”That man again!” Cornelius Fudge grumbled when, after taking the elevator to the level of his offices, he caught a glimpse of a short, balding man.
He had never seen this man until two days before when he came back from a Wizengamot meeting. The little man was sitting there in the anteroom along with two Aurors and an Obliviator. He was wearing the official badge of a Ministry employee, and he was clearly waiting for someone, but the minister couldn’t guess for whom. He was only sure that he didn’t summon this little man.
The day before he had been sitting there again, his robes ever so crumpled, his hair untidy, black rings under his eyes. Cornelius wanted to order his junior secretary to remove the man, but then forgot about it as he had to hurry to another meeting with his heads of departments.
But now, he vowed, now he would take care of that obnoxious apple-john. After entering his office, he shuffled through his letters and memos. He hated it when his desk didn’t look impeccable and swiftly disposed of the ones he didn’t intend to answer. And there it was again, a blue paper airplane from Frank Feeble! He immediately dumped the memo into his trash can and then called Wexford in.
“Take care of the wastepaper basket, will you, Wexford?” He pointed at the object while he opened a letter from Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“Sir, Mr. Malfoy is here,” his secretary announced, after making the trash vanish.
“Alright, Wexford, escort him in,” the Minister for Magic said, completely forgetting about the balding man in his waiting room.
He stood up to greet Lucius Malfoy. He shook the younger man’s hand cordially and asked him to take a seat. His secretary tiptoed again into the office five minutes later, bringing some refreshment.
“I don’t want to be disturbed, Wexford,” he told his assistant and watched him sealing the fireplace. “And if that obnoxious, good-for-nothing Feeble shows up, tell him to wait for me!” he added then, before Wexford left the office.
“Problems with the staff, Minister?” Lucius Malfoy inquired with a raised eyebrow.
“That Feeble sent me three memos already. He wrote he wanted to speak to me immediately! As if I had time for some quill pusher in Supplies!”
“Let’s talk about the upcoming event, Minister, shall we?” Lucius Malfoy asked him, signalling that the aforementioned topic was indeed boring.
“Oh, yes, I’m delighted that you offered your house to host this year’s Merlin’s Award Ceremony. And I think I can reveal the little secret that your services to the Ministry have been honoured indeed. I had a hard time bringing it through with the Committee, but at the end they had to admit that your constant aiding should be rewarded.”
“Thank you, Minister,” the blond-haired man said with a nod. His further words directed at the Minister didn’t lack the message that it was really high time to give him a Merlin First Class. “As I mentioned to you earlier, I didn’t want to put myself in front of others.”
“No, certainly not!” Cornelius exclaimed and then said reassuringly, “I shall say you were most humble about it.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Lucius Malfoy said and then stood up. “I have to go now; my wife is waiting for me at Diagon Alley.”
“My kindest regards to Narcissa, Lucius,” Cornelius hurried to add and then shook the younger man’s hand once again.
“See you again on Sunday, Minister,” Lucius said and then left the office of the Minister for Magic.
Cornelius himself stepped out of his room, but after telling Wexford to summon Shacklebolt and Jones at once, he retreated into his sanctuary once again, this time not even noticing the little balding man.
After sitting down, he looked around zestfully. His revolving chair, a gift from the German Minister for Magic, made an ever so slight squeaking voice, as he turned around to marvel over the Nundu head, a gift from some African Minister for Magic Cornelius didn’t remember anymore. Turning again, this being his favourite pastime, he looked into the lifeless eyes of a Nogtail. Now, that was his own trophy, he shot that Nogtail on a hunting trip to Norfolk. Next to the Nogtail’s head hung a portrait of a former Minister, the toad-like little man was one of the means to get in contact with the Muggle Prime Minister. Other Ministers’ portraits graced the walls, and Cornelius liked to look at them. Oh, he didn’t like to talk to them, they were all so opinionated but they offered a pleasant sight. He was caressing the smooth surface of his writing desk when someone knocked on his door.
“Shacklebolt and Jones are here, sir.” Wexford poked his head in, after Cornelius’ enter.
“Send them in!” Cornelius instructed his assistant and then assumed an expression of responsibility.
“Good morning, sir!” Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hestia Jones greeted him in unison.
“Take a seat.” He made a hesitant gesture with his hand.
“Thank you, sir,” Hestia Jones said and took the place where no half an hour ago Lucius Malfoy sat.
“What can we do for you, sir?”
“We will need extra assistance for the second Triwizard Task. You two will oversee things at Hogwarts for that. Make sure that everything runs smoothly.”
“Yes, sir.” Both of them nodded and stood up to leave.
“Oh, and Shacklebolt!” Cornelius called after the Auror.
“Yes, sir?” the black man with the gold hoop in his ear asked back dutifully.
“I want that report on Black on my desk as soon as possible!”
“But sir…” Shacklebolt started to protest, but Cornelius cut him off.
“Spare me your excuses, Shacklebolt, that report should have arrived here a day ago!” he shouted and then shut his door with his wand.
He waited five minutes before leaving his office. He looked around, but Shacklebolt and Jones had already left. His gaze fell upon the little balding man who was still sitting around in his anteroom. He had just started to ask his assistant who this man was waiting for, when a familiar voice addressed him.
“Cornelius! Shall we go?” Dolores Umbridge asked airily.
“Oh, yes, of course!” he replied hastily, his earlier promise to take Dolores out for lunch just entering his mind. “Wexford, if needed, I’m in the Hungry Heron!”
“Yes, sir,” came the assistant’s respectful reply.
“And when I come back I want to know who that obnoxious apple-john is,” he whispered, leaning over to the young man, indicating the waiting employee with a raised eyebrow.
“But, sir…” Wexford wanted to explain, but Cornelius interrupted him.
“Not now, when I’m back,” he said, patted Wexford’s shoulder reassuringly and then left his office.
The Hungry Heron was a really good place to lunch, as Dolores noted when they arrived there. It was their usual tavern to go for a working lunch. While waiting for their meal to arrive, they discussed some of the recent events the Daily Prophet reported about.
“I heard Lucius dropped in today,” Dolores asked him casually.
“Yes, he called because of the ceremony on Sunday. He will be awarded the Merlin, First Class,” Cornelius told her, after looking around and reassuring himself that no one was listening in on their conversation. “But he doesn’t know about it,” he added then hastily. “He was so generous to offer the manor for the occasion, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he is always very magnanimous,” Dolores said, nodding in agreement. “I would like to go to the Award Ceremony, but I fear they misplaced my invitation, just like you said.”
“I’m really sorry about that, Dolores. Unfortunately, I cannot do anything about it, but I would if I could, you know that,” he told her, assuring her of his understanding. “Rose is already very excited about it,” he said, trying to change the topic. “She said she would at last have the chance to wear her new dress robes she had bought in France.”
“How is your wife?” Dolores inquired quietly.
“She is well given the circumstances. You know that we lost her father a month ago,” Cornelius asked Dolores.
“Yes. Dragonpox, right?” Dolores asked compassionately, and Cornelius was really grateful for her sympathy.
After arriving back at the Ministry, Cornelius invited Dolores into his office and told Wexford not to disturb them the following two hours. After exchanging some pleasantries, Cornelius showed Dumbledore’s letter to Dolores and eagerly awaited her reaction. He wasn’t disappointed; Dolores too was of the opinion that this time Dumbledore had really lost it.
“What is he thinking? Is he some kind of clairvoyant?” Dolores exclaimed indignantly. “I bet that it’s that Potter boy who put the bug in his ear. That boy has an alarmingly big influence over him. I think Dumbledore is really losing it, Cornelius. He is unable to make the distinction between reality and Harry Potter's fairy tales."
“I have to agree. It is most unfortunate,” Cornelius said, thinking that now he had lost one of his advisors.
“I suggested interfering when he offered that teaching position to that paranoid Auror friend of his,” Dolores said, looking straight at Cornelius.
“You were right, of course. What would I do without you, Dolores? You are my most loyal advisor,” he replied, sweetening his words with a smile.
“Should we draft a response, Cornelius?” Dolores asked, her eagerness shining through her voice.
“I guess it would be the best to get over with it,” he replied with a sigh.
“The sooner the better,” Dolores agreed.
They sat there more than an hour. Drafting the letter to Dumbledore proved to be more difficult than Cornelius imagined. They had to formulate this letter very cautiously because they didn’t want to sever ties with the headmaster; they just wanted to make it clear to him that his views were no longer valued at the Ministry of Magic.
Cornelius thanked Dolores for her help and then escorted her back to her office. Upon returning, his gaze fell again on the little balding man, but since Wexford was not there he just shrugged his shoulders and stepped into his room again.
He made a mental note to tell the Head of Magical Maintenance to put another window on Dolores’ office. There were already three”and that was highly unusual for Ministry standards”but Cornelius didn’t like to have a bad conscience. He knew that Dolores’ invitation for the Award Ceremony wasn’t misplaced, he knew that there was no such invitation. But he thought that a new window would please Dolores, and maybe make her forget about the ceremony.
He decided to finalize the letter to Dumbledore or else he should be plagued by those words all night long. Once sent off, he could not take back the words that needed to be said, he mused. He picked up his quill, dipped it into the inkpot and left it there while he was searching for parchment. And then he had to realize that he had none.
“Feeble!” he shouted.
The little balding man with the ministry badge on his robes waddled into his office, his robes more crumpled than ever.
“I have no parchment, Feeble,” he huffed.
“I know, sir,” Frank Feeble answered honestly. “That’s why I sent you the first memo two days ago. I need your signature for the purchasing order.”
“Since when?” Cornelius growled.
“Since last September, sir. You decided, along with the heads of departments, that we have to cut back on supplies and in January the law entered into force. You have to sign every purchasing order,” Feeble explained in his slow, nasal voice.
“I see. You have the order here?” Cornelius asked him, clearly showing his disappointment by assuming a pouting expression.
“Yes, sir,” Feeble said, bowing slightly, and then put a piece of parchment under Cornelius’ nose.
“And next time, I want you to come to me sooner, not when everything gives out,” he said jovially, while pulling his quill out of the inkpot. He wanted to sign the paper but his quill made a screeching noise and then its tip broke off. He raised the quill to his eyes to examine the damage and then, coming to the conclusion that it was beyond repair, disposed the quill into the trash can. He wanted to use another quill but couldn’t find any in his drawers.
“I have no quills,” he stated the obvious then, sounding quite gobsmacked.
“I know, sir. That’s why I wanted to speak to you yesterday,” the little man imparted, looking at Cornelius with sympathy in his eyes.
“Well, do you have a quill?” Cornelius asked then impatiently.
“Even if I had it would be no use to you, sir. Your quill is broken because there was no ink in your inkpot. That’s the reason I wanted to see you today.”
“Wexford!” Cornelius called for his assistant who appeared in his office in a second, looking quite confused how the little man found his way into the sanctuary of his boss. “Get me ink, quill and parchment, Wexford! And I don’t mind where from, just be back in five minutes!”
Many thanks to Lys, my beta and friend for her continued support with this piece! Hugs, my dear!