I own nothing except the plot. Please R&R. I really thought Cormac was a bit underappreciated in canon.
PREVIOUSLY:
That was the day that Kingsley Shacklebolt entrusted him with the entirely completed diary.
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This is how it went.
It's a Tuesday. The weather is frosty enough to freeze the stinging rain, but it comes so fast that it feels like pellets rather than droplets. Cormac is cozily nestled in his plushy leather wing-backed chair. His office has a roaring fire that feels brilliantly warm and makes him sleepy. It's midday and he's just had a lunch of stuffed quail and poached figs with the Malfoy heir. Draco seems less instigating and generally less awful, ever since he's come back from his honeymoon.
Cormac McLaggen gets a frantic enchanted memo, a brilliantly red swooping airplane shape drops onto his desk as he lazily doodles on his day planner. He flicks his wand to open it and a howler screams his boss's name like a- well…like a howl, now that you mention it.
"KINNNNNNNNNGSSSSS-LEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYS!"
His ears are ringing and his brain rattles in reverberation like a hammer hitting on a gong and leaving ripples in his skill. The peaceful crackling fireplace bursts forth and spews out Kingsley who quickly steps out. Cormac bolts towards him. The minister's arms carry a bundle hidden within the folds of a soggy towel.
"McLaggen," he pauses to thrust the lumpy fabric into his assistant's nervous hands, "I spilled tea when I heard the message." Cormac blinks owlishly at him. That explains the moistness.
Did the tea do his bidding and destroy the blasphemous book?
He peeks under the fold.
'Looks as atrocious as ever,' Cormac thinks dismally.
"Take it to the publisher."
"I've had the worst day ever. Something out there is against me and my blasted manuscript."
'Yes, currently me and maybe the entire wizarding community, once this is published…' Cormac grouses.
So the minister goes on to explain his supposedly awful day which consists of the icy rain soaking the book to the bone and ink smearing all over, which results in him applying a waterproof charm. In muggle London, a large (possibly rabid) goose attacks him and rips a few pages out, resulting in him having to recast the binding spell. It gets stuck in the loo, when he flushes to enter the ministry as per typical employee entrance methodology, and it shows up waterlogged in the department of magical accidents and catastrophes. Cormac thinks that's because the book itself is a catastrophe to the magical community. He nods as his boss continues to angrily ramble.
His quill is filled with jam and writes only backwards-courtesy of a trick quill he accidentally picked up this morning instead of his own artisan Augury feather quill. So he opts for his muggle pencil, which continues to snap from the force of his final touches.
He tries to take it to the publisher, when his floo passage gets redirected last minute and he ends up in Greece at nine o'clock sharp. The stress of apparating back to England takes a toll on his body and he ends up landing in the middle of the Irish Sea and it's duly noted that the minister cannot swim. But thank gods for the waterproofing charm, right?
Eventually, he has lunch at his office where his new receptionist has ordered crabcakes, only for him to realize contains crab, which he later admits was overlooked due to his stressful day-because it literally has the word in its name. Kingsley is deathly allergic to shellfish. It's one of those things that every one of his office members should know-for assassination attempts and such.
Regardless, Kingsley has just come from St. Mungo's after an epinephrine potion to combat his swelling throat and face, when the memo came howling for everyone on the floor to hear. So he spills his tea, due to surprise, or maybe excitement, Cormac deduces. But it doesn't explain the wetness, from the apparent lack of waterproofing charm.
"Don't ask," his boss huffs, "I'm going back to St. Mungo's. Cancel the rest of my day. Hear this though-Cormac, you get that damned book to my publisher. It needs to be in top condition and in one piece. I need you to do it by the end of the week. You can take the rest of the week off."
McLaggens are creatures of perpetual opportunity, due to their fine breeding and finer looks. Cormac himself knows when to hightail it before one slips his grasp. As he's scrurrying out the office, he turns to see his boss leaving through floo.
"To the publisher. One piece. Or you're fired McLaggen!"
His boss catches on fire and goes to see the new Weasley spawn.
Cormac is rendered speechless in the doorway of his immaculate office. He thinks sardonically, 'technically, he's fired…'
All his plans of world domination and ministry takeover are doomed by those last words.
He can't get rid of the damned book. But maybe the next minister would keep him as an assistant?
He leaves the building with a slightly peppier step.