Chapter One – The President Imperiused
The sun was setting across Manhattan on a sticky Friday evening in late June. Tucked away in the Woolworth Building, and hidden from No-Maj eyes, MACUSA president Samuel Quahog sat hunched over his desk, his quill moving furiously over a piece of parchment.
The president's office was magnificent. It was a large, circular room with lots of marble and gold trimming. The MACUSA seal was etched into the floor before the president's oak desk. Behind him stood two beautiful eagle statues. Portraits of the previous presidents lined the walls, some of whom were dozing, others looking expectantly at Quahog.
He would be delivering a speech tomorrow morning to the American wizarding public, reassuring them that despite the past month's events, there was nothing to worry about. He had just returned from the Quidditch World Cup days ago, but he was already having a difficult week. Quahog clenched his jaws as he reflected on the recent international relations disaster. Some over-zealous American fans thought it would be funny to kidnap the Liechtenstein mascot Hans the Augurey. It took a series of terse owls to return the bird back to Liechtenstein, but not before their Minister for Magic Otto Obermeier lobbied the International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee to have the USA disqualified. The Americans lost their next match.
In the midst of all of this, there had been a series of zombie attacks in the states of Alabama and Mississippi. Although zombies were native to the South, the country had not seen zombie attacks in nearly 25 years. Quahog's sources in the Auror office suggested that the foul creatures were multiplying and just last night, there were alleged attacks on No-Maj children in rural Tennessee and Kentucky. These rumors had yet to be confirmed, but all the evidence pointed that way, which meant that not only were they growing in numbers, but they were heading north. Quahog had sent Vice President Duval to meet with the No-Maj President to bring him up to speed. The New York Ghost– one of the major wizarding newspapers in the country - seemed all too eager to blame the recent events on the president.
That morning's copy of the Ghost still lay on his desk underneath the various pieces of parchment containing drafts of his speech. They had chosen a picture of Quahog exiting the stadium at the Qudditch World Cup, fidgeting with his tie, and a red-faced Minister Obermeier following close behind.
Samuel Quahog unfit to rule
Wizarding world in danger as long as president remains in power
In any given year, the American wizarding community faces an unforeseeable amount of danger. The burden our leaders carry is unenviable.
But in light of recent events, it is clear that the duties required of the office of MACUSA President are too great for Samuel Quahog.
He has completely failed to keep the American people safe. Twenty confirmed zombie attacks in southern states – a first in 25 years - while he gallivanted in the desert with the world's elite.
He showed gross negligence by bringing all of the country's top Aurors with him to the Patagonian Desert, and leaving none to protect his citizens.
Through these attacks, he has risked exposing the magical community to No-Maj society.
He has looked weak, greatly embarrassing his countrymen following the Mascot disaster just last week.
Despite this, Quahog hides himself away in the opulent MACUSA offices, cowardly avoiding reporter questions and refusing to comment on the attacks.
Therefore, it is the opinion of this paper that Mr. Quahog do his country a favor and step down immediately. If not, it is certain that our great nation will remain increasingly vulnerable to an ever-growing danger.
"Mr. President, your wife sent you an owl. She's wondering when you'll be home."
Quahog flinched at the sound of his assistant Ofelia's voice, spilling ink over his speech. He had been so engrossed in his writing that he failed to hear her arrive.
"Tell Deborah," he started, patting his robes as he searched for his wand, "that I will be home as soon as I finish writing." He ruffled the ink-stained sheets of parchment, where his wand rolled from underneath, off the edge of his desk, onto the floor and behind his chair.
"Noted," Ofelia said. "You also have a letter from Governor Bagnold. Do you want to read it?"
"Let's have it," Quahog sighed from behind his chair. He had procured his wand, and as he stood his knees cracked loudly. He sat back down, pointed his wand at his speech and said "Scourgify." Instead of removing the ink stains, he had wiped the entire parchment clean. The portrait of Seraphina Picquery snickered.
"I'll have to start all over again," he groaned. Ofelia did not respond to this. Instead she placed an envelope in front of him.
"Any word from Atlanta?" he asked as he opened the letter.
"Not yet, Mr. President," Ofelia said.
"Great," Quahog said under his breath. His eyes darted back and forth over the governor's letter. The vein in his forehead throbbed more angrily as he neared the end of the page. When he finished, he crumpled up the piece of parchment and tossed it into the fireplace.
"Would you like me to send a reply?"
"Yeah. Tell Bagnold he knows where he can stick his short, grubby, over-priced wand."
Ofelia pursed her lips and cocked an amused eyebrow. "Anything else?"
"No. Thank you Ofelia."
Ofelia turned and left his office without replying.
"Try to find out what's up with Atlanta," Quahog called after her as she closed the door behind her. Quahog pinched his brow. He could feel the start of a headache.
"If I may, Mr. President," said the portrait of Alpheus Lott, a portly man who had been president in the early 1970s, "I have a portrait in the Atlanta office. I could visit that portrait to see what the holdup is."
"Yes, please," Quahog said. Lott nodded and ambled awkwardly out of the chair he was sitting in. His size made it difficult to move, but he wiped his brow and edged near the frame until his portrait was empty.
Quahog flung back in his chair and exhaled, like a deflating balloon. The Atlanta Regional Auror Office was supposed to have sent him an owl almost an hour ago. He had dispatched a group of Aurors from the office to investigate the zombie attacks. No doubt concerned parents would want him to make a statement. He desperately needed to finish his speech. He needed the facts first.
What he really needed, Quahog thought, was a shot of Ogden's finest Firewhisky. He had enjoyed the drink with the other magical heads of state during the World Cup and lamented that Ogden's was prohibited in the States. But being President did have its perks…
His eyes flickered around the room to make absolutely certain that he was alone. Reassured that no one was watching, Quahog slowly pulled the lowest drawer of his desk open. Then, withdrawing his wand from his robes, he conjured a shot glass. Some of the portraits murmured their disapproval, but Quahog ignored them. He quickly pulled the bottle of Ogden's out of the drawer, popped the top off the bottle, and poured himself a shot. The liquid burned the back of his throat, but the warmth that spread through his limbs eased the tension in his body. Quahog let out a contended sigh, smacked his lips, and leaned back in his chair. If he closed his eyes for a minute, only a minute, he wouldn't feel so anxious waiting on the response. It would be here soon enough –
Somebody screamed. Quahog's eyes popped open, and he scrambled to remove the offending items off of his desk. Procuring his wand, Quahog moved cautiously to his office door and opened it slowly. He frowned when he noticed Tergel – the Auror assigned specifically to protect him – was nowhere to be seen.
"Hello?" Quahog called, his voice higher-pitched than he would have liked. He stepped warily into Ofelia's office and felt his heart sink into the floor. On the floor, spread-eagle and with her dark-brown eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, Ofelia lay dead.
"No, no, Ofelia!"
But before Quahog could rush over to his poor secretary, a wonderful floating sensation overcame him. He felt relaxed, oblivious that just now he was concerned about Ofelia's safety, or that only moments before he had been worrying about zombie attacks. He was faintly aware of a man standing before him.
He heard the man's deep, rich drawl, as if it were coming from a great distance.
You will resign from office immediately. You will make the announcement tomorrow morning. You will give your unwavering support to Duval.
Quahog nodded his head obediently.
You will refuse to give any information on the attacks in the South…Tell the newspapers that you were mistaken…Head back to Boston with your wife…You will not interfere with government affairs again.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small part felt like objecting, like there was something seriously wrong with what the man was saying…
If you fail to do what I have ordered I will kill you and your family.
The small voice that objected disappeared. All Quahog felt was a warm, happy sensation.
Forget that I was in this room. We did not have this conversation. You came up with the ideas, only you. Leave the girl.
Quahog nodded again, and he was dimly aware that the man had left the room. Suddenly, an empty, echoing feeling crept through him. He blinked and glanced around the room. He had the distinct feeling that someone had been here, but then he shrugged and turned back towards his office. He had a resignation speech to write.