Harry Potter Short Stories

Muggle Witch

‘She was investigated with, asked how she knew so much as with how to enter the Ministry safely, and her reply was simple, yet perplexing; she watched. She explained how extraordinary she was. How cleverer than most Muggles, she noticed the smallest details everywhere — on the news and on the street. She’d been asked whether or not she had confided her secrets — our secrets — with anybody else, and she said that none knew.

‘As an extra precaution, we had checked and modified her family’s and friends’ memories — though they knew nothing, just like Grace told us. Since that would mean one less thing to worry about, we modified Grace’s memory too.

‘However, in the very next day, Skye Grace reentered the Ministry — though noticed by the guard this time — and demanded for a job yet again, leaving everybody in shock, wondering how on Earth she still knew, still remembered. We convinced ourselves that something must’ve went wrong, and we modified her memory yet again, setting a more powerful wizard to the job.

‘But Skye Grace reappeared again, and again, using more and more powerful wizards till it got down to me to modify her memory, but still, no use.’

She rounded back to Fernsby, her chest heaving up and down with the effort of reciting her tale quickly under her breathe and pacing to and fro her office at the same time. She felt a certain type of weird — the not very weird, but very, very weird type — having finally acknowledged the tale after a whole month. She stood up straighter, the air of being the Minister for Magic coming back to her. When she spoke, she was loud, clear, and formal, and Fernsby straightened up at her sudden change of mood.

‘So where do you think we have exactly went wrong, Mr Fernsby?’

He took into the sight of the Minister as long as her office, clearly having a painful internal battle. At last, he cleared his throat. ‘With all due respect, Minister, I think we have underestimated the Muggle Skye Grace.’

The Minister raised an eyebrow, her mouth twisting in something Fernsby suspected to be a smile — he never knew what the Minister’s smile looked like, she never smiled.

‘The Muggle?’

He hydrated his lower lip using his tongue, examining the Minister’s smile. Was this a trap? Does this have something to do with her being a Muggle-born?

‘Minister?’ He prayed that his cluelessness had reached to the Minsiter through his question, and it seemed like it did.

She sat behind her desk yet again, then took Skye Grace’s CV to examine it closely for the first time. ‘I think we have understimated Muggles, Fernsby. What do you think?’

***

With a faint pop, a man in his early forties with greying hair appeared, wearing a dark blue cloak and looked ordinary really, perhaps except for the lightning bolt of a scar on the upper left of his forehead.

He straightened his cloak as he made for the door he Disapparated in front of, then knocked twice. He counted the seconds till the door swung open in front of him, and there, in front of him, stood a young lady with dark hair and green eyes.

‘Good morning,’ Harry said.

She studied him for a moment, and she tightened her grip around the door knob from the inside. ‘How may I help you, sir?’

‘I believe you're Skye Grace?’

She narrowed her eyes as she studied his scar. ‘Who’s asking?’