

“Don’t you think it’s more meaningful when a gift takes effort, rather than just going to a store and buying one?” Bella interrupted immediately.

“Do you think Cissy would know the difference?”

Bellatrix shrugged in reply. As the interviewer looked to her parents the memory slowly disappeared in the cloud.

“Now, a one thousand word discussion wouldn’t be a problem, would it? Nature versus nurture; get on with it!” Dr. Batred ended that evening class, wondering to himself if he actually thought Bellatrix Lestrange was crazy or just a highly intelligent person with a lack of remorse.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

All The Better To Eat You With!

“Only a beast would act in such a disgusting way. Where’s your manners Greyback?!” he taunted the hairy looking man, who sat a table away from them, and had his face buried in a bowl as he ate his meal.

“Are you a dog? Do you like eating like that?” he continued.

“Stop it John! He’s a werewolf!” his wife said in a hush hush manner.

“It’s not a full moon honey, what can he do?” John asked casually as he ruffled his son’s hair.

Instantaneously, John got up from his seat and headed towards the hairy man. And to no surprise, a few men followed behind him.

“Your kind isn’t welcomed in this town. I suggest you pack your bags and leave once you’re done giving yourself a food facial.” John chuckled and the men behind him roared in false laughter.

It was then that Greyback stood up and shoved his table forward, sending the men stumbling backwards.

Greyback gave a low growl as he eyed one men to another, and when his eyes fell on the innocent young boy at the corner of a table, who was looking half terrified, a small smile crept across his greasy face.

It was a brief moment, but as the boy stared back into that man’s eyes, a shiver ran down his spine. The hairy man was eyeing him hungrily as though he was the main course, and the food he stuck his face into earlier was just the appetizer.

“What are you looking at?!” John shouted at Greyback when he noticed him staring at his son.

“Dinner,” his rough, deep voice, replied softly.

“You leave right now!” John bravely shoved Greyback, who was 2 times his size.

“Or what?” Greyback did not even flinch.

“We’ll have wolf meat for dinner!” a small, scrawny old man boldly answered, and as the crowd in the little tavern shouted in agreement, he didn’t look so small anymore.

As one by one the people stood up, Greyback chuckled to himself. And with a cynical grin, he left.

A few days after the werewolf left town, the young boy, who briefly made eye contact with the creature of the night, decided to believe his father’s promises that the hairy man would not return.

It was only then that he bravely ran out of his home to play with his friends in the forest nearby.

“Where have you been?” one of his friends asked.

“Yea! We’ve been wondering why you never showed yesterday, and the day before. We thought you were kidnapped!” another said, as he playfully jabbed him in the arm.

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I was just sick,” the boy lied.

“Ok! Now that you’re back, lets go!”

The three boys spent the entire day by a small river, getting themselves wet as they chased one another. Their playful shouts and laughter had sent all the birds away, including the sun later in the day.

“I have to go home now,” one of his friend said with a sigh.

“Go then,” the boy replied.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“No. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” he answered shortly as he waved his friends goodbye.

He realized how stupid he was for fearing the hairy man. He had missed all the fun he could have had with his friends and now he forced himself to make up for it as he sat by a rock, taking in the nocturnal view of the forest.

The moon was finally up and the birds were back. It was peaceful enough for him to fall asleep right there and then. But when something made a loud suspicious snap, it turned the peaceful forest into a dangerous one.

“Who’s there?” he asked, as his eyes darted around.

“It’s me,” a rough deep voice spoke, hidden behind a tree.

“Who are you?”

A big shadow came looming over him as a man came out into the light.

“Remember me?”

The boy gulped. It felt as though he was in his worst nightmare, but he knew very well that he wasn’t. He didn’t bother taking a second to think as he started running.

As he made his way under branches and over roots, he could hear the man’s evil laughter behind him. He knew that if he stopped running, the man would grab him and eat him, and so he forced his short legs to keep moving.

When he finally saw street lights, he unknowingly stopped to take a breather. And that was when he heard something howl. The boy stared into the darkness, trying to see where the sound came from, and before he knew it, a beast came charging at him. It’s big, claw like hands, grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him into the air.

He tried to shake himself free but the ugly, hairy beast was too strong, and before his screams could escape his lungs, the beast bit into his thigh.

Morning came with the shrieking cry of a young girl that led the entire town to where the body of the boy lay. But to everyone’s surprise, he was still alive, barely surviving in his own pool of blood. The werewolf only bit his thigh, but the amount of blood he lost gave him 3 weeks at St. Mungo’s.

And though his parent’s were relieved that he was no longer missing or dead, they had another issue to worry about. What will happen to their son when the next full moon arrives? How will they stop their little Remus from turning into the creature that bit him?

Questions kept ringing in their heads as they watched their precious son sleep. Their only regret was the  memory of stepping out of line with a werewolf.