Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (MOD Novelization)

12

Percival Clearwater, the Minister of Magic, entered near the stage with an air of self-importance. His side-parted hair was now aggressively slicked, and his robes were spectacularly staid, lacking any warmth or flair. He saved that for his entrance. 

With much fanfare, Percival ascended the steps to the garishly decorated stage. No one looked particularly pleased to be there, and the crowd's chatter only grew as he took his place at the podium and his personal harp melody ceased.

"Order. Order, I said," Percival demanded in a serious voice. "You really are a most disappointing bunch. Do I have to conjure silence?"

With a sharp flick of his wand, a sudden, total hush fell over the room. Everything became instantly still. He swiped his wand a second time to return their voices.

"Welcome to this Extraordinary General Meeting," he continued, sounding unnaturally posh. "I'm pleased so many of you could make it."

There was some polite, albeit tepid and slightly oppressed, applause.

"It's been twenty-one years since we defeated Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. The wizarding world has been living in relative peace."

From somewhere unseen, George Weasley's robust voice rang out. "You say we've been living in relative peace, but I have it on good authority that your relatives still think you're a prat. Care to respond?"

Chortles rippled through the crowd. Percival knew George was about to cause trouble. He kept his composure but braced himself for the worst.

"I've got some things to say—I ask that we deal with questions—and there will be a lot of questions—after I speak," the Minister pressed on.

George's voice was closer this time, dripping with sarcasm. "Questions like, why must we wait so long for this prat if he refuses to say something even the tiniest bit interesting?"

Percival tried desperately to maintain a ministerial tone. "As many of you know—and I'm delighted to say—there is a new generation being brought up having known only the slightest conflict. As I previously stated... the wizarding world has been living in relative peace..."

He gave them a severe and worrisome look, clearly building up to a dramatic revelation.

"...until now."

George appeared beside Ron and Hermione, wearing a bright purple trilby hat and brandishing a ludicrously tall feather quill. With exaggerated panache, he announced, "Mister Minister—George Weasley from the Weasley Register. It's been nigh on twenty-two years since the well-known Battle of the Seven Potters, where one George Weasley—no relation—lost a once remarkable ear. There's some buzz going round that this young man's cursed appendage may have sprouted its own body. Your opinion?"

There was giggling throughout the room.

"You do know... the ear was never recovered after the battle," George added with mock seriousness.

"There will be silence from the crowd. No more questions!" Percival demanded, visibly rattled.

"Follow-up question," George continued unabated. "We have insider information that the mislaid ear once belonged to a twin. Ears do come in pairs, after all."

Percival was visibly shaken now, his temper fraying. "George! Stop it! This is serious business! I am very important now, and I will not allow you to reduce my authority—"

"Would you be opposed to naming the reconstituted man? And, if so, might I suggest something Fred-like?" George quipped.

"Fine thing, bringing him up," Percival snapped. "You, out of us all, should grasp the ramifications of what I have yet to say." Turning back to the masses, he declared, "Death is upon us. We are on the brink of war!"