Dr. Weasley and the United Nations

"LAUREN!" the Minister roared. "WHERE IS MY BUDDHA!?!"

Frank, red-faced and seething, threw open the door to his office and flashed an angry glare at his unmoved secretary. He had returned to his office after a short trip to his personal restroom (nicknamed the "new Department of Mysteries"), only to find the bald, ceramic icon missing from his desk. He suspected Lauren's daftness in its disappearance.

"Right on you desk where you left it, hon," she replied calmly.

"HELL IF IT IS!" Frank barked. "It's missing!"

"Well I didn't do anything with it," she defended. "I haven't even been in your office all day."

"You loony, you're a witch! You don't even need to, oh never mind."

"Missing your guests, too?" the secretary asked.

"What?"

"Dr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley," Lauren replied. "They've been waiting in your office for about fifteen minutes."

"What?" Frank repeated. "No, they're not-"

He stopped short, his brain suddenly making the connection.

"Sweet mother of Winston Churchill!" he cried. "They've gone and stolen my portkey.

He grabbed his wand from his robe pocket and made for the exit from the cubicle.

"Lauren," he said. "I've got to find another way to New York. Stay here and try not to screw things up for me?"

Just as he stepped out, he poked his head back in and whispered, "You're lucky I'm sleeping with you."

***

"Where are you going, Ron?" Hermione inquired as the redhead made for the door.

"Trying to figure out where we are, of course," Ron replied.

"No!" she hissed. "We shouldn't be here. This Minister will be missing us and we need to take the portkey back to London right now!"

But Ron wasn't listening; he had already gone out into the hallway.

"Ron! Ron, come back here!" Hermione chased after him.

Outside the office, they found themselves in a long, wide hallway, with walls as plain as the one they had just left. At either end were windows spanning the entire wall, and large signs directing to elevators and stairs. Ron whipped around the look at the door to the room he had just left. It read: Sir Emyr Jones Parry, United Kingdom

The name seemed vaguely familiar to Ron, but he couldn't quite place his wand on it. Hermione, as usual, appeared as though she'd just read the name of her own brother.

"Know him?" Ron asked.

"Of course," she replied. "Sir Emyr Jones Parry is the British ambassador to the United Nations."

Ron looked puzzled.

"The U.N.? You mean to say that we're inside the headquarters of the United Nations?"

"It would appear that way," said Hermione. "Just look at these other doors."

She walked about ten yards down the hall to the next door and read, "Wang Guangya, People's Republic of China," and the next one, "Jean-Marc de La Sablière, France," and finally...

"The Soviet Union?" Hermione read, rather befuddled. "That country doesn't even exist anymore!"

Then she noticed a yellow post-it note stuck right bellow the door plaque: Andrey I. Denisov, Russia

"Apparently they have a lazy maintenance crew," Ron suggested, reading the note.

"Tell me about it. The ambassador for the United States only has his initials inscribed on the door--M.S.C. Well, it is hard to find good help these days," Hermione added. "But this just helps to prove my theory. These five counties make up the permanent members of the U.N. Security Council, kind of like the big kids on the playground. They pretty much have the final say in most international matters."

"And that sign doesn't give anything away either," Ron said, pointing to an inscription above the nearby elevator.

UNITED NATIONS SECRETARIAT: 37^TH FLOOR

"Merlin's beard," Hermione gasped.

Suddenly, a loud beep sounded before them, causing Hermione to jump back in fright. Someone was getting off the elevator. As the metal doors slid open, a squat, black-haired man with thick spectacles stepped out, a cell phone glued to his ear.

"Can you hear me now?" he spoke to the person on the phone. "Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now?"

The man criss-crossed back in forth across the hallway, apparently taking no note of Ron and Hermione, all the while chanting, "Can you hear me now?" Eventually he even started bending and turning in odd directions, resembling a poorly-trained contortionist. The witch and wizard stared at each other with confused expressions as they watched this bizarre man moved about like a drunken goblin. Without warning, the man lurched in the wrong direction, right toward the window. The force of the impact shattered the enormous window with a deafening crash, and the man, cell phone still in place, tumbled out of the building.

"Oh my God!" cried Hermione.

Instinctively, Hermione hurried toward the window, but Ron reached out and pulled her back.

"Stop, Hermione, or you'll fall too!"

Outside in the breezy morning air, they could faintly hear the man's voice, "CAN...YOU...HEAR...ME...NOW?" followed by a bang, the sound of a car alarm, and a cat's shriek.

"Um..." Ron stammered. "Elevator's here."

He managed to tug a shaking Hermione onto the spacious elevator, offering soothing words to her as he pushed the button for the ground floor.

"It's okay, Hermione, honey. He was just some self-centered, old diplomat. No need to worry about him. Besides, you know how resilient these politicians are. He'll be back on his feet tomorrow."

His words must have offered her some comfort, because she finally calmed down, at least enough to think coherently.

"Ron," she said. "I suggest that if you're going to insist on running about this place until the Ministry of Magic shows up, then we'd better change into Muggle clothing."

Hermione waved her wand, and instantly her and Ron's robes transformed into navy business suits. She then slipped her wand into her jacket pocket and told Ron to do the same.

"No magic," she warned. "I'm afraid some countries are rather more strict about prestidigitation that Britain."

The elevator finally ground to a halt and the doors slid open to allow their exit. Their eyes met a most startling sight.

A massive lobby, three stories from floor to ceiling, intricately decorated in a baroque architectural style with thick, cylindrical pillars running the height of the walls every twenty meters or so greeted them at the bottom. The floor, as well as the first six feet of walls around them, was made of shining green marble. Just like Sir Emyr Jones Parry's office and the end of the hallway through which the strange man with the cell phone had just tumbled and obtained unthinkable injuries (to say nothing of the doubtless destruction of his cellular device), the far wall was composed entirely of glass windows with several pairs of revolving doors along the bottom. In the very center of the lobby stood an enormous bronze wire globe, roughly fifteen yards in diameter, depicting each of the continents with a coating of glimmering brass. Around the base of the globe was a circular granite bench, where a couple of women and small children were sitting. A dozen or so other men and women in business suits trekked across the lobby, some carrying briefcases, some talking on cell phones (Ron hoped their fates were considerably better than their reception-deprived friend from the 37^th floor), and some glancing at their PDA's and murmuring to themselves. None of them paid Ron or Hermione attention as they stepped off the elevator, a sign that the young witch's intuition had been correct--again. Ron hated it when that happened.

The duo began to cross the massive room, moving toward the giant globe in the center. Standing before it structure, it appeared even larger, at least five times Ron's height. At one point, the bench was separated by a taller stone block, displaying an inscribed plaque:

In Honor of Global Unity and Peace

The League of Nations 1919-1946

The United Nations 1945-Present

"Mommy, look!" cried one of the small children on the bench nearby. "It's one of those nasty redheads!"

Ron was at first startled, but his astonishment was quickly converted to anger as he viewed the pudgy kid glaring at him as though he were some sort of bloated hinkypunk. He had been chided about his flaming scarlet crown numerous times in the past, but this annoying American child's tone made him particularly enraged.

"George!" hissed his mother. "I told you it's rude to say things like that in public! Save it for home."

She popped him on the backside, and he scooted away from Ron and joined his siblings on the other side of the world.

Ron was irate, not so much at the child now as his mother's condoning of discrimination against redheads. Save it for home indeed! He was about to give the woman a piece of his mind, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Don't," she whispered in his ear. "We don't need to draw attention to ourselves."

Steering him away from the globe and the mob of children, she explained.

"I've read about this in London's Muggle newspapers. Apparently, there are anti-redhead crusades taking place in many countries, mostly the United States and Canada, but even Czechoslovakia and Austria are more segregated based on hair color than they used to be. A bunch of neo-conservatives apparently want them all banned to Borneo, but of course no government would allow that."

Ron was appalled, and at the same time ashamed that any nation would allow hair color discrimination to escalate to this level. Regardless, he returned his attention back to what was before them.

They had arrived at one end of the lobby where two closed, red doors were centered beneath gold letters bearing the words:

CHAMBER OF THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY

CÁMARA DE LA ASAMBLEA GENERAL

CHAMBRE DE L'ASSEMBLÉE GÉNÉRALE

The words were also translated into three other languages Ron could not interpret, as the letters were completely alien to him. However, Hermione was on top of things as usual.

"English, Spanish, French, Chinese, Russian, and Arabic," she said. "The official languages of the United Nations."

"What, no Troll?" Ron inquired sheepishly.

Hermione shot him an annoyed look. "Just come on before I change my mind about this."

They pulled open one of the doors and entered, only to find themselves in another hallway, one slightly larger than the office corridor, but not nearly so spacious as the lobby they had just left. It was all but deserted, save for a half dozen security guards who stood posted at three doors down the hallway, two to a door. Two more red doors dumped out into another room at the far end of the hall, but neither of them could tell where it went. The hallway was adorned much the same as the lobby, with marble floors and walls. As they approached the nearest of the doors, the two assigned guards turned there attention on to them.

"Can I help you two?" he asked, looking rather wary. Hermione supposed that the appearance of an unfamiliar man and woman, however professionally they may be dressed, was an unusual occurrence.

"Um..." Ron began, stammering, but Hermione jumped in to rescue him.

"My name is Rebecca Holmes, and this is Jonathan Baxter. We work for Sir Emyr Parry, the British ambassador, and it is urgent that we speak with him immediately. The matter is of utmost importance, and of course, utmost confidentiality. May we see him?"

"I'm sorry," the guard said resolutely, still giving Hermione an inquisitively suspicious look even though he seemed to be buying her little ploy. "But the Assembly is in session right now, and absolutely no one is to pass these doors during session. No exceptions."

"But sir," Hermione pleaded, taking a step closer. Suddenly, the guard shifted uncomfortably and a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead. His companion, who had previously been listening quietly to the conversation and firmly standing his ground, also seemed a bit tense. She continued, "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. I realize that you have strict orders and responsibilities to keep these doors closed, but this is very, very important. We absolutely must see Sir Emyr immediately. It will only take a moment. Please...oh damn, I've scuffed my shoe."

Ron couldn't help turning to stare at Hermione quizzically. She had bent over in front of the guards, who, as Americans, no doubt found her language offensive and was wiping a seemingly imaginary scuffmark off her high heel shoe. But the guards did not appear offended. Quite the contrary, they were both now sweating profusely, and the one with which Hermione had been conversing twisted his legs nervously. Ron was bewildered. Was Hermione placing some sort of wandless charm on these poor fellows? But explanation soon came when Hermione stood back up and Ron noticed, for the first time, that her business suit was particularly low-cut and revealed her glorious cleavage for the entire world to see. Comprehension dawned on him, and he could understand that Hermione had indeed used magic. These unfortunate men were under the spell of the Breasts. When he considered it, those two valuable assets had bumped Ron and Hermione to the front of numerous long lines. He was also fairly certain that they were the reason he and Hermione had gotten fire insurance so cheap. They were as much a blessing in public life as a burden.

"Umm..well...I-I," the guard stammered. "I-I suppose it would be all right, I mean, it's only for a moment.

The guard reached for the door handle, but before he could admit them, another guard, a woman, approached.

"What's going on here?" she demanded, looking rather stern in a McGonagall-like way. "Jerry? Where you about to let these two go into the chamber?"

"Well," the male guard continued to stammer. "I-I, they said it was urgent that they speak with Sir-"

"You pathetic whimp," she snapped, eying Hermione. "Why is it you men are always jelly whenever some hussie walks up and flaunts her stuff at you? You know you orders. Absolutely no one gets in. And I'd rather like to have these two investigated, so I'm calling-"

The female guard fell silent. Her arms and legs snapped together and she suddenly became rigid as a board. No longer able to control her limbs, her body slowly fell to the floor and made contact with a loud bang. Horrified, Hermione whirled around to see Ron with his wand out, pointing directly at the woman's heart.

"RON!" she cried

"What the hell?" both male guards yelled in unison. "What have you done to her?"

"I thought you said his name was Jonathan?" said one.

"Who are you really?" the other inquired.

Hermione was bewildered. Ron had just performed magic in front of Muggles, which was a high misdemeanor in itself, but he'd done it inside the headquarters for the United Nations! She desperately tried to figure out what move to make next, but Ron beat her to it.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

' He repeated it twice, and both guards went rigid and fell to the floor beside their female companion, none of them moving a muscles save for their eyes. His hands clenched white around his crooked wand, more concentration in his eyes than Hermione had ever seen. Still, he was out of control.

"Ron!" she cried again. "Stop! Stop this instant!"

"What the hell is going on down there?"

The voices coming from down the hall filled Hermione with fright. The other three guards were now advancing down the hall, guns drawn, ready to detain these dangerous strangers who had just apparently taken down three U.N. guards. Hermione, naturally, was trying to use her brain to resolve the situation, debating whether she should call in the Ministry or perform memory charms on her own. However, Ron preferred thwarting to thinking.

"Stupefy!" he fired off the curse three consecutive times, and before Hermione had time to gauge what he'd just done, all three guards fell stunned to the floor. Twirling the wand between his fingers blowing imaginary smoke off the end of it like some sort of cheap Clint Eastwood imitation, Ron smirked. Hermione was not amused by the gesture.

"Ronald B. Weasley!" she snapped. "Look what you've done! You've attacked six Muggle security guards! In the blasted United Nations building! Are you mad?"

"How else do you propose we get in?" Ron asked her, returning some of the anger. "Because Mary Poppins here," he pointed to the immobile female guard on the floor, "certainly wasn't letting us through."

"Perhaps," Hermione replied tartly, but if the other security officers find them, or worse, the American Ministry of Magic, we may not be getting back out."

Ron pondered the thought for a moment. "Well then we'll just make sure they don't find them then."

Then pointing his wand to a nearby door marked UTILITIES, he muttered, "Alohamora."

The lock on the door clicked open, and Ron opened it to peer inside.

"It'll be a bit close in there, but I think they'll all fit. And Hermione, love, could you take care of the memory charms for me? I've never been great with Obliviate."

Hermione scowled. In spite of her anger with Ron and discomfort with this entire situation, she knew that these Muggles didn't need to remember any of this, and proceeded to modify the guards' memories.

When she was finished, Ron waved his wand and all six bodies levitated into the air, crossed the corridor and stacked neatly inside the utility closet. Closing and relocking the door, Ron crossed the hall in front of his still steaming wife, placed his hand on the handle of the chamber's entrance door, and said, "Shall we?"