The Prime Minister's greatest shock

Mr Jonathan Stewart was a noble and respectable man who had a number of things going for him. For one thing, he was happily married to his noble and respectable wife Mildred and had three lovely daughters, Angela, Jessica and May, aged 16, 13 and 10. For another thing, he lived in a large, comfortable house in the centre of town. He was a man who qualified as normal by every imaginable standard, and he was very keen on keeping up this reputation. This was undoubtedly related to the fact that he was the British Prime Minister.

Mr Stewart had led a very happy, sheltered life. His father had been a Member of Parliament, his mother a housewife, who had brought up her little John with utmost care and deepest love. At the age of 19, he had met Mildred at a reception and, after having waited the appropriate amount of time specified by his mother, proposed to her. They had married half a year later and moved into a house across the street from his parents. This was convenient since Jonathan, having started his political career very early, had almost no time for the daughter who arrived a year later, and Mildred, as Jonathan was never tired of repeating to his friends, was an independent young woman, thus very busy with her job as a secretary. Jonathan's parents took care of Angela most of the time and did not mind at all, but were rather proud of their son and their daughter-in-law, who were such active, respectable members of society.

Mr Stewart had led a very happy, sheltered life. All had gone well for many years, his daughters growing up to be as beautiful as their mother, always on top of their classes at their boarding school. He had become MP very quickly, and was soon one of the Prime Minister's most important advisors.

Jonathan grimaced. That was, clearly, where all his problems had started. Had he not been so eager to make a good impression on Mr Smith, the latter would not have suggested him after his premature retirement, and Jonathan Stewart would not have become the youngest Prime Minister in twenty-five years.

Again, all had gone well for two years. Jonathan had made a very good impression from the start, the people considering him a reliable, very composed man who knew how to set priorities. Admittedly they would have been happy about anyone after Smith, who had spent the last year of his office in a rather confused state, in a very weird obsession with broomsticks, fireworks and - owls. Nobody knew why, and nobody dared to ask.

Jonathan had been a good example of everything that was normal, and had set up a pitiful look whenever Smith's confusion was being mentioned, most of the time commenting on 'troubled spirits' of an aged man. He had vowed to himself to remain flawless, and had not seen any reason why he should not.

But in his third year of office, one day, one single bloody summer day had completely blown his little, intact world to smithereens.

Encounter No. 1

He had just been busy going through his notes for the next day's debate at the House of Commons. It had been a warm, sunny day, and he had opened his office window a bit so that a small breeze tickled the back of his neck. Occasional, muffled sounds had carried up from the street, a car passing by, a bird singing in a tree, and overall Jonathan Stewart had been really happy.

He had just been going through the last page of his notes, adding a word or phrase here and there, and he was so involved in his work that he ignored the small 'pop' that had sounded somewhere to his right. He could not ignore, however, the voice that muttered 'silencio'.

Jonathan jumped from his desk and saw a man standing to his right. He let out a small yell of surprise, not only due to the man's sudden, silent appearance, but also because this was the most peculiar man he had ever seen.

He was wearing a tuxedo, all right - but it was purple, and his bowtie seemed to have ignored his every effort to keep it straight. His shoelaces were undone, and his brown hair was kept back with an enormous amount of gel. But even apart from this careless appearance that was already understandably repulsive to Jonathan, there was something even stranger about the man, and that was the wand he held in his hand.

It looked like a wand, at least, like one of those silly 'wizard' accessories that you saw in magical shows, something that Jonathan would never have gone to had not his daughters pleaded him into taking them to one, years ago. It had been the biggest rubbish he had ever seen. A man pulling rabbits out of a hat and coins out of peoples' ears. Honestly. But his daughters had squealed with excitement, and he had been filmed, so he had kept up a good face and even participated in one of the man's tricks.

For the split of a second, Jonathan wondered why nobody outside of his office had reacted to his yell, but he was not going to cry for help, he was not going to let that man intimidate him. He stood his ground and stared inquisitively at the man.

"How did you get in here?" he tried to say as composedly as possible, while he had a sudden vision of his secretary bound and gagged on the floor in front of his office. The man cleared his throat, seemed to have overcome his silence, and approached Jonathan with an outstretched hand - halted, however, when he saw that Jonathan was stepping back ever so slightly, and smiled awkwardly.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you. I would not have appeared here if circumstances hadn't absolutely required it." Jonathan frowned and stopped himself from saying that he wasn't frightened of anyone. "Who are you?" he asked instead.

"My name is Cornelius Fudge, Mr Stewart." Fudge. A name that evoked distrust from the start. "I'm not here to do you any harm. I'm here to inform you about something that is essential for you to know. Can we... sit down, maybe?"

Jonathan had watched him sit down and checked his phone to see if his secretary was all right. It turned out she hadn't even heard his cry. He had sat down, deciding that the man was no immediate danger for him.

How wrong he had been.

Encounter No. 2

All these were the things that passed through Jonathan Stewart's mind when he entered his office, another bright, sunny day almost a year later, to see Cornelius Fudge standing in front of his bookshelf, studying its contents interestedly.

Something inside of Jonathan jumped, and he closed the door quickly. Fudge turned around to the sound and smiled, still his awkward, strained smile. "Mr Stewart, I'm glad to see you."

He had not the slightest intention of returning that. "What are you doing here?" Jonathan asked, his voice shaky and hardly above a whisper. He had never spent a quiet hour since Fudge's first visit. He had jumped at every sound, had never gone out during the night if he could help it, and had developed an intense dislike for owls.

Fudge sighed, obviously seeing that politeness was wasted here, and motioned for Jonathan to sit down. "I'm very sorry, Minister. I promised that I wouldn't disturb you again if it wasn't very important. Er - shall we have some tea before, perhaps?"

Jonathan closed his eyes briefly and sighed. At least he's dressed more like a normal person now, he thought and called for his secretary to bring in two cups of tea, trying to ignore the curiosity in her voice.

"So, what is it?" He asked when they had sipped their tea quietly for a few minutes, both of them trying not to look at the other one. Fudge looked uncomfortable. "Do you remember when I told you about a certain... criminal who had killed many persons many years ago?"

He did remember that all right. Fudge had told him that a certain person had been responsible for all those deaths in the late 70s and early 80s, murders that had never been cleared up. It had been a person from their world. As it turned out, Fudge's predecessor had tried contacting Mr Smith, the former Prime Minister, but had been met with utter rejection. Jonathan remembered Smith's paranoia in his late years, something he had thought came from the many years on top of the State. Now he understood that paranoia all too well.

"Don't tell me he's back," he said in a croaky voice. Fudge shook his head. "No. But one of his most dangerous men has broken out of prison and is now on the run. I would like to advise you to put out a notice into your news, with a picture, is that possible on your... tellyvisor?"

Jonathan tried to ignore the mispronounciation and nodded grimly. There was nothing else to do but to follow Fudge's instructions. "Do you have a photo of that man?" Fudge nodded and took out a picture of a pale man, very thin and indeed very dangerous-looking, with long, filthy black hair. A man Jonathan would have identified as a criminal from a very long distance anyway.

What was maybe the most disturbing thing, however, was that the picture... was moving. The man was blinking slowly, and his hair was fluttering ever so slightly. Jonathan choked on his tea, and Fudge looked at him in concern. "You haven't seen him, have you?" Jonathan shook his head and pointed out what he thought was obvious to Fudge. The latter stared at him, apologised profusely and tapped the picture with his wand, muttering something. Jonathan looked away, but not quickly enough to ignore the yellow sparks that had come out of the wand. When he looked again, the picture was perfectly normal.

Encounter No. 3

Jonathan sighed deeply, opened his Times and rested his feet on the table in front of him. A gesture that he rarely allowed himself, but he felt that he had deserved it. Almost one year had passed during which Fudge had come to his office regularly, informing him about Black's whereabouts, suggesting to tighten the security measures, even suggesting they use some sort of... spell, did he call it? on Black's picture, so that people regarding it would find him easier. Jonathan did not pretend to understand Fudge's explanations, but he had rejected the offer almost at once. It was bad enough for one of their criminals to be running around threatening the life of innocent British citizens, but to even involve more of their weird doings where it wasn't necessary was not an option.

After all, the police and the citizens hadn't done so badly until now. Black had been reported every now and then, well, he had always been miles away when the police came (however he did that, best thing not to think about it) - but, after all, Black knew that he was being followed closely, and nothing had happened at all apart from a few shocks. This system doesn't work so badly after all, Jonathan thought contentedly. If matters continued like this, he was sure to be elected again next term.

Naturally, during the past two years he had often wondered whether he wanted to be elected again. It would certainly mean dealing with them too often, too regularly, and he wasn't sure whether he could stand that. That having been said, something that could be called friendship had actually developed between him and Cornelius Fudge during all this time. Jonathan grimaced. No, not friendship. Maybe mutual respect. Fudge was a man like him in many respects, treasuring security and stability above everything else.

This stability seemed to be threatened now. Jonathan shuddered. To be fair, he was not a very empathic man. But he had sensed something in Fudge in the last few weeks, something that seemed to have completely shocked him and that he was trying to suppress, if not ignore.

But this was just a feeling. Jonathan was ready to rely completely on what Fudge told him, just because there was nothing else to do. If Fudge said matters were beginning to relax, then matters were beginning to relax, and so was Jonathan. No reason to doubt the man. Apart from his basic mistrust of his peculiar nature, of course.

Someone was yelling upstairs. Jonathan recognized Mildred's voice and frowned. Didn't she know that Sundays were sacred to him, hadn't he put enough emphasis on the fact that he did not want to be disturbed on these days? He shook his head in mild indulgence. Women were simply too emotional at times.

Her yelling had grown louder until Jonathan was able to distinguish a few words. "HADN'T WE SAID - SCANDALOUS BEHAVIOUR - SHAME FOR OUR FAMILY - THE PRIME MINISTER'S DAUGHTER - LOOK AT ME, YOUNG MISS!" Jonathan's stomach was lurching. He tried to ignore it. He tried to read the article on the abolition of fox hunting in Scotland, but did not manage to take up a single word of it. His mind had long wandered upwards to May's room - for this was, he did not doubt it, where Mildred was standing and yelling.

He drew a sharp breath and tried to suppress the memories that were surfacing now. The day she had thrown an egg on Jessica without moving her hands at all. The day she had refilled her bowl with more icecream. The day she had somehow turned her father's tuxedo pink simply by touching it, forcing him to stay home and play with her. Jonathan gritted his teeth. "First Minister Graham McFarland announced today..."

"JONATHAN!" His head jerked upwards to see Mildred storming down the staircase. Her right arm was clutched tightly around something small, fluffy, struggling, and she looked apalled. "Jonathan, May has done it again!"

He stood up slowly and came nearer, his eyes staring at the struggling animal. Dear God, not an owl... please not an owl...

"She claims that this owl was sitting on her window-sill with this letter tied to its leg!" Mildred held out a piece of old parchment with her free hand and stared at him, waiting for an answer. Jonathan closed his eyes and forced himself to remain calm. He had been wishing he could just ignore May's weird behaviour, even after what he had learned...

"Jonathan!" Mildred looked scandalised at his hesitation. He gulped and took the letter slowly while Mildred was staring distgustedly at the owl.

To: Miss May Stewart

The third room to the right of the staircase

No. 10 Downing Street

Jonathan Stewart staggered backwards and collapsed into his chair, unable to read on.

END