Author's note: Yay, the (possibly) penultimate part of my Potter parodies (try saying that five times really fast). You voted for it (because apparently you guys don't know what else I write), so…yeah, I guess I'll get straight into it. I mean seriously, we're up to part six in the series, you know how this works at this point. Let's do this.
November 28, 1990.
?: *ahem*
Prime Minister: Hello? Is someone there?
?: That would be me.
Prime Minister: Who said that? There's no-one else in the room.
?: What about me? *Prime Minister continues to look confused* Here in the corner of the room *Prime Minister looks to the corner of the room to see a picture waving to him* Yes, me. You're talking to me.
Prime Minister: *looking at an empty whiskey glass* That spiteful bitch. What the fuck did Maggie put in this thing?
Picture: Hey, shut up a minute. The Minister of Magic is about to arrive to speak to you.
Prime Minister: The Minister of what?! *the fireplace suddenly erupts in a flash of green fire* JESUS FUCK!
Fudge: Sorry about that, I often forget that most muggles aren't used to people coming out of their fireplaces.
Prime Minister: I am definitely too drunk for this. Or stoned. Or something.
Fudge: And why wouldn't you be? It was a spectacular victory in the election.
Prime Minister: Um, actually, my predecessor just stepped down.
Fudge: Huh, why would he do that?
Prime Minister: Wait, what? My predecessor was Margaret Thatcher.
Fudge: That was a woman?
Prime Minister: Yes, I was shocked too. Wait, what the fuck is even going on right now?
Fudge: Ah, yes, I should introduce myself. My name is Cornelius Fudge, and I am the Minister of Magic. And…sorry, what was your name again?
Prime Minister: John Ma…
Fudge: You know what? It doesn't matter. What does matter is that magic is real, and I'm the one in charge of making sure it stays hidden from the general populace. However, as muggle Prime Minister, you are required to know about our existence, and to be informed that we are unlikely to meet again unless something serious happens in the magical world. So long, and congratulations again Mr. Prime Minister *walks back into the fireplace, which again erupts in green flames*
Prime Minister: …I really need to stop drinking.
July 30, 1993.
Fudge: *bursting into the Prime minister's office in a flash of green fire* I have something urgent to tell you.
Prime Minister: You can't be here, I quit drinking.
Fudge: Well, you might want to take it back up, because we have a serial killer on the loose.
Prime Minister: By 'we', you had better mean you.
Fudge: Maybe I do *silence*
Prime Minister: So, uh, are you going to tell me about this serial killer?
Fudge: I suppose I should. So, his name is Sirius Black, and he's a muggle killer and huge supporter of You-Know-Who.
Prime Minister: You-Know-Who? Wait, you don't mean…
Fudge: Yes, the Dark Lord himself.
Prime Minister: I thought we agreed that Thatcher was a woman.
Fudge: Huh? Oh, right, you probably haven't heard about the whole wizarding war where the magical community was in fear of wizard Hitler.
Prime Minister: There's a wizard Hitler now?
Fudge: Not anymore. He disappeared twelve years ago after losing a fight to a baby.
Prime Minister: Right…
Fudge: Anyway, if you could inform the population of the breakout, that would be great.
Prime Minister: Wait, what are people supposed to do if they see him?
Fudge: Not my problem *walks back into the fireplace and disappears in green flames*
Prime Minister: God fucking damn it. Well, at least that's the last I'll see of him.
August 18, 1994.
Fudge: *emerging from the fireplace again* Hello again.
Prime Minister: Oh for fuck's sake, what now?
Fudge: Oh, nothing major. Just that there was a spot of bother at the Quidditch World Cup involving a couple of muggles.
Prime Minister: There was what at the where?
Fudge: But not to worry, we're taking care of all the memory charms as we speak.
Prime Minister: I…guess that's okay?
Fudge: Also, we're bring dragons into the country.
Prime Minister: Say WHAT?!
Fudge: Don't worry, it's all above board. In fact, I doubt the dragons are even dangerous. The people handling them seem to take good care of them. They insist that they love them very much, so I assume that's probably a good sign. Well, good night *walks back into the fireplace and vanishes in green flames*
Prime Minister: …why did I give up drinking?
January 8, 1996.
Fudge: Hi, I'm back.
Prime Minister: What the fuck did you do this time?
Fudge: Why do you assume I did something? And by your tone, you seem to think I did something bad.
Prime Minister: That's what happened every time we've met so far.
Fudge: Not our first meeting.
Prime Minister: *heavy sigh* Fine, whatever. What happened?
Fudge: Look, promise you won't be mad…
Prime Minister: Way past that at this point.
Fudge: …but we kind of had a tiny mass breakout from Azkaban.
Prime Minister: WHAT?! That sounds like a big fucking deal.
Fudge: It's fine, we'll take care of it. No need to get upset.
Prime Minister: I think I have every right to be upset when…how many criminals got out?
Fudge: It was only ten.
Prime Minister: TEN?!
Fudge: And by an amazing coincidence they're all supports of You-Know-Who.
Prime Minister: YOUR PRISON LET TEN MAGICAL NAZIS ESCAPE?!
Fudge: Listen, we've got this. Don't worry about it *walks back into the fireplace, while the Prime Minister collapses into his chair*
July 14 1996.
Fudge: Okay, we don't got this.
Prime Minister: Can you just not right now? I'm trying to deal with a bunch of shit going on. Bridges collapsing, random hurricanes, murder within two blocks of my office, a cold front in the middle of July…
Fudge: Yeah, that might have been my bad.
Prime Minister: What, the cold front?
Fudge: …among other things…
Prime Minister: …how much of this was your fault? *Fudge remains silent* HOW MUCH OF THIS WAS YOUR FAULT?!
Fudge: Look, can't you just blame all of this on Global Warming or something?
Prime Minister: First of all, it's not Global Warming anymore, it's Climate Change. Second of all, how would I blame a couple of brutal murders on it?
Fudge: That's not my concern.
Prime Minister: What do you mean? You're the Minister of Magic, right?
Fudge: Not anymore, they booted me from the job three days ago.
Prime Minister: Wait, what? What the fuck happened?
Fudge: Oh, something about me bullying a fifteen-year-old boy after he saw a dear friend die, then had his blood stolen to bring back You-Know-Who, then using the media to make him look like a lunatic. Honestly, what was I supposed to do? Admit that a genocidal maniac had returned from a near-death like state and was going to start killing people again so that we could stop him before he got too powerful to stop?
Prime Minister: Wait, how long has he been back?
Fudge: *eye twitch* A month.
Prime Minister: Don't twitch your eye at me. I'm a politician, I know that means you're lying because I have to do it professionally. Now, how long has he been back?
Fudge: *sigh* Fine, I was told about it by the kid about a year ago.
Prime Minister: A YEAR?!
Fudge: But I only had the kid's word for it…okay, maybe I also had one of You-Know-Who's followers tell us everything, and a respected Auror that he kidnapped to back-up those claims, but I might have sort of turned said follower into a soulless potato and refused to acknowledge anything the Auror said since he's kind of insane.
Prime Minister: …you know, I used to think Thatcher was bad, but you have somehow managed to be WORSE than her.
Fudge: Hey, come on, that's not fair.
Prime Minister: Thatcher had the decency to step down when she realised she fucked up. Hell, even Nixon did that. You had to be kicked out. Now, who's the new Minister of Magic? *green flames erupt from the fireplace*
Rufus: That would be me.
Prime Minister: Oh, hello. My name is…
Rufus: I hope you don't mind, but all communication between us will be through Fudge, since I'm very busy cleaning up his mess. Now, don't worry about You-Know-Who attacking you or your government, we've placed security within your staff for your protection *turning to Fudge* Come along, fuck-up *goes back into the fireplace*
Fudge: That's his affectionate nickname for me *follows Rufus into the fireplace*
Prime Minister: …that's it *to his secretary* Shacklebolt?
Kingsley: *over the intercom* Yes sir?
Prime Minister: Can you make sure every scandal that a member of my party faces for the next year gets into the papers, no matter how minor?
Kingsley: *over the intercom* …I mean, if you insist, I can make it happen, but…
Prime Minister: Good, make it so. You're almost magical with how good of a worker you are. I'm going to let Blair deal with this shit, I'm done.