November 3rd, 2011 was a catastrophe.
Wizarding Europe's Most Cataclysmic Day in Recent History, a special edition of the Prophet announced late that evening, pages upon pages of hastily printed ink, crowded with grainy moving photos, witness reports and speculation.
It started in the hazy light of the morning. Atop the peaks of the Italian Dolomites, a dragon suddenly stretched its wings and blinked into the first rays of sunlight with liquid copper eyes. Shell-shocked, a group of American Muggle tourists watched as the dragon's tongue unfurled between rows of foreboding teeth, grooming glacial blue scales and horns.
Meanwhile, in Valencia, the Spanish Ministry abruptly dematerialised. In its wake, the Ministry's Romanesque headquarters left an abandoned lot. Dusty shrubbery, a crooked wire-mesh fence, a few bins overspilling onto clumps of weeds and spindeling grasses: The lot suddenly appeared to be just the desolate bit of land it had been for Muggles all along. Only a hint of magic remained in the air, billowing lazily in the wind and blowing through the shrubbery, a reminder of the building that had stood there just moments before.
In Slovenia, a string of ancient wards around a Wizarding red light district shook and fractured, then shattered entirely. Unsuspecting Muggles stumbled into shops and clubs vibrating with magic, were offered illegal Amortentia pills in the streets and gained entrance into one of Slovenia's most controversial fetish clubs: half-creature, half-human dancers suspended in the middle of their Animagus transformations performed for a crowd of plastered, wide-eyed Muggles.
The most Northern tip of Finland saw bouts of Fiendfyre rolling through its forests, undeterred by rivers and lakes, latching quickly onto Russia. Wizarding and Muggle dwellings alike were engulfed in vivid flames, bursting with dragons and serpents and centaurs, all of it spitting and glowing, ferocious and relentless.
The German Minister of Magic spilled half a glass of bubbling champagne over her pantsuit while in the middle of a live-televised meeting with the Muggle Chancellor. At once, she pulled her wand from a hidden holster at her wrist and vanished the liquid with a tap against the fabric while thousands of Muggles watched on. What seemed first to be an absent-minded – if rather severe – mistake, was quickly suspected to be sabotage. Consenting to questioning under Veritaserum, the Minister claimed the influence of Imperius.
In Scotland, a group of teenage bloggers slipped through gaping holes in the wards of a previously unplottable park. There, they watched as young merfolk hopped in and out of a loch, dared each other to hold their breath and flop on their bellies on the lakeshore to collect glittering seashells and shed fairy skin. Clips of the merfolk made it to the internet and quickly collected thousands of views. While most comments dismissed the clips as an elaborate prank, they were promptly linked to the many other unmaskings of magic that day.
In Albania, a tapestry of whispering, glowing clouds collected over a bustling town square and gained the attention of local Muggle media. When the clouds finally erupted, there was no rain. Instead, the clouds spilled wilted flower petals and loose buttons over the crowd, which swiftly descended into befuddled chaos. In Croatia, similar clouds rained foxglove and wood chips. In Latvia, self-correcting ink and broom wax. Beetle eyes in Lithuania, blowflies in Romania, milk teeth in Moldova and Serbia.
Dozens of Bombarda missiles ravaged the Greek ministry. While most of the building's structure remained, the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures spent the rest of the day in a frenzy, attempting to collect escaped ashwinders, doxies and ghouls. A rhino-sized manticore leisurely climbed the steps to the Acropolis and sat high on ancient pillars, flapping its wings. Eluding several increasingly desperate attempts at capture, the manticore devoured anyone who dared step too close.
Wizarding Europe's Most Cataclysmic Day in Recent History , the Prophet claimed.
Yet, November 3rd, 2011 wouldn't go down in history as a catastrophe. Instead, November 3rd would be entirely innocuous, unoffending. Downright bland and mundane.
Neither magical nor non-magical history would remember the day had ever been anything but.
Such was the work of the Department of Mysteries.
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Cut From the Sky
Fanfiction"I'm stuck in a time loop, reliving November 2nd. This is the 111th time I've lived through today." Draco stilled. His moody eyes, the tension in his hands where he gripped onto his umbrella, the careful mask of blankness flickering over his face...
