Lottery

London,

The EBC Studios,

10:45 pm

As the audience settled into their seats, the make-up artists meticulously applied the final touch-ups to both the host and his guest. With their task completed, they swiftly exited the set, leaving the stage ready for the impending show. Meanwhile, the producer initiated the countdown with his fingers, signaling the imminent start of the program.

"Good evening, I am David Wimbleby, and welcome to "Question Time." Tonight, as is customary every Thursday, we are broadcasting live from the EBC Studios in London. Our host for this evening is Gordon Cowan, the Secretary of State for Work and Pensions. Good evening and let me commence by extending my warm greetings to you and expressing my utmost respect, as you are aware that we do not hold back on this program.

"It is my pleasure to be here. I must say, your show is quite audacious, although it does exhibit a slight bias towards our friends on the left," Cowan remarked.

"In that case, I recommend you tune in to our show more frequently, sir. However, I hope you will maintain transparency during our discussion tonight," Wimbleby responded.

"Of course, as nothing surpasses boldness and honesty!" Cowan replied, smiling.

"Wonderful! So, let us commence with the ongoing election campaign. According to recent polls, your support in voting intentions stands at a mere 15 percent," Wimbleby stated.

"I must admit, it is not much," Cowan nodded in agreement.

"I concur, especially considering that election day is only eight months away. However, we will provide you with an opportunity, later on, to try and persuade the people of England by taking their live phone calls," Wimbleby informed him.

"I am eager to get started," Cowan said confidently.

"So, without further ado, I will introduce Richard Harthluck, a journalist from Newsline," Wimbleby announced, as a man emerged from backstage, shook their hands, took a seat at the table, and waved his hand in greeting to the applauding audience.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and good evening, sir! First and foremost, allow me to provide a brief background for our viewers at home," Harthluck began.

"Please do," Cowan interjected.

"Thank you. You previously served as the Secretary of State for Business and Industrial energy, before a brief period at the Ministry of Transportation..." Harthluck started.

"If I may correct you, it was the Ministry of Culture," Cowan clarified.

"No, no, it was indeed the Ministry of Transportation, Sir," Harthluck replied, smiling.

"Indeed? Well, it is a plausible scenario," Cowan replied, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders.

"Furthermore, you held the esteemed position of the United Kingdom's Ambassador to the UN," Harthlock interjected.

"Regrettably, you omitted to mention my brief but significant tenure at the Ministry of Education," Cowan said, a smile adorning his face.

"Um, are you absolutely certain? Because..."

"With all due respect, I enjoy the privilege of a lifetime allowance, which places me in an advantageous position to possess such knowledge," Cowan chuckled softly, displaying his self-assuredness.

"Very well. Allow me to present my initial inquiry, straightforward and pertaining to the abrupt disappearance of High Court Judge Frank Hewinson. Both the press and the public have been captivated by the farewell letter discovered in his office, wherein he references his debilitating exhaustion and imminent retirement in a foreign land, imploring to be left in peace. Furthermore, the existence of any ongoing investigation remains uncertain. Could you shed some illumination on this perplexing matter?" Harthluck inquired with curiosity.

"Who?" Cowan queried, a perplexed expression on his face.

"Frank Hewinson... The very same judge who until recently presided over the investigation into alleged party donations that you purportedly benefited from," Wimbleby interjected, discreetly adjusting his spectacles.

"Ah, yes! A sorrowful and intricate affair," Cowan responded, loosening his tie ever so slightly, his countenance reflecting a hint of concern.

"During our conversation last week, your fellow statesman from the Department of State Affairs exhibited a certain evasiveness regarding this matter," Wimbleby added.

Cowan nodded, a pensive expression crossing his face before he replied, "Well, it is an open secret that baseless accusations have been unjustly leveled against me, devoid of any substantiating evidence, courtesy of the sensationalist gossip peddled by certain scandal sheets!" He sighed, shaking his head ruefully, before continuing, "To be frank, this entire ordeal would make for a farcical comedy... were it not for the grievous nature of the defamation that tarnishes my reputation."

"Therefore, what is the veracity of the situation?" Harthluck inquired.

"Regarding the judge?" Cowan sought clarification.

"Indeed, pertaining to both the judge and the allegations against you! Would you care to make an official statement?" Harthluck pressed, his tone insistent.

"Very well. I can assure you that during that period, I exerted my utmost influence to ensure optimal conditions for the judiciary," Cowan began, only to be sharply interrupted by Wimbleby.

"Sir, might I remind you of your earlier emphasis on transparency?" Wimbleby interjected, a note of authority in his voice.

Cowan chuckled and nodded, acknowledging the point, "Fair enough. I can unequivocally confirm that we were duly informed and willingly consented to Mr. Hewinson's early retirement," Cowan confided, his voice dropping to a whisper as he mused to himself, "although we left him with precious few alternatives."

"Thus, the matter stands resolved. We extend our best wishes for a tranquil retirement wherever he chooses to reside. Nevertheless, the case has now exceeded the statute of limitations, owing to the amendment you championed a few years ago. Nonetheless... Were any of the accusations leveled against you founded in truth?" Harthluck posed, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Cowan's smile faded, and he let out a sigh before responding, "My dear friend and fellow citizens, rest assured that you can remain appeased. For if I bear a share of responsibility equivalent to the collective obligation that binds us as a nation, it logically follows that I should be held accountable, but in no way deemed at fault!" Cowan nodded as he spoke.

"Indeed! However, I apologize for persisting... But I would like to seize this opportunity to pose a rather audacious question. Several fellow journalists assert that you turn a blind eye to illicit arms and drug trafficking, substantiating their claims with photographs of you alongside P..." Wimbleby said.

Cowan raised a hand slightly, interrupting Wimbleby with a stern glare, and firmly stated, "Sir, I had no intention of broaching this matter tonight. Nevertheless, I would feel tarnished if I do not address these fallacious and outrageous accusations... To be candid, I perused those articles, and nothing has pained me more! They were arguably the most astounding fabrications ever printed in a mature democratic nation..." Cowan said, taking a sip of water from his glass and clearing his throat before continuing, "...Each day! Drug trafficking claims the lives of thousands of individuals worldwide. Indubitably, our allies and we provide a substantial armament to select warlords and dictators across the globe, but always following a democratic procedure and with the endorsement of both houses. It is a matter of integrity!" Cowan asserted firmly, banging his fist on the table, looking content as the audience responded with resounding applause.

"Thank you for your response... I suggest we move on to a less pressing matter, which is women's rights. You have recently been a fervent advocate for equal opportunities between men and women, as well as emphasizing gender parity in the workplace. You encouraged young men to embrace feminism and set a prime example by removing and replacing Elsa McGowan as the head of the feminist union within your party," Dimbleby said.

"Of course... I now oversee the day-to-day operations of the group, and I couldn't be more delighted to bring my ambition, experience, and unwavering determination to this new role as the foremost champion of feminism in our nation. My achievements serve as a testament to the fact that what the feminist movement required was someone who, pardon my choice of words, possessed the fortitude to take decisive action in this realm! Prior to my involvement, the movement's limited success was often hindered by a previous management that displayed excessive timidity, rather than resoluteness and outcome-driven focus," Cowan explained.

"What specific changes have you brought to the movement?" Wimbleby inquired.

"I emphatically conveyed my message and admonished all involved that if they wish to savor equal rights, they must engage in frank, man to man, conversations with those in power until they can forge more equitable laws! However, I had to establish order first. The organization was in disarray, and its antiquated fundraising methods were a haphazard joke. Let us simply say they were never proficient with numbers. However, I want to make one thing abundantly clear—I did not embark upon the endeavor of women's rights for the sake of accolades!" Cowan clarified.

"Nobody would dispute that given the significant strides, those women were able to accomplish with the assistance you brought forth. I surmise that you possess an intangible quality, albeit I am unsure of its precise nature, that imparts an added impetus toward absolute female empowerment," Wimbleby pondered.

"Thank you... I believe it emanates naturally," Cowan replied.

"Could we address the topic of gay rights?" Wimbleby inquired.

"No," Cowan curtly replied.

"Very well... I apologize for hurrying, sir, but I have been informed that there is a lady on the line who wishes to be the first to... Yes, please go ahead, madam! We are all ears!" Wimbleby said.

A few moments later, a woman's voice resonated through the studio, "Good evening, Gordon."

"Good evening, madam. However, I prefer to be addressed as Mr. Cowan or simply as sir," Cowan responded, furrowing his brow.

"It's me, Abigail," the woman revealed.

"Oh..." Cowan's smile faded, and he motioned to Wimbleby to end the call.

"It is absolutely absurd that I have to call a television station, as your lawyers make it impossible to get you on the line... Anyway, I will get straight to the point. I have said it before, and I will reiterate it now: I don't care about your money, but it is extremely urgent that you finally acknowledge the existence of your daughter. She is a delightful five-year-old girl who is starting to ask questions and do things I cannot explain! So, it is high time that you..." Abigail began before Cowan sharply interrupted her.

"I concur! It is preposterous for you to bring this deeply personal matter onto television, and you should be ashamed of using our daughter in an attempt to tarnish my reputation. However, if this is not solely about you, I recognize that countless women throughout this country struggle to raise their children alone and impart family values to the next generations. Therefore, I will lead by example and rise above the situation. Listen to me, Abigail! Starting tomorrow, my legal team will reach out to you, and Lavender will receive an allowance of one thousand pounds until she turns eighteen," Cowan declared. "annually".

"Did you even hear what I just said? It is not about money but rather what she is capable of..." Abigail retorted, visibly irritated, before Cowan interrupted her once more.

"Furthermore! We will enroll Lavender in a specialized institute that caters to the needs of retar…children with special needs!" Cowan announced as Abigail's voice became muffled by the thunderous applause from the audience before the commercials commenced.


Three days later, at the burrow.

In the afternoon, a familiar scene unfolded. Arthur Weasley sat on the coffee table, casting a stern gaze at his two previously well-behaved children who occupied the sofa. Bill, his eldest son, carefully avoided eye contact, while next to him, young Ginny sobbed, tightly clutching a children's book.

"It's not Bill's fault!" Ginny exclaimed, using her hand to wipe away her tears.

"It's alright, Ginny... I should have been more careful," Bill responded.

"Ginny, please stop crying for a moment and explain what happened instead," Arthur requested, handing her a tissue.

"It's all because of that little boy! He was being mean! He tried to snatch my book from my hands, and... I ended up punching him!" Ginny explained, her face turning tomato red.

"Bill, why was she alone? Where were you?" Arthur asked Bill, who finally turned to face his father.

"Dad, I'm sorry, but I was nearby... I simply let her go and fetch the book she wanted from the shelves. In the meantime, I bumped into a friend and got distracted. A minute later, I saw Ginny running towards me, seeking refuge," Bill explained.

Arthur pointed at Bill's black eye and inquired, "How did you get that?"

"Oh... the kid punched me," Bill whispered.

"THE LITTLE BOY WAS MEAN, DAD! IT'S NOT BILL'S FAULT! HE TRIED TO STEAL MY BOOK, AND THEN HE PUNCHED BILL!" Ginny shouted, jumping on the couch and waving her arms.

"Calm down, Ginny... How old was he?" Arthur inquired.

"I'd say he's about the same age as Ginny, maybe a little younger... around four," Bill replied, appearing embarrassed.

Arthur glanced at his son and daughter simultaneously, raising an eyebrow, before asking, "How did a boy so small manage to reach your face? You're fifteen and already taller than me."

"Well, it was an accident," Bill replied.

"THE MEAN LITTLE BOY CLIMBED ON A TABLE IN THE BOOKSTORE AND JUMPED ON BILL! BILL DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! HE WAS JUST TALKING TO HIS GIRLFRIEND!" Ginny blurted out, but immediately regretted it as she covered her mouth with her hands.

"GINNY!" Bill scolded her, as she realized she had revealed too much.

"Finally, here we are... Everything suddenly makes sense. Your mother and I found it suspicious when you asked us to let you take Ginny with you for the afternoon so she could choose her own birthday gift. It turns out, it was all just a plan..." Arthur said, cleaning his glasses.

"No! I genuinely wanted to surprise her..." Bill insisted, but Arthur coldly interrupted him.

"Kill two birds with one stone? Make yourself appear as the caring and adorable brother who looks after his little sister? Is that all Ginny is worth to you?" Arthur asked.

"No, Dad! That was never my intention!" Bill replied, glancing at his sister, who was engrossed in her book's cover.

"Bill, you made a plan, and this is what you came up with. You should be ashamed of yourself for using her... I never expected this from you. I'm disappointed," Arthur said, standing up.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I have no excuse," Bill said, lowering his head.

"Bill is sorry, Dad" Ginny chimed in, hugging her brother's arm.

"Where is that bookstore? Are you sure you didn't use any magic? What happened to the boy afterward?" Arthur inquired.

"Of course not! I didn't harm him, just pushed him away, and an employee quickly intervened. So, I paid for the book, and we left immediately," Bill explained.

"So, what took you so long?" Arthur asked.

"We hid behind a bush to make sure Mom wasn't around, and then we headed to our rooms..." Bill replied.

"But you ran into me on the stairs before you could hide your black eye... and pretend that nothing happened," Arthur sighed. "Ginny, Mommy is in Percy's room. Go show her your book and give her a hug."

Ginny sprang to her feet, kissed her dad, and dashed up the stairs, leaving Arthur and Bill alone. Arthur turned to his son, placing his hands on his shoulders.

"Bill, I know it's unfair to expect you to be an adult when you're still a kid yourself... But your brothers and sister look up to you. They imitate everything you do! In their eyes, their older brother can do no wrong. I hope you realize that," Arthur said softly.

"I know... But what if I don't want to? Dad, I always have to take care of them! It's exhausting! Percy is always in my room, Fred and George think everything is a joke, and Charlie isn't helping either! I haven't left the Burrow since I returned from Hogwarts. All I wanted was to spend an afternoon in town, take a breather, and for once, have an interesting summer story to share with my friends when I go back to school! I know it was wrong to use Ginny, but Mom wouldn't have let me go otherwise... Dad, I'm just too old for them! My OWLs are next year! I'm more focused on choosing a career than running around with the twins and the gnomes!" Bill expressed his frustrations.

Arthur sighed and nodded. "I understand... I'm sorry, Bill. Your mother and I are so proud of the person you've become, and sometimes we unintentionally burden you with responsibilities that shouldn't be yours. Listen, how about you join me, and we can search for that kid together? We could stop by Diagon Alley and have a chat along the way."