mister minister
“I’m serious, Hermione, he looked right at us.” Ron says forcefully, tearing into his eggs with gusto.
Hermione shakes her head. “Impossible. You were wearing the invisibility cloak. And Percy doesn’t exactly have Moody’s special eye, so it’s not like he can see you.” She says adamantly.
Harry, Ron and Hermione are all sitting in the Great Hall the following morning, recounting to Hermione last night’s discoveries.
Harry doesn’t say anything, but privately agrees with Ron: for a moment there, Percy had looked straight at him, his vivid sea-green eyes unblinking. Harry shudders at the memory.
Dean and Seamus are sitting a little further away, Seamus still pointedly ignoring him. Which is fine, completely fine, because Harry is also very pointedly ignoring Seamus.
“You heard anything more about that Umbridge woman?” Ron asks, glancing at Harry and Hermione.
“Well, you two heard her speech, right?” Hermione asks. “She’s practically the Ministry’s pet.”
Harry’s surprised by the bite in his friend’s tone; usually, Hermione didn’t get so worked up by this type of stuff.
“Wait, what? What are you talking about?” Ron asks confusedly.
Hermione rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Ronald, do you ever listen? Her entire speech was just Ministry propaganda,” she says huffily. “It’s obvious Fudge sent her here because he’s suspicious of Dumbledore.”
“Wait, so you’re saying that the Ministry spent her to spy on Dumbledore and Hogwarts?” Harry asks angrily.
Hermione sends him a cautious look, but eventually nods. “Actually, Harry, it’s good that we’re talking about this. No doubt this woman is on Fudge’s side, which means, well, she’ll…” Hermione trails off, but Harry can fill in what’s unsaid.
Say that I’m a liar.
Say that Lord Voldemort isn’t back.
Say that Cedric Diggory wasn’t murdered.
Harry presses down on his fork so hard that his thumb turns white.
“Great,” he says tonelessly.
Hermione winces. “I’m just saying, Harry, that you need to be careful . Don’t let her rile you up.” Hermione looks slightly worried, which only irritates Harry more because he’s not some bomb just waiting to go off.
His mind flashes back to Seamus, and the anger he’d felt at being called a liar. He’d thought they were friends, but apparently Seamus didn’t believe him just like the rest.
It seems that both Ron and Hermione are watching him worriedly though, so he forces himself to calm down and nods stiffly.
All he needed to do was just ignore one crazy woman — that was also his teacher — who wanted to make him look like a liar in front of everyone. How hard could that be?
It was, Harry learned, very difficult, as he stood up in front of Professor Umbridge’s desk, watching her scrawl something down in her stupidly loopy handwriting.
He’s practically shaking with anger, and he can feel everybody’s eyes on him. Dimly Harry wonders how exactly he’d gotten here.
Where had it started? Had it started when Hermione raised her hand to ask about using defensive spells instead of just reading about them, or when Umbridge brought up Lupin? Or perhaps, Harry muses vaguely, it was when Harry had brought up the dangers of the outside world, the perfect opening for Umbridge to cram her Ministry propaganda crap down the class's throat.
He can still hear her voice in his head, an echo of their previous argument.
It doesn’t really matter when it started, though. Harry knows when it ended, when Umbridge called the death of Cedric Diggory an accident .
There’s nothing accidental about murder.
He’d told her that, too, and apparently she’d decided she was done arguing with him because now he was standing at her desk, awaiting whatever fateful punishment she decided was deserving for telling the truth.
They’ll all realize eventually, Harry thinks bitterly.
And then, almost like it’s fate, just as Umbridge finishes writing her note, the door swings open again and the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, steps inside.
Harry’s stomach plummets. He already had to deal with Umbridge, and now Fudge? The only upside was that perhaps this got him out of getting his punishment now, instead after class. Though that wasn’t exactly an advantage.
Umbridge pauses, her quill frozen in the air, before she sets it down with a wide smile on her toad-like face.
“Cornelius!” She says, greeting him warmly as though they’re friends.
Harry fights the urge to puke as they exchange greetings, and Umbridge barely spares Harry a glance.
“Sit back down, Mr. Potter. You can speak with me after class.”
Numbly Harry walks back to his seat. He feels like he should be relieved, but he’s just disappointed. At least, if Umbridge had given him the note, he could have skipped class.
Fudge doesn’t even look at him, instead sending a genial smile to the class and shaking Umbridge’s hand.
“Class, this, for all of you who don’t know him, is Cornelius Fudge, our Minister of Magic.” Umbridge says, her honeyed tone sickly sweet. Fudge lowers his head bashfully, as though embarrassed by the title, and chuckles falsely.
“Oh, Dolores, you’re too kind. It’s so nice to meet our budding wizards and witches!” Fudge says jovially.
Harry’s stomach turns at the carefree smile on Fudge’s face. How can he just ignore what’s happening?
Harry vaguely feels his nails digging into the palms of his hands, and the sharp bite of pain helps bring him back to reality in time for him to hear Professor Umbridge ask Fudge why he’s here.
“Ah, I just wanted to check up on Hogwarts, make sure that you’ve settled in, Dolores. And,” He turns around sharply at this, his eyes roving across the class to settle on two individuals in the back, and his smile becomes sharper and a little more forced. “Of course, I wanted to meet Hogwarts’ first ever transfer students. Truly, it was a pleasure to hear from Dumbledore that you would be attending.”
His tone of voice hints that that is far from the truth.
Harry feels slightly surprised at the implications of what Fudge is saying. Did Dumbledore invite these transfer students without his approval?
Even without turning around, Harry knows that Fudge is currently staring at Percy and Piper, two of the Slytherin transfer students.
It seems that Fudge has contained himself somewhat, because his smile becomes a little more realistic as he leans back on his toes.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, and Harry can hear Percy and Piper give a brief assent.
When it becomes clear that they’re not going to say anything further, Fudge forges on.
“I heard that your school specialized in ancient magic? I’m assuming, based on what I’ve heard, that this is essentially wandless magic?” Fudge’s tone is perfectly even, but the tightness in his frame shows his eagerness in the question. It’s clear that he came here for answers.
Harry turns around to watch Percy and Piper, who give Fudge tight nods that quite clearly and purposefully show their irritation.
“I’ll be honest, I’m not quite clear on what that entails.” Fudge says, giving a modest chuckle. “Could you perhaps clear that up for me?”
Piper glances at Percy with an unreadable expression, but clearly Percy gets something from it because he turns back to Fudge.
“We all specialize in different types of magic. I… specialize in water magic, I suppose you could say.” Percy says.
Fudge’s smile tightens. “That’s awfully vague.” His following chuckle is even faker than the last. “Careful now, or we might start thinking you have something to hide.”
Fudge smiles humorously, as though it’s nothing more than a friendly joke, but the way his eyes focus on Percy dictates otherwise. When Percy doesn’t say anything further, Fudge continues.
“Perhaps a demonstration could help?” Fudge suggests innocently.
Harry can see a muscle working in Percy’s jaw, but eventually Percy must come to some sort of conclusion because he nods, an untroubled smile growing on his face.
“Very well.” Percy says smoothly. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
Percy stands up and walks towards the front of the class, where he pauses.
The entire class leans forward, undoubtedly curious to what Percy will do.
With a flick of his wrist, the water in a small pot on Umbridge’s face rises until it’s level with Percy’s eyes.
Everybody seems to hold their breath as they watch the small blob of water hover in the air, seemingly of its own accord. Even in a school of magic, it’s hard to believe that it was being done without a wand. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see Hermione staring, transfixed.
And then Percy smirks, a tilted troublemaker quirk to his lips that hints to mischief, and turns his hand sharply so that it’s pointing towards Fudge. Harry can almost see the next second in slow motion, as the water, obeying its silent command, shoots forward in a spurt…
Straight towards the Minister’s face.
The entire class is deathly silent as Fudge touches the side of his face hesitantly, as though not sure what’s happened. Water drips off his face slowly, collecting into a small puddle on the ground.
Percy smiles lazily, looking perfectly content and not at all like what someone should look like when they just sprayed water at the Minister of Magic. He widens his eyes innocently and tilts his face to the side, looking strangely like a lost baby seal.
“Was that enough of a demonstration for you, Minister?”
Fudge doesn’t respond, instead staring dumbfoundedly back at Percy. Umbridge, seeing this, steps in, in what her mind most likely classifies as a valiant save.
“So a parlor trick then? That’s what you can do?” She asks, her tone very obviously belittling. Percy just grins at her and nods.
Umbridge turns to Fudge. “Minister, are you alright?”
Fudge, it seems by now, has recovered enough that he pulls his wand out of his cloak with a flourish, though not half as enthusiastic about it as usual. He gives Percy his best intimidating stare, while Percy watches him interestedly.
Fudge points his wand at his face and must have done some spell because the water seems to vanish off of him. He smiles, pleased.
“Oh, it’s all right, Dolores. Nothing that can’t be fixed easily.” He says.
At that moment, with timing that could not be more perfect, a drip of water trickles down his forehead and onto his cheek, and Fudge glares at it, irritated.
He glances at Percy, as though to check if this is his doing, but Percy hasn’t moved and is still watching him as though he’s only vaguely interested in what’s going on.
Fudge scowls, pulls out his wand again, and taps it onto his face. Once again, any remains of water disappear.
Until another drop appears on his nose, causing him to sneeze most ungracefully.
This time, the water seems to reappear faster, and several more droplets join the increasingly large puddle on the ground.
Fudge flicks his wand.
The puddle on the ground grows larger as water droplets fall from his face like a waterfall.
He tries again, his face twisted in concentration. At this point, the water isn’t even disappearing anymore, and rivulets of it are running down his face, soaking the top part of his robes and dripping down onto the floor.
After the 8th time, Fudge twists over to look at Percy, who has a slight smile growing on his face.
“Having a bit of trouble with your wand work, there? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Percy asks, his tone perfectly understanding.
Fudge turns brick red, and Harry can see a vein bulging out of his neck. He has never seen the Minister so mad, and he looks slightly ridiculous standing there angrily with water dripping off of him at a steady pace.
“What are you doing?” Fudge practically growls.
Percy raises an eyebrow at his voice. “Nothing, Minister. It seems, though, that you are having trouble getting that water off. Would you like my help?” Percy’s smile grows, and he’s clearly enjoying himself. “My skills are… limited, they are just a parlor trick after all, but I think with some real concentration I might be able to help you out.” Percy gives Fudge a considerate look, as though he’s offering to do him a huge favor.
Fudge looks like he’s seriously contemplating hitting him.
Piper must sense the same because she stands up and heads up to the front of the class, stopping just beside Percy.
“This is clearly your doing.” Fudge spits out, and Percy gives him a hurt look. Piper puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, as though to comfort him, though the soft smile she sends to Percy has a mocking edge when it meets Fudge.
“Now, now, Minister, there’s no need to play the Blame Game. After all, Percy has just offered to help.” She says sweetly, with a perfected venomously honeyed tone that puts Umbridge’s to shame.
“I- I’m not playing the blame game! It has to be his fault! He can control water!” Fudge practically shouts, almost hysterically.
“There’s no need to shout.” Piper says calmly, in a tone that reminds Harry of a mother berating her irresponsible child.
Fudge glares at her, but after another droplet of water falls into his eye he seems to struggle with himself for a moment.
“Fine,” he snaps. “Mr. Jackson, please help remove this water.” He practically spits out the last words, as though they’re poisonous.
Percy gives him a warm smile, as though to comfort the man, before waving a hand effortlessly through the air and removing the water in an instant. Not only is Fudge completely dry, but the water collecting at his feet is gone as well.
Percy gives Fudge a thumbs up as though he’s talking to an old friend. “All done. You’re welcome.”
If Fudge feels like he is supposed to thank Percy, he sure doesn’t follow that instinct because he plows on, ignoring Percy completely and acting like the last five minutes of their exchange hadn’t happened.
“All right, then.” He says sternly, clearing his throat as though to retain some last shreds of dignity from this incident. “And how about you, Ms…?” He trails off questioningly.
“McLean,” Piper fills in helpfully, and Harry notices a girl next to him stiffen in recognition. Harry scrunches up his eyebrows as he tries to recall why the name sounds so familiar, but he comes up blank.
“Ms. McLean, of course. Now, what exactly can you do?” Fudge asks.
Percy slings his arm over Piper casually, chuckling as she rolls her eyes. “Oh, Piper’s very convincing.” He says.
Fudge waits a beat, as though there’s more. When nothing else comes, he gives the two of them a pointed look. “Convincing?” He asks, in a disbelieving tone.
Piper smirks. “Yup.”
Fudge stares at her for a moment, then responds. “A demonstration would be nice.” He hints irritatedly.
Piper gives him a perfectly surprised look. “Oh, alright then. My apologies. Though, quick question — and completely unrelated — don’t you think that this class is super boring and completely and unnecessarily useless?” She asks, her face guiltlessly watching him.
Harry can see Umbridge’s head jerk at the question, but he’s far more surprised by Fudge’s reaction, because the Minister of Magic is actually thinking about the question like it’s completely reasonable.
“Huh,” Fudge finally responds. “You’re right.” He says, his tone surprised, as though he’s just realized something that was right there all along. “This class is useless.”
Percy coughs, though it sounds more like a badly concealed laugh.
For a moment, the class is completely silent, but then whatever happened to Fudge seems to disappear because he blinks, as though surprised, and turns to glare at Piper.
He seems to struggle in what to say, whether it be to tell her off for using her magic on him or for insulting this class.
“That type of rudeness will not be tolerated here,” says Fudge finally, but Piper just gives him a confused look.
“Oh, no, Minister, I think you misunderstand. I didn’t mean anything of it, I just wanted to demonstrate my abilities to you. It was…” She pauses for a moment, clearly enjoying herself. “Just a random, very hypothetical example.”
Percy looks like he’s just won the lottery as Fudge’s face turns a very interesting shade of purple.