The Paranoid Harry Potter

Nymphadora Tonks was exceptionally annoyed. Dumbledore was still insisting that she look for Harry Potter even though the search for him had been absolutely useless so far. Why he couldn't find someone else to do it she had no idea. At least she didn't have to put up with Snape any more since the bugger had to go back to Hogwarts once the school term started.

Remus Lupin was hardly better though. Initially she had been slightly attracted to the quiet bookish man but that attraction had died a quick death once they began spending so much time together on the search for Harry. Really the man was an incredibly annoying wet blanket and she was thoroughly sick of his whole - poor me, pity me because I turn into a werewolf once a month routine.

For gods sake wasn't it high time he came to terms with his condition. Really, that attitude of his was highly unappealing. Why on earth had she had ever thought him even slightly attractive?

He hadn't been so bad when he was around Sirius, then at least he seemed to be infinitely happier and had even been fun to be around. On his own though, ugh!

Sometimes she really wished that Dumbledore hadn't managed to get Madam Bones to sign off on this whole situation. Now she didn't even have the excuse that she had to get back to work and the search was increasingly frustrating.

Dumbledore still was only managing to give them the vaguest of directions. How they were supposed to find Harry like this she had no idea. Vague directions, incredibly large search areas which changed every few days. It was worse than a needle in a haystack. Why on earth was she still bothering?

She was going to talk to Madam Bones and tell her that this whole affair was a terrible waste of time. At least until Dumbledore managed to get his tracker working properly.

....

Cornelius Fudge sat morosely in his office. There was a large screaming mob in the Ministry Atrium protesting the disappearance of the Boy-Who-Lived and calling for his head on a platter. Why on earth were they blaming him? He had nothing to do with the boy's vanishing act. Thank goodness the Wizengamot was supporting him. Truth be told, he didn't know how much longer that would continue to be true. His popularity had taken quite a beating when the whole scandal came to light.

Damn Skeeter and damn her quill. Why couldn't the stupid bint have kept her mouth shut? Well, she at least was never going to get another interview from him.

Only the fact that Dumbledore had always claimed responsibility for the well-being of Harry Potter was keeping him from a quick unceremonious exit from the Ministry. That had redirected much of the ire that the Wizengamot members were currently feeling. For a national hero to suddenly disappear like that was shocking to the public, no matter what the prophet had been saying about the boy the entire summer.

Still, he had managed to shift most of the blame away from him. Dumbledore of course was a prime target, not only for the fact that he had failed to keep the boy safe, but he was also the one to cast the patronus charm that caused the expulsion notice to be sent out.

He'd had to transfer Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic Office of course. He might have felt regret for that, if she had possessed the good sense to just keep her mouth shut. Unfortunately, she of course had claimed that she had only been following his orders concerning the expulsion notice but luckily he had never put that in writing. Let her suffer for a few years down in floo maintenance. Perhaps he should have her transferred to Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Yes, that would teach her to keep her bloody mouth shut.

Damn that boy. Nothing but trouble. Ever since he had blown up his aunt he had been nothing but trouble.

....

Patrick Anderson woke up early as usual. He was conscientious about keeping fit and religiously went for a jog every morning. After splashing some water on his face he quickly put on his tracksuit and made his way outside where he performed a few stretches. He was just about to start his run when he was surprised to see a young teenager appear at the end of his driveway.

"Hello", said the young man, speaking in a British accent. "Sorry to bother you sir, but I have a bit of a problem and I was hoping you could help me."

"Uhh", said Patrick, wondering how he should politely decline. He didn't really want to waste time; he had a routine to stick to after all.

"It won't take long, it's just that I've been house sitting next door and the power seems to have gone out. It's probably just the fuse box, but I don't really know anything about electricity"

"You're staying at the Carmichaels? Oh yeah, I forgot they were going on vacation", said Patrick.

"Yes, you know how it is; I'm just here to look after the plants and all. My parents are friends of theirs so...anyway I don't suppose you could have a look?"

"Sure kid, sure. Not a problem. Probably just the fuse box like you said." No harm in helping the kid out, besides it pays to be neighbourly. You never know when you might need some help as well, thought Patrick as he followed the teenager next door.

The kid showed him into the house, leading him to the fuse box and gesturing helplessly at it.

Patrick shook his head. Kids today were absolutely useless. None of them seemed to know anything. He wondered what on earth they were being taught at school these days. He opened the box and peered at the switches. Hmmm, none of the fuses seemed to have tripped.

He was turning towards the boy to ask him whether there were any other fuse boxes when he heard the boy mutter something, a sudden flash of red light filled his vision and he collapsed unconscious upon the floor.