Chapter Sixteen -- The Leaky Cauldron
Cornelius Fudge was alone at his usual table, a bowler hat on his head, and glass of liquor in his hand. An occasional lift to his lips, and the deep drinking of the cold drink eventually began to leave him slightly woozy, though he wasn't completely drunk. He would ramble a few things ("Why didn't I listen to Dumbledore? What have I done?"), but it was never loud enough for the chatting people around him to hear.
A high bell rang, and Cornelius looked up from his drink. A man was walking into the bar. He looked young, strong, and powerful. Fudge recognized the man as Arthur Weasley's son, Bill, from when he had the little meeting about the Azkaban guards and prisoners. He smiled to himself: Bill was right on time.
Bill looked around a bit, and found Fudge in the corner. He walked over, smoothly, causing a few young girls to watch his back as he passed them. They then turned to each other and giggled, obviously liking what they saw. He ignored them though--he had more important things to think about.
"Minister," he said politely, though he believed that the man sitting at the table had no right to have such an honorable and responsible title. He sat next to Fudge. "What did you wish to see me about, sir?"
Cornelius had not looked into Bill's eyes, but instead spoke into his drink. "I need your help."
Bill lightly snorted. "You could use anyone's help. What would you like me to do?"
Fudge finally looked into Bill's eyes. "Take over for me."
Silence passed, for just a few moments, until the young Weasley asked, "What?"
"You must become the Minister, Mr. Weasley. You are smart. Bright. Intelligent. You have common sense, and you understand the times we are living in." Fudge placed a hand on Bill's. "Please boy. I must escape from here. And someone needs to run the Ministry."
Bill shook his head. "Sir, I..." he frowned. "What do you mean, escape? You're running? From what you have done?" Bill became angry, suddenly, and his quiet voice rose. "You mean that you're running from office? To leave us with the problems you have created? You can't! You must solve his disaster, Minister!" After noticing a few heads had turned, Bill quieted again. "I can't cover for you."
"Please, Mr. Weasley!" begged Fudge, his eyes pleading. "I beg of you...help me!"
"No!" Bill pulled away from him. "I will not help you corrupt the Ministry any further." Bill stood from his seat, and glared down upon the Minister. "You should be ashamed. And I am looking forward to the impeachment trial in January." And with that, Bill began to walk away.
"You don't understand!" Fudge screamed, everyone in the bar suddenly quieting. "You must help! I...I could be put in prison!"
"What prison?!" Bill angrily spat, turning around, and forgetting the observers. "Have you forgotten that you have disbanded the only wizarding prison within hundreds of miles?" He advanced on the Minister. "And I hope you are sentenced to prison. Maybe we can have you sent away the Middle East, somewhere. Their punishments are much more severe other there. Perfect for a corruptor of your status."
Cornelius Fudge gaped at Bill; he hadn't expected him to turn down the job. The job of the Minister paid well, and was perfect for someone of Bill's frame of mind. Fudge became angry, and suddenly threatened Bill. "I demand you take this opportunity! Maybe your family would actually be able to eat with the money you'll make!"
A few listeners gasped, others chuckled. Bill rounded in upon the stalky man, and growled. "How dare you. How dare you say something like that, when you are the one who finalizes my father's pay!"
"Take the job, William! Take, it!" Fudge threatened.
"I would never, ever try to help you. You brought our Ministry in this mess. You get us out."
Bill turned his back, and suddenly, a crack sounded in the air...an explosion, more than a crack. Screams from the girls sounded, and Tom, the bartender, ran out from behind his post. Tom grabbed Cornelius' collar, and screamed in his ear: "How dare you! I'm calling the police!"
Fudge panicked, and looked at what he had done. He then made another explosion, this time towards himself, and fell too the ground. But no one cared what he had done; they were all concentrating on the fallen body of Bill Weasley.
An older woman ran to him, and examined his back, where the Muggle machine had punctured a hole. Blood poured from the hole, staining his heavy knitted sweater, which had clearly been home made by his mother.
"I need someone's jacket!" she exclaimed, holding a hand out. A random person handed her a thin coat, which was perfect for the autumn weather, but not stopping severe bleeding. Nonetheless, the woman placed the jacket on the hole and placed a large amount of pressure on it. She screamed again, "Get the doctors here! Now!"
The jacket that had been supplied to her, quickly filled with blood, and soon seized to do any good. A girl offered to go ask for robes from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and various men stripped themselves of their shirts to give to the woman. She used everything, but nothing seemed to stop the bleeding.
Paramedics suddenly busted into the bar, causing everyone to move from the body, giving them room to step in. The old woman was released from her heroic position, and she sat at a table, as the tears began to stream down the wrinkled face.
Two of the five paramedics rounded in on Fudge, who by that time had no hope of surviving. The other three examined young Bill, who had still not moved.
And as one checked his pulse, the crowd of witnesses held their breath, waiting for the answer to the poor man's condition.
"He has passed on," he whispered breathlessly, his voice full of pain, and torment.
The crowd could only cry.