Author's note: This is my first fic in a long time. Certainly the first one to be posted on here in probably over a year. (Wow.) This fic is a oneshot flash fic and was inspired by a facebook group that was started when David Cameron became Prime Minister of England on Tuesday. I dedicate it to all the people who didn't want to see this happen. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingsley Shacklebolt or any of the Harry Potter world created by JK Rowling. Nor do I won David Cameron. Ew.
He was finally in the office. He'd waited a long time and he had finally made it. His wife had gone to discuss something with the staff and left him to revel in his own personal glory. He reflected that this was probably the happiest he had ever been, it was going to be a good evening.
Then the portrait started talking.
"The new Muggle Prime Minister will please stand and receive the Minister for Magic who will be arriving imminently to introduce himself."
All he could think was that what they said about power driving you mad must be right.
Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn't what you would call an impatient man. In fact, if you asked pretty much anyone who had come into contact with Kingsley Shacklebolt, you'd hear that he was the most patient person ever to take up the office of Minister for Magic.
Today, however, was a noted exception. He'd been waiting for five days for the muggles to finally decide on a Prime Minister. He also had to cancel all of the day's meetings and public appearances to wait until said Prime Minister was alone in his office. This had proved to be a long wait.
Finally the portrait above his fireplace coughed and announced:
"The Muggle Prime Minister is alone and will receive you now, Minister."
He nodded and crossed the office, grabbing the jar of floo powder on the mantelpiece. He threw a handful into the fire and ducked into the arch, his bulk only just making it under the large stone frame.
"Ten downing street!"
He announced loudly in a voice that could part oceans.
As he half-crawled out of the (considerably smaller) fireplace of 10 downing street's main office and dusted himself off, he noted that the Prime Minister wasn't where he expected him to be. In fact, said Prime Minister was at the far end of the room, looking as though he wished the small space between him and the fireplace would cause it to cease to exist.
Kingsley, demonstrating his seemingly infinite source of patience, waited until the Prime Minister had finished staring in abject horror and actually spoke.
"Who in god's name are you?"
Kingsley smiled,
"Let me introduce myself Mr Cameron, I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic."
The Prime Minister hesitated a moment before replying: "How do you know by name?"
If he'd thought a bit harder about, he'd have realised that this was a rather stupid question. He was the Prime Minister after all, most of the country knew his name.
"Put it this way, I am your counterpart in the magical world. I'm the leader of the Ministry for Magic in Britain. Yes, magic is real." He added, noting the completely disbelieving look on the PM's face. "There is, in fact, a large and bustling wizarding community in Britain. Now, you have no need to worry about it." He continued, "We deal with and monitor the entire community, every witch and wizard in the country, you simply don't need to be involved at all. We just need you to be aware of our presence, should anything arise."
"What sort of things?"
Kingsley noted silently that the Prime Minister was sweating and that his voice had gone up an octave. He was much more of a wimp than the previous Prime Minister who, instead of cowering from the idea of magic, had asked if there was Scottish Ministry of Magic and whether Kingsley could fix his eye. (Which he could have done, of course, but that would have lead to difficult questions from the press and the general public.) He found himself inwardly sighing, why did it have to be the Tories?
"Oh, things that would affect the muggle community, escaped prisoners from Azkaban, any dangerous wild dragons, that sort of thing."
The Prime Minister seemed to have been drained of any colour at this point and made an incomprehensible noise, somewhere between indignation and a frightened squeak.
"Oh, not to worry, these things will probably never happen and chances are you won't see me again after this."
After a few moments of silence the Prime Minister piped up.
"I don't believe you."
This was not what Kingsley had been expecting,
"I assure you, there hasn't been an escapee from Azkaban since Lord Voldemort was destroyed-"
"No, I mean I don't believe that magic is real. You're lying."
Kingsley raised an eyebrow at this,
"So me walking out of the fire was…?"
"A simple magician's trick. A false panel and a fake fire."
At this point the PM had finally crossed the room and was reaching into the fire to inspect it.
"OW GOD…that is hot."
He leapt away from the fire clutching his hand and was now glaring at Kingsley as though it had been entirely his fault.
"Well?"
"I still don't believe you."
At this point, Kingsley had become rather annoyed, his presence usually dominated a room, stunning everyone to near silence as he radiated coolness and charm. Apparently, this was easily ignored by the rather shiny faced man who stood before him.
Bearing this in mind, I hope you'll excuse him his next action.
"Oh really?" Kingsley waved his wand, saying a silent incantation. The curtains, desk and chair all set ablaze.
The Prime Minister did not like this.
"WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? PUT THAT OUT IMMEDIATELY!"
He shouted, frantically bouncing around with a fire extinguisher, attempting to work out how to turn it on.
"Well?"
"WELL WHAT? PUT IT OUT, YOU'RE GOING TO KILL US BOTH YOU MADMAN. YOU…TERRORIST!"
Kingsley frowned, "Do you believe in magic?"
"WHAT? Yes yes okay, I believe there's magic, now please put the bloody fire out!"
Kingsley did so, leaving the furniture unscathed and the curtains only slightly singed at the edges. (Thoroughly on purpose of course. Kingsley didn't like being ignored, he liked being shouted at even less.)
"Well, I would say it's been a pleasure to meet you, Mr Cameron, but it certainly hasn't."
Kingsley crossed to the fire place, pulling a bag of floo powder out of his pocket and throwing it into the fire. Just before he stepped in he turned to the Prime Minister, who was now leaning on his desk and breathing heavily.
"Oh, and don't call me a terrorist."
With this he stepped into the fire, announced where he wished to go and left in a blaze of green fire.
Cameron melted into a sweaty, fevered lump on the floor. Being Prime Minister was definitely going less well than he'd hoped.