Quite late into the night Fudge took the Floo powder and looked hesitantly into his old office. "Well, Scrimgeour? I'm off to the Prime Minister of Muggles."

Without looking up, the new Minister of Magic snapped, "No, no, you go. I've got to finish a letter to Dumbledore… I'll be there soon."

Fudge tossed a pinch of the powder into the fire and braced himself for the spinning sensation. He'd never gotten used to it.

When he arrived in the Prime Minister's office, he prepared himself for whatever reactions he would have for the bad news in tow. "Ah… Prime Minister. Good to see you again," he said, offering his hand.

As he expected, the Prime Minister was not fooled by his false air of cheerfulness. He shook Fudge's hand curtly and then gestured for him to sit. Fudge crumpled into the seat. "Difficult to know where to begin. What a week, what a week…"

"Had a bad one too, have you?"

"Yes, of course. 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 West Country…"

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

Fudge felt his irritation rise. Always having to walk the Prime Minister of Muggles through every last incident! "Of course they were. Surely you've realized what's going on?"

"I…" stuttered the Prime Minister, clearly caught off guard.

Fudge let out his breath in a loud, drawn-out sigh. Ever since the first visit over six years ago, it had been like this. Well, the second visit from three years ago. The first one had been all right. He'd explained that wizards and witches lived in hiding all over the world and explained that the Minister of Magic had a very difficult job. For most of the talk, the Prime Minister had sat dumbstruck, until Fudge commented that his predecessor had thought he was a hoax. Then the Prime Minister had burst out, "You're, you're not a hoax, then?"

The next visit had been more difficult. He had to explain about the darker side of the wizarding world—Sirius Black, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and so much more. The Prime Minister had been irked at everything Fudge had to say and even more furious at having to warn the public about an escaped prisoner none of them had ever heard off. Fudge had wisely fled before the Prime Minister exploded.

The third visit had been worse. He'd had to explain about the Quidditch World Cup fiasco and bringing dragons and a sphinx into the country. Much to Fudge's irritation, the Prime Minister had been silent throughout the news of the World Cup, but at the mention of bringing the creatures into Britain, he had exploded, "I—what—dragons?"

Why the Prime Minister cared more about dragons that the Death Eaters was beyond Fudge, but he saw no point in staying to argue. The fourth visit had been even worse. He knew very well that calmly talking of a mass breakout from Azkaban, even to the Prime Minister of Muggles, made him look like a fool.

And now, he had more bad news that from all of the previous visits combined. Alerting the Prime Minister was perhaps the worst part of his job. The Prime Minister was not being blunt when he accused Fudge of poor leadership—he was being entirely truthful. The truth was, Fudge had deeply regretted sending Rubeus Hagrid to Azkaban for nothing, launching a smear campaign against Harry Potter and Dumbledore, and instituting all those Educational Decrees. But it was what had enabled him to stay in power. One part of him assured him that it was what was necessary. But the other side of Fudge told him severely that he was a git. And even the Minister of Magic knew that he himself was a horrible person.

Returning to the present, he heard the Prime Minister snap, "How should I know what's going on in the –er—Wizarding community? I have a country to run and quite enough concerns at the moment without—"

Not interested in hearing a rant, Fudge interrupted, "We have the same concerns. The Brockdale Bridge didn't wear out. That wasn't really a hurricane. Those murders were not the work of Muggles. And Herbert Chorley's family would be safer without him. We are currently making arrangements to have him transferred to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The move should be effected tonight."

The Prime Minister stuttered, "What do you… I'm afraid I… What?"

Fudge had counted on a bit of gratefulness from the Prime Minister of Muggles for getting something done, but he knew that the success of Herbert Chorley was nothing compared to the bad news he was about to tell. Getting it over with, he began with the worst news of all. "Prime Minister, I am very sorry to have to tell you that he's back. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back."

Understandably, the Prime Minister was shocked. Fudge tried to explain what 'back' meant, but he felt he didn't do a very good job of it. The Prime Minister asked, "Is Sirius Black with—er—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Fudge sighed inwardly at having to tell bad news he hadn't thought he'd have to tell. "Black? Black? Sirius Black, you mean? Merlin's beard, no. Black's dead. Turns out we were—er—mistaken about Black. He was innocent after all. And he wasn't in league with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I mean, all the evidence pointed—we had more than fifty eyewitnesses—but anyway as I say, he's dead. Murdered, as a matter of fact. Of Ministry of Magic premises. There's going to be an inquiry, in fact… But Black's by-the-by now. The point is, we're at war, Prime Minister, and steps must be taken."

He fidgeted with his bowler all the while.

"At war? Surely that's a bit of an overstatement?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has now been joined by those of his followers who broken out of Azkaban in January. 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 question about rusted rigging and corroded expansion joints and I don't know what else!"

This was the worst blow. Of all the reprimands he'd suffered in the last few weeks, of all the insults from the public, of all his internal regrets, nothing hurt more than the Prime Minister's reply. Fudge knew he didn't do a good job of trying to defend himself as he stuttered.

"So I suppose you're going to tell me he caused the hurricane in the West Country, too?"

"That was no hurricane."

"Excuse me! Trees uprooted, roofs ripped off, lampposts bent, horrible injuries—"

"It was the Death Eaters. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers. And… and we suspect giant involvement."

The Prime Minister was caught thoroughly off guard. "What involvement?"

Miserably, Fudge was resigned to reporting more bad news. "He used giants last time, when he wanted to go for the grand effect. 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 continued on about the murders of Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance. He ignored the Prime Minister's outbursts, quite eager to finish the bad news. After he finished talking about the dementors, the Prime Minister delivered another blow that hurt more than all the abuse Fudge had endured so far: "Now see here, Fudge—you've got to do something! It's your responsibility as Minister of Magic!"

Fudge, even more miserable, admitted he had been sacked. He was thoroughly relieved when the portrait announced, "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 as Scrimgeour stepped out of the fireplace. Fudge only half-listened to Scrimgeour explaining the measures the Ministry of Magic was taking to ensure safety. Dimly he envied Scrimgeour for being able to paint a better image of himself, talking about all the good news, but mostly he was grateful that he did not need to talk anymore. He snapped to as Scrimgeour finished, "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 in on an advisory capacity."

Which means I still have to bring you bad news Fudge thought wearily, but he really wanted to sleep. As he prepared to Floo back, the Prime Minister burst out, "But for heaven's sake—you're wizards! You can do magic! Surely you can sort out—well—anything!"

This should have been a third blow, but Fudge shared a smile with Scrimgeour. The Minister of Magic said kindly, "The trouble is, the other side can do magic too, Prime Minister."

Fudge half-regretted leaving the Prime Minister of Muggles with the taste of dashed hopes, but really, he was thankful he did not have to tell any more bad news.