Dean Thomas (west_ham) wrote in unforgivenrpg, @ 2010-11-03 15:42:00 |
|
|||
Everything that had happened since Voldemort took control of the Ministry sucked. Royally. Dean had been on the run, Harry had been murdered, and all his friends were either slaves or in hiding. There was literally nothing good about his life right now. Other than the fact that he wasn’t enslaved to a Death Eater, of course. Dean had nothing to lose anymore. He’d already lost most of his family, his friends, and his right to live wherever he wanted. Having nothing often drove a person to madness. Luckily, Dean’s nothing drove him to the Order and the Alliance. If asked his opinion, Dean would have outright stated they weren’t doing enough. There was never enough to do though, and Dean knew that. He wanted to rescue his friends, he wanted to kill Death Eaters, and he wanted things to go back to the way they should be. Easy, fun, and slave free.
That was why Dean was taking action. For the past week or so, he’d isolated himself in the forest. Dean had been drawing sketches, colouring them, and scouring the journals for brilliant quotes. All in all, he was rather proud of what he’d come up with. The Death Eaters would hate them, but the slaves would love them. That was all Dean really cared about, whether or not his drawings would give his friends inspiration. He didn’t see why not, and that was the real reason he was doing this. Not to piss off the bad guys, not to be a rebel, but to give his friends something to smile about.
Dean had decided to wait until the middle of the week to put his drawings up. The rest of the Alliance was meant to be doing things this week, but Dean hadn’t been watching the journals like he usually did. Late Wednesday night, Dean began to creep out of the forest. He was dressed in black, hood up, and ready to do some magic. Thank goodness he had his wand. Dean had his sketches clutched in one hand, his wand in the other. The magic he was about to use was rather complicated, and it would take at least an hour, if not more to do it.
After what felt like hours, Dean reached the Ministry of Magic. He had no idea what time it was, three maybe four o’clock. The streets were bare, and the only light came from dim streetlights. It would be easy to cast a darkness charm, but suspicious. Dean didn’t need muggles coming out onto the streets. As Dean came upon the Ministry of magic, he found the phone booth he was looking for. Dean had been listening in on conversations all week now, and he was sure he could figure it out. As he picked up the phone, Dean fingers began to shake. This could all go wrong in a matter of seconds. He dialled the number and waited for the voice. When it asked who he was, he said Jalal Zabini, hoping to pretend he was a cousin of Blaise. No further question. His purpose? Artwork. A nametag popped out of the machine with the name Jalal Zabini and 'Artist' engraved on it. It felt too easy, but Dean supposed only wizards knew about the Ministry. Within seconds Dean found himself inside the Ministry. From there it was easy. He crept along the walls for a few seconds until he arrived in the Ministry's atrium. Their arrival, their base, the room everyone would have seen. He kneeled on the ground and put his sketches in front of him.
Slowly but surely, Dean used multiple charms to replicate what was on his papers onto the walls of the Ministry. At first they were simply outlined in black, hardly noticeable in the dark shadows. As time went on, the lines began to come to life. They slowly moved, and then they came alive with colour. Bright and vibrant colours decorated the Ministry walls. Sketches smiled, waved, and held hands. Death Eaters dressed in pinks, reds, and neons. They danced, they were chained, they cried, they showed off embarrassing knickers. They bowed to Harry Potter, they bowed to Albus Dumbledore. They fed grapes to Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and HUfflepuffs. Students dressed in bright colours held hands and smiled on bright sunny days. Inspirational quotes boomed loudly off the walls and danced through the images. Everything was detailed, and everything was beautiful. Not only did Dean embarrass the Death Eaters, he made the rebellion seem powerful and happy. This was what they were fighting for. They were fighting for smiles.
With his own smile, Dean stepped backwards into the darkness, keen on watching his journals tomorrow morning.