(A/N: This bit was added after the rest. I warn you now, this chapter is crazy. It's absolutely mental, I was extremely tired, jet-lagged and hungry when I wrote this. I thought I'd better get something out having been away, but looking at it I probably shouldn't have bothered. I put it up anyway because I can't be bothered doing it again. But this chapter is pointless anyway, so if you abandon it it makes no difference to the storyline. If you do read it, you can score points out of 10 for recognising cameos. The little cameo thing is a tribute to Cuaron, for that bit on the Marauder's Map... can't remember the name, but he did it alright. Good luck. Sham)

Sorry – AGAIN – for the long delay, but I've been sunning myself with my friends in lovely Gran Canaria. I'm back now, and ready to keep pouring my heart and soul into the keyboard. Or something like that. Sadly, I haven't slept in over 40 hours and am EXCEEDINGLY tired. So what you're getting is short and makes no sense. But I'm doing it to keep you happy, so don't blame me.

AUTHOR scans the seventh chapter. The plot is simple; Harry gets up, goes to the Ministry of Magic. That's it. A whole fourteen pages devoted to that.

AUTHOR: Hmmmm, OK, nothing salvageable here. Right. (Gets
out scissors. Some over-large ones for comedy value. Preferably
with ACME printed down the sides). This can all go – snippety
snippety.

ALFONSO CUARON: Yes, yes, that's good. Embrace the dark side.

AUTHOR: Noooooooo! (For preference this should be overly
dramatic and end in a gurgle) Must – continue... mustn't leave
anything out.... Even if that means (gulp) sticking in a load of
cameo appearances 'cause I'm too tired to do anything else. And
if it happens in Potter and X-men films I can damn well do it
here.

MR WEASLEY: Can I start yet? You've already lost the time that
could've shown me trying to navigate the Underground. I felt
that had a lot of comedy potential. And maybe you could've
squeezed in Lenny Henry's shrunken head somewhere.

AUTHOR: Go on then. You can go in the Ministry. We need to
see that anyway as it'll have much SIGNIFICANCE later. Cue
plenty of dramatic or recognisable music to emphasise this.

MR WEASLEY: Can I go in now?

AUTHOR: Sure – oh wait. Cameo appearances will be indicated
by a ziiip from my magic cameo wand. Which at the moment is a
stapler, the only thing to hand. Points for those who recognise
all of 'em. But sorry if you're in over your head. I have a very
strange and British taste in comedy cult figures.

MR WEASLEY: Still waiting....

AUTHOR: OK – you're first.

ziiip number one, and MR WEASLEY is now in a smart suit with an encouraging yet slimy grin.

MR WEASLEY: Oooh – suit you sir. Were you with a lady last night
sir? Did she want it sir? Oooh. Oooh – suit you.

HARRY shakes his head and enters the Ministry, showing those not caught up in this piece of crappy fiction the layout of the Ministry so they recognise it come the exciting climax. But we don't care about that.

We follow Mr Weasley as he dashed into the atrium, passing fountain containing five statues in gold. The smallest figure is cloaked and rat- like. Not Pettigrew style, nor like Ol' Blue Eyes, but an actual rat. The remaining are almost identical, bearing a striking resemblance to upright turtles. In their hands instead of wands is an array of weaponry. A samurai sword, nunchucks and sai knives make a daring and exciting picture. Sadly, there is nothing left for the fourth except a broom handle. Not so thrilling. Discarded around their feet are golden pizza boxes. Mostly empty.

Mr Weasley runs into the lift to rejoin Harry. They meet A STRANGER. Included for some comic relief, and to show Mr Weasley isn't just some slightly sad and threadbare father. He's a slightly sad and threadbare father with a crappy job and friends named Bob.

MR WEASLEY: What've you got there Bob?

(A/N: See how familiar they are? Mr Weasley is so popular I tell you!)

JKR: "We're not sure", said the wizard seriously, "We thought it was
a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire"...

AUTHOR: Fire breathing chicken? I'm not buying it. Anyway,
that'd be pretty cool you don't wanna complain. Like a
domesticated dragon. Instead... ziiiip number two... our friend
Bob becomes...

JOHN CLEESE: Not a chicken ... it's a parrot. Only it's dead.
E's off the twig! E's kicked the bucket! E's shuffled orf 'is
bleedin' mortal coil.

MR WEASLEY: Oh, OK.

MR WEASLEY is glad when the lift begins to move.

We see...

LEVEL 7: Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office.

Not much is seen down this hall, except for the typical potrayal of English hooligans (Northerners with loud voices, beefy shoulders and pretty drunk) and Irish hooligans (Loud voices, beefy shoulders and very drunk. And always wearing green apparently) roaring in and out of rooms in a big sweaty conga line. Oh and ziiip number three, here comes Squeeeaaak Lil' Bitch Scolari for the Milwaukee Beers, possibly being chatted up by a Man United fan.

LEVEL 6: Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparition Test Centre.

And, ziiip number four Here stand two men, one young, one old, in front of a VERY magical vehicle. They are currently arguing with a man who is obviously a stuck-up, half- witted, scruffy-looking nerf herder, and an enormous man that appears to be made of ugly bathroom carpet.

Geeky: What a piece of junk!

Nerf Herder: She may not look like much, but she's got it
where it counts, kid. I added some special modifications myself.
She made the Kessel run in under five parsecs.

Obsessives: Technically, that's incorrect, since a parsec is a
measure of distance. But since you can't have explosions in
space nor can space craft bank against the wind like WWII
fighters, then we'll let it go. And because we love George
Lucas. Despite Episode One.

LEVEL 5: Department of International Magical Co-operation,
incorporating the International
Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Body of Law
and the International
Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.

From one of the rooms off the hallway could be heard the sounds
of someone being quizzed
about dodgy cauldrons, and a voice raised in frustration saying
ziiip number five, 'Rodney
you plonker!'

Harry could also see a very small, nervous looking wizard
protesting to a ziiip number six,
big butch gentleman dressed in a commando uniform

WIZARD: Look, erm, I'm terribly sorry, but I was supposed to
be meeting with the Governor of California, on political
business.

BUTCH: I AM dur Governor of California. Come with me if you
want to live.

WIZARD: Ah, well. You see, erm. I'm a representative of the
British Confederation of Wizards and need to see an intelligent,
politically minded representative of an AMERICAN state.

BUTCH: A wizard? Hur hur – after I have killed you with my
superior muscle tone and big gun I can say something amusing,
like "that was a WIZARD shot"

WIZARD: Yes, well... erm

BUTCH: Or "I WAS HARD on your ass". 'Cuz that sounds like
wizard.

WIZARD: OK. You need to give me some proof that you are in
fact the Governor of California.

BUTCH: I am a super-robot sent back in time to kill Sarah
Carter, or somethinglike that. WOMAN!

As BUTCH lumbers off after a skirt, we follow MR WEASLEY and
HARRY up in the lift.

LEVEL 4: Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical
Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions,
Goblin Liason Office and Pest Advisory Bureau.

Here JOHN CLEESE storms off the find ziiip number seven
MICHAEL PALIN about his parrot

JOHN: I wish to complain about this parrot what I
purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.

MICHAEL: Yes, the, uh, the Norwegian Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?

JOHN: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead,
that's what's wrong with it!

MICHAEL: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.

JOHN: 'E's not resting, 'e's passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased
to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff!
Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the
perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now
'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled
off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin'
choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!! Further down the hall is ziiip number eight a pretty young woman holding a ghost with a lightbulb head.

GIRL: Look, I need you to get rid of this for me.

WIZARD: Ghost giving you trouble?

GHOST: NO! I'm a friendly ghost.

GIRL: You're a pain in the arse.

GHOST: Let's go home and play. I'm fun!

GIRL: You're sad and pathetic, and relentlessly cheery. I'm sick to death of you.

WIZARD: We'll see what we can do

GHOST: No! All I want is a friend, I'm happy and bouncy and so endearing!

The lift continues to the echo of the ghost's screams.

LEVEL 3: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes,
including the Accidental Magic
Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse
Committee.

Here we have deja-vu as the same girl from downstairs appears. Only this time she has on a ziiip number nine, morbid black dress, and is accompanied by two adults, both blackly but sharply dressed, and a fat boy, who has an axe embedded in his head.

WIZARD: Goodness! What happened to you?

GIRL: (dully and simply) We were playing.

BOY: (cheerfully) Soldiers!

WOMAN: Oh, the pain must be exquisite.

MAN: Do you remember when we used to play capture and torture darling?

WOMAN: (smiling) Oui, mon chere.

MAN: Caramia! That's French.

They are kissing passionately when they are interrupted by a small busy man who can only have one profession (an agent) and a headless man. ziip number ten.

AGENT: Hello? Hello? Is this the Department for Magical Accidents?

WITCH: Yes, it is. Can we help you?

AGENT: I'm afraid my client has had a little problem,
during a publicity stunt he performed a magic trick – to eat his
own head. And now we need help reversing it.

HEADLESS MAN: Pick a card, twah, memorise it. I can levitate, twah.

GIRL: Show offs deserve everything they get.

The GIRL produces a large machete and is about to get to work as the lift doors close and continue up to

LEVEL 2: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.

MR WEASLEY: This is us Harry.

HARRY: At long bloody last.

They walk to MR WEASLEY's office, but on the way encounter KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT. They discuss news surreptitiously. They do this my talking falsely and loudly about work and then whisper furtively and pass papers. Shockingly no-one suspects.

In MR WEASLEY's office, there are pictures of Muggle everything. We are supposed to appreciate his passion, not find it condescending, like we are ants under a microscope. Or perhaps this similarity is to lead us into personal introspection.

JKR: Sitting on top of Mr Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old
toaster that was hiccoughing ...

AUTHOR: A toaster? This is too good an opportunity to pass
up. The most obscure cameo yet ...

TOASTER: Howdy-doodly-doo. I'm Talkie Toaster. Would you like
some toast? Some hot fresh buttered toast?

MR WEASLEY: No. We don't want any toast.

TOASTER: You sure you don't want any toast?

MR WEASLEY: NO! NO TOAST!

TOASTER: But I am a toaster. It is my raison d'etre. I toast,
therefore I am.

LISTER: See Arthur? This is what caused the accident in the
first place.

MR WEASLEY: What accident?

LISTER: The accident involving me, the toaster, the waste
disposal and the fourteen-pound lump hammer.

At this point HARRY stamps his foot.

HARRY: I've had enough! This makes no sense! To ANYBODY!
I'm gonna storm off downstairs. My hearing has been moved. They
all hate me so it's in Old Courtroom Ten. I'll meet you down
there when you have something decent and intelligible to say.

And YOU.

AUTHOR: Me?

HARRY: Yes, you bloody idiot – it's now been 47 hours since
your last 3 hours sleep. And for your information, when you
start hallucinating and hearing Gary Lineker and Alan Hansen in
your head – NOT A GOOD THING.

AUTHOR: Nor is lecturing yourself through fictional
characters... so yaaaaaaaaawn, I'm off to sleep. Will update with
a sensible chapter soon. Well done if you managed to get... to get
.. – to –to ... yawn.... To get this far.....
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