𝗪𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗗 𝗦𝗡𝗔𝗣𝗘'𝗦 [𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄] ✔️

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗

It was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo, even the text messages that were slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind.

He was waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country, and wondering when the wretched man would telephone or something.

The Prime Minister's pulse quickened at the very thought of these accusations, for they were neither fair nor true. How on earth was his government supposed to have stopped that Angel of Death coming?

It was outrageous for anybody to suggest that they were not spending enough inside the church and praying.

He turned over the second page of the memo, saw how much longer it went on, and gave it up as a bad job. Stretching his arms above his head he looked around his office mournfully.

It was then, as he stood with his back to the room, that he heard a soft cough behind him. He froze, nose to nose with his own scared-looking reflection in the dark glass.

He never knew where this cough was coming from. Never heard it before. He turned very slowly to face the empty room.

"Hello?" he said, trying to sound braver than he felt.

For a brief moment he allowed himself the Impossible hope that nobody would answer him. However, a voice responded at once, there is a far corner of the room which is a dirty oil painting of Abraham Lincoln that he considered as his idol since he was a boy.

The Prime Minister takes a step forward at that painting.

"To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Sincerely, Snape."

Abraham Lincoln in the painting looked inquiringly at the Prime Minister. "Er," said the Prime Minister, "Did you just talk to me, Sir?"

"Certainly I am". said Abraham Lincoln.

"Am I dreaming, Sir?"

"Why should you young man?"

"Er, because you are dead. It's been... when.. you.. are.. you.. are.. dead".

"My soul may leave my body but they will never forget me neither you young man".

The Prime Minister breathed heavily. "Listen... It's not a very good time for me... I'm waiting for a telephone call, you see... from the President of-"

"That can be arranged", said the portrait at once. The Prime Minister's heart sank. He had been afraid of that.

"But I really was rather hoping to speak..."

Abraham Lincoln smiling down at the Prime Minister. He breathed faster than before as he had to speak the portrait of the dead of Abraham Lincoln itself.

Cold sweat began to appear on the Prime Minister's forehead, was he afraid of Abraham Lincoln or just the portrait?

"We shall arrange for the President to forget to call. He will telephone tomorrow night instead", said Abraham Lincoln. "Kindly respond immediately to Mrs. Snape".

The Prime Minister blink shocked, "Mrs. Snape? I thought it was a man I should have met".

"No," Abraham Lincoln smiled again. "It's a woman. Very very talented woman".

"Oh... I... very well", said the Prime Minister weakly. "Yes, I'll see Mrs. Snape".

He hurried back to his desk, straightening his tie as he went. He had barely returned his seat, and arranged his face into what he hoped was a relaxed and unfazed expression, when bright green flames burst into life in the empty grate beneath his marble mantelpiece.