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Pages Recovered From The Remains Of An Exploding Basement by llyralen
Chapter 1 : Log #854
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Standard Disclaimer: JKR owns.

LOG #854
BETA - 8 - 32
(roughly translated February 8, 2032)

Upon my mother’s request, I went out to London today with the goal of securing a proper position in Wizarding corporate pantheon. Though the prospect was rather undesirable, Hermione’s badgering has gone beyond tolerable, leaving me with no option but to continue with my protests but upon Ronald’s sound advice, I’ve decided to - as he put it, “just go and get it over with. Make her think she’s won or you won’t hear the end of it.”

This was to be my first encounter with Rose since she decided to terminate the co-habitation arrangement she had with the family unit. Personally, I can’t understand why one would even consider such a thing. There may be some complications in living with one’s parents, but going out into the world given her condition was far from being the wise course of action. With her current financial problems and probable mental instability, I speculate she’d move back in within approximately two months – right about the time when her employers finally realize how incompetent she is at selling medical potions to the major hospitals of the nation.

Ronald suggested I say none of that to her. Consider her feelings, he said. Personally, I don’t know what kind of brother I’d be if I didn’t advise her about her current downward spiral into homelessness and bankruptcy. But I suppose her feelings are the only things preventing her from being committed into an institution. Besides, I am not at all thrilled at having to go back to Hermione empty handed. I rather like my morning cereal.

Note: The following conversation was taken via Muggle cassette recorder and transcribed by yours truly as documentation of the events that occurred.

I arrived at Rose’s office about half past eight in the morning only to see that she hadn’t even clocked in yet. As a firm critic of idle behavior, I took the liberty of arranging some of her files. Horribly unkempt! To think, she fixed them alphabetically! No. I took initiative, saving her the embarrassment of having to show that to her betters, and arranged it by subject, time, and sales numbers with a cross reference spell on her drawer allowing her to simply say a number of key words that would narrow down the file she wants and automatically find it for her in less than 1/100th of a second.

She arrived at about ten in the morning. By that time, I was considering on updating her client directory.

Naturally I expected to be greeted by a, “THANK YOU HUGO! You are the best little brother a girl could ever have! You saved my job all while proving your own superiority!”

But, no! She welcomed me with the opposite remark.

“For Merlin’s sake Hugo! Why the bloody hell are you rifling through my files! Now they’re all ruined and I have to organize them all over again!” She dropped her bags at the corner of her cubicle and shoo’ed me away as though I were a common housefly.

I chose to be the bigger man, setting aside the chance at a petty sibling squabble and handed her my resume and application forms.

She gave an exasperated sigh while she looked them over. Approximately three minutes later, she flung them back to me. This gave rise to the theory that my sister was more mentally imbalanced than I thought. Or perhaps it was her lady time. Ronald always warned me against women during their lady time. I chose to tread the waters carefully from then on.

“I’m not even going to dignify this application with a response, Hugo!” she said.

I looked at it and pitied poor Rose. She would lose this job far earlier than I’d calculated. My papers were all in order. To me it looked like a winning application of an over qualified candidate. Perhaps Rose just didn’t want to be implicated by hiring a close family relation. “Nepotism is nothing to be ashamed of, Rose. Our once great empire was founded on nepotism; I’ll have you know! Or do you think yourself higher than the Queen now!”

“That was a monarchy.”

“Potato, potato,” I tried not to laugh at her naivety. Then again, she wasn’t really inclined to my level of perception with regards to government propaganda affected concepts. I sat down opposite her, which was rather difficult given the cramped space of her cubicle. I am after all am unusually tall for my age and general gene pool. My legs need breathing room. Obviously something I wouldn’t be getting there. “Honestly Rose. I filled in the application form as directed. And based on my observation, it is far above adequate enough to be immediately offered the miserable post.”

How can I put this in simpler terms? I thought to myself. A three year old could understand this. I was brilliant and they needed someone brilliant. End of discussion. Did I have to draw a diagram for her to understand? Goodness sake, perhaps this was the right place for sub-par achievers much like my sister.

“Do I even need to go through how bad this all looks like?”

“Well I’m more than qualified for it! You will be hiring the most brilliant inventor the world has seen since Tesla!”

“It’s not even that! Do you expect me to take this seriously? You didn’t fill out the form…”

“Social Security Number, Owl Identification Number, Floo Network Registration Code? I’m not naïve Rose! I know when Big Brother wants to track my every step!”

“Well what about the essay. I think you’re going to have to add more to it than you’re IQ score. In fact, I think it’s best you leave that part out.“

“Why? I have an IQ of 308! I’m undoubtedly smarter than your whole development department combined? I think that says volumes.”

“We don’t even have an opening!”

“You should! Have you met those men you work with? Idiots! Fire them all, hire me and you’ll be saving money!”

Now, I am well aware of how this looks like. My sister looks like the Salieri to my obviously brilliant Mozart. It would not be difficult to interpret her hostile repudiations as manifestations of jealousy and a fear of being cast in the shadow of her far superior sibling. Though I might be inclined to agree with you, upon further discussion with Ronald post incident, I’ve come to the conclusion that Rose probably was earnest in her opinion that my application was unnecessary and unwarranted. Not to say that she was right. Simply saying she was earnest.

I came home later that day with a strange feeling of…what’s the word? Ah! I believe this is what Rose would call failure. Not something I often encounter, mind you. I suppose it’s the effect of being a twenty-five year old genius that has yet to be recognized by his peers. But all the great minds endured such criticism and prevailed in the end! Philistines! Primates! Creatures yet to develop out of the primordial soup! To think, my own sister is one of them. But if Hawking endured, so would I. After all, I have all appendages in optimum efficiency. That’s got to count for something.

But the mood changed quite significantly after dinner. I engaged in a rather satisfying, and somewhat enlightening, dialogue with Ronald, which led me to the conclusion that perhaps I was looking at things from the wrong angle. I can’t believe it was so simple and that such a simple mind could point it out to me! I suspect Ronald is the most evolved of all these limited beings I live with!

As he so pointed out, the world revolves around the concepts of commercialism and capitalism. In order to be part of the turning cogs of industry I must adhere to their sense of profit! Of course they wouldn’t realize my brilliance! It is much too high for them to comprehend! They need something more rustic. Slightly more at their pace.

And so, the choice is before me!

To hold fast to my noble principles of intellectual integrity, wait out this horrid dark age of human development and await someone to realize my true genius!

Or, to find a viable project infantile yet brilliant enough to be sold to any major cooperation thereby securing myself with employment, self-actualization and the recognition I need to gather funds for my more brilliant studies!

In simpler terms: to conform to society’s protocol, or to forage my own path (despite it leading to prolonged unemployment).

Truth be told, at first I thought this to be quite the conundrum. But upon deeper reflection, I digressed.

The human race has proven itself to be a very slow developing specie. To slow myself down for them would be taking a step backward in evolution.

Thus the conclusion presents itself:

I am a genetic jackpot! Why in the world would I want to be one of them?

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