Lost in Transfiguration

Lost in Transfiguration

Prologue

October 25, 2004

If I were to preface this story by explaining that in the past six years Voldemort had been defeated, and the world of Magic was once again safe and harmonious, I'd be a dirty stinking rat-bastard liar. So I won't.

The truth is, the Order of the Phoenix, and the more dedicated members of the Ministry of Magic, didn't fight gallantly at all. If Hiroshima and Nagasaki was a loud, violent, screaming-into-the-night defeat, then this was more akin to the Island of Manhattan being bought off the Native Americans for $27. After they'd holed themselves up in the teacher's lounge at Hogwarts, with the Death Eaters swarming, they merely drew straws to determine whose underpants would be used as a white flag. (It was Snape, for that matter, but they hadn't bargained on his choice of underwear being red lurex, and they though that it would be much safer not to use that material to convey a message across to an evil army of rednecks and racists.)

Nowadays, of course, there is an uneasy truce between the two factions: though the far more liberally aligned anti-Voldemort league lives in relative poverty, reduced to menial labour, unemployment and degrading embarrassment for the entertainment of said conservative party, they are still alive. But it is not what one would ideally call alive, anyway; they are not permitted to own property, have jobs which earn them in excess of four thousand galleons per annum (section 2C of the Nepotism and Workplace Act 2001) and they must pay inordinately high taxes. (Section 2D of the Nepotism and Workplace Act 2001. Actually, from hereon in, it may be worth mentioning to the reader that since the overthrow of the Ministry, there has only been one piece of legislation put into operation.)

Thus, the wizarding world is now a most undesirable place to be. Many of the international wizards have jumped the ship like rats, choosing to live as muggles instead of supporting the regime. However, if you were to live in Great Britain, as so many witches and wizards do, you would undoubtedly be forced into a life of depravity. Since his smashing victory, Lord Voldemort is now Minister of Magic, with Lucius and Draco Malfoy taking up the positions of Senior and Junior Undersecretary respectively (section 2B of the Nepotism and Workplace Act 2001). As such, life is very hard. For one thing, the Adamscopes compulsorily installed in all wizarding residences only gets two channels: Lifetime, and Creepy Evangelical Christian Brainwashing. It's not actually called that officially. It's real name is 'Source of Hope and Light', but according to Ron and Harry, who often sit through hours of the shows at a time, there's no hope or light to be found in a sermon that decries evil people like homosexuals, non-caucasians or communists.

They live together now in a grotty flat two streets away from the Leaky Cauldron, unemployed and listless. The ascent of Voldemort has been particularly hard on Harry James Potter and Ronald Bilius Weasley, as according to section 5F of the Nepotism and Workplace Act of 2001, they are legally prevented from getting jobs. They live welfare cheque to welfare cheque, and their lives are nearly thoroughly miserable. Sometimes, sitting about in the middle of the day, Harry would fantasise about Voldemort finishing him off in the battle six years prior. Oh, perchance to dream. But enough of that. Their fates were sealed, and they have more or less accepted their lot. They support themselves on the subsistence level that their welfare provides them, supplemented by occasional marijuana selling and itinerant taxi driving, in Ron's case. Harry sleeps in the far bedroom of their tiny flat, behind the kitchen. It's not as bad as his other two roommates' room though - at least his doesn't get leakage from the bathroom.

The household would therefore not survive if it weren't for the far more steady and reliable income of the third official housemate. Hermione Granger, much to her disgust, is now the secretary of the Undersecretary, a job which sees her in far closer proximity than she'd prefer to one Draco Malfoy. Sometimes, when she scribbles out memorandums and brings in his coffee of an afternoon, she wishes she still had her timeturner so she could go back to being ten, and prevent herself from ever becoming a witch. She was smart, she was muggle-born. She could probably have done something with her life, like getting a respectable muggle profession. Like a vet, or an architect, or an accountant. All right, maybe not an accountant. But anything had to be better than working for Draco Malfoy. She occupies said bedroom beside the bathroom with Mr Weasley.

The fourth member of the Potter-Weasley-Granger household is an unofficial one, who has lived on their sofa ever since his wife decided that she far preferred women to men. Shame, really, he'd given up alcohol so successfully when they'd finally got together, much to the disgust of Mundungus Fletcher and the relief of everyone else. Now, of course, Remus Lupin figures he is allowed to get smashed at every meal, sleeping it off on Harry's brown corduroy sofa. The three often talk about him in hushed tones whilst in an alcoholic torpor - yes, the poor dear is suffering a rough patch, and yes, he is rather reverting to his teenage mentality, but to be fair, it's been six months now, and when will he get up so we can entertain in here again? On the days where he isn't drunk, he'll wander off to a public library, or to a park, where he'll read the paper and try and rope someone in to listen to his life story. None of the muggles believe that he is an unemployed werewolf whose wife left him for a female (he couldn't call that thing a woman by any stretch of the imagination) who strongly resembles an older Charles Foster Kane in body mass and facial hair.

Nymphadora Tonks has heard enough of her soon-to-be ex-husband's complaints as to the physicality of her new partner. It wasn't that she didn't, or doesn't love him. It's just that she is confused, and as a liberated woman of the new century, feels that she is entitled to explore her femininity and empower herself to discover who her soulmate truly is. (Her ex-husband claims that this is a copout. In the efforts of maintaining an impartial prologue, I will not cast judgement on either party, other than to state that I personally concur with aforementioned werewolf.) She now lives with Janine, a behemoth of a female who speaks in barks, and resembles a tank to 99% of the male population. (The other 1% thinks she resembles Orson Welles.)

Neville Longbottom works as an orderly at St Mungos. The arrangement suits him well - it is enough money to put food on his plate, and he gets to spend time with his parents.

Albus Dumbledore has gone into hiding in the secret basement of his brother's pub, plotting the downfall of the Voldemort Regime. The Order of the Phoenix is more or less operational, in clandestine, though they've had to rename themselves as to not draw attention from the conservative Ministry. Their new name is now 'Paradise Cult of Christ'. It's not easy running a secret, counterstate society on the minimal income he earns wiping down tables with a dry at the Hog's Head (Aberforth is a tough boss, afterall), but somehow they have survived. They had to cut down on paper to save money. Paper and water. But turning off the water at the Hog's Head has mattered little to Aberforth, who hasn't cleaned anything in his pub since 1947.

Rubeus Hagrid also works at the Hog's Head. I use the term 'work' loosely, however, for the majority of the duties he gives himself involve testing the beer to ensure it hasn't been poisoned. He is, however, thankful to work in a place where one can potentially meet countless dark strangers with evil pets just waiting to be adopted by an indescriminate half-giant.

Of the former Hogwarts professors, however, Severus Snape has made quite a reasonable living for himself. Though not holding a legitimate job, he has employed his formidable potion making skills to great advantage; he now runs a meth lab out in his Kent backyard. Though he detests the fact that Mundungus Fletcher and his associates take a 40% cut of his profit, and all other people his job brings him into contact with, it is a living nonetheless.

He is living a far more charmed life than Minerva McGonagall at any rate, who has capitalised on what she knows to do best. She's now governess for the snotty little Aaliiyaah Taahrlyaah Malfoy-Parkinson, a child with a temperament almost as obnoxious as her badly spelled given names. In her opinion, giving a child such a horrible name is tantamount to child abuse: rather like giving a kid a bad haircut, or making twins dress in the same clothes. She's pushing eighty now, old Minerva, and she too joins the legions who pray for the sweet release of death.

Fred and George are now entertainers at muggle children's parties, much to their everlasting chagrin. They had such a promising future of innovation and entrepreneurship, now gone to waste as they pull coins out from behind kids ears and try to saw each other in half. Ginny is similarly stuck in a horrible job. She works as head of programming on 'Source of Hope And Light' - a job that requires little but to watch horribly fundamentalist Christian talk shows all day. Sometimes, she tries sneaking in even a five second clip from the classic Shewanna Honneypot (nee Lavender Brown) porno 'Fillin' All Empty Spaces' between 'The O'Reilly Factor' and 'Rush Limbaugh's Storytime Hour'. But she's acquiesced, unwillingly, simply blocking out the horrible programmes she is forced to air.

If I were to continue my descriptions of the lives of all the characters, it would be a most depressing and long-winded tale. I don't need to embellish, for example, on the life of Seamus Finnigan (living in Ireland, doing Irish things like bombing cars and going to mass), or someone minor and inconsequential like Colin Creevey (photographing official Ministry events, ironically regretting his days of fellatio-like reverence and sycophancy to Harry Potter). But I will let you know that nearly all wizards in Britain are looking for a change. They are desperate to overthrow their cruel masters, pleading for a tolerant, educated, liberal society where their children's teacher of Care of Magical Creatures is not a former abattoir worker and official magical creatures executioner. (It is also the consternation of our resident werewolf and alcoholic literature devourer that a man who seems so dead-set on destroying all things natural should have a first name like 'Walden'.)

However, for the evil Ministry of Magic, all things must come to an end, for thousands of miles away, a gormless teenage muggle in Coon Rapids, Minnesota, has picked up a very interesting chat window on her computer...