Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.
A/N: Thanks to those who've read and reviewed. I actually had a lot of fun writing this one. Again, it's longer than a drabble is supposed to be . . . but, I don't care.
Enjoy.
Drabble Three: Fudge's Glory
"Ow! Why are you doing this! What are you? Do you have any idea who I am? I could have – Ahhh!"
The monster had slammed the butt of a very sharp looking sword against his shoulder.
Outrageous!
Where did they get off treating him this way? Bound, almost literally hog-tied, forced to scuttle in front like a dog. He was the Minister for Magic . . . well, tomorrow he wouldn't be, but for now he was. To think that these creatures had the audacity to slam him around as though he were, as though he were a common muggle . . . well he wouldn't stand for it!
They had taken him by surprise while he'd still been trying to figure out just where he had ended up; tied him up before he could draw his wand. But he wasn't a wizard for nothing, and even if he didn't know where in all Merlin's Beard he was he could still apparate. Though he might end up in a desert somewhere . . . and there was the unfortunate bonus of taking some of the creatures with him. The ones that were touching him. Couldn't be helped.
For one silent moment he stared at the tower in front of him. "Meenas Morgue," he thought he'd heard one of the creature's mutter. A tower like nothing he'd ever seen. It had the look of something that could have once held value, but was now a sort of eerie green dirty colour . . . and were those gargoyles' eyes moving?
Something large and heavy pushed into his back.
He fell heavily, falling onto his bound hands. He couldn't quite stop the whimper from forming.
The creatures laughed.
He became angry. Furious. Humiliated.
Who were these abominations? How dare they get off laughing at him? He, Cornelius Fudge, currently held the greatest position of power in wizarding Britain. He could have them thrown in Azkaban. A few days with the dementors ought to change their tunes.
He mentally waggled a finger at them, then stopped upon realising that that wasn't really helping his situation.
He shifted to his knees and ― what was this?
His hand had brushed against a thin, round thing. Could it have fallen out of his pocket? Could it be . . .? He curled his fingers around the hilt. It was!
He stood. Calm.
"Gentlemen," he said, turning to face his captors. "I believe the tables have turned."
They laughed raucously. Some growled. Some licked their chops.
Ordinarily, he would have shuddered. He wasn't a very brave person, but anyone could become courageous when their life was in danger. Especially if something was planning on eating you.
A few minutes was all it took. The ten or so creatures turned into an assorted array of teas and pastries and cutlery.
Cornelius unmagicked his ropes and helped himself to a buttered scone ― one former leader of the creatures.
He chuckled to himself. They had been planning to eat him, and look at them now. The tables really had turned.
xxxxxxx
A/N: I really wanted to see Fudge kicking butt. After all, he's not an evil man. He just has a different set of proprieties. I still think he's a bleeding twerp, but he's definitely better than Voldemort.