the Cost of Living

Gone From the World

Chapter Three – the Cost of Living

I cry when angels deserve to die. - System of a Down

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"

The man holding the wallet sighed. "I am here to arrest you," he said slowly, as if he were addressing a deaf, blind and mute three-year-old.

"Are you two, Aurors? Who are you?"

The two men looked at each other. It took Harry a second to realize that these two were Muggles.

Muggles were here to arrest him. That didn't sound quite right.

"How do you know who I am?" he asked, eyes glancing quickly from one man to another.

"You're Harry Potter," said the other man. He wore a deerstalker hat, reminding Harry of countless hours reading Sherlock Holmes with Ginny. "You are a wizard."

"How do you know this?" It was scary. Harry suddenly remembered what Malfoy had said – "Did you know that Creevey is planning to use Muggles in this war?"

"Come with us, Mr. Potter and we will tell you on the way," said both men at the same time. Harry idly wondered whether the two were a couple. If they both got time off, did they holiday together in France? Then he chided himself from thinking inappropriate thoughts during inappropriate times.

"How do you know about me?" he continued suspiciously, hand reaching for his wand in his back pocket.

"We received information from a source that you were seen at the scene of Miss Weasley's death. Also, our sources indicate that you have a history of mental illness and that you and Miss Weasley were previously romantically involved. Naturally, this has led us to believe that you are the chief suspect."

"Would your source happen to be?" Harry asked irritably, his heart pounding furiously. "Back issues of the Daily Prophet? Witch Weekly by any chance?"

The agents didn't even bat an eyelid. "Come with us, Mr Potter," said the one with the ugly hat. "Or we'll make you come with us by force."

Harry did what any intelligent wizard would do. He drew out his wand. He wanted to tell them to fuck off and die, but he checked himself before the words could tumble out uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I don't think I've done anything, and maybe you should go and check your 'source.' I'd like to enter my apartment now; please remove yourselves."

"As you wish." To Harry's distinct surprise, they complied. They cast him dark looks, pushing past him.

"But we will be back."

*

The first thing Harry did in the morning (besides attending to his toiletries) was to visit the Ministry of Magic. He Apparated into the lobby. There was nobody there, save for a young boy standing near the fountain. He seemed to be deep in thought.

"Please place your wand on the machine. It shall be returned to you whenever you leave the Ministry."

Harry strode purposefully to the robot, which took his wand. It was scanning it, when there was a click and it stopped moving. The hall went pitch-black, and immediately, red lights sprung up from nowhere, and the room started beeping annoyingly.

"What the...." Harry muttered. "Hello? Anyone?"

"Oh, the machines broke." The boy looked up from the fountain. "They do that sometimes. After all, they're Muggle-invented. Can't handle all the magical auras around them."

"Where did they come from? They weren't here a couple of days ago," Harry said curiously. Everything had changed.

"A couple of days ago, people were still employed," said the boy, walking towards Harry. He was blond and androgynously beautiful. "Now we've got Creevey for Minister and yesterday, five hundred people lost their jobs. They've been replaced by Muggle machines."

Harry didn't say anything. In the dark, the boy looked like an angel. Like Draco Malfoy.

"Do you think we could get the lights back up?" he asked.

"Epis fluorescence." The boy waved his wand and the golden glow, which Harry was accustomed with, returned in full force.

The robot next to Harry jerked back to life. "Here you go," it said. "Please have a nice life."

The boy sniggered. He shrugged apologetically, when Harry turned, "Sorry, it's just that robot cracks me up all the time."

"What's your name? You're fourteen? Fifteen?" Harry asked, curious as to why the boy was here.

"My name is Liam." The boy smiled, showing a row of perfectly formed white, even teeth. "I'll be fifteen next month."

"So what are you doing here?"

"I have to be here." Liam smiled again, eyes shining enthusiastically with the fires of stars long dead. "My sister – she has these prophetic dreams, and she dreamed that I would be here today and meet you. I really didn't want to do that, no offence, Minister, but my sister told me that it's for the best. And how can you resist something when you know it's for the best?"

"You don't," said Harry understandably. Children grew up so quickly nowadays. It was the modern era. Hogwarts had long since closed down; boarding schools were now redundant. As Colin had described it, they were 'incredibly old-fashioned.' With the onset of the twenty-first century, the Board of Education had set up schools, which operated six hours a day. That way, children could go to school and then come back home the same day. It made life easier.

"There may also be a Religion test that I ... forgot to study for," Liam added guiltily, but with school-boy grace he added flippantly, "Not that I could give a fuck."

To that, Harry had no answer to. "Don't you like school?"

Liam paused for a moment. "I think it's alright even if we don't actually use any magic. Today is Orientation Day – you know, for new Muggle students." Noting Harry's look of confusion, he added, "Apparently, it's unfair that Muggles can't use magic, so we're involving them in the process."

"And you don't like this?"

"Hell no."

Harry made a mental note to talk to Colin about involving Muggles in the schools. That was taking the whole 'I have a dream that Muggle and Wizard children will hold hands' thing too far.

"I'm sorry. I'm going to go talk to the Minister now," he said nicely to Liam. "Good luck doing what you're going to do."

"Ta," said the boy, sticking his hands in the pockets. "All I know is that it'll make a difference," he added mysteriously.

Harry rounded a corner. Occasionally, he saw another wizard or witch, but before he could turn around, they were all gone. It was as though they were wisps of smoke, something he couldn't touch.

As Harry neared Colin's office, he began the walk past all the portraits of previous Ministers.

"Hello," he said to Millicent Bagnold, Minister until 1990.

The portrait did not reply. It gave no indication that it had even heard him.

"Hello?" Harry said again, waving a hand in front of it. No movement.

He moved on to a portrait of Cornelius Fudge, 1990-1996. Fudge was sitting in a chair; and, like most portraits, looked more attractive than in real life. "Hello Fudge," he said, expecting the usual scowl.

No reaction.

He raised his voice. "Hello?"

Nothing. The picture was still.

Harry tried to goad a reaction from portrait Fudge. "Fudge sucks!" he said loudly, in a squeaky voice. "I am sexy!" he exclaimed randomly. "Die, die you spawn of Satan."

Fudge didn't raise so much as an eyebrow.

Feeling extremely mystified and oddly put out; Harry stormed up faster to the Minister's office. Inside, he could hear Colin screaming.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE REFUSED TO COME WITH YOU? HE'S A DEPRESSED PSYCHOPATH. WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE OUT YOUR GUNS? HE KILLED HER ALRIGHT? NO! FINE! I DON'T CARE! I'M THE BLOODY MINISTER FOR MAGIC! I DON'T GIVE A HIPPOGRIFF'S ARSE. WHAT THE FUCK EVER! ALRIGHT! Just remember, you get here soon. I need to talk to you."

He slammed the phone down. Harry guessed that either he was speaking on a telephone, or had gone temporarily insane. He knocked on the door.

"Come in," said the hoarse voice of Colin. "Who is it?"

"It's me," said Harry, as he entered the new Minister's Office. He blinked incredulously at the décor. During his regime as Minister, he had painted the room a nice handsome maroon and had initially stuck a few posters and paintings around the room. As time had gone on, the posters and paintings had all disappeared until the room was as bare as a hermit crab's cave.

Now the room was stuck full of pictures of Colin with several important personages, accompanied by scrawls labelling whom Colin had taken the photo with. Harry glanced at them with some interest.

Me and the Muggle PM from Germany, Ministry Dinner....

Me and Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror's Convention 2001.

Me and Viktor Krum, last year Quidditch Match.

Me and Madonna, some random concert.

Me and a dementor.

Harry blinked again. "Lovely picture," he said politely, motioning to the picture of Colin and a dementor. "I like the whole hooded look. Very...dementor-ish."

"That was part of an operation in order to encourage magical co-operation and trust," Colin said in a deadpan voice. He looked at Harry very seriously. "Potter, what do you want?"

Harry was taken aback by the hostility in Colin's tone. "I only came here to talk to you about something, Colin," he said warily.

"What do you want to talk to me about then?" Colin looked extremely strained. "I don't have time, Potter. I'm meeting National Security at ten o'clock."

"Ten o'clock is two hours away," Harry said flatly.

Colin wriggled uncomfortably. "The computers are having a breakdown. I have to go and fix the chip-thingies." He turned to the door, but Harry had predicted this move and had immediately moved towards him, blocking his entrance.

"We're going to talk, Colin," he said.

"Fine." A look of stubbornness passed the other man's face. "Alright, we'll talk, Potter. What do you want?" He smiled resolutely and then sunk pompously into his chair.

A second passed. Colin decided that he didn't like the whole power aspect with Harry standing and him sitting, so he got up.

"I want you to tell me why this Ministry is five-hundred people less," Harry said sharply. "I want you to tell me why there's an Orientation Day for Muggle students at a wizard school. I want, hell, I want you to tell me what two Muggle Agents would possibly want with me – who are they, and why do they think I have something to do with Ginny? Tell me why the portraits outside your office aren't moving. Tell me where the bloody robots came from. And why have you got a picture of a bloody dementor on your wall anyway? Fuck, they're not even photogenic!"

"That's a lot of questions," commented Colin, sounding a lot more like Albus Dumbledore than himself. If he had had a beard, he would have been stroking it. He didn't have one though, so instead, he settled for rubbing the stubble on his chin.

Harry just looked at him.

"Well...." Colin looked slightly flummoxed. "Alright, um, I can take down the dementor thing if it displeases you. It's really no trouble with m-me ...." he trailed off. "I –"

He was interrupted by a sudden crash outside. Harry instinctively turned towards the door. When he turned back, Colin was brandishing a Muggle pistol at him.

Harry blinked. He rubbed his eyes, sure that his mind was playing tricks on him. It wouldn't be the first time.

He opened his eyes and the image of Colin holding the pistol didn't fade away. Instead, now Colin was wearing a self-satisfied smirk.

"I'm the Minister for Magic, not you...." He loaded his pistol as Harry watched in dumbfounded shock. "And I just happen to be the one with the gun."

"Why is this happening?" asked Harry. His mind couldn't register the betrayal. Didn't Colin like him?

"Because you're weak, Potter, because I despise you." Like a vulture, Colin began to circle around him. Like a vulture, he didn't seem to get dizzy.

"Let's reason." Harry's heart began to beat faster whilst Colin laughed maniacally.

"Please, Potter, don't make me sick." He rolled his eyes. "What happened to 'we're going to talk'," he imitated.

"Why, Colin?" Harry asked softly. "Why are you ruining our world?"

"Ruining our world?" Colin asked incredulously. "Don't you see, Potter? I'm making things better for us."

"No, you're not." Harry felt as if his tongue was made of rubber, and he was having trouble mustering the energy to talk.

"Let me you tell you something," Colin began. "We've been in the war against You-Know-Who for six bloody years; you, of all people know that. You-Know-Who has much better soldiers, much better resources, much more power. It doesn't take a genius to see who would win. And do you know what happens when he wins? Because he's going to win. It's not as if you can knock him out with a bomb."

Harry motioned him to go on.

"When You-Know-Who wins, they'll round up all the Muggle-borns and kill them or worse. It will be pandemonium. In my nightmares, he sends out the Death Eaters, and they round up each and every one of us. Half of us will be caught; the other luckier half will take refuge, mingling with the Muggle world.

"Things are bad enough already, Potter. Yes, there's a Depression, and we're all poor, but at least none of us are dying. When You-Know-Who takes over, we'll all be reminiscing about the good ol' days of the Depression. You're practically Muggle-born, you should understand.

"And it's not as if the wizarding world now is perfect either. Ask any Muggle-born. Take your best friend Hermione for example – she's a brilliant witch and is much better than any pureblood out there, but under normal circumstances, she'll never be Head of her Department. The position will go to Draco Malfoy. Why? Because he's a pureblood and she isn't.

"All our lives, purebloods have always thought that they're better than us when they're not. It's prejudice, and it makes me sick to my stomach. How is our blood different from their blood? It's the same bloody colour, isn't it?

"I'm teaching those hypocrites a lesson. Gone are the times where they could tread on us with hobnailed boots. They're becoming less and less. It's the time for us to step above them." Colin's eyes shone violently. "Ginny Weasley couldn't understand that. That's why she died."

"You killed her?" Harry asked, shocked and scandalized.

"She killed herself. Suicide, but I blame you for her death Potter. You could have saved her." Colin wiped his sweating hands. "You rejected her that night. I watched."

"I didn't know that...." Harry buried his head in his arms. He was so tired.

"Too late," Colin said resolutely. "Goodbye, Potter, it was nice knowing you," he added coldly, and before Harry had time to react, he had already squeezed the trigger and shot.

Harry doubled over in pain. Seeker reflexes had him swerve out of the way just in time, and the bullet had got him in the thigh instead of his stomach or chest as Colin had intended. Colin stared at him piteously. "You shouldn't have done that. Now, I'll have to shoot you again. Pray to your Guardian Angel, because you're not getting out of here alive."

The pain was getting to Harry's head. Being shot was a new experience and, unsurprisingly (like most new experiences), it hurt. He could hardly feel his legs anymore, let alone run. He made a choking sound and instead concentrated on crawling towards the door. His instincts were urging him to get to the doorway where he could Apparate away.

But Colin had anticipated this very move and having the advantage of not having a bullet in his body, had moved towards the door and was currently leaning on it, breathing very heavily.

Harry knew that he was doomed when Colin took the gun and aimed at his head. He squeezed his eyes shut....

BAM!

Startled, Harry saw that Colin had been knocked to the ground. The boy who Harry had talked to earlier – Liam – now stood there, eyes widening at the growing pool of blood by Harry's body.

"You stupid boy," growled Colin, reaching for his pistol. This gave Harry enough time to feel for his wand it in his the pocket and .... it wasn't there.

Too late, he remembered giving it to the robot back in the Ministry hall.

"Liam!" he yelled, as loud as he could, for the young boy was still standing there looking shell-shocked. "Stop him with your wand! You can do it!"

The boy looked as if he was in a trance. He was breathing heavily. "Accio weapon ," he whispered, and the pistol flew towards his outstretched hand. Colin gave a cry of desperation as he flung himself towards the boy who stepped back.

"God, please give me the serenity to accept things I cannot change," the boy recited quietly. "Please give me the courage to change things I can change."

He aimed the weapon at Colin's head. Colin's eyes widened when he realized what was going to happen .... His body tensed as he was going to jump and knock the boy over....

"And please give me wisdom to know the difference." He squeezed the trigger.

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed as Colin Creevey's brain exploded everywhere in pink viscera and juices.

"What'd you do that for?" He gasped in pain as the boy threw the gun away and ran to help him up.

"He was going to kill you!" the boy protested, throwing Harry's arm across his shoulder.

There was a bang, and they heard running footsteps. Liam looked away from the corpse of Colin and at Harry desperately.

"Talk later," Harry promised. "There's a back way out. See that portrait of...."

They slipped out quietly just in time. When the portrait shut behind them, they heard voices cursing in the room behind them (there was a distinctive cry of 'motherf---!')

Harry hobbled, clinging on Liam who was moving as fast as he could. The young boy was gasping out loud. They had reached the Memorial Centre (which had been erected two years ago for the heroes who had fallen in battle) when Liam had stopped to take a break.

"You saved my life," Harry stated, whilst the younger boy nodded. He looked behind him, saw the trail of blood he had left behind and winced, rubbing his leg. "Did you say before that your sister told you to be here?"

"Yes." Liam nodded, looking warily at the entrance. "She had a dream that I'd be here. Let's get out of here, Minister."

Too late.

Two men entered via the doorway, blocking the exits. Harry recognized them as the Muggle agents who had approached him last night. He could recognize that deerstalker hat anywhere.

They entered the room, followed by ten more men dressed in army uniforms.

"Surrender and we won't shoot," ordered deerstalker Dude.

Harry felt Liam slip something inside his pocket. He knew instinctively that it was his wand.

Slowly, he raised his hands, brainstorming for a way to reach for his wand without arousing the suspicion of the Muggles.

"Good." Deerstalker motioned to the men and they hurried towards Harry and Liam, who was terrified but stood still.

"We need you Harry Potter." Deerstalker's accomplice stepped forward and looked him in the eye.

Harry felt his chest rise up and down. Despite his early years training to be an Auror, he was unready for Muggle guns. He had no idea what to do in a situation like this. He allowed himself to be handcuffed, figuring that he would untangle himself out of this situation eventually. It was best to go with it.

"What about the boy?" the man asked Deerstalker.

"Kill the spare," ordered the Muggle man.

The last thing Harry heard before he sunk into unconsciousness was Liam screaming, as blood splattered across the pure white marble floors.