DPASW: The Foundation of Power

Divination, Dimwits, Drugs, and Detention

[The Day after Christmas Day 1991 (Boxing Day Morning)]

Curtis Lawless glared at the silent mobile phone on his desk as his number two filled him in on their current, rather low, drug stock levels. The pounding and throbbing of last night's Christmas drunken revelry, which had echoed up through the Manchester nightclub's walls and floors, had slowly given way to the simple pounding and throbbing of a mild hangover, and it was interfering with his ability to be properly annoyed.

"So you're saying," Curtis started in a grumble, continuing to try and will the mobile phone back to life with just the power of his toxin filled mind, "That because we mis...mis... er... got wrong the amount we needed to have — because of Christmas — that we're now going to run out in just a few weeks?"

"Yes, boss," his number two rumbled, standing like a mountain with his hands in front of him, fingering a large gold ring.

"And now we can do nothing but wait for Mister posh-boy Malfoy to call and hope he's got something for us?"

"Yes, Boss."

Curtis groaned. The drug runner who called himself Malfoy had said Curtis wouldn't be able to get a hold of him using this phone — That he'd be the one to call Curtis, but it still pissed him off when he'd tried to call and got the 'this number is unreachable' response.

His number two made a small grunt. "He's not let us down yet."

"No, he hasn't, but I'm not looking forward to when he does. I've no idea who we can get who'll do us as low as he does."

"Prices are coming down all over the place."

"Not as fast as he is." Curtis continued to glare at the inert mobile phone. Malfoy had said a while back that he'd call some time over Christmas or early in the new year. Hopefully the man would keep his word again. He didn't like being so reliant on one person.

A glass of water thumped down on the table in front of him. He took it in his large fist and fumbled a half swallow.

Suddenly, a massive bang from downstairs caused the glass to shatter in his grip.

"POLICE! GET DOWN!"

Curtis slowly put his face in his hands and groaned.

— DP & SW: TFoP —

[January 6th, 1992]

John Potter confidently strode down the Hogwarts Express, shaking hands with boys and smiling at girls as was his duty as the Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, Leader of the children of the Light, and, if not the actual boy-who-lived, then the chosen of fate and death, at least.

The Winter Festival had gone well. He'd been the centre of attention at the Potter Christmas Party and he'd impressed all and sundry with his 'advanced' wand work and transfiguration skills. His Dad had pulled him aside not long after and given him the same 'How to charm girls and influence people' lessons that he'd received the first time around. This time, however, he'd been far more receptive, understanding exactly why charming girls mattered, beyond just the intellectual understanding of an eleven year old heir to a noble house, that is. Just why his Dad had thought giving him these lessons at age eleven was a good idea, though, was a mystery to him.

But, that didn't matter now. There were quite a few girls he wanted by his side, and one in particular who he needed to, at the very least, negotiate with, if not win back. He patted the bag that hung at his shoulder. And he had just the thing to do it with.

John walked further down the carriage, shook a few more hands, winked at one particularly cute third year girl, getting a shy smile back, opened the door to the next carriage, saw a flash wavy brown hair, widened his eyes when he saw who Hermione was talking to, and ducked into the carriage's first compartment, only to be met by the wide eyes of several second year girls. He gave them an apologetic smile and pressed his ear up against the door.