The Prime Minister's Daughter

Chapter 1 - An energetic young lady and a stubborn father

May Stewart was a bundle of energy. This was a widely acknowledged fact. She liked to run, swim, ride horses, climb trees, have fights with the boys from the neighbourhood, and more than anything else, she would have loved to have a huge, wild dog. She didn't, of course. Not even a small, boring one. They didn't have any pets apart from a tiny, pathetic guinea pig that contented itself with squealing once every half hour, but which certainly wasn't up to being chased around the house by May. This was a major problem, since, as previously mentioned, young Miss Stewart was a very energetic person who needed to chase someone around the house every now and then. She had attempted to do this with her sisters instead, but both Jessica and Angela had squealed so loudly, much like the guinea pig in fact, that her mother had stormed up from the kitchen in no time and used this opportunity to exercise her favourite hobby: yelling at May.

May snorted and absently turned a page of her French schoolbook. Je crie, tu cries, elle crie. Mum always looked so ridiculous when she was yelling at her, with her hair falling out the sides of her tight bun, her carefully applied makeup mixing with an angry violet tinge, and of course that marvellous little blue vein popping out on her forehead, just above her left eyebrow. Yes, May had had many opportunities to study her mother in this enraged state, for it seemed that no matter what she did, it upset her parents. When one day she had picked a fight with the boy next door (who was incredibly boring, but hey, he was a boy; at least he didn't play with dolls or spend his afternoons making plans for his wedding - honestly), both his and her parents had nearly suffered a heart attack; when she had climbed a tree in the park, her mother's voice had reached a yet unexplored octave that had made May scramble down by herself so as to shut her up... even when she took two steps at once at home and pounded down the stairs, either one of her stuck-up sisters or her father called out for her to keep quiet! How boring they all were! She had become so desperate with all the energy inside herself threatening to burst out that she just randomly jumped around her room at times, but even that sometimes caused an angry Jessica to burst in with a sour face, hissing that she 'needed to study'.

At first, May had amused herself with upsetting them on purpose, but her mother had soon discovered the most cunning ways of punishing her. Going to the hairdresser's was among these things. May hated the hairdresser's more than anything else. How she would have loved to have a wild mane of hair, flowing around her whenever she jumped up and down, which, it cannot be said too often, she enjoyed doing rather frequently. But instead, her dark brown hair was cut neatly, came down to just below her chin, was parted exactly in the middle, and it was FLAT. How she hated looking like this. It wasn't her! She tried to even out this appearance by choosing the most adventurous combinations of clothes every morning, but that was pointless since almost everything was in the same annoying style and everything fitted perfectly with everything else; and besides, her mother checked over her appearance anyway before she went to school. Both her parents were very careful about her appearance, as they were about everything concerning the impression they made on others. They always seemed to try and make her look as dignified as possible, seemingly not having understood that "May" and "dignified" was an outright paradox.

May groaned and shut her book with a slam, ignored the almost instant complaint from behind the wall, and stared out the window. It was still summer, but there was something heavy in the air that made it clear September was coming. Usually May didn't care about the weather; it never affected her mood, which was always very lively. This time, however, she dreaded the arrival of September, because it meant the beginning of a school year... at a school she would not be going to!

The excitement she had felt learning about this school, that she would be going to a place where nobody was bound to be boring because they all made odd things happen like she did, and that there was actually an official explanation for the things she did - this excitement had ebbed away almost instantly when her father had recovered from his initial shock and told her that she was not going as long as he lived.

And as annoying as he was, her father's death was not something May wished for. That meant she had lost. She had lost this exciting new world that had opened up to her for only a few hours, a world that had seemed so promising... she would go back to being normal again, excuse me, pretending to be normal, playing the sweet little girl at her father's side at the rare occasions that he showed her off in public.

Yes, the public. Why could she not have had a normal Dad? Why?!Did he have to be the most famous man in Britain? May looked around her room listlessly, for once not feeling a sudden urge to jump around it. And that was a first.

***

"Mr Fudge..." Masses of inexpertly dyed blond hair hung into the room. A head followed slowly, squeezing itself into the small space between the door and the wall. An anxious face sat in the middle of this head, anxious from its small, round eyes down to its tiny, pointed nose and equally tiny mouth, which was hardly visible now with its lips pressed together in what looked like a furious attempt not to wail. The small, round eyes fixed themselves on the man in the middle of the room, who was sitting in his chair, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. The eyes widened and watered.

"Mr Fudge...", repeated the small mouth. Somewhere behind the door, a hand rose and knocked ever so slightly.

Fudge's head shot up as if he had been pulled out of a nightmare; the head shot back outside, only to move back inside after a few seconds, even more cautiously than before.

The Minister was not a pretty sight. His hair stood up in all directions, his mouth was trembling, and there were dark, dark rings under his eyes. He stared heavily at the tiny head hanging in his door. "What is it, Miss Hollyfeathers?" he whispered rather than spoke, and he cleared his throat.

Miss Hollyfeathers swallowed and blinked the water out of her eyes. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, Minister." She had no idea how to go on and bit her lip. The Minister had never looked this terrible. She knew where this came from, of course... and knowing that, she also knew that her information would not exactly improve his mood. "Mr Moody just came back, Sir..."

"Tell him I'm not here." Fudge sank back in his chair weakly. "Tell everyone I'm not here."

"He's already gone, Sir. He just wanted to inform you. You know, about what happened this morning..." Her voice had become squeaky, and she swallowed again. Fudge stared into space, and for a few seconds Miss Hollyfeather contemplated whether he had forgotten about this morning; but Fudge sighed heavily after a few minutes. She read his next word rather than hearing it.

"Who?"

She sniffed, once again finding herself unable to inflict any pain on his poor soul. He had so much to endure already. Yet, she had to say it... "The Ruthertons. They've disappeared."

Fudge breathed so heavily that she wondered whether his lungs were still intact. He waved his hand and she quickly drew back, closing the door with a small sigh of relief.

Mr Fudge was a good man. She had never been able to blame him for anything that he did. And supporting him in every way possible, she also defended him in front of her friends, who could not understand that he was still publicly denying the connection between all these goings-on of the last two weeks and You-Know-Who.

A shudder ran down her spine. She didn't know if that was true. All she knew was that Cornelius Fudge was always right, and that he had his reasons. He didn't want to spread panic. But all these people running to him, trying to convince him to "take certain measures before it's too late" - none of them knew how difficult Cornelius' position was! (She privately called him by his first name, although they kept a respectful distance at all times.)

Just as tiny Miss Hollyfeather was sitting on her chair musing, an owl flew into her office, and recognizing the seal on the letter, she stiffened. Hogwarts. Right on cue.

That madman Dumbledore. He was the main reason for Cornelius' sleepless nights, as she was sure he had. Kept badgering him about choosing his side, taking a stand in the world, taking necessary precautions, acting for the good of the people... she snorted. That was exactly what the Minister was doing; why didn't that old nutcase leave him alone?

She took the letter and sent the owl away, as it was normal here - any letter would have to go to the Minister before replying, and since he was such a busy man, that usually took a while. However, she read them before.

Dear Cornelius,

I am writing to you with an unusual demand (even for these days).

I will make it short, as I know that we are both rather busy at the

moment. I know that you entertain contacts with the Muggle

Prime Minister, Mr Jonathan Stewart. It has turned out that his

daughter is a witch and has been on the Hogwarts list ever since

herbirth.

Her acceptance letter, however, has not been answered, and I

knowfrom reliable sources that it is her father who forbids her

togo. Cornelius, I would like to ask you to talk to him. You are

hisonly connection to the wizarding world, and, as I hope, trusted

byhim to a certain extent. It would be a pity if this talented and,

I believe, rather interesting young lady were deprived of a magical

education because of a misunderstanding.

Thank you in advance.

I know this takes up some of your precious time.

Albus