Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon
Bloody brilliant, isn’t it? Life, I mean. Everything around us. Really great. I love it. My life used to be pretty good. There used to be a meaning to it all. There used to be some point to it. I’d go to work every day, in my smart suit and bowler hat. I do love my bowler hat. It’s green. There I would sit, in my office, with my assistant and secretary just outside the doors. I’d give orders and tell people what to do. And once in a while I would go on official business to another country to meet with another minister somewhere.
A rather nice existence, wouldn’t you say? Every Wednesday, I’d go for a little broom ride above town. In secret, of course. Merlin, if anyone had seen the Minister for Magic go on a broom ride just for fun… Let’s just say I had the strictest of protection around me. On Friday evenings I used to paint, in the privacy of my own home. A hobby, you know?
Wonderful. Wonderful existence. But then Harry Potter had to come along and be right. What did he have to be so right for? I was Minister for Magic! The best position in the world! I ruled everything! I could not turn tail and run when Potter first came with his ridiculous story. I had to stay strong, and most of all, I had to make sure people didn’t panic. What would I do if everyone suddenly started to panic? The whole wizarding world would be chaos, and chaos is not allowed. Not in MY world, in any case… I demand order and peace! But then again, it doesn’t really help that I want something if it isn’t true.
Bloody Potter who had to be right! Bloody Dumbledore, who realised he was right first! Bloody kids who had to all be right when they trusted Potter! And bloody… bloody V… V… You-Know-Who, for even existing!
It’s been total chaos since the news were proven, as it were. After that whole thing in the Department of Secrets, it could no longer be denied. I still don’t understand what those kids were doing there in the first place, but it was probably important. I won’t even pretend to understand anymore.
And now I’ve been sent off to that Prime Minister, to tell him all about it and introduce Scrimgeour. Why it had to be him… In any normal times more time would have been spent finding a suitable replacement, but I suppose Scrimgeour was the only one who wanted the job. Not that I blame anyone. Who would want to be Minister for Magic in these dark and perilous times anyway? Well, except for Scrimgeour, obviously.
Oh, why did this have to happen! Everything was going so smoothly. The pretty little witch in the reception area had even started returning my flirts lately! But of course she won’t want me now.
I can’t believe it’s Sunday today. Sunday! My lazy day! I do nothing on Sundays! I assume that will stay the same… now that I’m more or less unemployed. I wonder if they’ll get me a new job at the Ministry. In some minor department, perhaps. Maybe they’ll make Arthur Weasly my boss. That would be depressing.
Maybe they’ll keep me on as an assistant to the Minister. No, never mind, that’s Percy Weasly’s job. He won’t lose his just because I lost mine. He’s a hard-working boy. Shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.
Ah, things never turn out like they should, do they? Like the Dementors. I was so certain they were loyal, but look at this country now. Mist everywhere. It’s the middle of summer, and there’s cold mist everywhere. I’ve been told those bloody things are breeding. Breeding! There will be more of them. How horrible… No wonder everyone’s more downcast than ever. And that’s just yet another thing Dumbledore was right about. I suppose I should just accept defeat; Dumbledore is a greater wizard than I can ever even dream to be.
And all those people who have died… and I’m sure that poor Muggle Prime Minister thinks everything has a natural explanation. I mean, it does to us, but not to him. To him, natural is, “the bridge broke and several people died.” To us it’s, “the Death Eaters destroyed the bridge, damaging a dozen muggle vehicles and killing several people.”
I guess I don’t really envy Scrimgeour or the Prime Minister. I’m rather glad it’s not me having to deal with all this anymore. Of course, after the way I behaved nobody wants me to anymore. Everyone wanted me gone. Not a single person supported me anymore. Just as well. I am a failure, after all.
Ah, the man in the portrait is back. You know, I never bothered to figure out his name. I expect I never will now… Suppose it can’t be helped. Poor Prime Minister, he will be shocked when I tell him what’s happened… But I suppose there’s not much else I can do. And it’s Sunday today too…
Well, through the fire I go!
“Ah… Prime Minister!”
Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon by MaiaMadness
Chapter Notes: Welcome to the second story in my “Night at the Opera” series. Who in the world could be more likely to be Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon than our dear Cornelius Fudge? Poor Fudge. It’s not really his fault, if you think about it. He’s spineless. He’s a coward. He never managed to do anything right. But at least he tried, in the end, and admitted his mistake when it was all over. This is a short, funny-ish thought-monolog piece. Enjoy.
MaiaMadness
Disclaimer: The name of this story and the quote in its summary are the creative property of Freddy Mercury and Queen, 1975-75. If you are in any way associated with Queen, please do not sue me as I am poor and this is just for fun.
To the mods: I know it's rather short, I've made it as long as I can. I hope you will validate it anyway for what it is, as it is a part of a series I am trying to make.