How to Become Minister of Magic: A Guide

Let's Make A Deal

Sorting papers is the bane of my existence.  The tedious nature of the task  has daunted me since the very moment Mr. Truman, my new boss, gave me the task.  His last lower-rung assistant who had been charged with the job hadn’t been the most organised (hence the firing), so now I have a large pile of cards that I have to alphabetise.  Oh, how I love my job.

The thing that still perplexes me is how muggles do not need to have the mind-numbing task of sorting client cards into order with all their fancy computers, while we wizards are stuck in the medieval times, still writing with quills on pieces of parchment that aren’t even lined.  Are we not supposed to be the superior race?  Can wizarding society not get the large stick lodged up its ass out long enough to order a round of computers for us lowly assistants?

You know, that will be my first order as minister. I will get everyone computers and successfully into the twenty-first century.

However, now is not the time to daydream of the better days to come.  It is the first day on the job after all, and I have to show how good of a worker I am to Mr. Truman if I am to be his personal assistant, and therefore go to court with him, anytime soon.

So, I set to work, singing the alphabet song in my head every so often because, let's be honest here for a minute, that is the only way anyone can know whether G comes before I or the other way around.

“Are you humming Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?” a voice asks incredulously.

I look up to see a guy who is not too bad in the looks department shooting me a look that says “This bitch be cray.”

I narrow my eyes and reply, “No, it’s the alphabet song, thank you very much.”

“First of all they are the same tune-” What? They are?! Wow.  Mind equals blown. “And secondly, why on earth are you humming the alphabet song?”

“Because I am alphabetising.”

“And you need to sing the song to know which letter comes first?” he asks, one of his eyebrows rising.

“Maybe,” I reply, blushing slightly.

He smiles in amusement before starting to walk away towards the lifts on the other end of the hallway.  “Wait!” I call.  “Would you want to help me?” I ask, batting my eyelashes in a flirtatious way.  I would literally do anything right now if it included less alphabetising.

“Sorry, love, but I have to go help Mr. Truman in the court room.”

“But I thought that only his personal assistant did that.”

“Well I guess it’s a good thing I’m his personal assistant.”

“Oh,” I reply, my flirty smile falling off my face in surprise.

“Goodbye…”

“Laney.”