A/N: This is my entry for Round 4 of the QLFC. Prompts and relevant info are below; if you're just here to read the story, don't worry about it ;)
Team: Tutshill Tornados
Position: Beater 1
Round 4 Prompt: The Fudges
Optional prompts:
1. (color) silver
7. (quote)The world tolerates conceit from those who are successful, but not from anybody else - John Blake
10. (dialogue) "You got a package for me?"
Word count: 2586
Crash! Crack! Whiiiiirrrr. Krrkrrkpow!
Voldemort's black-robed body limply collapsed after being struck by Dumbledore and Harry's combined beam of magic. His wand cluttered to the floor, echoing against the polished dark wood, and a hushed silence fell over the Ministry Atrium.
Cornelius Fudge shakily adjusted his lime green bowler hat, which had been dislodged in his haste to duck behind the security desk. Cautiously, he peered out and watched in dismay as more courageous witches and wizards crept out to congratulate the two victors standing over Voldemort's dead body.
Cheers erupted amongst the crowd of Ministry employees and Cornelius clenched his fists. This wasn't right! He was their Minister; he should be recognized for his work in defeating You-Know-Who as well. After all, the former Dark Lord had clearly been so enraged at Cornelius' adamant denial of his return that he'd been lured out from his hiding place.
But as one jubilant wizard enthusiastically shook Harry Potter's hand, Cornelius knew that he'd have to develop a new scheme to recapture public favour. His eyes set upon Lucius Malfoy's stunned silver gaze and he frowned contemplatively even as Kingsley Shacklebolt reacted fastest to bind and disarm the dumbfounded Death Eaters. Malfoy was clearly working with his now wailing sister-in-law, but surely the aristocrat hadn't been doing so by choice? Malfoy was a smart, generous ally who had facilitated Cornelius' rise to office—he couldn't allow the Pureblood patriarch to waste away in Azakaban. No, Bellatrix must have coerced him.
Meeting Malfoy's eyes, Cornelius nodded in his most reassuring manner. Harry Potter, however, was glaring spitefully at the tied up blond, and Cornelius knew that he'd have to find a suitable solution to appease both parties and ensure their support.
Being the industrious man that he was, Cornelius knew exactly what to do.
"So good to see you, Cornelius," Albus Dumbledore said cheerily as he guided the Minister for Magic to his seat with a friendly pat on the back. "To what do I owe this unexpected—albeit not unwelcome—visit? The end of the school year is always busy… particularly this one, as you might imagine. In light of the recent fall of Voldemort, I believe we'll be canceling the remaining exams. That was an easy decision—rescheduling them, on the other hand, has proven to be quite tricky." Dumbledore chuckled ruefully.
"Of course! Of course. My apologies—I shan't keep you long. In fact, I simply came here to inform you of the new Reformation Policy that will be enacted soon." Cornelius straightened his shoulders proudly at his announcement.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "How interesting," he murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "And what might this act entail?"
"Those bearing the Dark Mark will be tried and sentenced to either Azkaban or a certain amount of community service, barring extreme mitigating circumstances," Cornelius rattled off confidently.
"Ah. You do know, I hope, that I possess a plethora of evidence that would spare Severus Snape from these sentences?" A steely glint entered Dumbledore's eyes. The unspoken threat was clear.
"Oh, never fear, Albus! It would be such a waste of resources to send such a talented and, er, driven man to Azkaban," Cornelius hurried to reassure the Headmaster while suppressing a shudder at the thought of the sneering Potions Master. "Besides, I think I'll use the time to search for Dolores—she hasn't appeared for work for a few days. No, Severus Snape will simply be put to a month's worth of community service. Trivial work, really."
"...Community service, Cornelius?"
"Indeed! Since You-Know-Who's death, the house elves that Lucius Malfoy gifted to my family have been less inclined to obey orders. So—" The Minister for Magic took a deep breath before continuing, "—Lucius and Snape will be taking care of my estate for a month."
Dumbledore blinked. Then coughed. Then blinked some more. "Pardon me, but did you just say you want Severus to be your maid?"
"Well, among other things. More like a butler, if you will."
Suddenly, Dumbledore was giggling madly. Cornelius frowned to himself. Was the Headmaster having a fit? Should he call St. Mungo's?
Cornelius finally put his foot down when tears began running down Dumbledore's wizened face. "What is so funny?" he asked, scowling.
Dumbledore chortled gleefully and wiped a tear from his eye. "My dear Cornelius, do keep me informed of Severus' progress."
The following week found Snape strolling disdainfully to the large fenced entrance to the Fudges' estate. His lip curled at the hideous pink begonias embedded at the base of the black wrought iron fencing, and he rolled his eyes at the holes at the base of the fence. Didn't Fudge invest in gnome removal services?
"Charming, isn't it?" Lucius drawled as he opened the fence and fell into step by Severus.
Severus frowned at the blond. "Aren't your malfunctioning house elves half the problem?"
"Don't be ridiculous. There is absolutely nothing wrong with Malfoy elves. Of course, that's the problem—they still belong to me, and I ordered them to cease catering to our dear Minister's family. Clearly, he's yet to catch on." Lucius preened at his manipulation, evidently confident that he would not get caught.
Severus glared balefully. "This is a sodding farce. I refuse to prepare Fudge's meals and cut his ruddy toenails!"
"Is that what he's designated you to do?" Lucius asked in disbelief. "I thought he'd only planned on having you polish his self-portrait with his Order of Merlin!"
"You know, I've heard rumours that the theme for that self-portrait was 'au naturel,' other than the medal."
"It was."
…
Severus irately snapped his traveling cloak around his legs and increased his stride, leaving Lucius jogging after him.
"No hard feelings!" Lucius panted behind him. "Really, it's for the best, Severus. Certainly it's a much better alternative than Azkaban—and I'll still carry enough political pull to gloss over the Department of Mysteries fiasco."
Severus knocked sharply with the wooden door knocker. A thin, garishly clothed witch who reminded him unpleasantly of Petunia Evans answered the door. She inspected both of them with pursed lips, then gave a papery smile.
"Wonderful! You're right on time. We were just having breakfast—would you care to join us? I'm sure Cornelius can give you a brief overview over a cup of tea." Her tone was sickly sweet and similar to Umbridge's. Were they in each other's company often? Severus, admittedly, had never paid much attention to the gossip surrounding Fudge's wife.
Lucius bowed extravagantly. "That sounds delightful. Please—lead the way."
Severus rolled his eyes and trailed behind the two Ministry potstickers. It was going to be a long day.
Fifteen minutes into breakfast with Cornelius and Abigail Fudge, Severus was ready to ingest a Draught of Living Death. Or fast-acting poison. Anything that would save him from the garish purple wallpaper adorning the kitchen—it was giving him a headache. And the 'real bamboo chairs' were making his arse sore.
Other than his physical discomfort—Ministry functions at Malfoy Manor at least included comfortable seating and regal decor—the breakfast proceeded like any typical Ministry social gathering. In other words, mind-numbingly boring small talk.
"Oh, yes, Oliver just returned from Beauxbatons. Lovely place, France," Fudge blustered proudly. "Smart kid, too. He'll go far—just like his pa."
Severus inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Don't strangle the Minister. Don't strangle the Minister…
"Oh, there is no doubt he will if he's anything like the two of you," Lucius simpered, sipping delicately from his tea.
Don't strangle your godson's father. Don't strangle your godson's father.
"He won't be joining us for breakfast, unfortunately—got in late last night, you see," Fudge continued. "But I'm sure you'll see him around the house during the day. He may even help with your tasks. He got his working spirit from me, too." Fudge winked and laughed boisterously.
Severus didn't blink. After all, nothing demonstrated hard work better than a self-awarded Order of Merlin. Right.
"He's as dedicated as his father," Mrs. Fudge agreed.
"Sounds like Oliver and Draco would get along quite well," Lucius mused, deliberately planting the seed to cement relations with the Minister. The conniving git.
"Oh, an excellent idea, Lucius!" Fudge exclaimed enthusiastically. "We shall have to introduce them sometime. Perhaps at the next Quidditch World Cup, when they are done school? I hear it may even take place in Britain."
Great. Another minion to join Draco's fan club. Or, worse, a co-conspirator.
"But, in the meantime, I suppose we ought to discuss your tasks for the day, eh?" Fudge turned to Severus. "I've a few work related things to discuss with Lucius before he begins."
Typical. He should have known Lucius would somehow worm his way out of this.
Fudge pulled out a scroll and unrolled it cheerily. Severus felt a cold sweat going down his neck when he realized it was the same size as Granger's record length Transfiguration essay that Minerva had read to him.
"Right, I think I'll have you start weeding the lawn first," Fudge said as he tapped his wand against the paper. "Yes, that's much better. Then there should be enough time to hang the clothes on the clothesline—"
"—The sun dries robes much more organically than drying spells," Mrs. Fudge chimed in.
What the devil was she talking about?
She turned her nose up in a manner that reminded Severus of Pansy Parkinson. "Drying spells tend to alarm the dust bunnies. They defecate when they're startled, you see—makes your robes smell awful."
"Absolutely," Lucius concurred.
Was every politician mad?
Cornelius tapped thoughtfully at his chin. "And let's change this around so you can clean the kitchen sink before lunchtime… The fridge needs to be cleaned out as well—I believe there's egg salad that's been in there for a few months. Oh, and some parsnips. Better throw those out too."
Severus focused his gaze on the piece of bacon stuck to the Minister's cheek. How had it even got there? What would happen to it? Didn't anyone else see it?
Fudge droned on, "And, of course, we'll save the most important thing for last. You'll need to polish my Order of Merlin and accompanying self-portrait—by hand! They smudge terribly if you use magic."
"The artist did a wonderful job with Cornelius' figure—it'd be a shame to ruin it," Mrs. Fudge added.
He'd prefer Azkaban at this point. The Fudges were more potent soul-suckers than the bloody dementors.
Thankfully, Lucius managed to convince Fudge to allow Severus to complete most of his tasks with magic.
Severus easily removed the weeds from the yard… although he may have left a few additional surprises by the bird fountain. He couldn't wait for Fudge to show up at the Ministry with lime green skin to match his bowler hat. With a mirthful grin, he hung Abigail Fudge's blouses on the clothesline, charming them to sing whenever she spoke. Fudge's trousers, on the other hand, were charmed to dance whenever he stood up. Of course, the charms wouldn't take effect until long after Severus had left.
He whistled cheerily to himself and decided to skip ahead to the Order of Merlin polishing job. With a few extra enchantments, he could make the medal appear cracked and worn… and maybe even add some new engravings to the front.
First he'd need to find the ruddy hallway that Fudge kept it in. The Minister had ordered Severus to inform him when it was time to clean the self-portrait, but Severus was fairly certain he'd mentioned that it was at the end of a hall on the other side of the house. He'd ab lib from there.
Severus rolled up his scroll of tasks and strode back inside, turning abruptly away from the kitchen to enter a long, narrow corridor. He tried each door he came across and was confronted with the Fudges' bedroom, a grimy bathroom, and a dusty, unused office. Raising an eyebrow at a larger door covered in painted cupids, Severus pushed it open to find an even narrower hallway with dimly lit candles adorning the pale yellow walls.
And finally, at the end of that hallway, Severus encountered a tall white pedestal with the encased Order of Merlin placed reverently on top. He sneered at the red velvet curtain that was pulled across the back wall—no doubt covering Fudge's rumoured self-portrait.
"Eh? Who's there?" the portrait Fudge called blindly. "You got a package for me?"
Severus didn't answer, ignoring the portrait's mutters of outrage as he meticulously unraveled the protection charms placed on the pedestal. Even the blasted painting was an utter bureaucrat.
"Oliver? Is that you? Are you ready to work on my autobiography now?"
"Wait—that charm's an alarm," a boy whispered from behind Severus. "Here, let me undo it."
Severus immediately cast an Incarcerous spell at the voice, frowning at the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. He turned to scowl down at the skinny brown-haired teenager.
"Oh, wow," the boy breathed. "You're good. You gotta teach me."
"Who in blazes are you?" Severus asked in the same hushed tone to avoid alerting Portrait Fudge.
"I'm Oliver! And who are you? Oh, wait, let me guess—the new butler?" Oliver grinned cheekily at him. "Anyway, listen, the medal can only be touched by family members, so let me go and then you can have at it."
Severus adopted his best Professor glare. "Do you even know what I'm doing?"
"Of course! I've been watching you all day. Dad's a bit of a prat, don't worry—I get it. Let me go and I can help." The boy wiggled his eyebrows mischievously.
Bleeding hell. This was Fudge's offspring? Oliver resembled more of a brown-haired Weasley twin.
Severus folded his arms across his chest. "And how old are you, exactly?"
"Fifteen. Not that it matters! I'm capable of unlocking a simple charm, you know."
"Ah. A rebellious stage. How quaint."
Oliver snorted. "Whatever. It's just a bit of fun, anyway. Dad takes that Ministry rubbish too seriously."
"Indeed," Severus murmured as he turned back toward the pedestal.
"Hey!" Oliver complained, jerking in his bindings. "You aren't gonna leave me here, are you?"
Severus shrugged lazily and began muttering incantations.
"Oh, it is you, Oliver! Have you found that quill?" Portrait Fudge enquired from behind the curtain.
"Ah, just a minute, Father—I forgot the paper!" Oliver replied. Then, in a more hushed voice, "Hey, Snape! You better let me go or I swear to Merlin—"
"Or what? You'll tell your father?" Severus drawled scornfully.
"No—let me go or else I definitely won't tell you where my mom's Order of Merlin is."
Severus paused. "Her what?!"
Oliver nodded emphatically. Or, at least, as much as he could around the rope bindings. "That's right—Dad gave it to her as an anniversary gift. Under the radar, of course. Easy when you're the almighty Minister for Magic, eh? Mom just likes it 'cause it's shiny."
Severus raised an eyebrow. Fudge abusing his power—how unsurprising. "You'll let me do what I want with it?"
"I mean, within reason. They are still my parents—they're good people, just Ministry-obsessed. Personally, I'd rather eat a pile of dragon dung than sit at a desk all day. It's more fun messing with them. You should see the how purple Dad's face gets when he's flustered."
"I see that quite often, actually," Severus said wryly. "It's rather unpleasant."
"But you have to teach me how to cast as fast as you did. And I want to know where you learned how to make your cloak do that flowy thing. And I want to help charm both Order of Merlins."
…
Well, he'd certainly agreed to worse deals in his lifetime.