Ways in Which Cornelius Fudge Meets an Untimely Demise

Ways in Which Cornelius Fudge Meets an Untimely Demise

#18. He is hit by a rogue bludger. Repeatedly.

Oliver Wood, God of the Quidditch Pitch and Overall Nice Guy, ran into the Quidditch Team change rooms in tears. 'Harry Potter's been injured!' he cried, frantically tearing at his hair, 'And we have no reserve Seeker! What are we going to do? We're doomed! Doomed I tell you!' He ran around the change room yelling incoherently, stopping every now and then to flex his toned arm muscles.

'Chill, Ollie,' Angelina piped up. 'It's not the end of the world. I'm sure we can find someone out there who'll help us out.' With that, she stood up and went on her little mission.

'Not the end of the world? Not the end of the world!? Is she crazy? My life is over!' Oliver moaned, falling head first into a pile of dirty Ravenclaw robes left after the Quidditch match last weekend with Hufflepuff.

A short while later, Angelina strode back into the change room with a huge smile on her face; the others looked at her expectantly.

'I've found someone who's willing to play for us, although, he is quite old...' She motioned to a figure standing in the doorway to enter. Oliver took one glance and fell into a catatonic coma.

'Angie, you can't be serious!' laughed Fred. 'What would he know about Quidditch?'

'Yeah, he's a git! Or did that fact escape your attention?' George added.

'Actually, I used to be Seeker back in my school days,' spoke up the voice of His Royal Gitness, Cornelius Fudge. He nervously fingered the sleeve hem of his purple robes. 'I played every year from second onwards.'

'That's because,' Oliver interrupted, waking up miraculously, 'no one else wanted the position.'

'That's not true!' Fudge rebutted petulantly. 'I was quite good!'

'Yeah, right. This git,' he pointed accusingly at Fudge, 'was the Hufflepuff Seeker of 1936 to 1942, who never even managed to catch the Snitch,' scoffed Oliver. The rest of the team looked at Oliver in wonder. The Quidditch God had struck again.

Fudge grumbled incoherently about captains and large broomsticks poking into certain orifices. Angelina whacked him over the head with her own broomstick.

'Ow! Watch the hat, for pity's sake!' Fudge cried, rubbing the back of his head. 'What was that for?'

'Revenge on behalf all the Oliver fan girls for even THINKING about that!' Angelina looked at him fiercely. 'A git such as yourself should NEVER EVER insult Oliver Wood. Now bow down and beg for his forgiveness!'

Fudge looked at her in horrified disbelief. 'You CAN'T be serious!' he exclaimed. Fred and George Weasley walked over to him and shoved him to his knees.

'Totally serious, gitface' said George. He shrugged. 'We've all had to do it at one time or another.'

The team unsuccessfully stifled their laughter as Fudge kowtowed to Oliver, who looked quite pleased with himself. And rightly so.

'Ok, that's enough!' Oliver proclaimed, after Fudge began to grow red in the face from exertion. 'Come on, Seeker, it's game time!' He motioned to Fudge's clothing ensemble. 'You'd better get into some robes. I think we have a pair that will fit you - they're Hagrid's old ones from his own Quidditch days.' Oliver gazed dreamily in front of him. 'The best Beater in Gryffindor Quidditch team history...' he trailed off, seeing the identical angst-filled expressions on Fred and George's faces. '... until Fred and George of course! They knock him right off the chart!'

*****************

'Welcome to today's Quidditch match!' reverberated the voice of Lee Jordan from the announcer's stand. 'Gryffindor versus Slytherin!' The crowd burst into a chorus of 'yay's and 'boo's according to whoever they were cheering for. Of course, the majority of the stadium backed Gryffindor, for obvious reasons.

'And now from the left of the pitch... the Slytherin team! Led by...' Lee was cut off by a loud resounding roar of disapproval. In usual circumstances, he wouldn't have minded, but today he was accompanied by McGonagall, who had a bad cold. He knew from past experience that crossing an ill McGonagall was like insulting a hippogriff. And we all know what happens then. He grimaced. '... led by Captain Marcus Flint. Here's Flint, Pucey, Montague, Warrington, Derrick, Bole aaaaaaand Malfoy!' The snarling of the crowd grew, overpowering the cheers of the tiny minority of Slytherin supporters.

'And now, from the right of the pitch, I am pleased to welcome... the Gryffindor team!' A loud cheering echoed around the pitch as red and gold flags and scarves waved madly, from a distance looking almost like a dish of banana custard served with raspberry coulis. With one of those nasty sprigs of mint on the side. Honestly, who eats the mint?

'Led by Captain Oliver Wood...' Lee continued before being drowned out once more by the hysterical screams of Oliver fan girls. Honestly, he thought, it's not like he's a god or anything! Almost immediately, the heavens clouded over and a flash of lightning struck, missing him by a millimetre. McGonagall turned to him.

'JORDAN! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT MOCKING THE FAN GIRLS?' she yelled, despite her croaky voice. She popped a Blackberry SoothersTM into her mouth, because as you know, SoothersTM soothes a dry, sore throat.

'I'm sorry Professor,' Lee said meekly.

'Don't apologise to me - apologise to the author, and remind her that this is supposed to be a short fic!' Lee nervously looked up to the heavens.

'Did you hear that?' he asked, timidly.

es,' replied the sweet voice of the Author. 'I'm getting to the point, I just couldn't help but play on the Oliver fan girl thing for a while!' She sighed dreamily.

'GET ON WITH IT!' yelled another impatient voice from the heavens.

'Geez, Lib!' the Author cried, exasperated. 'Leave me alone! This is hard enough without having my beta-reader on my tail!' There was a pause. 'Well, get on with it Lee!'

'Ok, ok!' Lee said. He muttered something about temperamental authors. Another bolt of lightning flashed dangerously and two voices from above chorused 'Get on with it!'

'Sorry!' he called out. 'Ok, on with the game. Sorry about that folks,' he spoke into the microphone. 'Slight disagreement with the author. Anyway, here comes the Gryffindor team! Wood, Johnson, Weasley, Weasley, Bell, Spinnet aaaaaaaaaaand Potter!'

The Harry fan girls went wild, until they noticed something odd about everyone's beloved raven-haired, green-eyed Boy-Who-Everyone-Adores-Apart-From-Those-Who-Adore-Oliver-And-Lucius-And-Snape-And-Draco-And-Ron-And-Anyone-Else-The-Author-Has-Left-Out-Due-To-The-Suffering-Plot-Line. He was wearing a lime-green bowler hat!

'Fudge!' Wood bellowed, 'get that blasted hat off your damn head!' Fudge yelled back something that was obscured by the now muttering-in-disbelief spectators and the wailing sobs of Harry fan girls. Oliver glared at him in disgust. 'I don't CARE if your mother gave it to you on her death bed. GET IT OFF, YOU GIT!' A vein in Oliver's forehead throbbed dangerously. Reluctantly, Fudge pulled the hat off, giving it a loving kiss good bye before tossing it to the side.

'Well, there's something unexpected,' Lee remarked easily. 'Looks like our Golden Boy has had another run-in with the forces of evil and is unable to play today.' The crowd groaned in disappointment, while the fan girls sobbed louder. 'But, as luck has it, our very own Minister for Magic has decided to fill in for him! Please welcome Cornelius Fudge!' Putting his hand over the microphone, he glanced up to the heavens and asked disbelievingly, 'Are you for real?'

'Yes,' replied the oh-so-witty Author. 'I can't stand Fudge. He will die!' She laughed evilly. 'Hey, Lee, the game's starting without you!'

'Oh, yeah, right. And they're off! Gryffindor Chaser Katie Bell takes possession of the Quaffle. Look at her go! She's zooming towards the goal like a moth to the flame! She shoots, SHE SCORES!!! That's ten points to Gryffindor! Chaser Johnson takes the Quaffle, but is intercepted by the Slytherin scum...'

'JORDAN!'

'Er... by Slytherin Chaser Flint, who has been shot down by the Gryffindor Seeker with no control over his broom. And there he goes again - what is Fudge doing?'

Pandemonium broke out amongst the fans, who had also noticed Fudge's unsteady flying.

'My... it looks like... yes it is! That bludger is after him! Look at it go!' Lee sat up in his seat excitedly.

The bludger chased after Fudge, stalking him like a love-sick puppy. He cried out in pain as the magically-enhanced iron cannon ball flew into his left arm, splintering the bones, before abruptly turning around and zooming after him again, set on the most painful kind of destruction.

Lee stood up; he couldn't believe what he was seeing. 'That bludger's beating the stuffing out of Fudge! I can't believe this! People, we have a mad bludger on our hands!'

The crowd didn't seem to mind this unexpected plot development; indeed, they began to chant 'Get the Git! Get the Git! Get the Git!' with much enthusiasm.

Fudge's face was a mask of absolute terror. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake that blasted bludger off his tail. 'Oh no!' he moaned, as he passed a stand of now-cheering spectators, his broken arm dangling uselessly. 'That camera-mad boy has my hat!' He zoomed towards Colin Creevey, who had decided that the hat suited him very well, and snatched it off his head.

A very unfortunate move.

A cry of pain erupted as the bludger succeeded in knocking Fudge from his broom. As he fell in slow motion (from the view of Hermione's Omniocular, at any rate), the bludger continued to whack him again... and again... and again until Fudge resembled a horrible mishmash of blue and black. He landed, with a loud groan, on the sand floor of the pitch... and was promptly knocked out by the bludger with a well-placed hit to the head. The crowd screamed in delight.

*****************

Far from the raucous noise of the Quidditch Pitch, a small figure ran hurriedly into the Hospital Ward where Harry Potter lay.

'Dobby has done it, sir! Dobby has done what Harry Potter has asked!' Dobby jumped up and down excitedly on Harry's mending leg.

'Ow! Get off, Dobby!' Harry grabbed his leg, grimacing. Dobby immediately jumped off the bed. Frowning in pain, he turned to Dobby and tried to smile. 'Good work, Dobby,' he said, before mumbling to no one in particular, 'Ha! Mentally disturbed am I, Mr. Cornelius Git Fudge? Well, we'll see who's mentally disturbed!'

'Is there anything else Harry Potter would like Dobby to do?' The green-eyed Oompa-Loompa wannabe looked at Harry with a mad, eager look in his eyes. Harry patted Dobby on the head.

'No, that'll do, Dobby,' he said, stroking the orange ball that stood in for the CGI animation, 'That'll do.'