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

Chapter 1 - A Night on the Town

The November of 1981 was one of rejoicing. At last, the world was freed from a plague so terrible that even to say its name could condemn the speaker. Finally, after years of frustration and bitter despair, good had triumphed over evil and Lord Voldemort was no more. Celebration was the order of the day for people everywhere, whether they were rich or poor, old or young, powerful or pitiful.

When the news filtered through to the Ministry of Magic that Lord Voldemort was gone, Cornelius Fudge, a junior minister, and his personal assistant, Siân Lindsay, rejoiced along with the rest of the wizarding world. It was an ideal opportunity for a booze up, and when Siân suggested that her superior might want to do a pub-crawl with her, surprisingly, he did not object.

This invitation was not quite as innocent as it seemed. Siân Lindsay was not as sickly sweet as she first appeared. Unknown to Fudge, she had a secret agenda. Siân wasn’t the cleverest of people, that much was obvious, but what she lacked in intelligence she made up for in deviousness and model good looks. Siân planned to marry her boss, and spend the rest of her life living in the lap of luxury. She came from the slums and through a combination of hard work and flattery had made it this far in the Ministry, and did not intend to return to her roots. Fudge offered an ideal escape mechanism.

"Mr Fudge!" she had exclaimed, when news of the Dark Lord’s defeat had first reached her ears. "It’s over! It’s all over! We won!"

"What’s that, Miss Lindsay?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - he’s gone!"

"Miss Lindsay, that isn’t the kind of joke I would expect you to make!"

"Its not a joke," Siân said, perching on the corner of his desk and crossing her legs to expose more than was necessary of her shapely body. "A baby - Harry Potter, I believe. Well, it seems that You-Know-Who couldn’t kill him. He’s gone!" she smiled her most charming smile, and took out a compact mirror to apply another coat of bright red lipstick.

"Vanquished by a baby? Are you mad?" Fudge exclaimed, casting her a disapproving look. "It would take more than a child to get rid of him!"

"Well, it’s true," Siân told him, pouting. "And I wanted to know if you would like to come out for a celebratory drink after work. Drink to everybody’s health and the future."

"I’m not sure that I have time, Miss Lindsay. I have a lot of work to do."

"Surely your work can wait?" she said, licking her lips seductively. "Its not every day that the wizarding world is saved, you know!"

"Well…" Fudge pondered, dubiously, "just a quick drink. That won’t hurt anyone."

"I knew you’d come round," Siân purred. "Here are today’s owls. Will you be wanting coffee, Mr Fudge?"

"No, thank you, Miss Lindsay. I will be busy for the next hour or so, if you could ensure that I am not disturbed." It was a command more than a question. Siân nodded a silent assent, and the day continued as usual, a minor interlude with an over-enthusiastic vigilante notwithstanding.

Siân spent the day watching the clock, desperate to get Fudge away from the dreary regulation of the office to the upbeat nature of the surrounding pubs. Once she had plied him with drink, seduction should be an easy matter. And that was her ultimate goal - seduction. If she could seduce Fudge then she might be able to get him to become involved with her by laying on the guilt trip, or, if that failed, blackmail. It was very much discouraged by the Ministry to be romantically involved with your subordinates, and besides, she was sick and tired of being at his beck and call, obliged to hang on to his every word.

Of course, Siân could have searched for a rich husband elsewhere, but that would have taken time and effort, and why bother when Fudge was there, ready for the taking? With a little encouragement, she was sure that she could win him round to her way of thinking. Every minute seemed to last a lifetime, but at long last, Fudge emerged from his office, and Siân pounced.

"No more appointments for today, Mr Fudge."

"Thank you, Miss Lindsay."

"Shall we go for that drink, then?"

"Why not?" Fudge smiled. Cornelius Fudge had the potential to be an attractive man, but his short, portly form, coupled with a very outdated dress sense did nothing for him. Siân’s eyes hurt every time she had to look at his ghastly bright orange tie matched with his plaid robes. That, of course, would be one of the first things that Siân would change when they were married.

The Ministry buildings were works of art, appreciated by even the least knowing of those who worked there for their pure beauty. Centuries had passed since they had first been erected, and during this time, more and more Security Charms had been used to make them safe. As Siân and Fudge left the building, he turned to admire them, as was his custom. Siân pulled him along, impatient to get to Diagon Alley, and from there, to the nightlife.

"Really, Miss Lindsay, is it necessary to rush like this?" Fudge demanded, gasping for breath as his assistant practically dragged him through the streets.

"Yes," she replied, shortly. "You have a lot of work to do later, remember?" Of course, Siân did not plan on having Fudge return to his office that night, but when presented with an opportunity, she wasn’t going to pass it up.

"You have a point," Fudge agreed, pensively. "Thank you, Miss Lindsay, I’ll bear that in mind."

"Hush," Siân told him, authoritatively. "There’s to be no talk of work when we’re playing for pleasure…"

* * * * *

Donal Ogilvy was a Muggle, and a very observant one, at that. Throughout the day, he’d noticed strange goings on, but they were soon put out of his mind by matters closer to home.

"Daddy?" it was his elder daughter, Grace.

"Grace, darling, how many times have I told you not to phone me when I’m working?" he demanded, gently rebuking her. Donal was a high flying corporate barrister, who believed that work belonged at work and home belonged at home. The very nature of his job, however, meant that this philosophy resulted in him spending more time at the office in the company of pointless bureaucracy than at home with his wife and two daughters.

"But Daddy!" Grace protested, "you’re never at home! I really need to talk to you!"

"What about?" Donal asked, resigned to the inevitable.

"Well, you remember the other day, when I went out with Jennie and Claire and met this guy…?"
"No, darling, I don’t. Are you sure this can’t wait?"

"Yes, I’m sure. His name was Sean Finnegan, and I rather think he liked me."

"Yes, dear, whatever," Donal began, before realising what his daughter had said. "GRACE EUGENIE NATASHA OGILVY!!!" he exploded. "You should not be thinking that way at your age!" He could hear her sigh.

"Father, dear, I’m eighteen. I’m not a little girl any more. And, I wanted to know if you’d let me go out with him tonight."

"Ask your mother," Donal replied. "Honestly, Grace, I thought that this was important!"

"It is!" Grace insisted. "I asked Mum, and she said I had to ask you. Isn’t that typical of parents?" she complained. "It’s always up to the other to make the decision."

"Darling, as you rightly pointed out, you are eighteen years old. You can do as you damn well please!" Donal told her, exasperated. "Go out with this Sean person if you really feel you ought to. Just don’t blame me if it all ends in tears."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Grace exclaimed, down the phone-line. "I love you Daddy, I really do. You won’t regret this, I promise."

"Yes, Grace, whatever you say," Donal replied. "Now, I know this is hard to understand, but I do actually have some rather important work to do-"

"It’s okay, Dad, I’m going. I probably won’t see you later, so bye!"

"Bye," Donal put the phone down and sighed. He didn’t know what to do with his children sometimes. He’d told them time and time again that they were not to disturb him at work unless something really drastic had happened, like the house catching fire, or one of them being involved in an accident. Even with this stipulation, either Grace, or his younger daughter, Stella, could be relied on to interrupt his work. Admittedly, it was usually Grace, but this sort of thing really wasn’t acceptable.

Donal was ruthlessly efficient at his work. He never did anything by halves, which was perhaps the key to his success. He had been a model student - straight A’s throughout his school degree, a first class Master’s degree in law, and a top-notch business post. All in all, he had done rather well for himself. But, as is usually the case, success came with a price. Increasingly, Donal was isolated from his family. Of course, his heart was in the right place - he simply wanted to ensure that his family had the best of everything - but that did not prevent his wife and daughters from becoming resentful of his work. Today was no different from any other day, and when Donal eventually knocked off at nine thirty that night, he didn’t expect to see many people in the business part of town.

* * * * *

By half past nine that evening, Cornelius Fudge was slightly worse for wear. Unaccustomed to excessive drinking, he became high after a couple of Potter on the Rocks - a drink created in honour of Harry Potter’s defeat of the Dark Lord.

It was comical to see the normally stately Mr. Fudge bouncing around on a champagne high. His speech, normally perfectly enunciated, had become more and more ‘common’ as the evening went on. By the time he had made it to his fourth Bludger Bomber, he was ready to move on. The only problem with this seemingly flawless plan was that he had, at some point in the evening, either lost Siân, or forgotten exactly who she was. Much loosened by the excessive consumption of alcohol, Fudge decided to be a devil.

"I’m going to explore Muggle London!" he slurred excitedly as he wobbled out of the pub. He tottered along the many streets they had travelled down on their way to the nightlife, waving to all and sundry, and generally making a fool of himself. Eventually, he made it to the entrance to Diagon Alley, and so, to Muggle London, before passing out completely.

* * * * *

Donal generally walked to and from work if the weather was fine. In the traffic congested centre of London it was the logical thing to do. Almost every day, he passed the same street of shops, including a bookshop and a record store.

He had never noticed the alley between the two shops before. Perhaps it was the figure, sprawled untidily on the ground that grabbed his attention. Regardless, Donal knew that he could not leave the unconscious person alone in London at that time of night, especially in their current state of helplessness. He approached them carefully. His years in London had taught him that anything could be suspicious, and he had no desire to regret being a model of society.

"Hello?" he asked, cautiously. "Can you hear me?" There was no reply. Donal knelt by the figure, which he now knew to be a man, trying to find some sort of identity. The man’s face was obscured by the darkness that enveloped them, but Donal’s sharp eyes caught the pinstriped pattern of the robes the man was wearing. That in itself was strange – who, other than a lunatic, wore robes nowadays? Still, the man was in no position to answer any questions. He showed no signs of waking up, and the November air was chilly. Donal tried to find some sort of ID, but his search proved fruitless. In the end, he made a decision.

"Right, well," he began. "You’re clearly in no position to look after yourself, so I suppose I’d better get you somewhere warm and dry, sharpish." Hearing the distinctive rhythmic hum of a black cab engine, he flagged a vehicle down, and pulled the man in to it.

"Where to, mate?" the driver asked, his tone containing traces of a friendly cockney burr.

"The King Charles Hotel, please," Donal replied. Taking the man home was out of the question. Donal did not want his children to be exposed to the distressing sight of an unconscious man, and his wife would probably not approve. He decided that the best course of action would be to check into the hotel, then phone home and explain that something had cropped up.

"Been to Charlie’s before, have you?" the cabbie enquired, in a friendly fashion.

"Yes," Donal replied shortly.

"I’ve heard it’s right flash," the cabbie told him, ignoring Donal’s obvious unwillingness to talk. "The wife went there in her youth. One of her friends, their father was loaded, and they had their wedding reception there. This was before I’d met her, of course. She said it was a bit on the posh side, you understand?"

"Yes," Donal replied again, not really paying much attention to the cabbie’s amiable gabbling. He’d never had the King Charles down as being a particularly classy hotel - he’d been there a couple of times for business lunches, and, while the service was impeccable, there was nothing about the place that screamed ‘come back’ at him. The only reason they were going there now was because it was the first place that popped into Donal’s head. Unfortunately, the hotel also happened to be on the other side of the city, meaning that Donal had to spend an unfortunately large amount of time with the over-familiar cabbie. At last they made it

"Here you are mate, alright?"

"Thank you," Donal alighted, dragging the man’s dead weight with him, and paid the cabbie before entering the building and booking into a room.

Having draped his companion on the settee - rather artistically, it has to be said - Donal made use of the phone that the hotel provided, dialling his home number.

"Hello, Surrey two-three-four, eight-seven-six, who’s calling please?" Donal recognised his wife’s voice immediately.

"Erin, darling, it’s me."

"Donal! We were expecting you home hours ago!"

"I’m sorry, dearest, but something’s cropped up. I won’t be home tonight."

"Oh," Erin’s voice became rather dejected, but Donal didn’t seem to notice. "Okay then. You will be home tomorrow, though?"

"I promise you that I’ll be home tomorrow," Donal agreed. "I’m really sorry, Erin. I’ll make it up to you."

"Okay. You take care. I love you!"

"I love you, too. Bye!" Donal replaced the phone, and turned to look at the figure on the sofa.

"I hope you realise just how much trouble you’re causing me!" he told the man, at the same time taking in the fact that the person on the couch seemed to be his double. "I’m going to bed now, and woe betide you if you wake me up at some ungodly hour. For goodness’ sake, if you do wake up, try and keep the noise down!"

* * * * *

When Cornelius woke the next morning, he wondered where he was. He looked around, to see a room painted in the palest of yellows with blue accessories, a huge bowl of fruit and a strange device that had a very…Muggle appearance. Further examination confirmed his original theory, and by a process of deduction, he decided that the device was, in all probability, a teletone. Or something like that, anyway.

It took Fudge a while to realise that he was not alone in the room - on the bed a figure was sleeping peacefully, fully clothed. Cornelius started. Fully clothed in Muggle clothes. He vaguely remembered deciding to give the Muggle world a try the previous night. Still slightly inebriated, he decided to examine the man on the bed. Slowly, with stealth amazing in a man so drunk, he approached the man, being careful not to wake him. When he got close enough to see the man’s face in detail, he was surprised to note that the two of them could be passed off as identical twins, they were that similar.

In a kind of drunken stupor, Fudge considered his options. He could leave the hotel there and then, but there was a possibility that this Muggle might know more about him than he should. Until the man on the bed woke up, Fudge would have to sit tight. He went back to admiring his surroundings, and was intrigued by the bizarre looking cubicle with some kind of appendage and a tap. He turned the tap on and was showered with water. In the back of his mind, he remembered long ago Muggle Studies lessons, and realised that the cubicle was in fact a shower. Thinking hard, he tried to remember just what it was that Muggles did in showers, and, after much contemplation, it came to him that they washed in there. Cornelius decided that he wanted to try this Muggle contraption out.

* * * * *

Donal was rudely awakened from pleasant slumbers by the sound of somebody using the shower. A quick glance at the sofa told him that his mystery companion was the one creating the racket. Okay, so Donal sang in the shower occasionally, but the sounds that came from the bathroom could scarcely be described as singing. Caterwauling would be more accurate, in Donal’s opinion. So much for peace and quiet. As Donal decided to interrupt the man, the singing abruptly stopped, and his companion appeared clad in no more than one of the hotel’s towels, brown hair wet, and skin water-wrinkled.

"Good morning," Donal greeted him, courteously. "I’m Donal Ogilvy."

"Cornelius Fudge," the man replied.

"I hope you aren’t offended by me bringing you here," Donal said, politely. What he wanted to say was not repeatable in acceptable society.

"Not at all," Cornelius replied. "I’m grateful for your assistance." Donal regarded him curiously. He seemed to be a nice enough fellow - if you ignored his idea of music - although, one sentence was scarcely enough of a conversation for him to form and opinion of the man.

"Forgive me my curiousity," Donal began, "but why were you lying unconscious in the street?"

"That," Cornelius replied, "is something I would like to know for myself."

"Were you attacked?" Donal asked worriedly.

"I don’t think so," Cornelius replied.

"Don’t you remember anything?" Donal demanded.

"I’m afraid I don’t," Cornelius told him. Donal reassessed him. There was something about his replies that just didn’t ring true.

* * * * *

Cornelius regarded Donal Ogilvy with interest. This man was certainly nosy. Suddenly, Cornelius had a brainwave. As is often the case when under the influence of alcohol, he was not thinking in quite his usual fashion. I’m tired of working at the Ministry. It’s boring; besides which, it got me into this situation in the first place, he thought. It would be so easy to swap places with this man. We look so similar that I’d be able to get away with it. Donal was busy telling him something, so Cornelius nodded enthusiastically, without having a clue as to what was actually going on.

At this point, he had forgotten that he was a wizard, and the fact that he could knock Donal Ogilvy out with a simple Stunning Spell seemed to have eluded him. On the table next to the chair he was sitting in, there was a Bible. In the bathroom he had seen a rather heavy looking toilet plunger. Cornelius looked from the hotel Bible to the toilet plunger, and back. I’m an atheist and a politician, he thought. I’m going to burn anyway, he decided, and proceeded to hit Donal over the head with the Bible. Ogilvy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he slipped into unconsciousness. Cornelius smiled a slightly mad smile, and stripped Donal down to his underwear, before donning the Muggle’s clothing himself. He then dressed Donal in his own pinstriped robes. By this time, he had remembered the rudiments of his magical knowledge, and a quick Scouring Charm cleaned his robes of any unpleasant substances, rendering them as good as new. Donal now looked just like Cornelius, and vice versa.

It was at about this point that Cornelius realised that swapping places with Donal would be rather hard, as he knew nothing about the man. However, unlike Cornelius, Donal carried his wallet with him everywhere, and inside his wallet was a card with his address and telephone number on. Of course, Cornelius knew very little about telephones, but his basic education in Muggle Studies meant that he knew that was what the ten digit number was called. Having crossed that hurdle, he realised that for Donal, it would be rather hard to work in the Ministry with no magical skill. However, a couple of clever charms solved that problem. Donal would not be able to actually do magic, but he would be able to look competent on the rare occasions when magic was necessary. Cornelius knew that most of his work could be done the Muggle way. It might take longer to do so, but it would work.

Having got Donal kitted out, Cornelius made his way back to Diagon Alley. He needed to get the Muggle into his office and explain what was going on to him before he went any further.

* * * * *

Christopher James worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - DMLE for short. As an Auror, his job was to keep the peace within the wizarding world. Or rather, it should have been. However, during Voldemort’s rise to power, the Aurors had turned into an army more than a police force, and he had been required to spend a lot of his time hunting the Death Eaters that were causing so many problems for society. Ever since the Dark Lord’s downfall, Christopher had been required to work for long hours in an effort to see that all of these Death Eaters were now brought to justice. It was this quest that brought him to Diagon Alley at the wee hours of the morn.

It was about seven thirty in the morning when Christopher noticed two figures entering the Alley. Normally this wouldn’t have roused his attention, but one of the figures was dragging the other. He approached for a closer look, and was astonished to see a Muggle man dragging a wizard, instantly identifiable as a Ministry official by his pinstriped robes, into the Alley.

* * * * *

Everything was going well. Cornelius had managed to get Donal as far as Diagon Alley without any major mishaps. He was feeling rather proud of himself, to be honest. It wasn’t every day a plan went so smoothly. He was just catching his breath when a wizard, most likely an Auror (he was wearing an ID badge), approached.

"Excuse me," he began. "But may I ask what you’re doing?" the Auror started.

"I found this man a few meters away," Cornelius explained. "I was trying to get him somewhere safe and comfortable before getting medical help." That was another thing about being a junior Minister. You became particularly efficient at bending the truth.

"What’s your name, sir?" the Auror demanded.

"Donal Ogilvy," Cornelius replied, quickly remembering the name the Muggle had given him.

"Well, Donal, if you’d like to come with me, we’ll see about getting this man some treatment," the Auror told him.

"Thank you, sir," Cornelius replied. Of course, he knew what was coming. They would take him and Donal to the nearest hospital, revive Donal, and subject Cornelius to a mild Memory Charm, in an effort to conceal the wizarding world from the Muggle public. There were ways to counter these Memory Charms, but they were immensely complex, and Cornelius wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage one. Still, it was worth a try.

While the Auror got Donal admitted to the hospital, Cornelius did his best to protect himself from what he knew was coming. But he had no idea of how much time he had before the dreaded charm would be performed. As it turned out, the Auror decided to deal with Fudge before Donal.

"I’m really sorry about this," he said, and he sounded truly apologetic.

"Sorry about what?" Cornelius feigned ignorance.

"Obliviate!" the Auror shouted, and suddenly, the world went black.

* * * * *

"Mummy…" Mortimer began, when the book had been closed, its pages marked with a handcrafted bookmark. This bookmark had been in use since Lily had been born, when Andy had announced his intention to ‘enrich’ his children’s outlook on life. It had to be the most loathed bookmark in history. To the Potter children it was a symbol of their daily torture.

"What is it, darling?" Lizzy asked her son.

"What’s a seduce?" Mortimer’s face was contorted in a frown, and he looked absolutely darling, his light brown hair flopping into his eyes, clutching his blanket as though it were his lifeline. Mortimer was by far the shyest of the Potters. His blanket went with him everywhere. Andy had recently been uttering concern at his son’s devotion to the much-washed rag. He wasn’t sure that being attached to such a thing when you were five years old was healthy.

"A seduce?" Lizzy looked at her son in astonishment, before turning to her husband, a worried look on her face. "Andy, honey, maybe reading this wasn’t such a good idea after all."

"Nonsense, dear," Andy replied, waving away his wife’s doubt. "It’s very educational. And if Morty wants to know what seduction is then he has a right to be told the truth."

"But darling!" Lizzy protested. "He’s five!" Andy glared at her.

"Something that I am well aware of," he pointed out, patiently. "However, if he asks a question, he deserves an honest answer."

"Well, don’t be too honest," Lizzy said, doubtfully. "I’d rather we waited a few years before giving any of our children the birds and the bees talk."

"I don’t need any birds and bees talk!" Isabelle stated proudly. "I already know everything about se-"

"ISABELLE MAE POTTER! Wherever did you learn such things?" Lizzy gaped at her nine year old daughter, who held her head high and replied in an arrogant tone.

"I’m not a little kid like James, or Morty, or Sirius. I know everything!"

"Hey, you do not! I know ‘bout the birds and the bees, too! It’s not that hard to figure out, y’know!" James piped up. Lizzy looked ready to faint.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Mum, it’s not that big a deal. I’m sure Helen must have told them something, or Isabelle read it in one of those ‘Teen Witch Weekly’ magazines. Pointless waste of paper, those are, if you ask me."

Andy peered at his family over the top of his glasses, one eyebrow raised almost sarcastically. "Lizzy, I have no intention of explaining anything of that nature to the rest of them. Certainly not today." He turned to his son. "Now, Morty, someone who seduces you wants you to fall in love with them for selfish reasons. For instance, if Mummy had done something to make me marry her, when all she wanted was my money, she would have seduced me."

"Mummy doesn’t love you?" Morty questioned, lower lip quivering dangerously.

"Of course Mummy loves me, don’t be ridiculous," Andy told him, bracingly. "How else did you think we ended up with you lot?"

"I know, I know!" Isabelle waved her hands around in the air. "First, you two-"

"Andy, Izzy," Lizzy said, warningly.

"Sorry," her husband replied, instantly remorseful. Isabelle grumbled an insincere apology as well.

"Morty, sweetie, Sir and I love each other very much," Lizzy hastened to placate the most sensitive of her children. "You needn’t worry about that." Mortimer smiled at his mother tentatively.

"That’s right," Andy confirmed. "Now, back to the story," he looked at his children, and came across five blank looking faces. "Wake up!" he barked. "It’s not bedtime just yet!"

"Sir, I think Grace is like Izzy," James offered his opinion.

"She is not!" Isabelle glared at him, outraged.

"Is too!" James replied.

"Is not!" Isabelle shouted.

"SHUT UP!!!!" Sirius yelled. There was instant silence. All eyes were fixed on the youngest of the Potter dynasty – youngest by all of five minutes. "You’re upsetting Morty," he explained, pointing at his twin. Indeed, Mortimer had gone back to blanket hugging, his smile disappeared, his small face set in a rather distraught frown.

"Thank you," Andy told Sirius, not really sure what else to say. "Now, James, why do you think that Izzy and Grace are similar?"

"Well, they’re both selfish, stuck-up Daddy’s girls," James told him. "Isn’t it obvious?" His elder sisters looked at him in shock.

"James!" Lily gasped.

"What?" James demanded. "It’s true!"

"Yes, thank you James," Lizzy gave her son a warning look, and he shut up hastily. "Do you that Fudge is a moral character?" she asked, in the hope of sparking some kind of intellectual discussion.

"I don’t know," Lily said slowly, from her seat on a stool at her father’s feet. "I mean, the whole ‘let’s change places’ thing, that’s not really right. But then, he was drunk."

"Even if he was drunk, he still shouldn’t have knocked Donal out with a Bible," James told her. "That’s just…wrong."

"Quite right," Andy agreed. "But would the toilet plunger have worked that well?"

"And the toilet plunger would be nasty and dirty after being down the toilet so much!" Sirius contributed.

"Andy!!!!" Lizzy looked at her husband in horror. "You can’t say that! Especially not in front of Sirius, look at what you’ve done to him!" Sirius smiled a devilish grin.

"A valid point that was, too," Andy sighed. "However, you children are not to say anything like that any longer. It upsets your mother." Lizzy glared.

"We could try knocking someone out with a toilet plunger," Sirius suggested, hopefully.

"Or we could not," Isabelle corrected him scathingly.

"I think it would be fun," Sirius replied, defiantly.

"You would," his father replied. "It would earn you six months worth of Tolkein, however, so you might want to think about it before you try it." Sirius’s face fell.

"What happens next?" Morty asked.

"You’ll have to wait until tomorrow," his mother replied. "Its time for you and Sirius to get ready for bed now."

"But, Mummy!" Sirius protested.

"No buts," his mother replied. "You were up early this morning, and you practically pulled the house down while your father and I were out. Morty needs to rest and recuperate, and if Morty’s going to bed then you have to as well."

"That’s not fair!" Sirius wailed.

"Life isn’t fair," Andy told him. "Do as your mother tells you." Sullenly, Sirius followed his mother and brother out of the room, and Andy and his elder children could hear them trudging up the stairs.

"I don’t know about you three, but I’ve got to do the accounts," Andy told them. "You lot cost too much." He left Lily, Isabelle and James to it. They looked at each other.

"Charming," Lily remarked. Isabelle and James exchanged a look, and for once it didn’t provoke an argument.

"How can you look so much like Mummy and sound so much like Pops?" Isabelle demanded.

"Because I’m perfect, that’s why."