chapter 1

It was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. He was waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country, and between wondering when the wretched man would telephone, and trying to suppress unpleasant memories of what had been a very long, tiring, and difficult week, there was not much space in his head for anything else. The more he attempted to focus on the print on the page before him, the more clearly the Prime Minister could see the gloating face of one of his political opponents. This particular opponent had appeared on the news that very day, not only to enumerate all the terrible things that had happened in the last week (as though anyone needed reminding) but also to explain why each and every one of them was the government's fault.

The Prime Minister's pulse quickened at the very thought of these accusations, for they were neither fair nor true. How on earth was his government supposed to have stopped that bridge collapsing? It was outrageous for anybody to suggest that they were not spending enough on bridges. The bridge was fewer than ten years old, and the best experts were at a loss to explain why it had snapped cleanly in two, sending a dozen cars into the watery depths of the river below. And how dare anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had resulted in those two very nasty and well-publicized murders? Or that the government should have somehow foreseen the freak hurricane in the West Country that had caused so much damage to both people and property? And was it his fault that one of his Junior Ministers, Herbert Chorley, had chosen this week to act so peculiarly that he was now going to be spending a lot more time with his family?

"A grim mood has gripped the country," the opponent had concluded, barely concealing his own broad grin.

And unfortunately, this was perfectly true. The Prime Minister felt it himself; people really did seem more miserable than usual. Even the weather was dismal; all this chilly mist in the middle of July. . . it wasn't right, it wasn't normal. . .

The prime minister turned over the second page of the memo, saw how much longer it went on, and gave it up as a bad job. Stretching his arms above his head he looked around his office mournfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fireplace facing the long sash windows, firmly closed against the unseasonable chill. With a slight shiver, the Prime Minister got up and moved over to the window, looking out at the thin mist that was pressing itself against the glass. It was then, as he stood with his back to the room, that he heard a soft cough behind him.

A little man tells the prime minister he should see Fudge.

"I guess I should", said The prime minister.

The prime minister goes through a painting.

The prime minister froze, nose to nose with his own scared-looking reflection in the dark glass. He knew that cough. He had heard it before. He turned very slowly to face the empty room.

"Hello?" The prime minister calls, trying to sound braver than he felt.

A 18-year-old girl has blond hair with brown hair, white skin, wearing a red shirt, blue jeans, black cape, and shoes named Alyssum Sugarfrost appears on the ceiling.

"A fae?" The prime minister looked surprised.

"Pleasure", said Sugarfrost, as she fell to the floor and holds out her hand. "I'm Sugarfrost".

"Why would a fae be here?" The prime minister questioned.

"Easy to help a friend, faes always help people", Sugarfrost decided. "Do you want to see my friend, follow me".

The prime minister follows Sugarfrost to Cornelius Fudge.

"Ah. . . Prime Minister," said Cornelius Fudge, striding forward with his hand outstretched. "Good to see you again, thanks Sugarfrost".

Sugarfrost skips off.

"How can I help you?" The prime minister, shaking Fudge's hand very briefly and gesturing toward the hardest of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Difficult to know where to begin," muttered Fudge, pulling up the chair, sitting down, and placing his green bowler upon his knees. "What a week, what a week. . . "

"Had a bad one too, have you?" asked the Prime Minister stiffly, hoping to convey by this that he had quite enough on his plate already without any extra helpings from Fudge.

"Yes, of course," said Fudge, rubbing his eyes wearily and looking morosely at the Prime Minister. "I've been having the same week you have, Prime Minister. The Brockdale Bridge. . . the Bones and Vance murders. . . not to mention the ruckus in the West Country. . . "

"You--er--your--I mean to say, some of your people were--were involved in those--those things, were they?"

Fudge fixed the Prime Minister with a rather stern look.

"Of course they were," he said, "Surely you've realized what's going on?"

"I. . . " hesitated the Prime Minister.

Sugarfrost reappears with a plate of cookies and says "Please continue".

"Not to worry," he had said, "it's odds-on you'll never see me again. I'll only bother you if there's something really serious going on our end, something that's likely to affect the Muggles--the non-magical population, I should say. Otherwise, it's live and let live. And I must say, you're taking it a lot better than your predecessor. He tried to throw me out the window, thought I was a hoax planned by the opposition. "

At this, the Prime Minister had found his voice at last.

"You're--you're not a hoax, then?"

It had been his last, desperate hope.

"No," said Fudge gently. "No, I'm afraid I'm not. Look. "

And he had turned the Prime Minister's teacup into a gerbil.

"But," said the Prime Minister breathlessly, watching his teacup chewing on the corner of his next speech, "but why--why has nobody told me--?"

"The Minister of Magic only reveals him--or herself to the Muggle Prime Minister of the day," said Fudge, poking his wand back inside his jacket. "We find it the best way to maintain secrecy, and I'm surprised that you are shocked, when you know about faes"

"Well, I heard legends about faes and what kind of powers they have", said The prime minister. "But, wait, why didn't the previous prime minister told me".

Sugarfrost giggles with Fudge snorted.

"My dear Prime Minister, are you ever going to tell anybody?" asked Fudge.

"Also, would you have believed that if the previous prime minister told you"?" Sugarfrost asks The prime minister.

"I believed you being a fae, even though I just met you", said The prime minister. "True, but believing and trusting are too different things, not all people liked us, since we have unknown powers".

Fudge had thrown some powder into the fireplace, stepped into the emerald flames, and vanished with a whooshing sound. The Prime Minister had stood there, quite motionless, and realized that he would never, as long as he lived, dare mention this encounter to a living soul, for who in the wide world would believe him?

The shock had taken a little while to wear off. For a time, he had tried to convince himself that Fudge had indeed been a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep during his grueling election campaign. In a vain attempt to rid himself of all reminders of this uncomfortable encounter, he had given the gerbil to his delighted niece and instructed his private secretary to take down the portrait of the ugly little man who had announced Fudge's arrival. To the Prime Minister's dismay, however, the portrait had proved impossible to remove. When several carpenters, a builder or two, an art historian, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer had all tried unsuccessfully to pry it from the wall, the Prime Minister had abandoned the attempt and simply resolved to hope that the thing remained motionless and silent for the rest of his term in office. Occasionally he could have sworn he saw out of the corner of his eye the occupant of the painting yawning, or else scratching his nose; even, once or twice, simply walking out of his frame and leaving nothing but a stretch of muddy-brown canvas behind. However, he had trained himself not to look at the picture very much, and always to tell himself firmly that his eyes were playing tricks on him when anything like this happened.

Then, three years ago, on a night very like tonight, the Prime Minister had been alone in his office when the portrait had once again announced the imminent arrival of Fudge, who had burst out of the fireplace, sopping wet along with Sugarfrost and in a state of considerable panic.

Before the Prime Minister could ask why he was dripping all over the Axminster, Fudge had started ranting about a prison the Prime Minister had never heard of, a man named "Serious" Black, something that sounded like "Hogwarts," and a boy called Harry Potter, none of which made the remotest sense to the Prime Minister.

". . . I've just come from Azkaban," Fudge had panted, tipping a large amount of water out of the rim of his bowler hat into his pocket. "Middle of the North Sea, you know, nasty flight. . . the dementors are in uproar"--he shuddered--"they've never had a breakout before. Anyway, I had to come to you, Prime Minister. Black's a known Muggle killer and may be planning to rejoin You-Know-Who. . . but of course, you don't even know who You-Know-Who is!" He had gazed hopelessly at the Prime Minister for a moment, then said, "Well, sit down, sit down, I'd better fill you in. . ."

Sugarfrost makes all the water disappear from Fudge and her body, she make a whiskey appear.

"Pleasure to see you, Sugarfrost", said The prime minister.

"You too, Mr. Fudge, you should sit down as well, sorry we went through a lot, I had to use a strong amount of magic to calm those dementors. I would be stressing but faes are supposed to be more calm and patient; and I am true to my roots", said Sugarfrost in one take and drinks.

Sugarfrost pulls a chair and puts Fudge in that chair.

Fudge had talked for more than an hour. At one point, he had refused to say a certain name aloud and wrote it instead on a piece of parchment, which he had thrust into the Prime Minister's whiskey-free hand. When at last Fudge had stood up to leave, the Prime Minister had stood up too.

"So you think that. . . " He had squinted down at the name in his left hand. "Lord Vol--"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" snarled Fudge.

"I'm sorry. . . you think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still alive, then?"

"Well, Dumbledore says he is," said Fudge, as he had fastened his pin-striped cloak under his chin, "but we've never found him. If you ask me, he's not dangerous unless he's got support, so it's Black we ought to be worrying about. You'll put out that warning, then? Excellent. Well, I hope we don't see each other again, Prime Minister! Good night. "

"Hope you have a lovely night, Prime minister", said Sugarfrost.

"Thank you, Sugarfrost", said The prime minister.

But they had seen each other again. Less than a year later a harassed-looking Fudge had appeared out of thin air in the cabinet room to inform the Prime Minister that there had been a spot of bother at the Kwidditch (or that was what it had sounded like) World Cup and that several Muggles had been "involved," but that the Prime Minister was not to worry, the fact that You-Know-Who's Mark had been seen again meant nothing; Fudge was sure it was an isolated incident, and the Muggle Liaison Office was dealing with all memory modifications as they spoke.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," Fudge had added. "We're importing three foreign dragons and a sphinx for the Triwizard Tournament, quite routine, but the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures tells me that it's down in the rule book that we have to notify you if we're bringing highly dangerous creatures into the country. "

"Oh, and I almost forgot," Fudge had added. "We're importing three foreign dragons and Puffszillas for the Triwizard Tournament, quite routine, but the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures tells me that it's down in the rule book that we have to notify you if we're bringing highly dangerous creatures into the country. "

"I--what--dragons?" spluttered the Prime Minister. "What are puffszillas?"

"Cute creatures that turn fierce when they are alone, they can only calmed by faes like myself", said Sugarfrost.

"Well, good day to you", said Fudge, taking Sugarfrost's hand.

The Prime Minister had hoped beyond hope that dragons and puffszillas would be the worst of it, but no. Less than two years later, Fudge had erupted out of the fire yet again, this time with the news that there had been a mass breakout from Azkaban.

"A mass breakout?" repeated the Prime Minister hoarsely.

"No need to worry, no need to worry!" shouted Fudge, already with one foot in the flames.

"We'll have them rounded up in no time-- we just thought you ought to know!" replied Sugarfrost.

And before the Prime Minister could shout, "Now, wait just one moment!" Fudge had vanished in a shower of green sparks.

Whatever the press and the opposition might say, the Prime Minister was not a foolish man. It had not escaped his notice that, despite Fudge's assurances at their first meeting, they were now seeing rather a lot of each other, nor that Fudge was becoming more flustered with each visit. Little though he liked to think about the Minister of Magic (or, as he always called Fudge in his head, the Other Minister), the Prime Minister could not help but fear that the next time Fudge appeared it would be with graver news still. The site, therefore, of Fudge stepping out of the fire once more, looking disheveled and fretful and sternly surprised that the Prime Minister did not know exactly why he was there, was about the worst thing that had happened in the course of this extremely gloomy week.

"How should I know what's going on in the--er--Wizarding community?" snapped the Prime Minister now. "I have a country to run and quite enough concerns at the moment without--"

"You realize that the events that happen to our world intercourses with your world, they don't just attack our kind, they will attack your kind too, this world is no exception, we understand that you have a lot on your plate, but so do we", Sugarfrost tells The prime minister with a serious look on her face.

The Prime minister and Fudge looks surprised.

"Mr. Fudge, you can continue explaining", said Sugarfrost, while drinking some liquor.

Fudge took a great, deep breath and said, "Prime Minister, I am very sorry to have to tell you that he's back. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back. "

"Back? When you say 'back'. . . he's alive? I mean--" Prime minister reacted.

The Prime Minister groped in his memory for the details of that horrible conversation of three years previously, when Fudge had told him about the wizard who was feared above all others, the wizard who had committed a thousand terrible crimes before his mysterious disappearance fifteen years earlier.

"Yes, alive," said Fudge. "That is--I don't know--is a man alive if he can't be killed? I don't really understand it, and Dumbledore won't explain properly--but anyway, he's certainly got a body and is walking and talking and killing, so I suppose, for the purposes of our discussion, yes, he's alive. "

The Prime Minister did not know what to say to this, but a persistent habit of wishing to appear well-informed on any subject that came up made him cast around for any details he could remember of their previous conversations.

"Is Serious Black with--er--He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" The prime minister asks Fudge.

"Unfortunately no, because he is dead, turns out Black was innocent all along, and he wasn't in league with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named either", said Sugarfrost, as she pours some liquor in a cup and puts it in her mouth.

To his great surprise, the Prime Minister felt a fleeting stab of pity for Fudge and Sugarfrost at this point. It was, however, eclipsed almost immediately by a glow of smugness at the thought that, deficient though he himself might be in the area of materializing out of fireplaces, there had never been a murder in any of the government departments under his charge. . . not yet, anyway. . .

While the Prime Minister surreptitiously touched the wood of his desk, Fudge continued, "But Black's by-the-by now. The point is, we're at war, Prime Minister, and steps must be taken. "

"At war?" repeated the Prime Minister nervously. "Surely that's a little bit of an overstatement?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has now been joined by those of his followers who broke out of Azkaban in January," said Sugarfrost, speaking more and more rapidly and twirling his bowler so fast that it was a lime-green blur. "Since they have moved into the open, they have been wreaking havoc. The Brockdale Bridge--he did it, Prime Minister, he threatened a mass Muggle killing unless I stood aside for him and--"

"Good grief, so it's your fault those people were killed and I'm having to answer questions about rusted rigging and corroded expansion joints and I don't know what else!" said the Prime Minister furiously.

"Excuse me, but how would you react to this situation if our roles reversed, you think you are stressed now, you could never do what we do now, wizards and witches going against each other, not knowing who to trust, faes being outcasted. Tell me, how would you react", said Sugarfrost.

The prime minister looked angry at first, then he looks in Sugarfrost's eyes and starts to seem speechless.

"I see your point, Sugarfrost, but you expect me to believe that all this happened and you did nothing about it", said The prime minister.

"Did nothing. Did nothing. Every Auror in the Ministry was--and is--trying to find him and round up his followers, but we happen to be talking about one of the most powerful wizards of all time, a wizard who has eluded capture for almost three decades!" replied Fudge.

"And he is so powerful that faes are going into hiding and they could be more powerful, but our ancient magic has mostly been locked up, so unless we unite we can't defeat him, so we have to team up with wizards and witches", Sugarfrost counter argues with the prime minister.

"So I suppose you're going to tell me he caused the hurricane in the West Country too?" said the Prime Minister, his temper rising with every pace he took. It was infuriating to discover the reason for all these terrible disasters and not to be able to tell the public, almost worse than it being the government's fault after all.

"That was no hurricane," said Fudge miserably.

"Excuse me", The prime minister was about to bark, then Sugarfrost taps his mouth and his voice lowers.

"Those were death eaters, supporter of You-know-who and he used giants last time, when he wanted to go for the grand effect", Sugarfrost explained.

"The Office of Misinformation has been working around the clock, we've had teams of Obliviators out trying to modify the memories of all the Muggles who saw what really happened, we've got most of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures running around Somerset, but we can't find the giant--it's been a disaster", Fudge continues explaining.

"You don't say!" said the Prime Minister furiously, but unable to speak loudly.

"I won't deny that morale is pretty low at the Ministry," said Fudge. "What with all that, and then losing Amelia Bones. "

"Such a shame, she and I were becoming such close friends, she was also head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have murdered her in person, because she was a very gifted witch and--and all the evidence was that she put up a real fight", Sugarfrost explained, while looking sad, then pours more liquor in her mouth.

"But that murder was in the newspapers," said the Prime Minister, momentarily diverted from his anger. "Our newspapers. Amelia Bones. . . it just said she was a middle-aged woman who lived alone. It was a--a nasty killing, wasn't it? It's had rather a lot of publicity. The police are baffled, you see. "

Fudge sighed. "Well, of course they are," he said. "Killed in a room that was locked from the inside, wasn't she? We, on the other hand, know exactly who did it, not that that gets us any further toward catching him. And then there was Emmeline Vance, maybe you didn't hear about that one--"

"Oh yes I did!" said the Prime Minister. "It happened just around the corner from here, as a matter of fact. The papers had a field day with it, Breakdown of law and order in the Prime Minister's backyard--"

"And as if all that wasn't enough," said Fudge, barely listening to the Prime Minister, "we've got dementors swarming all over the place, attacking people left, right, and center. . . "

Once upon a happier time this sentence would have been unintelligible to the Prime Minister, but he was wiser now.

Sugarfrost is watching the prime minister and Fudge, while eating popcorn.

"I thought dementors guard the prisoners in Azkaban," said The prime minister, cautiously.

"They did," said Fudge wearily. "But not anymore. They've deserted the prison and joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I won't pretend that wasn't a blow. "

"But," said the Prime Minister, with a sense of dawning horror, "didn't you tell me they're the creatures that drain hope and happiness out of people?"

"That's right. And they're breeding. That's what's causing all this mist", said Sugarfrost. "I still find it weird".

The Prime Minister sank, weak-kneed, into the nearest chair. The idea of invisible creatures swooping through the towns and countryside, spreading despair and hopelessness in his voters, made him feel quite faint.

Sugarfrost taps The prime minister's shoulder and the prime minister starts to feel calm.

"Thanks Sugarfrost, you are a saint", said The prime minister. "Fudge--you've got to do something! It's your responsibility as Minister of Magic!"

"My dear Prime Minister, you can't honestly think I'm still Minister of Magic after all this? I was sacked three days ago! The whole Wizarding community has been screaming for my resignation for a fortnight. I've never known them so united in my whole term of office!" said Fudge, with a brave attempt at a smile.

The prime minister looks at Sugarfrost.

"Sorry, Mr. Prime minister, but my role was only activated when Mr. Fudge was in charge, now that he is out, I'm just watching over the faes that are scared and also ones that want to learn more powerful magic that doesn't trust Hogwarts anymore", replied Sugarfrost.

The Prime Minister was momentarily lost for words. Despite his indignation at the position into which he had been placed, he still rather felt for the shrunken-looking man sitting opposite him.

"I'm very sorry," said The prime minister finally. "If there's anything I can do?"

"It's okay, we are okay", said Sugarfrost. "I'm helping my kind to the best of my abilities and I am loving it".

"It's very kind of you, Prime Minister, but there is nothing. I was sent here tonight to bring you up to date on recent events and to introduce you to my successor. I rather thought he'd be here by now, but of course, he's very busy at the moment, with so much going on", said Fudge.

"It's very kind of you, Prime Minister, but there is nothing. I was sent here tonight to bring you up to date on recent events and to introduce you to my successor. I rather thought he'd be here by now, but of course, he's very busy at the moment, with so much going on. "

Fudge looked around at the portrait of the ugly little man wearing the long curly silver wig, who was digging in his ear with the point of a quill. Catching Fudge's eye, the portrait said, "He'll be here in a moment, he's just finishing a letter to Dumbledore. "

"I wish him luck," said Fudge, sounding bitter for the first time. "I've been writing to Dumbledore twice a day for the past fortnight, but he won't budge. If he'd just been prepared to persuade the boy, I might still be. . . well, maybe Scrimgeour will have more success. "

Fudge subsided into what was clearly an aggrieved silence, but it was broken almost immediately by the portrait, which suddenly spoke in its crisp, official voice.

"To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Requesting a meeting. Urgent. Kindly respond immediately. Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic. "

"Yes, yes, fine," said the Prime Minister distractedly, and he barely flinched as the flames in the grate turned emerald green again, rose up, and revealed a second spinning wizard in their heart, disgorging him moments later onto the antique rug.

"I've had fun talking to you, prime minister", said Sugarfrost.

"Same to you", said The prime minister, with a smile.

Fudge got to his feet and, after a moment's hesitation, the Prime Minister did the same, watching the new arrival straighten up, dust down his long black robes, and look around.

The Prime Minister's first, foolish thought was that Rufus Scrimgeour looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of gray in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. There was an immediate impression of shrewdness and toughness; the Prime Minister thought he understood why the Wizarding community preferred Scrimgeour to Fudge as a leader in these dangerous times.

"How do you do?" said the Prime Minister politely, holding out his hand.

Scrimgeour grasped it briefly, his eyes scanning the room, then pulled out a wand from under his robes.

"Fudge told you everything?" Scrimgeour asks The prime minister, striding over to the door and tapping the keyhole with his wand. The Prime Minister heard the lock click.

"Er--yes," said the Prime Minister. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather that door remained unlocked. "

"I'd rather not be interrupted," said Scrimgeour shortly, "or watched," he added, pointing his wand at the windows, so that the curtains swept across them. "Right, well, I'm a busy man, so let's get down to business. First of all, we need to discuss your security. "

The Prime Minister drew himself up to his fullest height and replied, "I am perfectly happy with the security I've already got, thank you very--"

"Well, we're not," Scrimgeour cut in. "It'll be a poor lookout for the Muggles if their Prime Minister gets put under the Imperius Curse. The new secretary in your outer office--"

"I'm not getting rid of Kingsley Shacklebolt, if that's what you're suggesting!" said the Prime Minister hotly. "He's highly efficient, gets through twice the work the rest of them--"

"That's because he's a wizard," said Scrimgeour, without a flicker of a smile. "A highly trained Auror, who has been assigned to you for your protection. "

"Now, wait a moment!" declared the Prime Minister. "You can't just put your people into my office, I decide who works for me--"

"I thought you were happy with Shacklebolt?" said Scrimgeour coldly.

"I am--that's to say, I was--", said the Prime minister.

"Then there's no problem, is there?" said Scrimgeour.

"I. . . well, as long as Shacklebolt's work continues to be. . . er. . . excellent," said the Prime Minister lamely, but Scrimgeour barely seemed to hear him.

"Now, about Herbert Chorley, your Junior Minister," he continued. "The one who has been entertaining the public by impersonating a duck. "

"What about him?" asked the Prime Minister.

"He has clearly reacted to a poorly performed Imperius Curse," said Scrimgeour. "It's addled his brains, but he could still be dangerous. "

"He's only quacking!" said the Prime Minister weakly. "Surely a bit of a rest. . . maybe go easy on the drink. . . "

"A team of Healers from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are examining him as we speak. So far he has attempted to strangle three of them," said Scrimgeour. "I think it best that we remove him from Muggle society for a while. "

"I. . . well. . . he'll be all right, won't he?" said the Prime Minister anxiously. Scrimgeour merely shrugged, already moving back toward the fireplace.

"Well, that's really all I had to say. I will keep you posted of developments, Prime Minister--or, at least, I shall probably be too busy to come personally, in which case I shall send Fudge here. He has consented to stay on in an advisory capacity. "

Fudge attempted to smile, but was unsuccessful; he merely looked as though he had a toothache. Scrimgeour was already rummaging in his pocket for the mysterious powder that turned the fire green. The Prime Minister gazed hopelessly at the pair of them for a moment, then the words he had fought to suppress all evening burst from him at last.

"But for heaven's sake--you're wizards! You can do magic! Surely you can sort out--well--anything!"

Scrimgeour turned slowly on the spot and exchanged an incredulous look with Fudge, who really did manage a smile this time as he said kindly, "The trouble is, the other side can do magic too, Prime Minister. "

Sugarfrost hugs The prime minister and kisses him on the cheek, then she disappears.

And with that, the two wizards stepped one after the other into the bright green fire and vanished.

supporter of You-know-who and he used giants last time, when he wanted to go for the grand effect", Sugarfrost explained.

"The Office of Misinformation has been working around the clock, we've had teams of Obliviators out trying to modify the memories of all the Muggles who saw what really happened, we've got most of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures running around Somerset, but we can't find the giant--it's been a disaster", Fudge continues explaining.

"You don't say!" said the Prime Minister furiously, but unable to speak loudly.

"I won't deny that morale is pretty low at the Ministry," said Fudge. "What with all that, and then losing Amelia Bones. "

"Such a shame, she and I were becoming such close friends, she was also head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have murdered her in person, because she was a very gifted witch and--and all the evidence was that she put up a real fight", Sugarfrost explained, while looking sad, then pours more liquor in her mouth.

"But that murder was in the newspapers," said the Prime Minister, momentarily diverted from his anger. "Our newspapers. Amelia Bones. . . it just said she was a middle-aged woman who lived alone. It was a--a nasty killing, wasn't it? It's had rather a lot of publicity. The police are baffled, you see. "

Fudge sighed. "Well, of course they are," he said. "Killed in a room that was locked from the inside, wasn't she? We, on the other hand, know exactly who did it, not that that gets us any further toward catching him. And then there was Emmeline Vance, maybe you didn't hear about that one--"

"Oh yes I did!" said the Prime Minister. "It happened just around the corner from here, as a matter of fact. The papers had a field day with it, Breakdown of law and order in the Prime Minister's backyard--"

"And as if all that wasn't enough," said Fudge, barely listening to the Prime Minister, "we've got dementors swarming all over the place, attacking people left, right, and center. . . "

Once upon a happier time this sentence would have been unintelligible to the Prime Minister, but he was wiser now.

Sugarfrost is watching the prime minister and Fudge, while eating popcorn.

"I thought dementors guard the prisoners in Azkaban," said The prime minister, cautiously.

"They did," said Fudge wearily. "But not anymore. They've deserted the prison and joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I won't pretend that wasn't a blow. "

"But," said the Prime Minister, with a sense of dawning horror, "didn't you tell me they're the creatures that drain hope and happiness out of people?"

"That's right. And they're breeding. That's what's causing all this mist", said Sugarfrost. "I still find it weird".

The Prime Minister sank, weak-kneed, into the nearest chair. The idea of invisible creatures swooping through the towns and countryside, spreading despair and hopelessness in his voters, made him feel quite faint.

Sugarfrost taps The prime minister's shoulder and the prime minister starts to feel calm.

"Thanks Sugarfrost, you are a saint", said The prime minister. "Fudge--you've got to do something! It's your responsibility as Minister of Magic!"

"My dear Prime Minister, you can't honestly think I'm still Minister of Magic after all this? I was sacked three days ago! The whole Wizarding community has been screaming for my resignation for a fortnight. I've never known them so united in my whole term of office!" said Fudge, with a brave attempt at a smile.

The prime minister looks at Sugarfrost.

"Sorry, Mr. Prime minister, but my role was only activated when Mr. Fudge was in charge, now that he is out, I'm just watching over the faes that are scared and also ones that want to learn more powerful magic that doesn't trust Hogwarts anymore", replied Sugarfrost.

The Prime Minister was momentarily lost for words. Despite his indignation at the position into which he had been placed, he still rather felt for the shrunken-looking man sitting opposite him.

"I'm very sorry," said The prime minister finally. "If there's anything I can do?"

"It's okay, we are okay", said Sugarfrost. "I'm helping my kind to the best of my abilities and I am loving it".

"It's very kind of you, Prime Minister, but there is nothing. I was sent here tonight to bring you up to date on recent events and to introduce you to my successor. I rather thought he'd be here by now, but of course, he's very busy at the moment, with so much going on", said Fudge.

"It's very kind of you, Prime Minister, but there is nothing. I was sent here tonight to bring you up to date on recent events and to introduce you to my successor. I rather thought he'd be here by now, but of course, he's very busy at the moment, with so much going on. "

Fudge looked around at the portrait of the ugly little man wearing the long curly silver wig, who was digging in his ear with the point of a quill. Catching Fudge's eye, the portrait said, "He'll be here in a moment, he's just finishing a letter to Dumbledore. "

"I wish him luck," said Fudge, sounding bitter for the first time. "I've been writing to Dumbledore twice a day for the past fortnight, but he won't budge. If he'd just been prepared to persuade the boy, I might still be. . . well, maybe Scrimgeour will have more success. "

Fudge subsided into what was clearly an aggrieved silence, but it was broken almost immediately by the portrait, which suddenly spoke in its crisp, official voice.

"To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Requesting a meeting. Urgent. Kindly respond immediately. Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic. "

"Yes, yes, fine," said the Prime Minister distractedly, and he barely flinched as the flames in the grate turned emerald green again, rose up, and revealed a second spinning wizard in their heart, disgorging him moments later onto the antique rug.

"I've had fun talking to you, prime minister", said Sugarfrost.

"Same to you", said The prime minister, with a smile.

Fudge got to his feet and, after a moment's hesitation, the Prime Minister did the same, watching the new arrival straighten up, dust down his long black robes, and look around.

The Prime Minister's first, foolish thought was that Rufus Scrimgeour looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of gray in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. There was an immediate impression of shrewdness and toughness; the Prime Minister thought he understood why the Wizarding community preferred Scrimgeour to Fudge as a leader in these dangerous times.

"How do you do?" said the Prime Minister politely, holding out his hand.

Scrimgeour grasped it briefly, his eyes scanning the room, then pulled out a wand from under his robes.

"Fudge told you everything?" Scrimgeour asks The prime minister, striding over to the door and tapping the keyhole with his wand. The Prime Minister heard the lock click.

"Er--yes," said the Prime Minister. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather that door remained unlocked. "

"I'd rather not be interrupted," said Scrimgeour shortly, "or watched," he added, pointing his wand at the windows, so that the curtains swept across them. "Right, well, I'm a busy man, so let's get down to business. First of all, we need to discuss your security. "

The Prime Minister drew himself up to his fullest height and replied, "I am perfectly happy with the security I've already got, thank you very--"

"Well, we're not," Scrimgeour cut in. "It'll be a poor lookout for the Muggles if their Prime Minister gets put under the Imperius Curse. The new secretary in your outer office--"

"I'm not getting rid of Kingsley Shacklebolt, if that's what you're suggesting!" said the Prime Minister hotly. "He's highly efficient, gets through twice the work the rest of them--"

"That's because he's a wizard," said Scrimgeour, without a flicker of a smile. "A highly trained Auror, who has been assigned to you for your protection. "

"Now, wait a moment!" declared the Prime Minister. "You can't just put your people into my office, I decide who works for me--"

"I thought you were happy with Shacklebolt?" said Scrimgeour coldly.

"I am--that's to say, I was--", said the Prime minister.

"Then there's no problem, is there?" said Scrimgeour.

"I. . . well, as long as Shacklebolt's work continues to be. . . er. . . excellent," said the Prime Minister lamely, but Scrimgeour barely seemed to hear him.

"Now, about Herbert Chorley, your Junior Minister," he continued. "The one who has been entertaining the public by impersonating a duck. "

"What about him?" asked the Prime Minister.

"He has clearly reacted to a poorly performed Imperius Curse," said Scrimgeour. "It's addled his brains, but he could still be dangerous. "

"He's only quacking!" said the Prime Minister weakly. "Surely a bit of a rest. . . maybe go easy on the drink. . . "

"A team of Healers from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are examining him as we speak. So far he has attempted to strangle three of them," said Scrimgeour. "I think it best that we remove him from Muggle society for a while. "

"I. . . well. . . he'll be all right, won't he?" said the Prime Minister anxiously. Scrimgeour merely shrugged, already moving back toward the fireplace.

"Well, that's really all I had to say. I will keep you posted of developments, Prime Minister--or, at least, I shall probably be too busy to come personally, in which case I shall send Fudge here. He has consented to stay on in an advisory capacity. "

Fudge attempted to smile, but was unsuccessful; he merely looked as though he had a toothache. Scrimgeour was already rummaging in his pocket for the mysterious powder that turned the fire green. The Prime Minister gazed hopelessly at the pair of them for a moment, then the words he had fought to suppress all evening burst from him at last.

"But for heaven's sake--you're wizards! You can do magic! Surely you can sort out--well--anything!"

Scrimgeour turned slowly on the spot and exchanged an incredulous look with Fudge, who really did manage a smile this time as he said kindly, "The trouble is, the other side can do magic too, Prime Minister. "

Sugarfrost hugs The prime minister and kisses him on the cheek, then he disappears.

And with that, the two wizards stepped one after the other into the bright green fire and vanished.