Inside My Mind (A Harry Potter Fanfiction)

Interlude V

Number 10, Downing Street, City of Westminster, London, England, Great Britain

Friday the 9th of July 1996

7:30 PM

The Prime Minister was having a long week and he was grateful that it was quickly coming to an end. He was at wit's end with all of the issues going on. A bridge had collapsed of its own accord and that had been only one of the many incidents happening not only in Britain but also all over Europe. The French were phoning him, demanding an explanation. He had had to remind them that they had a steady partnership and it could not have been the English.

The Prime Minister shifted through his paperwork, ready to sign another while waiting for a call from the President of some distant country that he couldn't quite think of at the moment. Just as he pressed the pen to the paper there was a short little cough. The Prime Minister froze. He had heard that cough, about fifteen years ago when he had come to deliver crazy news about some dead madman.

"Hello?" he called, quietly.

The cough came again and the Muggle Minister looked at the dirty oily painting of the froglike man in a silver wig. He looked decidedly grim.

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

The man in the painting looked inquiringly at the Prime Minister.

"Er," said the Prime Minister, "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 rearranged," 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 —"

"We shall arrange for the President to forget to call. He will telephone tomorrow night instead," said the little man. "Kindly respond immediately to Mr. Fudge."

"I… oh… very well," said the Prime Minister weakly. "Yes, I'll see Fudge."

He watched as the fireplace burst into green flames. A man was spinning like a top before walking out of the fireplace and onto the antique rug. He brushed ash from his pinstripe cloak and he was holding a lime green bowler hat in hand. Cornelius Fudge walked forward with an outstretched hand. The Minister grasped it, tightly.

"Ah…Prime Minister. Good to see you again."

The Prime Minister couldn't honestly return the sentiment so he remained silent.

"How can I help you?" he asked, cutting through the pleasantries. He didn't have time for this though he was curious as to why the man was here.

"Difficult to know where to begin," muttered Fudge, pulling up the chair, sitting down, and placing his green bowler upon his knees. "What a week, what a week…"

"Had a bad one too, have you?" asked the Prime Minister stiffly, hoping to convey by this that he had quite enough on his plate already without any extra helpings from Fudge.

"Yes, of course," said Fudge, rubbing his eyes wearily and looking morosely at the Prime Minister. "I've been having the same week you have, Prime Minister. The Brockdale Bridge… the Vance murder…not to mention the ruckus in the West Country…"