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Every day Charlie and Rich became more nervous. They anxiously rehearsed several answers to standard questions that would make them sound intelligent. They bought new (and more importantly, expensive) cloaks so they’d look ravishing on the day of their job interview.
It was a luxury to live in the heart of London, as they were able to reach Diagon Alley quickly. Nearly every day they went to the Leaky Cauldron or chose to have a sundae at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.
Their thoughts got ahead of them, and they’d almost started looking for new houses, where they could go live, one day, with their families. Luckily, there was still Rich’s mother, who came by on a nearly daily basis, just to keep their feet on the ground.
“You’re not there yet,” she’d say when the two would start dreaming of a glorious future again. “You don’t have the job yet. Don’t get carried away!”
This was always followed by her usual speech of how she had applied at the Ministry as well, but got fired after her first day. About how she was working for a minimum wage after that, because she too had been preoccupied with the Ministry and nothing but the Ministry. That she’d never given up on trying to get her job back, and was never clever enough to get another education.
“But look at me now,” she’d always end. “Everything turned out just fine in the long run.”
When the day came for the boys to have their job interview, she was there as well.
“Oh, my boys! You look radiant!” she screamed delightedly when she saw the two of them in their brand new cloaks.
The two were so very nervous, they could hardly swallow a bite, and it seemed like they had to wait for hours before being able to leave. Charlie paced up and down the room and Rich cleaned the house.
“Good remedy,” he answered stiffly, when his mother asked him what he did that for.
“Right then. Come on. You’ll better get going now!” Rich’s mother yelled. A moment later three people apparated next to a London phone box.
“I won’t be going in with you,” she said with a frown. “But Charles’ father should be waiting for you in the Atrium.”
Rich had spent the better part of an hour learning the phone number they had to dial by heart, however, when it came down to it, it seemed he had forgotten. Charles had taken his precautions, though, and written it down on a piece of paper.
“Charles Anglin and Richard Headly, applying for a job,” Rich said through the phone’s horn, his voice trembling ever so slightly. The two boys arrived in the hall, each with a badge pinned to their new cloak. Charles Anglin, job interview and Richard Headly, job interview.
“Ah, Richard, Charlie!” Charlie’s father came running up to them, making his way through the masses of witches and wizards walking around in the busy Atrium. He clamped onto their arms and pulled them along with him. “Come along, you don’t want to be late.”
Somewhat startled, they travelled to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where they were to be examined. Charlie’s father patted the both of them on the back.
“Anglin,” sounded a stern voice from within an office.
Charlie took a deep breath and stepped into the office confidently. Behind a white desk, a young woman was seated.
“Have a seat,” she said, pointing towards a comfortable chair. Clearly, the stern voice hadn’t been hers. She sounded much more gentle. “Coffee, tea, pumkin juice?”
“Oh, no… thanks,” Charlie stuttered, surprised with the hospitality.
“I think I will,” the woman smiled, fetching herself a cup of hot, steaming coffee. “There,” she said as soon as she was seated again. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about the Ministry.”
This had been one of the questions the two of them had anticipated, a question they’d thought about at home.
“In my opinion, it is the base of the entire wizarding world. I mean, if the Ministry falls, then everyone falls along. Muggles will find out about us, and they’ll want to use us for their own benefits. It is the Ministry’s task to make sure that these two worlds stay separated, to make sure they can live in peace together, without letting one find out about the other.”
“Orderly,” the woman muttered. “I remember when I got the question. I just replied that it was a building below the ground. But then here I am, am I not?” She slurped from her cup of coffee, stood up and walked toward the cupboard to get a cookie.
“Well then. Which Department carries away your favour?”
“The Department of Magical Games and Sports.”
“Oh, really? Are you absolutely sure?” she said loudly, almost shouting. “I’m really not that fond of Quidditch and everything revolving around it. What good is it, anyway? Sitting on a broomstick, circling around while Bludgers are attempting to pummel your head into a pulp? The potential danger of a Quaffle smacking ejecting you from your broom brutally? Seekers not paying attention to where they’re flying, while trying to locate the Snitch? Take my friend, for instance, he drives me mad! He happens to be talented at Quidditch, and after every match he plays, he’ll go on for hours about how well he played. Threefold hurray, isn’t it? Don’t make me laugh!” She shook her head decisively and let out a disgruntled sigh. “Well then, where were we?” she smile sweetly.
“Er,” said Charlie, who had just been absolutely shaken, and was staring at the woman bewilderedly. “I said… I wanted to work at the Department of Magical…”
“Ah, yes! And why exactly this department?”
“I’m quite fond of sports,” he squeaked nervously. “I mean, I like them. And I’d like working with them. I’d love it if I could make that my job.”
“Well then. Let’s assume there is a dragon running rampant in a Muggle town. You are aware that this is entirely your fault. You set him loose. He gets a front page spot in every news paper. Every single Muggle knows about it… What are you going to do about it?”
“Er…” Charlie panicked. He hadn’t expected a question like this. “Well, I would, er, I’d erase the memories of the journalists and then, ehm, make them... write it was a joke with the Imperius Curse?”
“Mister Anglin!” the woman shrieked. “I would hope that you know the Imperius Curse is forbidden! Should I reserve you a ticked in Azkaban, perhaps?!”
Charlie looked at the woman with shock. He gazed at her, dumb-struck. He tried to come up with an answer hastily.
“I’d rather spend a lifetime in Azkaban, than live with the guilt of having everyone live in fear... and being the one to reveal us to the Muggles.”
“Ah. Nice. When I got a similar question, I said I’d probably kill myself. That earned me no points either. Well then, where were we?”
“The dragon…”
Over the course of the rest of the interview, Charlie managed to calm down a bit. Sure, his answers to some questions where so blatantly wrong, that the woman found herself laughing for a full five minutes, but all in all, he hadn’t done a terrible job at all.
Rich, the intelligent counterpart, did well as well. He wasn’t interviewed by the lady, but by an elderly man, who didn’t have any commentary on any of his answers, and who didn’t make him nervous at all.
“There,” Rich let out a sigh of relief upon exiting the office. “That’s over with.”
“How was it?” said Charlie, who’d just finished as well.
“Fine. I could’ve elaborated more, I think, but overall, I’m satisfied.”
Relieved and satisfied, they left the Ministry. They were welcomed heartily by their parents at home.
“Oh, Richie!” screamed his mother, and she firmly pressed him against her. “How was it, dear?”
“Fine, mom, thanks. But we’ll have to wait to find out.”
“And Charles!” Mrs Headly locked him in her arms as well. Ever since Charles’ mother had died, she’d looked at him as a bit of a second son.
Charlie’s father promised he’d inform them about the good news as soon as he knew something.
“Thanks, dad,” Charlie yawned, dropping himself on the couch, completely knackered. A day’s worth of stress came over him and he didn’t awake until later that evening.
The following days were spent in constant tension. They sent an owl every day to ask if a decision was made already, but every day, they’d get a reply saying they were still in discussion.
“I’m going to go mental!” Rich yelled one day, when the same message arrived again. “Stupid Ministry! Why won’t they just give us the job already? I mean, we did fine, didn’t we?”
“Rich, calm down. They’re probably just in shock that two strapping young men like ourselves made such a good impression. They’ll have to decide if we’re not too smart for the job. And if it wouldn’t be a better idea to make us Ministers immediately instead.”
“Charles, please! I can’t stand your jokes right now. Have you even thought about what we’re going to do if we don’t get the job? No money, no income, no nothing! We can go live on the street then. Beg for Knuts on Diagon Alley. How does that sound for a career move?”
“Rich, we won’t have to live on the street. We can find another job.”
“What? What is it you want to do? Organising the books alphabetically at Flourish and Blotts? Scooping up own poop at the Owl Emporium? That’s not exactly what I’m looking forward to, Charles. Not at all.”
“Then don’t think about it. Think you’re going to get the Ministry job,” Charlie said. “And don’t call me Charles.”
“Okay, Charles.”
“Richard Melchalius Eulalie Headly.”
“How dare you.”
A day later an owl floated through the window, with a piece of parchment attached to its claw.
I just heard a decision has been made. You’ll be hearing the news today. Prepare yourselves, you never know. Good luck.
Rich and Charlie almost died of stress. One phrase could turn their lives around for better or for worse. One stupid phrase could potentially ruin everything, or make everything better. One phrase… two worlds to fall into.
“Rich,” Charlie uttered suddenly. “What if one of us gets the job… and the other one doesn’t?”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Rich, covering his face with his palms desperately. “I’ll die.”
“Good plan, me too,” Charlie smiled stiffly. He started pacing up and down the room again and wiped some dust from the cabinets.
“This feels worse than leaving Hogwarts.”
“Leaving Hogwarts felt amazing compared to this. Where’s the bloody letter?!”
As if it was magic, a grey owl suddenly passed by their window at that very moment. He tapped its beak on the glass. Charlie tried to open the window clumsily and eventually managed to let the bird in.
Rich fidgeted at the piece of parchment and held it clenched in his shaking hand.
“This is it then,” he whispered, afraid to open the letter. “Here we go.”
Quaking, he opened the letter and let him eyes slide across the piece of paper. His face did not move, as he read each word for a second time. When he’d finished the letter, he dropped it from his hand and stared into the distance vaguely.
“Rich?” Charlie asked frightened, picking the letter up.
Dear Misters Anglin and Headly,
We regret to inform you that we cannot offer you the jobs for which you applied. It needs, however, to be said, that we were pleasantly surprised by your knowledge and intelligence, something which is seldom seen in young people such as yourselves.
For this reason, the choice was not easy. Will we allow new, refreshing ideas for our wizarding world? They are, after all, the new generation. But when we analysed every question, we felt as if everything was going too fast.
A spot at the Ministry, my boys, is something you have to earn. You do not get it by simply responding intelligently, or by being well-prepared and sounding as if you are. You do by standing for the good in our world.
Let me paraphrase mr. Anglin’s answer. After all, two worlds must live together, without one finding out about the other. And that is a large responsibility.
The fact that you have never had to show a sense of responsibility is what worries us the most. Can we put the organization of our world into the hands of young, inexperienced people, and trust them with this? No, replied many a colleague at the Ministry. No, we cannot take the risk.
Yet I wish to thank you for coming to us. Our faith in the young folk, in Hogwarts, in our successors, has hereby grown even more. The fact that we know there are wizards like yourself, young and full of courage, reinvigorates our spirit as well. The future is looking glum, I am sure you are aware of this too. With ideas like yours, however, we could make some advancements. In the future, but also in these grim ages.
With my sincerest apologies,
Wurdmer Melaincolley,
Department of Magical Law Enforcement,
Ministry of Magic,
London
“We’d better go buy us a shovel,” Rich said, his eyes becoming moisty. “Looks like we’ll be scooping owl poop.”
Charlie dropped onto the couch aghast and covered his face with his hands. Softly he started sobbing.
“Charles,” said Rich, comfortingly, as he sat down next to his friend. “Charles. We shouldn’t be crying.”
But Rich, of course, was angry as well. In a fit of rage, he grabbed the letter and tore it to pieces, screaming brutally.
“BLOODY MINISTRY!” he shouted, kicking everything that got in his way. “NO RESPONSIBILITY?! WE LIVE ON OUR OWN AND WE CAN TAKE CARE OF OURSELVES! I WAS A BLOODY PREFECT! NO RESPONSIBILITY?!”
“Rich!” yelled Charlie, sniffing. “Stop it!”
“We failed, Charlie,” Rich whispered, looking Charlie in the eyes, closely. “We only have one education and we wasted it. It is over, Charlie. We failed. And we should have known! We’re two inexperienced kids! Fresh out of Hogwarts, we’ll have a job right away, of course it won’t be that easy!”
“It’s my fault,” Charlie whimpered. “It was me, face it. Because I said I’d use the Imperius Curse… and that I wanted to be in Azkaban and … I ruined everything!”
“It was the both of us. We were too god-damn confident. We should have waited. A year. Maybe two year. Done something else in the meantime, getting ready for something serious. But no, Richard and Charlie have to take the plunge right into the Big World and well, there they are, with their faces up against a wall!”
Charlie stood up and ran into his bedroom. It was as if he had snapped in two. He’d hoped for good news so much that he had forgotten there might as well be bad news. Their dreams had been broken to pieces, with nothing that could glue it. It was lost.