The following day, Hogwarts was abuzz with gossip again. It was almost as frantic inside the Great Hall as it had been on the day of Rita's original article.
In an effort to get themselves back into the Ministry's good graces, the Prophet was pulling out all the stops to butter up Cornelius Fudge. They even, at one point, described him as handsome. A surefire sign of compromised journalistic integrity.
That's not what had the students worked up, though. No, what had their attention was the news it was relaying. The Minister had declared a State of Emergency.
The last time that happened was during Voldemort's reign of terror. When the peace of the nation was at risk, the Minister could bypass the slow and dull processes of Wizengamot, giving himself legislative ability to push out laws unilaterally. It was quite an old system, as most of the wizarding world's were. So long as it directly addressed the crisis — the half-blood protesters, in this case — Fudge was free to put a law into effect with immediate effect.
"Harry! Are you seeing this?" Su asked. She'd just arrived to start her day before hearing the news from her fellow Ravenclaws. Given that this was an outlandish turn of events, she immediately knew who was to blame and headed for the Gryffindor table.
"Harry's not here," Ron said.
Su stopped. She looked up and down the table and, sure enough, Harry was nowhere in sight.
"Well where is he?"
"Dunno," Ron said. "He was gone by the time I got up this morning."
Only Su understood how strange that was. Harry ran off all the time for all kinds of things, leaving his clone in his place. The fact that both of them were gone at the same time struck Su as trouble.
…Oh well. It wasn't like she could stop him from getting into mischief if he chose to. She returned to the Ravenclaw Table with a morbid kind curiosity.
What he'd gotten into now.
O-O-O
Cornelius Fudge had had it up to his neck with chants. They were so… so rude! Over the last day he'd had his hairline mocked, his political career belittled, and heard a suggestive song projecting infidelity onto his mother. The more he blustered at the protesters, the more inventive insults they came up with to sing at him.
Well, the joke was on them. After today, loitering on Ministry grounds without a government job would be grounds for a two-week Azkaban stay. They could chant to Dementors to their heart's content.
Fudge dragged his quill across a sheet of parchment with fervor. It was supposed to be someone else's job to write out the precise wording of official legislation, but there was no time for that. His pride had been injured! He'd be damned if he didn't take revenge himself. Next to Fudge, Kingsley Shacklebolt stood keeping guard. The two of them were alone in the room.
"Going well, Minister?" Kingsley asked.
The Auror was Fudge's go-to guard. He was typically perfect for a paranoid man like Fudge. Silent and stoic so as not to get away, competent enough to protect the Minister, and no one was going to be stealing his appearance to sneak in. The light from the room's lamp glinted off his smooth head.
"Quite well, Kingsley," Fudge said. It wasn't typical of the Auror to ask questions, but this worked out for the best. Fudge was in the mood to brag. "I imagine things will be getting a lot quieter around the Ministry within the next day! In fact, I think it will be a very long time before anyone has the guts to sing about my appearance again!"
"And normal functions will be able to resume, without the Atrium being blocked," Kingsley added.
"Oh. Right. Yes," Fudge said. "That too."
"But how are you doing it?" Kingsley queeried.
Fudge frowned. He halted his quill for the moment. "Azkaban stays, of course. Just long enough to scare them. Although if one or two come back permanently haunted, that could be a nice lesson to teach."
"You're quite an asshole, Minister."
"I know, I know— What did you call me?"
Fudge flipped around, shock spreading on his face. "Shacklebolt, what's gotten into you?!"
He found himself looking into a wand's tip. Not Shacklebolt's, but a fifteen-inch length of elder wood.
"Who knows?" Shacklebolt said. "It's like I'm a completely different person."
About five spells went off at once, none of them spoken aloud. Fudge floated out of his seat, was tied up by a sticky rope-like substance, found himself glued to the ceiling, and also had the rest of his hair shaved off, rendering him bald. The last one was done for nothing but personal pleasure.
"Join me, Minister." Kingsley cackled evilly.
"You aren't Shacklebolt!" Fudge shouted. "How did you get that appearance?"
The fake Shacklebolt sat down at Fudge's desk, picking up the quill that the minister had dropped.
"Polyjuice," he said. "What else?"
"But—!"
Fudge stared at that glistening bald head. The imposter looked up, his eyes glinting with irritation.
"There are other places to get hair, Minister."
Fudge's face turned green. He looked down, between the imposter's legs.
"Where are you looking? I meant his armpit!"
"Oh. You know, that's still a bit gross," Fudge said.
"Just shut up already."
More of the sticky substance tying him up expanded over Fudge's mouth, forcing him to breathe through his nose and keep his lips sealed. Beneath him, in the disguise of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry read over the law Fudge had been preparing to put into action. When he finished it, he didn't hesitate to lift the paper and rip it in half.
Fudge let out a partially-stifled cry of anguish. Harry tossed the scraps over his shoulder, incinerating them without looking back. He started a new bill, writing even faster than Fudge had.
"I've got it all figured out in my head already," Harry said. "Just have to get it in writing… add a clause like this one… and, of course, we can't forget the title…There we go!"
He lifted the new law and gave it a once-over for typos. Fudge whipped his head back and forth, thrashing his jaw, and managed to get his mouth uncovered.
"Nobody will listen to you! I'd never use Kingsley Shacklebolt as my messenger. As soon as you try to announce that law, you'll be exposed!"
"First of all, did you just chew through those binds?" Harry said. "Gross. Second, Kingsley won't be announcing it. You will be."
Fudge got deathly pale. "I— I can resist the Imperius, you know. My will is ironclad!"
"Haha!" Harry laughed so hard that he doubled forward. Eventually, he wiped away tears with his finger. "That was a good one. Don't worry, I don't use Unforgivables. My methods are much more refined."
His shadow bubbled out of the ground and assumed human form— Fudge's form. The minister went slack-jawed.
"Say hello to your replacement! He's you, but more pleasant."
The new Fudge glanced at the original, then lowered his eyes.
"What is being asked of me this time?"
"Take this." Harry handed over the new law. "Do what your aides tell you and blend in. You just have to make sure that gets delivered. Oh, and you'll have to fill in as minister of magic for a while. Fudge is going to be taking a leave of absence."
Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out a loose button. He flicked it into the air, hitting Fudge on the forehead. As soon as contact was made, the Portkey activated. Harry waved goodbye.
"He won't be back for a while," Harry said. "I heard that his next gig is already lined up."
"Then I will be playing this role for an extended period?" Death asked.
"Define 'extended period'. You're a timeless entity. What's a couple weeks or months to you?"
Death looked glum, but not completely without hope. "Do you think this role will involve sex?"
Harry stopped briefly, wearing a look of befuddlement that was unnatural on Shacklebolt's naturally assured features. "You liked sex that much?"
"It was very nice, yes," Death said. "Although the blond one scares me."
"I mean… knock yourself out!" Harry said. "If you can get a woman to agree to it, sure, have sex while you're on the job. Live a little."
"That statement is ironic," Death pointed out. But it couldn't hide how much happier it was feeling.
"Well then, Minister. Get to work!" Harry said.
Death accepted the papers and straightened its collar. Before it fully assumed the mantle of Cornelius Fudge, it gave Harry an odd look.
"I am curious. That form you are using… he is a friend of yours, is he not? What have you done to remove him from the situation?"
"You want to know where the real Kingsley is?" Harry asked. "Sure, I'll tell. He took a very sudden vacation."
O-O-O
"Mia carooooooo!" howled an ethereal blond woman with vaguely tanned skin.
She continued to screech impassioned Italian while beneath her, a handsome beefy redhead panted rapidly. Charlie Weasley (and more specifically, his hips) were hanging on for dear life.
The woman on top of him was busty and curvy in all the right ways. She mashed her hips down with the force of a sledgehammer, making the bed beneath them tremble. They were in a room that was completely wooden, resembling a nest. With her breasts swaying because of her thrashing hips, the woman threw back her head.
"Sto venendo!" she screamed, repeating herself straight after in accented English. "I'm cumming!"
Her pussy tightened while Charlie orgasmed at the same time. He gave her a thick creampie— her fifth of the night. In the throes of her climax, the woman's hair briefly caught fire, but only for a second.
She slid her body up, allowing Charlie's dick to flop out. When she saw that it was soft, she frowned, leaking cum along her inner thigh.
"This is it?" she asked, struggling to form the sentence in English. "I can go for much more hours."
"Sorry Amara," Charlie groaned. "That's all I've got in me."
The woman sniffed and turned away. She got dressed and left Charlie alone to recover.
Charlie had been having the time of his life over the last few weeks. Ever since he abruptly arrived at this veela colony in the Dolomites (literally dropping out of the sky) he had been unofficially adopted. Every single one of the women was the kind with looks to drive you crazy, and apparently they all wanted the same thing: to have kids by a powerful wizard. Charlie qualified, to his delight.
Although recently, it was getting to be a bit much. He had already knocked up seven of them. His mom was going to kill him if she found out. Not that Charlie was about to stop.
The problem was that they all wanted a piece of him, and he was starting to dry up. Every single night he was fucked until his balls were tighter than Gwenog Jones' Quidditch pants. He was going to break something permanently the way that things were going.
"Man, I just need a little help…" Charlie said, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees.
Amara burst back into the room. Charlie could tell something had happened because she instinctively spoke in Italian. She had to consciously slow herself down and start over.
"Do you know him?" she said.
"Know who?" Charlie asked. "What are you talking about?"
Amara decided it would be faster to show him. She ran over and grabbed Charlie's hand, dragging him out of the room.
They exited onto the balcony of the house. Charlie's jaw dropped.
"Kingsley?" he shouted.
A tall, handsome, hairless dark-skinned man was standing in the street, surrounded on all four sides by veela speaking to him in Italian. The Auror looked up and spotted who had called his name.
"Charlie?" he asked. "What is this place? I was heading to work when someone hit me in the back with a Portkey. I don't know what to make of it. I'm tempted to think this is a dream. Especially now that you've appeared out of nowhere. Your mother is worried sick."
"It's not a dream!" Charlie said. He grinned, feeling like his prayers had been answered. "Hey, somebody must be looking out for you. We're in Northern Italy, inside a veela colony."
"Veela…!" Kingsley looked at the women around him in a new light. Some of them were starting to rub their bodies on him and cling to his arms. "I think they want something, Charlie. They keep repeating a phrase. Can you translate it?"
Amara, the bilingual veela Charlie had been fucking, answered for him.
"Knock me up," she said.
Kingsley's eyes were rounder than Quaffle balls. "I think something is being lost in translation—"
About four of the women teamed up to drag him into the house. As strong as he was, Kingsley mysteriously lacked the strength to resist them. Right before he disappeared, Charlie shouted out to him.
"Welcome to heaven, Kingsley!" he said. "The price? Possibly our balls."
O-O-O
In a very different part of Europe, another of Harry's Portkeys reached the end of its journey. This place was much darker, colder, and had a distinct lack of beautiful women. Cornelius Fudge dropped to his knees in thick mud as the restraints that held him came loose.
"Hello? Is there anyone there?" he called out. "I-I'm the minister of magic. Please I— I'd like a bit of help."
He flinched as a roar split the sky. The canopy overhead was so thick that despite it being the middle of the day, hardly any light reached him. He heard more roars. Something broke a bush behind him.
Fudge shrieked like a little girl and covered his head with both hands.
"What's this? I found you!"
Fudge found himself hauled to his feet by human hands… Although they were so large, he thought for a moment they belonged to a troll.
"New recruit! This is where you were hiding!"
The man who had plucked Fudge up like a baby had exactly one volume: loud. His face had a big mess of facial hair all over his chin and jaw, and his hands were dirty with mud and something that smelled worse. Fudge already wanted to tear off his robes and wash them.
"I think you're confusing me with someone," Fudge said, "I'm not a recruit for anything you would be involved in. I'm actually the British Minister of Magic. I run a country. By some mistake I've ended up here, but if you can help me return I'll reward you greatly—"
"The only reward I need is a fulfilling life!" said the man. "And the only way to get that is danger! It might be scary at first, but you can't run away. Come on, I'll get you back to the rest of the recruits. It's almost feeding time!"
"No! I— It— I'm—!"
Fudge thrashed, but the man carried him by the scruff of the neck without flinching. He was nearly seven feet tall and gave off a similar aura to that loony groundskeeper Dumbledore kept around. He had to be a half-breed, Fudge decided. Both because of his size and his stupidity!
Not that Fudge would ever have the bravery to speak that out loud.
"Here we are!" the man said. "Feeding time! Baaaabies, Daddy is here!"
He flipped Fudge around, laughing boisterously, and gave Fudge a view of what he was supposed to be feeding.
It cocked its serpentine head, elongated neck shifting. As tall as a building, covered in scales that could stop the nastiest curses known to wizardkind, Fudge could see it sizing him up and deciding if he was feeder or food.
A dragon.
It wasn't just one either. Dragons flew across the sky. They roared at each other, jostling for the best pieces of meat. At one point a column of flame shot into the sky, bathing Fudge's face in orange light.
"Welcome to Romania, recruit!" said the man holding Fudge. "I am Vlasdichev! I run a dragon preserve! Together, we will have much fun!"
The only way that could be true was if 'fun' was a euphemism for the urine running down the inside of Fudge's leg.
O-O-O
"I'm sorry… could you repeat that…"
Reporters had assembled in the press room to hear Fudge's final decision on the half-blood protestors. The Prophet executives had offered extremely clear orders for their job: make whatever Fudge decided on sound good.
Everyone was working overtime to make up for the mess Rita had created. After her article that set all of this off, she had disappeared without a trace while the Prophet's credibility with those in power plummeted.
Some of their good faith had been restored by the piece they ran that morning, buttering Fudge up and doing everything they could to make the state of emergency he'd ordered seem wise. Now, their role was to spin his newest law in a good light.
None of them expected this. They thought they'd heard him wrong.
"From this day forward, when speaking to their genetically superior half-blood betters, all purebloods and Muggleborns will refer to them only as My Lord, M'Lady, or My Liege. If a half-blood feels insulted at any point by one of their inferiors, they are granted the Ministry-endowed right to deliver a comprehensive cross-body slap. Finally, those who bravely campaigned inside of the Ministry these last trying days, are to be given one hundred Galleons each for their bravery, awarded directly from the vault of one Lucius Malfoy."
I don't think that's legal, was the thought of every reporter in the room. But the Prophet had gone to great lengths to only pick individuals with a propensity to follow orders, and today their orders had been clear. They were to listen to Fudge without question.
"What did you say the title of this bill was again, Sir?" a reporter asked tentatively.
"The Great Dolores Umbridge and Tom Riddle Bill of Half-Blood Superiority and Supremacy," Fudge said.
The room went silent with the exception of quills scraping parchment. Death looked around, hoping they wouldn't expect it to read this dull paper a third time. Twice had already been plenty. Speaking in its master's vernacular annoyed it, for some reason.
Deeming its job to be finished, Death walked around the podium it was standing behind and approached the youngest female reporter in the room. She looked up to see Fudge standing in front of her.
"Would you like to have sex?" Death asked.
The note-taking around the room intensified.
It was safe to say tomorrow's paper was going to be even more scandalous than the last few.