AN: Allo…as promised, here we've continued…but first, to everyone who reviewed, THANK YOU!

Flattened Bookworm aka Ari: Wow! Now we've got a shrine? Nice! Thanks for keeping up with the story, and we definitely need your luck. *appreciation-fest*

Jennifer: oh *tears of happiness* joy! that's what we were aiming for, to cure OotP angst! Mission is fulfilled! Yay! Yep, we thought killing off Harry just wouldn't work out after all. Glad to see you support our decision.

Alynna Lis Eachann: Cool name. Thanks for reviewing, and yes, we KNOW! How dare she! *bops Rowling with a rubber chicken* Fie!

 Never thought this would be popular…I'm so pleased people actually like the concept…Whaha. I suppose we've defeated our original purpose of this story, in deciding not to kill Harry, however since Yilantri(that's me) is currently working on a more serious continuation of the events after OotP, which follows Harry as main character like usual, she doesn't want to be seen as a hypocrite in any way, shape or form. Oh, and anyone who has any ideas on what they think violates security codes, etc., or what changes should be made to invalidate things, email Yilantri at alizee_@eml.cc so we can incorporate them. So long!

Disclaimer: Yep, we still don't own the Harry Potter series. Golly gee, what a gosh-darn pea-pickin' shame that is. We do own the concept of the Department of Story Control, etc. though, and the characters. Go us, we're creative! Whoot! ^^

Chapter Four:  The Woes of Cornelius Fudge

Meanwhile, back in America, Sylph looked happily at her computer. The extraordinary object could (due to a complex spell, no doubt) track things in the Outside, and she saw that Asha and Minuet had made it to Rowling's domicile. Great, she thought confidently, they'll be able to fix things up, then. Now, what to do about…She was interrupted by a loud knock on her office door. "Yes, come in," she called. "Go ahead."

The door opened, and in stepped her coworker and friend Níranie, who worked as an Auror often, but did a lot in the Department of Story control. "Hey there, Sylph," she said, looking tired. "Whew. It's been a long day."

"Yeah, me too," replied Sylph sympathetically. "What with the Author having to be fired, and everything…what's wrong?" she asked. "You look really stressed."

"I am," said Níranie wearily, sitting down. "I was out after this person who apparently has been torturing Muggles in their basement."

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Sylph, horrified. "That's sick! Who would…that's just gross. I haven't really heard of much anti-Muggle activity here, although in England that Lord whatever and his Death Eaters were doing things like that right and left, or so I hear."

"It's simply awful. One of those pure-blood fanatics, you know, but on a grand scale…all that crap in England is starting to give people here confidence. Plus, the unstable political situation right now is making it easier…" Níranie sighed. "I got the woman eventually, but it was a struggle. She kept trying to hit me with the Cruciatus Curse, and she got me once. It sucked."

"Oh, I'm sorry, that must have been lousy…" said Sylph.

"Yep, it was," agreed Níranie, "but she's off to Kataph now. Thank goodness. You know, this all seems, I don't know, wrong in some way. I mean, couldn't the Author just, you know, write Voldemort and his crowd out of the picture? I mean, wasn't she the one who sort of started it all off?"

"I've talked to Asha about that," said Sylph, arranging a few papers on her desk, "and she says that it's because this world existed without any connection to the Outside, before the book connection was made. Volwhatever was bound to exist, she just took advantage of his previous existence and made him the main villain. You have to admit, she couldn't have picked someone more evil."

"But Big Nasty V was written to do all the stuff he's done since, though," pointed out Níranie. Sylph grinned at her term for Voldemort. They in the Department of Story Control often used strange nicknames for him.

"Yeah, but Asha says he would have done stuff just as bad without Rowling's interference, and it would have caused just as much damage. Rowling just wrote the direction it went, and who it affected, to center on her main character. And she chose the people as major characters to maximize the angst that she could write about and still be interesting."

"Oh. I get it, sort of," said Níranie, laughing, although the laugh was a bit hollow. "I was just getting annoyed, you know, like 'Hey, I wouldn't have to go out and face all these awful people all the time if Rowling had just blah blah blah', but I can't blame it on anyone but humanity. Darn it."

"Yeah, it must be a bit depressing, being an Auror," said Sylph, looking concerned. "Shall we change the subject, slightly? I'd like to ask your advice on something."

"Sure," said Níranie.

"OK. I was thinking, should we alert the English Ministry about the book situation? In case of any weird changes that may occur? Or at least try to?"

"But that would mean Fudge, wouldn't it?" asked Níranie, looking doubtful. "I've read the books, and he won't believe you, I swear. I think I met him once. Saw him at the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago, when England was playing the U.S. Got slaughtered, they did," she added, with a certain degree of satisfaction. "At any rate, he's not that open-minded. Remember what an idiot he was regarding Big Nasty V?"

"Yep," said Sylph, sighing. "But I still think we should try. It's only decent. Courtesy, you know. And we could put a spell on him, or somehow—" Níranie grinned at this, she had no doubt that Sylph's 'somehow' didn't involve a lot of ethical decisions. "get him to keep quiet about what we tell him. We don't want anyone else in the Ministry there to find out."

"Go for it, then," said Níranie. "Call me for backup if you have any trouble. I'm going to start working on this new idea I've got."

"Ooooh—what?" questioned Sylph, looking very interested.

"None of your business," replied Níranie, grinning. "I'll tell you if I work it out, 'kay?"

"All right. Wish me luck," said Sylph, and with a loud crack, she disappeared.

--

Asha looked at the master computer in awe. "Would you look at this, Minuet," she said. "This thing can control our world…"

"It's a bit mind-boggling, isn't it?" agreed Minuet. "I mean, this is how…you know…Sirius…"

"Yep," said Asha abruptly. "So what do we do first? I'd like to get Sirius back in the picture immediately, but I think we need to first plant things to invalidate the prophecy in relation to Harry. I was thinking, we make it so that the prophecy actually applies to someone else. That, and giving Harry a personality, should take away Rowling's Authority rather well."

"Couldn't we just get rid of Umbridge first?" asked Minuet wistfully. "She's such an unbearable creep…"

"You know, maybe we should, at that," said Asha, looking thoughtful. "Just to make sure this works properly. If we make a mistake with Umbridge, nobody will give a damn."

"OK, sounds good to me," said Minuet. "If that works, we can type up something about Sibyll Trelawney, regarding the prophecy."

"Deal," said Asha, and started to type furiously. Minuet watched the words appear across the screen.

Dolores Umbridge sat in her office, fuming. Her departure from Hogwarts had been completely unnecessary. That fool Cornelius Fudge should never have gotten rid of the position of High Inquisitor…

--

Cornelius Fudge was not having the greatest of days. In fact, he was completely and utterly pissed off.

Now, of course, he felt his anger was completely righteous. Why? Well, he'd never been that much of an angry sort, not before that awful Dumbledore and his protégé, Harry Potter, had started off those rumors about You-Know-Who having returned. Then all his plans to restore order to the Ministry, manage some control over Hogwarts, and keep Dumbledore off of his position, had been cast out the window, useless, because of the small fact that that wizard styling himself Lord had, indeed, returned. It would have been so much easier to discredit Dumbledore for instigating panic among the community, therefore insuring his downfall from popularity, but nooo, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named just had to come back. And now the Ministry would be in complete disfavor, as Kingsley Shacklebolt had just informed him that they had information from a reliable source that Sirius Black had gone and gotten himself knocked off, meaning that the Ministry hadn't even managed to get him back into Azkaban. Preposterous! Absurd! But he trusted Kingsley, although the man had acted a bit strange when telling him the news. Almost sad, like. Which made no sense, as Black was a dangerous criminal, but he supposed Kingsley was feeling a bit put out at having his job become obsolete. However, Fudge would probably give him the new job of keeping tabs on Dumbledore's doings. Fudge still didn't trust him not to take over the job of Minister, despite his constant assurances that he had no desire to rob Fudge of his position.

And to make matters worse, some of the Aurors kept stopping their conversations whenever he walked by, as if they were hiding something. Of course, Aurors were always dodgy sorts, being secretive and often a bit paranoid. Just look at Mad-Eye Moody, who used to work for the Ministry. Tonks in particular had been acting a bit strange, she would keep asking for any interesting news, practically interrogating him with questions. And something was going in the Department of Mysteries, although, as usual, nobody bothered to tell him what. Plus, in addition to all these problems, the elections for Minister were coming up, and he was dreadfully worried the recent events might put him out of a job.

Just then, in the midst of his misery, Tonks walked into his office, looking cheerful as she proceeded to knock over an end-table. "Oh, oops, sorry about that," she said brightly. "I really need to work on my coordination. Just wanted to let you know that there's an emissary from the American Ministry of Magic who wishes to speak with you. She's just registered her wand at the door. Will you see her?"

An emissary? From the American Ministry? He felt a twinge of dislike. He had never really forgiven the Americans for their crushing defeat of the English Quidditch team... Still, there was no reason not to speak with the emissary, whoever they were. He wondered why they would send someone…surely the Americans weren't involved in all the rubbish happening here?

"Sir?"

"Oh, yes, Tonks," he said absently. "Send her in."

Sylph entered Cornelius Fudge's office with some trepidation, but a diligent attitude. She would make him listen to what she had to say, even if he didn't believe any of it. Putting on a smile, she greeted the rather short man, who was sitting looking sorry for himself at a desk stacked with various official papers. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Fudge, sir," she said pleasantly. "I'm Sylph, and I represent the Department of Story Control, which is a section of the Department of Mysteries in the American Ministry of Magic. I came here to inform you of something that I thought you may wish to know."

Fudge blinked. "Department of Story Control?" he asked skeptically. "If you don't mind me asking, what the hell are you talking about? Are you talking about some sort of gossip-preventing, or…"

"No, actually," said Sylph amiably. "That's not at all what I was talking about. Now, I must ask you not to interrupt until I'm finished telling you this, Mr. Fudge. You may find this rather hard to believe."

Fudge thought this was a bit presumptuous and rude. He was, after all, the Minister of Magic, and he deserved to be talked to with respect. However, he found himself extremely curious about what this woman had to say, so he swallowed his criticism and said stiffly, "Right. So. What have you come to tell me?"

"Mr. Fudge, your world, my world—this universe that we're residing in at the moment—is currently part of a chronicle, set as a fiction novel in a parallel universe, or actually several fiction novels, to be honest, which are--"

"What's this supposed to mean?" snapped Fudge, who was slightly embarrassed that he wasn't really understanding what she was saying.

"As I was saying," said Sylph pointedly, "these fiction novels are being read by people in a parallel universe, who have no idea that wizardry, and indeed all the people involved in the story written in the novels, actually exist somewhere. You, Mr. Fudge, are a character in this novel. This world existed before the fiction novels, but the connection between this world and the Outside, which is what we like to call the world where the novels are written and read, was created just before the birth of Harry Potter. We believe it was made because of a lack of necessary funding, which we gained from the connection. So, this part of the world, England to be exact, is being guided by our current Author, J.K. Rowling, who was appointed after the connection was made. You are being all rather controlled in your actions, and indeed, your personalities somewhat, by what the Author writes. Our department deals with controlling the story somewhat, to make sure the Author doesn't get out of line."

Fudge was feeling very uneasy. "I don't understand your meaning, woman, so please get to the point of it. You're being incomprehensible."

"You're living inside of a book, Mr. Fudge," said Sylph. "And you're just a character in it."

Fudge stood up so quickly he knocked over his chair. "That's a load of dung," he said in a low voice. "We are not living inside of a book. That's rubbish!"

"I told you it would be hard to believe," said Sylph calmly. "I'm sorry if I've disturbed you in any way."

"The only thing that disturbs me is that the American Ministry is hiring lunatics, and sponsoring crackpot concepts such as this!" said Fudge angrily. "I'll be writing to your Minister about this—"

"I assure you, the Department of Story Control works mostly independent from the rest of the Ministry," replied Sylph, "although our Minister does know about it. And I can also assure you this is all true. I can show you, if you want."

"What proof could you possibly have?" raged Fudge, throwing his hands up in the air. "Better to find proof of the existence of angels, or one of those imaginary creatures in The Quibbler! Certainly, there is no doubt that this is a pack of lies."

Sylph opened her briefcase and pulled out several large hardcover books. Five, to be exact. "Here." She put them on his desk. "If you need any more proof then that, you're mad."

Fudge's eyes widened. "What—"

"I know, they're all about Harry Potter," said Sylph, sounding slightly sorry, "but the Author chooses their own main character. I daresay someone else would have made a better choice—I myself was more in favor of this girl who's at Beauxbatons named Solange Caillol, as Harry's a bit lacking in a personality. However, the author was English, so I suppose she was bound to choose someone from this area. At any rate, there's your proof. You can find yourself mentioned in there—you'll find all the dialogue exactly correct. For instance, near the end of the largest one, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, you'll find a full account of your argument with Dumbledore. Also, I suppose, you can find a good account of Harry's experience with Voldemort last June. I know that interview from the Quibbler was good, but I've not found one more reliable than this. Of course, I can't allow you to read most of them—you'd find out things you aren't meant to know—however, it should convince you. If it doesn't, well, I'm sorry."

Fudge was flipping through the first volume, looking horrified. "This is impossible!"

"Obviously not," said Sylph, looking as if she was enjoying herself.

"I refuse to accept this!" said Fudge, now rather hysterical. "I don't know what this rubbish is, but I shall be informing the rest of the Ministry immediately! Whatever you Americans choose to believe, you are all complete lunatics!"

"Oh, I thought you might see it that way," sighed Sylph, looking regretful. "I was hoping I'd been wrong in my assessment of your character. I'll take these back," she said, and she swept the books off of the desk and into her suitcase. "Now, you said you'd tell the rest of the Ministry about this, am I correct?"

"Of course! I can't let something like this—"

"I think you'll be happy to keep silent, Mr. Fudge," said Sylph, her tone slightly menacing. "Because if you don't, I'll give this…" She waved a small envelope. "…to the Daily Prophet."

"What is that?" said Fudge sharply. "I demand that you give that to me! Immediately!"

She took out some folded papers, unfolded them, and held them in front of Fudge's now red face. His eyes widened. "That's—that's a confidential—"

"Record? Yes, I know. You really wouldn't want these…" she dangled them carelessly. "…accidentally sent to the editor of the Daily Prophet, would you now. So, possibly, to avoid any errors on my part, you might want to keep what I've just said to yourself, hm? What do you say?"

"This-this is blackmail!" sputtered Fudge, shocked.

"Yep," said Sylph, unconcerned. "Works pretty well, doesn't it?"

Fudge's face had turned from red to a rather dark shade of purple. "I'll get you for this!"

"Right you will, maybe," said Sylph, nodding. "And the public will get these. Anyway, I should be going…have a nice day, Mr. Fudge!" She strolled out of the office, leaving Fudge in a worse mood then he'd been in quite some time. He was so furious that he threw his cup of coffee against the wall, not noticing Sylph in the hallway, pumping her fist in the air.

--