The Minister and the Muggle

The Minister and the Muggle

by

Marcus Mortimer Caesar

Chapter 2 – Bizarre Bargains

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies was a very bleak place. Echoes of a past long forgotten haunted the corridors, which were full of screams of those who had been subjected to such torture that it was impossible not to wonder if they would not be better off dead. These poor souls had lost everything that they had ever cherished in one man’s bid for power. If ever there was a legacy of the evil that Lord Voldemort incurred, St. Mungo’s was it. Prior to the dark years, the years when people went to bed unsure about their future and woke up to fear and anguish, St. Mungo’s had been a normal hospital. With the advent of war it had become home to those who were no longer in full command of their faculties.

Cornelius Fudge looked at his surroundings with mild curiosity. He had never been to the magical hospital before – all of his injuries were minor, and had been easily treated at home. The sterile atmosphere was actually very oppressive. Cornelius didn’t notice, however – he was far too busy thanking his lucky stars that the counter-spell had worked. He could remember everything. Preying most heavily on his mind was Donal Ogilvy. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Donal would make an excellent substitute for him for a few weeks. It wasn’t like anything important was likely to happen – after all, the Dark Lord had been defeated. Of course, this left him with one small problem, that problem being Donal himself. Ogilvy probably knew nothing of the wizarding world, and as a Muggle he’d be unable to perform the simplest of magical tasks. But Cornelius had a plan.

It was possible to lead the life of a Junior Minister without actually using magic; Donal would have no problems there. It would be important for Donal to know something of the wizarding world, but, just as it was possible to wipe someone's memory, so too were there spells that could enhance it – at least, for limited periods. It would take very little effort on Cornelius’ part to equip Donal with enough knowledge to get him through his stint at the Ministry.

Since the Memory Charm had been performed, Cornelius had been moved back to the Muggle world. The M.L.E.S. men in charge of him had gone to great lengths to prevent this so-called Muggle from seeing anything unusual. Little did they know that the real Muggle lay on a hospital bed, and was receiving the best of wizarding healthcare. As soon as he had been left to his own devices, Cornelius had Apparated to his own home and put on some robes, before moving on to St. Mungo’s to talk Donal into his plan.

It hadn’t been difficult to find Donal. He had all of the Ministry identification that would get him through St. Mungo’s security measures, and it didn’t take a genius to read a floor plan, even if the names were constantly changing as those patients who were not in for a long duration were discharged from hospital care.

* * * * *

Gradually Donal came around from the unconsciousness that Cornelius had brought upon him. He looked at his surroundings, severely disorientated. The stark whiteness of the walls didn’t help his headache, and there were all sorts of interesting gadgets in the room. It was almost like an old fashioned hospital room, but of course, Donal knew this couldn’t be the case. Slowly, using his arms for leverage, he hoisted himself into an upright position. He had absolutely no idea where he was, of course, but he was sure that he could find out, if only the herd of elephants that had landed in his head would disappear for long enough for him to think clearly. He was thinking about how best to proceed when the door opened, and the man he had rescued from the alleyway the previous day appeared.

"You!" Donal exclaimed.

"Yes, me. How are you?" Cornelius asked, and in spite of himself, Donal realised that the voice held genuine concern.

"I was feeling a whole lot better before I met you," Donal told Cornelius, cuttingly.

"Ah, yes. I do apologise about that. I don’t know what came over me!"

"Oh, I know exactly what it was that came over me," Donal replied. "A rather heavy version of the King James Bible. Have you no respect?"

"For you, or the Bible? Never mind, once again, I truly apologise for any misunderstandings that may have occurred."

"Misunderstandings? How am I to misunderstand a Bible hitting the top of my head? It’s all very well apologising," Donal complained, "but that’s not doing anything about whatever it is that’s having a party in my head." He really wanted to curse long and loud at this man, but his gentleman’s instinct prevented him from uttering anything that would not be acceptable in polite company. "Now, if you don’t mind, who are you?"

"My name is Cornelius Fudge," Cornelius explained. "I’m a Junior Minister at the Ministry of Magic."

"Ministry of Magic? Please, cut the crap!" Donal was not in the mood to be toyed with, and his usually impeccable manners were starting to slip.

"It’s no joke," Cornelius told him, patiently. "There really is a Ministry of Magic. We call people like you – that is, people with no magical talent – Muggles. Under no circumstances must the Muggle world learn of the Magical worlds existence, or everything we have striven for will be ruined. Countless Memory Charms are being performed daily to keep Muggles from finding out about our world. You are, perhaps, the only one that managed to break through several security measures, thanks to my help."

"What are you going on about?" Donal demanded. Cornelius sighed.

"I suppose we’ll have to work it like this," he said, regretfully, and pulled a stick of wood from inside those ridiculous neon robes he was wearing.

"Memorandum Inciti" Cornelius intoned, pointing the wood at Donal.

* * * * *

If the charm worked as it was supposed to, then all of the knowledge Cornelius had of the wizarding world would be copied and lodged in Donal’s memory. The spell wasn’t a simple one, but Cornelius was an accomplished wizard, despite all the rumours about him having hardly any magical skill. A split second after he cast the spell, Cornelius could see the understanding blossoming on Donal’s face.

"I’d ask how you did that, but… I already know. So you were telling me the truth. Magic does exist."

"Of course," Cornelius said, complacently. "I said it did."

"So why are you letting me know all this?" Donal demanded.

"I need your help," Cornelius told him, conspiratorially.

"Me, help you?" Donal was obviously incredulous. "I tried to help you, and was knocked out with a Holy Book. What’s next? I help you, and you bomb my house?! I can’t see any reason as to why I should even be talking to you so rationally!"

"Of course you can’t," Cornelius agreed, placidly. He had realised that the Muggle would be quite stubborn, but he'd never thought that convincing one would be quite so hard. This man didn’t seem to care the Cornelius was a very powerful man, a Junior Minister! "But then, I haven’t told you what I need help with yet." Donal looked at him, now curious.

"I’m listening, if only out of my complete and utter contempt for what you have done to me."

"I want you to take my job from me." Donal opened his mouth to protest, but Cornelius silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Only for a month or so, not much more. You see, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead, so nothing important will be coming to my department. I have personal issues to deal with," Cornelius decided not to mention that he wanted to get away from Sian for as long as possible.

His secretary, brutally efficient as she was, occasionally worried him, and after last night’s debacle he had no burning desire to see her in the near future. This Muggle could find a way to deal with her, after all, he was a married man, he must have had a way with women. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to tell her to just back off… Then Cornelius remembered her cat like claws – er, nails – and decided that he wouldn’t want to be Donal then, not for any amount of money.

"All well and good, but why can’t you do what normal people do and apply for leave," Donal demanded, still not overly receptive to Cornelius’ ideas.

"It’s not that simple," Cornelius told him.

"Well, its hardly simple getting me to pretend to be you, is it?" Donal exclaimed, exasperated. "And while I’m busy pretending to be you, who’s going to look after my position in the firm?"

Cornelius dismissed his concerns.

"Minor details. I know it’s a lot easier to get time off in the Muggle world, I’ll arrange it."

"And when am I going to have my holiday?" Donal demanded. "I only get six weeks a year."

"You don’t work during the weekend," Cornelius told him. "You’ll be fine."

"I can’t see anything in this for me," Donal told Cornelius. "So far it’s all been about you."

"Ah, but there you’re wrong. You see, I can repair you marriage." Or I can break it into pieces, he added mentally.

"My marriage doesn’t need repairing!" Donal informed him. "My wife and I are as secure as we were twenty years ago."

"No, you’re as secure as you were twenty years ago. Your wife, on the other hand, isn’t."

"How on earth would you know?" Donal demanded.

"While you were out of it, I did some research," Cornlius replied. "You’ve barely seen your wife in the last six months – you spend all your time working. Quite often you spend nights in the office. Your wife thinks you’re having an affair." Donal’s face became contorted with anger.

"How dare you!" he shouted.

"I dare because it’s true," Cornelius told him. "I can offer your wife security, and you can get on with doing what you like to do best – work."

"And if I refuse?"

"I wipe your memory, and you continue as though nothing has happened. You somehow explain away the time you’ve spent out of your office and away from home to the wife who thinks you no longer love her, and this whole affair is never mentioned again."

"It would seem that I don’t have much of a choice," Donal said, dryly. "I’m willing to listen to you."

* * * * *

Donal looked at the intruder expectantly. Cornelius Fudge held all the right cards in this particular game, something that Donal was all too well aware of.

"Okay, I’ve let you know the basics," Cornelius began. "If you’re interested, I suppose I should let you in on the particulars."

"That might be a good idea, yes," Donal agreed.

"Let me explain this simply. You know all about the magical world purely because I wanted you to know, and there for I used a relatively unheard of charm that transfers knowledge. Or rather, shares knowledge," Cornelius paused, and his smile held something of a cat like quality. "In effect, it shared my knowledge of the wizarding world with you. But the knowledge will only be available for as long as I deem to be necessary." Again Cornelius paused, glancing at Donal, who nodded slowly.

"Right, so you have control of my mind," he said, bitterly.

"No," Cornelius told him, patiently. "I’m simply able to turn that knowledge on and off. Or rather, I can turn it off only once. You see, unlike Memory Charms, which can be performed several times with no obvious effect – other than to remove the appropriate part of memory, that is – the charm that I used to give you knowledge can be used only once."

"I see," Donal said, doubtfully. He didn’t see at all. All these not-so-scientific explanations were all well and good, but he could see no reason to abandon his life for a month, and pretend to be someone he wasn’t. Right now, his main concern was getting back to his wife and children, and away from this lunatic.

"Look, I don’t mean to be rude." Inwardly, Donal did want to be rude to this stranger who was so like, and so unlike himself. "But I really don’t have any burning desire to give up my family as you see fit. If Erin had a problem with our relationship I have no doubt that she would tell me so."

"Ah, but when do the two of you see each other for long enough for her to tell you?" Cornelius queried. "You don’t. And I can virtually confirm her worst nightmare." Donal did not like the almost sinister look in Cornelius’ eyes as he said this. The wizard dug into his robes and pulled out a single snap-shot. "This photograph could ruin your marriage," he told Donal, looking very satisfied with himself. Donal looked at the picture in question. It was of Cornelius and an attractive blonde, embracing. All too quickly, Donal caught on to the other man’s train of thought.

"You wouldn’t!" he exclaimed.

"You see, Erin won’t know it’s not you," Cornelius told him. "Your wife doesn’t know I exist. And she’s already suspicious. What would you think in her position?"

"This is blackmail, you know that, don’t you?" Donal demanded. He was convinced that Cornelius Fudge was a madman. He was right, to a certain extent. One of the drinks that Cornelius had consumed the previous night had contained a potent Love Potion. Or rather, what Sian Lindsay thought was a Love Potion. In fact, Sian’s potion skills were neglible (she had barely passed the class back at Hogwarts), and the whole process had gone horribly wrong.

Rather than making Cornelius fall in love with her, as it was supposed to do, it had completely warped his personality. Where he was usually a bumbling fool, he was now devious and calculating, without realising it himself. But nobody knew this. Cornelius had disappeared before Sian could learn of her error, and Donal had only learned of the existence of the wizarding population a few minutes ago. The only way Cornelius was likely to return to his normal self was by allowing the potion to wear off, a process that could take anything up to six weeks.

"Blackmail, bargaining – there’s not really much difference, is there?" Cornelius asked.

"Of course there’s a difference, you…" Donal was lost for words. Cornelius arched an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"Bargaining involves voluntary action by both parties, where a deal is reached that satisfies all those concerned. Blackmail is entirely different, and can be viewed as a criminal offence."

"Have you swallowed a dictionary or what? No point in using technical terms with me, Mr. Ogilvy. All I want to know is, are you prepared to do this or not?"

* * * * *

Erin Ogilvy had aged little since the day, twenty years ago, that she had wed Donal at the Chapel of St. Mary in County Kerry. She had the same lustrous dark hair (though now it was tinged with one or two grey hairs), and the same melting brown eyes. But, although she remained the same to look at, as a person she had changed a great deal. Erin had been nineteen when she married Donal, idealistic and looking at the world through rose tinted spectacles. Her marriage had taught her that when you loved someone, it could just as easily bring you heartache as joy.

In the first years of their marriage, Erin had been blissfully happy. Donal had had good job, and they were financially stable. With the birth of their first child, Grace, she had thought her cup of joy was full. When Stella arrived, three years later, the family was complete. But, as the girls grew older, Donal grew increasingly ambitious, spending more and more time at the office and less and less time with his family. Their family.

Erin knew just why it was that Donal spent so long at work. He wanted their children to be secure, to want for nothing. She had supported him through thick and thin, although inwardly she hated the long nights when she lay alone, wondering what he was doing. Just recently, however, she had been growing less certain of his motives. Grace and Stella were no longer totally dependent on them, and Donal had reached the highest level of his profession. There was no need for him to spend so much time at work. Seeds of doubt had grown, and Erin began to wonder if he had an ulterior motive for spending so long away from home.

"Grace! Stella!" she called. It was always the same. Both girls had a deep loathing of getting up in the morning, and it was only by much chivvying on her part that they made it to school on time. "Girls, hurry up, or you’ll be late!" There was the sound of feet on the stairs, and Stella appeared at the kitchen door. That was another part of their daily routine. Stella always appeared ten minutes before Grace. She always had done, ever since she started primary school at age five. Sighing, Erin acknowledged that her younger daughter was more biddable than her firstborn.

"Morning, Mum," Stella said, through a yawn. Stella was the spitting image of her father, slightly chubby, pale brown hair as straight as a ruler, and icy blue eyes. But that was where the similarities ended.

"Morning, sweetheart. Hurry up and get some breakfast, or you’ll be late for school." Stella picked up a slice of toast, almost reluctantly. Erin worried about her sometimes. She knew that Stella didn’t tell her everything, but in the past couple of years Stella had gone from being bubbly and outgoing to withdrawn and reticent. Donal put it down to her growing up, but Erin was convinced that there was more to it than that. She knew her daughter, and she knew that something must have happened to cause such a change. But every time she tried to broach the subject, Stella miraculously found something else to talk about, or do.

"Morning, mum, Stel," Grace sauntered in, fully dressed, immaculate as always. Grace. There was another problem. Grace had always been strong willed, and had an uncanny ability to get what she wanted. But just recently, Erin had begun to worry about her too. Grace was growing up; Erin knew that she couldn’t do anything about that. What worried her was her daughter’s developing relationship with a young man by the name of Sean Finnegan. It wasn’t that Erin objected to her daughter having a romance. It was just…Grace was so young. She’s scarcely more than a little girl. Of course, deep down, Erin knew that Grace was much more than a little girl, but it didn’t make letting her daughter spread her wings any easier. Erin sighed. If only Donal were here.

* * * * *

Cornelius surveyed Donal once more. The man was stubborn; he’d give him that. But, unless he was mistaken, it would seem that Ogilvy had begun to understand that he was in a no win situation.

"Supposing I did agree to this, this scheme of yours," Donal began, "what would it involve?" Jackpot! It would seem that Mr. Ogilvy had finally accepted that Cornelius’ way was the right way.

"It’s all fairly simple stuff," he explained. "Oh, it gets tedious – Junior Ministers, it would seem, get all the boring jobs, but it pays well, and it doesn’t involve much effort. Basically, people send you complaints, requests and the like, and you respond to them. Occasionally you have to consult your superiors about things, but most of the time, it’s orderly."

"And how will I know what to do?" Donal asked.

"That knowledge has been vested in you, by myself, at the same time as the rest of your knowledge of my world was given to you. Don’t worry about it, it’s been taken care of."

"Nice to know," Donal replied, dryly.

"It is, isn’t it," Cornelius agreed. "Does this mean you’ve come round to my way of thinking?"

"I don’t really have much choice, do I?" Donal asked, bitterly.

"Not really, no," Cornelius agreed, calmly. "Of course, this means I need to know all about your life. I could use the same charm-"

"Over my dead body!" Donal told him, his voice deadly serious. "I’ll tell you all you need to know."

"Really, a charm would be much easier."

"I said no," Donal told him, and Cornelius recognised his tone as one that would not tolerate any attempt at persuasion.

"Fine," he said, sulkily. "Tell me about your life."

"As you seem to know, my wife is Erin. She’s Irish through and through, born and raised in County Kerry, which is where we got married. We have two daughters, Grace and Stella-"

"Do they have any other names?"

"Grace Eugenie Natasha and Stella Claire Elizabeth. Grace is eighteen, Stella is fifteen. Stella goes to the local grammar school, Grace is at art college. Erin does all sorts of charity work, but I don’t know about half of it, so it’s not vitally important that you do. I work at a law firm on Lime Street – I’m a partner. You’ll need to phone James Howard up, just to let him know that I need to take some holiday for a few weeks due to unavoidable circumstances. Erin’s been trying to get me to do so for years, so she’ll be happy."

"Friends, relatives?"

"My mother lives in Ireland, and has done ever since my father died three years ago. My brother…"

* * * * *

It had taken Donal well over three hours to tell Cornelius all about his life. He wasn’t overly pleased at having to do so, especially as, unlike Cornelius, he had no way of wiping memories. In Donal’s opinion the whole plan was the most bizarre thing he had ever had the misfortune to be involved it. However, if he had to pretend to be Cornelius for a month, then he was going to do so with gusto. As with everything he did, Donal intended to give one hundred and ten percent dedication to the task at hand. He only hoped that Cornelius adopted the same philosophy. He had no desire to return to his life after the time was up to find that his marriage was in tatters, his business going bust, and his daughters involved in illegal activities that he didn’t even want to think about.

"Good luck," Cornelius bade him, as they parted ways. Donal turned for one last look at the huge hospital. The building was oddly graceful, belying the depressing atmosphere inside.

"I don’t need luck," Donal told him, focusing on one of the tall towers. "I need skill. And I think I can manage just fine in that department."

* * * * *

"Well, that’s finally over," yawned Victoria King, sister to Lizzy Potter. She was visiting her nieces and nephews for the weekend, and had managed to Apparate in just as the family was about to start their nightly reading. As soon as she caught a glimpse of the family gathered around Andy’s chair, she attempted to think of a quick excuse to run away. However, after being tackled by all five of the Potter children, hugged half to death by Lizzy, and glared at by Andy, she could find no suitable reason to leave. Her dear sister had suggested that Vicky stay and listen to the children read, and how was she to refuse?

"Please, don’t pay much attention to her, children. Barbarians such as that cannot possibly comprehend the virtues of an education," Andy said scathingly. Aunt Vicky sniffled, and turned her back to him. Isabelle looked up at her, wide eyed.

"Aunt Vicky, aren’t you going to yell back at Sir? He called you a whatchamacallit, a bavarian!" Isabelle exclaimed.

"Barbarian!" James corrected her.

"Same thing," Izzy shrugged her younger brother off, and turned back to her aunt.

Victoria was her role model, as well as the youngest King daughter. She was only twenty-three, and attending a rather famous wizarding learning centre in Australia. She hardly ever visited her relations in England, and when she did, there was sure to be some sort of amusing confrontation between her and her dear brother-in-law. The truth was that their spats were just for show and deep down Andy and Vicky had a deep rooted affection for each other; he because Vicky was his wife's youngest and most tempestuous sister and she because Andy was the brother she had always wished for and never had.

"No, darling. I believe that there is no point in attempting to communicate with those outside my species. Apes such as that have a rather hard time understanding human speech. Perhaps one of you should give him a banana; it would make the poor creature happy. " Even Lizzy couldn’t help laughing hysterically at this, and even Morty and Sirius, who had a bit of trouble deciphering the scathing insults hidden in those few simple sentences, found the effect they had on their father comical, to say the least.

Andy turned a bright, ripe tomato like shade of red, but after a few tense seconds, it calmed itself into a dark burgundy, rather the same shade as his armchair. He looked ready to have steam coming out of his ears, and Lizzy was rather surprised that nothing had been put on fire. In between giggles, she managed to say:

"Oh, Andy, dear, don’t mind Vicky, she’s just fooling around, aren’t you, Vicky?"

Victoria stood up gracefully, all 5 feet and 8 inches of her. Flipping her hair back in a noncommittal gesture, she said, "Of course I didn’t mean a word of what I said. Words cannot begin to describe my feelings for that husband of yours, Elizabeth." With that, she waltzed out of the door.

"Oh, Vicks! Wait a second, we’re not finished yet!" Andy yelled after her, finally returning to his normal colour.

"Andy, dear, I’m not a vapour rub," Victoria commented, smiling.

"Darn," Andy said, grinning devilishly.

"ANDY!" exclaimed Lizzy, shocked. "One more word out of you, and it’s straight bed for you!"

"Whose bed?" Andy asked, looking more innocent than Sirius after pulling a particularly dangerous prank.

The Potter children exchanged confused looks, except Lily, who was looking rather smug. "Confused, are you?" she questioned. Her younger siblings nodded. "I’ll explain all of that to you once Mum is out of the room…"

"Oh no you won’t, Lily Elizabeth Potter! That is it, to bed, all of you!" Lizzy was doing something she had vowed never to do – becoming her own mother. Andy shot her an unhappy look.

"Not yet, they don’t. We have to discuss what they read, don’t we? Victoria, do stay and give us some of your views on this chapter. After all, we have sorely missed your wit and intellect," Andy finished, loading that last sentence with an extra dose of sarcasm.

"I believe I shall stay, for the sake of the children. Don’t go asking them the meaning of life just yet," Vicky sighed and settled herself onto the floor in between Isabelle and James, who had found something new to argue about while the adults were bickering.

"Now then, James. What did you think?" Andy questioned the seven year old. James gave him a blank look.

"Huh?"

"The book, son, the book! What have we been discussing all this time?"

"Well, I thought it was whether or not Aunt Vicky was a vapour rub, and whose bed you were going to share…"

"Never mind that!" Lizzy hurriedly interjected. "Talk about the book, dear. Maybe that way we can all go to bed soon." At the mention of the word ‘bed’, all the children livened up slightly, minus Morty, who, using his twin brother as a pillow, had managed to drift off to sleep.

"Morty, wake up," Sirius poked him awake.

"Uuuh?" Morty blinked.

Andy cleared his throat. "Right, then. What do you think of Fudge as a character, Izzy?"

"I think he’s a mean ol’ dirtbag," she replied wickedly. Lizzy was shocked at that use of language in her household.

"I ought to wash your mouth out with soap, young lady," Lizzy complained. "Andy, can’t you just let them go to bed? It’s obvious that they’re too tired to think straight."

"Oh, fine. Ruin my torture – er, fun."

"You really are a sadist, brother-in-law, dear," Vicky commented. "Next thing you know, you’ll be reading War and Peace to the poor tykes."

Lizzy coughed uncomfortably. "Well, War and Peace was a few weeks ago…"

"I don’t know how the children put up with you, Andrew. You must keep them drugged half the day, for this sort of thing to go on every night. Why, our father never did anything like this…"

"Of course not, Vicky. He just made us play sports all day, every day. I still can’t look at a Bludger without shuddering."

"It got me on my college team, didn’t it?"

"Yes, and it also you ten broken bones before the age of eight!"

"It was worth it…"

"As much as I hate to interrupt your lovely little stroll down memory lane, I think that it’s about time we put the kids to bed," Andy said, finally showing some common sense. He knew that the two sisters could reminisce about their childhood for hours, and this was the only time when Lizzy seemed to forget about the existence of her five children and husband.

Morty and Sirius were already asleep, both huddled underneath Morty’s ragged blue blanket, with couch cushions as pillows. Isabelle and James stopped arguing and were each content with just giving the other an occasional glare, and Lily, curled up in Andy’s armchair, was far in the land of Nod.

"They’re so cute, aren’t they?" Vicky said softly. "I can’t wait to have kids of my own…"

"It’s lots of trouble, and lots of galleons, but in the end, it’s worth it," Lizzy added. Andy picked up Morty and Sirius in his arms and went upstairs to tuck them in. The two sisters helped the eldest three Potter children into their beds, then spent many an hour talking by the fireplace.

"Ah, girls," Andy muttered to himself and blew out the lone candle in his bedroom, and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.