Fudge lay in his bed. He looked very pale and was groaning. Bellatrix sat by his side and rubbed his belly. When Malfoy entered, Voldemort lead him to the bed.

"Oh Lucius, quick, quick! Fudge's dying. We must do something," Voldemort said desperate.

"Yes, of course; some sort of celebration. But let's wait till he's actually snuffed it, shall we?" Lucius sneered.

"It all started last night at about two o'clock. I was tucked into bed, having this absolutely bizarre dream about Potter, when I was woken by a terrific banging from Fudge," Voldemort explained.

"Well, I never knew he had it in him," Malfoy smirked.

"It's true, I promise. He was banging on the gates and falling over and singing a strange song," Voldemort continued.

Malfoy crossed to Fudge's bed. Fudge was still groaning.

"Well, Master, I think I know what's wrong with Fudge, and unfortunately, it's not fatal," Malfoy remarked.

"Well, hurry up and cure the horrible man. I'm fed up with him lying there moaning and groaning," Voldemort hissed.

"The truth is, Fudge just can't take his ale," Malfoy smirked.

Fudge rose up, rallying under those insults.

"Master, I protest! I may be a little delicate this morning but what I drank last night would have floored a rhinoceros," Fudge objected.

"If it was allergic to lemonade," Malfoy sneered.

"It's Malfoy here who can't take his ale. He's famous for it. I'm sure we all remember the shame and embarrassment of the visit of Golgonath the Giant when Malfoy was found wandering naked among the dungeons singing, 'I'm Merlin, the Happy Pig'," Fudge said.

"What did you have last night then? A whole half-pint of apple-juice?" Malfoy mocked.

"On the contrary, I had two flagons of Muscat and two bottles of fire-whisky. I can assure you it's no holds barred with us at the annual Ministry ball," Fudge said.

"Annual – ha! For me and my fellow Death Eaters, every night is drinky night. You want to come round sometime, have a look at the underside of my table!' Malfoy said, challenging Fudge.

"Tonight!" Voldemort roared enthusiastically.

"Tonight?" Fudge asked still so hung over.

"Yeah, come on Fudgy, what are you scared of?" Malfoy said.

"Perhaps you're right, perhaps he's a wet and a weed," Voldemort smirked.

"Oh all right then, tonight. I'll be there," Fudge said as he sank back down on his bed.

"Hurray, and the last one under the table gets 10 000 Galleons from the loser," Voldemort cheered.

Malfoy was shocked by this but quickly gathered himself.

"Master?… Right. We'll get the whisky in then. Right," Malfoy said.

He took his cane, bowed towards Voldemort, stuck out his tongue at Fudge and swept out of the room. Voldemort beckoned Bellatrix to the door.

"Bella, do you know what I'm going to do?" Voldemort asked her.

"What?" she replied.

"I'm going to go along and find out exactly what happens on those drinking contests," Voldemort whispered.

"Good idea, Master," Bellatrix said.

"And I'll wear a cloak with a cowl so no one will recognize me," Voldemort said excited.

"Another good idea, Master," Bella said beaming.