The Minister and the Muggle

Thanks must be extended to Arabella, Andy, and Lizzy for proof-reading this on our behalf. Without their support this project probably wouldn't have got past the planning stages.

 

The Minister and the Muggle

By Hallie and Maria

Prologue

2118 - Arlington Court, Kent, England

James George Potter kicked the chair angrily, letting out a yelp when his bare foot came in contact with cold, hard wood.

"OWW!" the seven-year-old screeched, flopping down into the nearest armchair. He examined his big toe. It looked all right, if a little bit red and puffy. It would be bruised black and blue in a few hours.

"Stupid Isabelle," he muttered. "All her bleedin' fault, telling Rus where Pops put the Dungbombs..." The Isabelle in question was his sister, who had informed their five-year-old brother Sirius (who was a bit of a pyromaniac) exactly where their father, Andrew Potter, hid his large stash of Dungbombs.

And now, the kitchen was in shambles, the babysitter was in hysterics, and Sirius was happily throwing chunks of what used to be the kitchen sink at a flock of birds that were wallowing in the birdbath. Of course, Sirius's twin brother, Mortimer Caesar, more commonly referred to as Morty, managed to sleep through the whole fiasco and Lily was too immersed in her latest daydream to bother with such minor details as part of the house getting blown up. Isabelle was too busy preparing her apology speech ("Sir, Mummy, it was all James's fault!") to help clean up, and James wasn't about to assume the role of housekeeper.

So, here he was, hiding out in the only room of the house no one ever went to... the library.

It was a large, dusty room, with several windows and a brick fireplace, as well as about half a dozen dark burgundy armchairs, and, finally, several bookshelves. Magically expanded, the Potter library held hundreds of books, unseen until called for. The most recent additions to the library were out in the front shelves, while the older tomes could be found in the back.

Whenever Andy needed to research a certain elusive potion or a little known Dark Arts creature, he would use a special Summoning Charm, and usually, the book was received in a matter of seconds. However, none of the children were allowed to do magic, and for research or leisure reading (which, needless to say, there was very little of), an excruciatingly long search through the bookshelves was necessary. Very rarely, a book happened to fall into one of their hands, and turn out to be the one that they were searching for.

James didn't like the library much. It was closed up and stuffy, while he liked being outside and playing Quidditch with his dad. He was the only one in the family that had a fascination with the sport, and several times he searched through the archives to find a dog-eared copy of "Quidditch Through the Ages", his favourite. It had belonged to his many greats grandfather, Harry Potter, and though the book was much outdated, he loved to read the comments that Harry and his friends scrawled in the margins. To him, the Boy Who Lived was just another legend, but in a way, the book made him more human and real to James.

He decided that now would be a good time to brush up on some Quidditch statistics, and got up from his armchair. James limped over to the nearest bookshelf, looking for the familiar faded green book jacket. He caught a glimpse of something dark green on the top shelf, and he grasped the edge with his fingers, attempting to pull himself up.

His hand was inches away from the book, his eyes and nose barely reaching past the shelf. He reached forward, his fingers brushing the cover, and -

BOOM!

The bookshelf toppled over, and James fell along with it. He didn't have time to scream, and if he had, the thunderous racket that erupted in a matter of seconds would have drowned out the noise. The library itself seemed almost offended at such an intrusion and disruption of peace.

As the dust settled down, James found himself tightly grasping an old, dark blue book. The cover read in bright silver lettering (probably magically preserved), "The Minister and the Muggle", by Mortimer Marcus Caesar.

It didn't look much like Quidditch to James.

"JAMES!" their babysitter's voice could be heard from the other end of the house. "What have you done, you little-"

James gulped. Their babysitter was eighteen and just out of Hogwarts, a graduate of the Hufflepuff house named Helen Smith. Hufflepuffs were supposed to be patient and toiling, but Helen was as impatient and lazy as you could get. Her idea of a healthy lunch for five growing children was cereal, with a piece of buttered toast if she was feeling generous. Lily often wondered why she was even hired, since Helen couldn't cook, clean, or tell stories. Isabelle liked Helen because she would let her read her copies of "Teen Witch Weekly" after she finished with them, so, naturally, James had to loathe her. The feeling was quite mutual.

And now, Helen burst into the library, raising another storm of dust. James coughed and sneezed, wiping the dust out of his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. Helen looked from James to the toppled bookshelves, and back. She blinked in amazement, and her mouth fell open. She was speechless (quite a rare occurrence, James managed to note in-between coughs).

"JAMES GEORGE POTTER, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" she screeched. James winced, then made a face. Isabelle was standing behind Helen, a smug look on her face. He was going to get it from her... Sirius was next to Isabelle, his hair dishevelled, and a lit firecracker in his hand. He looked ready to place it between the folds of Isabelle's robes while she was busy gloating.

Behind them all, stood Morty, still in his pyjamas. He was clutching a light blue blanket, his thumb in his mouth, and his father's hat on his head. It was too big on him and slid down to cover his eyes, forcing him to be making constant swiping motions at his forehead. James wanted to slap him for looking so innocent. Lily was holding Morty's hand and watching the whole disaster in amusement.

"I was... getting a book...?" James said weakly, moving "The Minister and the Muggle" to his chest.

"Take your book and go to your room. If I see your face downstairs again, you will be in so much trouble, young man..." Helen started. She seemed ready to go off into another lecture, when the sound of a door shutting and opening was heard.

Laughing voices rang out, and stopped abruptly when they reached the kitchen.

"Oh my God... Sirius!" a female voice rang out, and rapid footsteps retreated from the kitchen, and into the living room. Another, heavier pair followed them, and a deeper voice said something incoherent, the tone laced with a cross between anger and worry.

"Children!" Elizabeth Potter, known as Lizzy to friends and family, entered the family library. She recovered from shock quickly when she saw all five of her offspring safe and sound. "Oh, Andy, they're all right!"

"What were they bloody doing out there?" Andy Potter, a short, slightly chubby man of thirty-five, followed his wife into the room. He seemed to be more in shock of the pile of books littering the floor than the destroyed kitchen.

"What? Who?" was all that he could choke out as he turned a vivid shade of red, then blue, then, finally, maroon.

Even Isabelle, who had never been in serious trouble before, looked scared out of her wits. As for Sirius and James, the two felt as though if they hid on the other end of the earth and changed their names, their father would still hunt them down and punish them to the fullest possible extent.

"Sir, I can explain-" James, being the eldest, started.

"My kitchen is a huge gaping hole in the house. My library resembles a war zone. I have left my children alone for three hours, and my house is destroyed?" he said, his voice first very quiet, then gradually increasing in volume, and finally reaching a loud forte.

"It was an accident!" Sirius squeaked, and hid behind Isabelle, forgetting all about the lit firecracker, which went off at that moment.

Needless to say, more chaos erupted in the already turbulent atmosphere. Lily and Lizzy screamed identical high-pitched yells, while Isabelle grabbed the flaming object (somehow managing not to get burnt), and threw it at Sirius. Unfortunately she missed, and hit yet another bookshelf, which toppled over on top of Andy, knocking him out cold. Helen stared in awe, and Morty put his blanket over his head, following the ostrich philosophy of "if you can't see it, it's not there".

The library wondered what it had done to deserve such abuse.

* * * * *

"Is Sir dying?" Morty whispered in awe, reaching forward to poke Andy's shoulder. Lizzy grabbed his hand away gently.

"Of course not, honey, don't be so morbid," she whispered back. Morty didn't look very convinced, so he covered Andy's head with his blanket, and sat down Indian style next to the unmoving body.

"It's your entire fault, Jamesy," Isabelle whined. James shot her an unhappy look.

"Don't you call me Jamesy! Besides, YOU threw the firecracker that hit the bookshelf that hit Sir!" James retaliated. Isabelle subdued slightly, then gave Rus (what was supposed to be) an evil stare. James thought that she looked like an angry hamster.

"I didn't know Is'belle would throw it at Sir!" he mumbled. James threw his sister a triumphant look.

"See, it WAS your fault!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was n-"

"Owww," Andy groaned quietly. He opened his eyes slightly to see the concerned face of his wife hovering above him, as well as his five children surrounding him in a semicircle.

"Will the two of you shut it?" The usually passive Lily finally lost her temper, almost yelling at her siblings. Andy snorted. Lily was a dead ringer for Lizzy when she got angry like that. All she needed was an apron and a pair of knitting needles.

"Sir! Sir's okay!" Morty announced. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.

Andy struggled upwards, grabbing onto an overturned table and pulling himself up. "What - what happened to me?" he questioned as he rubbed a rapidly growing bump on the back of his head.

"You fell down, Daddy," Isabelle said meekly, exchanging furtive glances with Sirius.

"I did?" Andy asked, his voice uncertain and quieter than usual, not noticing that his daughter had called him Daddy instead of the requisite 'Sir'. He remembered coming home, and then seeing his kitchen, and his library...

"Actually, you fell down with a little help from the bookshelf, which had a little help from Isabelle," James squeaked, and hid behind Lily before Isabelle had a chance to throw something at him.

"It's not my fault, Rus threw the firecracker at me first!"

"Did not!"

"Did, too!"

Lizzy looked torn between reprimanding her children and rushing to help her husband. "Isabelle, James, do stop bickering! Now, help your father!"

James, still clutching the book to his chest, tip toed over to Andy. Isabelle followed his suit, slouching so that she would be less visible behind her younger brother.

"Sirius, did you put a firecracker in Isabelle's robes?" Andy asked sternly, giving his youngest son a strict look.

"Yessir," the boy answered meekly, sniffling and getting ready to burst into fake tears.

"You'll be punished, of course. I think that it's about time you start reading aloud." 'Reading aloud' was the dreaded afternoon activity that Andy insisted on. He would pick out a book, usually a novel of at least five hundred pages, and have one of the children read aloud. It was considered a most refined form of torture by all of the Potter children, since Andy wouldn't let them stop until at least one chapter was read (all the words pronounced correctly), and several questions about the context answered. Mortimer and Sirius had avoided the torment on account of being too young, but Andy reasoned that if Sirius was old enough to pull pranks, he could manage a few pages of "War and Peace"...

"Sir, please, anything but that!" Sirius whined.

"No, Sirius, really. I believe that cultural enrichment is..." Lily, Isabelle, James, Morty, and Sirius groaned. It was the 'cultural enrichment' speech, and Andy could go on for hours and hours about the benefits of reading classic literature.

Lizzy, who had stayed quiet throughout most of this event, finally spoke up. "Andy, dear, we should get you to bed. You took a bad fall, you can't honestly continue with the reading tonight!"

"Nonsense, Lizzy! I'm perfectly alright, in the best of health, as a matter of fact." Andy never skipped a night of reading yet, except, of course, on Christmas and New Year's Eve. He also considered being ill a weakness, and never permitted Lizzy to give him so much as a Pepperup Potion when he had the flu. Sometimes he would take a Muggle pill called Advil for headaches, but none of the children could remember their father ever openly acknowledging not feeling well.

Lizzy always thought that denying the illness did little to help it, and was set on removing this silly tradition once and for all.

"You, go off to bed right now," she commanded to Andy. "And you three, go and help your father up the stairs," she motioned to Isabelle, Lily, and James. Lily sighed complacently, while James and Isabelle sported identical frowns.

"What book is that?" Andy questioned as he caught a glimpse of the cover. "'Quidditch Through the Ages' again?" he asked, smiling nervously and trying to change the subject, in an effort to deflect his wife. He would not - would not - show weakness in front of the children.

"Noo," James mumbled. "It's just... something I found," he continued, and showed his father the cover. Andy whistled and slapped the smooth wood surface of the bookshelf excitedly.

"Why, it's 'The Muggle and the Minister'! By Mortimer Marcus Caesar! Lizzy, do you believe it? I thought we lost it... it must be the same copy, even! May I?" he took the book from James.

"Look!" he pointed at a messy scrawl that said 'Andy + Lizzy = <3' on the inside cover. "This book was something your mother and I read... when... we were in school together." He smiled dreamily. "It makes me feel so old!"

James cleared his throat. "Can I, uh, have it back?"

"Yes, as lovely as nostalgic thoughts are, shouldn't you be in bed, Sir?" Isabelle chimed in. Andy gave the two exasperated looks.

"NO, in fact, I think that we can put off our reading of 'War and Peace' for a few days, and read this instead. Oh, it's a great story, with romance and adventure and deceit, angst, humour..."

"Do stop before you give away the plot, Andy!" Lizzy exclaimed. "I think that it's a wonderful idea to let the children read the book. After all," she said, shooting Morty a fond look, "we named one of our children in honour of the author. And a genius man he was...

"But, Andy, dear, do go to bed first and let me call a doctor..."

Andy groaned but finally complied with his wife's requests and climbed up the stairs and into their bedroom, still holding onto the book.

James looked after him and wrinkled his nose. "I want my book back..."

* * * * *

All seven Potters were gathered in the living room, Andy was reclining in a large, overstuffed, and very battered armchair, a white bandage wrapped around his head. For no apparent medical reason, he was also wearing an eye patch, which was rather strange looking, as it tended to push his reading glasses down his nose.

Sirius was sulking, Isabelle was yawning, Lily was staring into space, and James was glaring at Sirius. Morty was asleep in his mother's arms.

"Well, Sirius, I believe it's time for you to start," Andy said sternly, handing the hefty volume to his youngest son.

Sirius sighed, and opened the book, skipping over the title page and going right to the first chapter. Andy cleared his throat pointedly.

"Oh, all right! The Minister and the Muggle, by Mortimer Marcus Caesar," Sirius started. "Chapter One: A Night on the Town.

"The November of 1981 was one of rejoicing. At last, the world was freed from a plog -"

"Plog?" Andy asked quizzically.

"I don't know how to say it!"

"Spell it out, Sirius," Lizzy suggested softly.

"P-L-A-G-U-E."

"That's plague, Sirius, plague."

"Right, plague." He continued reading.

"- plague so terrible that even to speak its name could condemn you. Finally, after years of frustration and bitter despair, good had triumphed over evil and Lord Volkiemort-"

"Volkiemort?"

"V-O-L-D-E-M-O-R-T."

"Voldemort. You know, not even your great grandfather's generation could say that word without shuddering. Volkiemort indeed."

"Sorry, sir." Sirius started reading again.

"- Voldemort was no more. Celebration was the order of the day for people everywhere, whether they be rich or poor, old or young, powerful or pitiful...