The Prime Minister sat down at his desk with a sigh; Kingsley Shacklebolt hadn't come into work for a month or two and he hadn't heard anything from the magical world for almost as long.
The last contact he'd had was when that red-haired kid with glasses came suddenly through the fire, unannounced; he was lucky there was no one else in the room. The Prime Minister stared at him for a while, trying to ascertain whether the newcomer was on Kingsley's side or ... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's (the Prime Minister was started to appreciate why all the wizards he'd met called him that).
But before he had time to run and hide, the red-head whispered "Prime Minister, I really shouldn't be here, but I just want to tell you this."
The Prime Minister still hadn't moved, looking for the new-comer to the painting on his wall and back again.
Seemingly following his gaze, the other man whispered again: "Sorry I didn't warn you, but I've been waiting days for the right moment to be able to come tell you this. If I'd waited any longer, for you to reply to the painting, the time to act would've been and gone."
He pointed his wand at the door (the Prime Minister heard a click), at the windows (the shutter rolled down, leaving them in almost darkness), and finally at the light (the room was filled with more light than the light usually gave out), before he continued.
"I'm Percy Weasley; I work at the Ministry," he said, holding out his hand, which the Prime Minister shook apprehensively. "I just want to warn you: Scrimgeour has been killed, our new Minister of Magic, Thicknesse, is under a Death Eater's Imperius curse and You-Know-Who has pretty much taken over the wizarding world. Don't trust anyone."
The Prime Minister found his tongue at last: "But … but … what's – ?"
Once again, Percy talked as if he'd rehearsed his script thoroughly: "There are still pockets of defence all over the country, including Harry Potter. I trust Fudge or Scrimgeour have informed you about Harry Potter? You-Know-You's followers are rounding up Muggle-borns for 'interrogation', and hunting Muggles for sport, and most former Dumbledore supporters have gone into hiding."
"Who? No. What are Muggle-borns? That means non-magical people, right? Who's Dumbledore? Where's Kingsley? Is he – ?" the Prime Minister stuttered, gripping his desk; Percy was giving him a headache.
"I'd better be going back now; they may have noticed I'm gone by now. Good day, Prime Minister; nice to have met you."
"Wait!" the Prime Minister had screamed, but it was too late; Percy had stepped back through the fire and disappeared, leaving the Prime Minister with more unanswered questions than ever before.
The Prime Minister cringed at the memory. Since that meeting, there had been at least fifty more deaths that the Prime Minister suspected had happened at the hands of wizards. He was started to run out of excuses for the deaths.
Oh dear, that headache was coming back again.
"Kingsley! Can you bring me some –" he started, before remembering Kingsley wasn't there any more, making the headache worse.
Slumped over his desk, willing the headache to go away, he heard a cough behind him. The Prime Minister sat up and spin around, all thoughts of the headache forgotten.
"Yes?" he said, probably a little bit too enthusiastically.
"The Minister of Magic requests a meeting with the Prime Minister of Muggles immediately," said the little man in the painting.
"Is it about Kingsley?" the Prime Minister asked, trying to push Percy's warnings about the 'other Minister' to one side.
If the Prime Minister had been watching carefully, which he wasn't, he would have noticed the little man pause for a moment, before saying: "Yes."
"Send him in then!" the Prime Minister said, deciding that he'd risk it.
The little man nodded and disappeared from his frame and the Prime Minister spun on his seat to face the fire, ready to face whatever appeared.
After a minute of waiting, the Prime Minister saw a shape start to form. As it got bigger, he realised that it wasn't Fudge or Scrimgeour, but someone completely different.
When the person had fully materialised, the Prime Minister recognised them at once. "Kingsley!" he screamed, running forward around the desk and hugging the other man.