Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter characters.
A/N: Sorry I've been distracted-now back to the fun. We left off with Harry starting an internship at the Ministry...
Chapter Ten: Back to square one
Now I ask you; how the hell was I suppose to know that not being able to pee for extended periods could cause atonic bladder and, or kidney malfunction? I'm no healer.
What I am is an over worked and underpaid public servant. Omigod! I beginning to sound like Fudge now?!
Where was I, oh yes... atonic bladder. Now for those of you not in the know an atonic bladder occurs when, after extended periods of urinary retention, the bladder loses its tone and becomes nothing more than a water bag, incapable of either holding urine or successfully acknowledging the urge to let down, er,..ie.. 'respond appropriately to the urge to pee'.
Pardon my use of medical jargon.
All I wanted was a more efficiently working departmental structure. What I got after extended brewing and experimentation was a total wash out- literally so.
Merlin above, what a mess! After replacing the carpets in the board room twice, our departmental heads came to the conclusion,( efficiently as always), that it would save both time and money to install either tile or linoleum.
Great minds that they are, they decided on tile as it looks and wears nicer than the alternative. It does mop up well, but my nose is telling me that the type they chose is of a porous nature as the room now smells like one of those port-o-poties, despite repeated cleaning by both magical and muggle means.
Hell, we even bleached the floor which if anything mad the stench more toxic.
Initially I thought I'd single handedly increased governmental efficiency by a hundred and fifty percent. Fudge and his cronies didn't stop drinking alcohol mind, but at least they didn't have to run to the bathroom every five damn minutes. This unfortunately inspired them to greater heights of imbibing. It was like giving candy to a diabetic and simultaneously lowering his blood sugar, ie,.. no downside.
Again, pardon my use of medical jargon.
I brewed a special batch of Potter's Pee Preventer and added it to their varied decanters within the workplace.
Now it didn't work on everyone, not because of any special adaptability or resistance to my formula, but rather the drunken sod's had more hiding places for their booze than a revealing spell could find.
Well sir, the more they drank the less frequently they had to go. This delighted them and they drank more. They drank more and peed less. More- less. Eventually they didn't go at all.
So what did they do? Did they stop drinking and seek medical intervention as the label clearly indicated -NO.
They drank until they burst-literally.
Fudge blew like a fire hydrant on a hot summer day. It was one long, powerful spray. The man bolted for his bathroom and upon filling the toilet faster than he could flush- he opted for the bath tub.
Reasonable, you might assume under the circumstances? Wrong.
As I said before, the less they went- the more they drank. The drunken sod slipped on his own pee drenched floor, took a header into the bath tub and the rest as they say... is history.
I can see by your dull expressions and vacant eyes that you're not getting it?
Have you ever heard the expression "drowning in your own piss"?
Now most people use this little euphemism to describe having to endure suffering your own mistakes.
Say,.. that kind of does apply here, but I was thinking more literally again.
Still not getting it, huh?
He drowned in the bath tub which was incidentally filed with his own piss.
That's the official report- what a cheap cover up.
The truth is, is that what he peed out was nearly eighty proof as there was so much of it his blown liver couldn't even process the stuff. Now, Fudge being the drunkard that he is, he proceeded to try and drink his way out of his predicament.
Ever hear of a brewery worker falling into a beer vat and try to drink his way down to safety?
It's the same principal here only Fudge was fighting a losing battle as he was passing it as fast as he could drink it.
Again- atonic bladder.
Say that's kind of an amusing thought. It's like the age old- 'what came first; the chicken or the egg?'
Anyway, I'm reliably informed that he died with a great big smile on his face, preserved for all time by copious amounts of alcohol. It's a natural preservative you know.
I heard they didn't need to embalm him. Nice that, saved the public the expense of having to pay for it.
It's a shame really. After having to have Dumbledore committed, "for the greater good", Fudge and I were starting to bond.
We might never have been friends but I at least had some measure of respect for the man. I think the measure being one part lithium and two parts powdered bicorn horn to be exact.
"Poor Fudge is dead, a candle lights his head. He's looking oh so purdy and serene..."
Awe cripes, I'm singing from 'Oklahoma' this time. I've been absently singing show tunes ever since I went to that fiasco of a diner at the Longbottom's.
"Come and meet the family, Harry. My mum can't wait to meet you. She says she's heard so many good things about you." Neville gushed.
She's heard good things alright and I can guess where: Mc-Gon-a-gal.
There I was sitting across from my God mum at the dining table. I should have known something was up when they cooked my favorite: Turkey. One minute I'm sitting there engaging in polite conversation between forkfuls and the next thing I know...
"Urp...!" I half choke on the cranberries, again-literally.
"Are you alright , dear?" Alice Longbottom asks with maternal worry etching her voice, but eyes that could out "twinkle" Dumbles on his best day.
"Er,.. I'm fine." I answer sheepishly taking a swig of wine to clear the remains from my throat and...
"Urk..!" I spill red wine down my dress shirt.
"Oh,.. what a shame... that'll stain if we don't treat it right away." Alice suggests half pulling me out of my chair as I try in vain to brush away her reaching hands.
"It's ok I've got others, really... it's an old shirt..."
"Now you listen to your godmother, Harry. She knows what's best." Frank Longbottom half scolds/ half cajoles.
I wonder if he'd be half so willing to send me off with my wicked godmother if he knew it was her toes in my lap that caused all this fuss in the first place.
"No, really.. I should be going anyway.. lot's to do and... eep!" I screech in alarm as wicked God mum yanks me right off my feet and into what can only be described as the nursery from hell!
"This would have been your nursery..." she sighs in regret. "If things hadn't turned out the way they did for Frank and me? We made some changes, hoping that you'd consider moving in?" she drawls, licking her lips lasciviously.
Nursery? Changes? Are you kidding me?!
The joint looks like Sesame Street meets Dante's inferno. On the far wall there's a giant blow up picture of Bert and Ernie that depicts why they remained roommates when they seemingly didn't get along.
There's a reason they're puppets.
My supposed bed is an over sized crib complete with bars that don't look so much as for my personal safety, but more for captivity's sake. Instead of a mobile over the bed I've got a trapeze.
There's man sized changing table next to the ,.. er, crib?... that had a variety of lotions and powders ready to hand that appear to have little to do with personal hygiene and I don't even want to think what's all stashed away in the storage bins underneath.
Godmum rings a little bell and who pops in, but the former Nurse Daphne who is not only their personal health technician whilst they seemingly still need to recover, but she delightedly informs me that she is also employed as mine and Neville's personal nanny.
Hmm, that explains the matron outfit complete with white stockings, albeit, fish net white stockings.
I wonder what the burp towel is for that she has positioned over her left shoulder? No... don't go there... Bad Harry... very bad.
What is it with chicks named Daphne?
If I had the time and we weren't so drastically over budget I'd devote a research grant to studying this phenomenon. If certain numbers are magically powerful than why not names?
I mean anything that could take down Voldemort and at the same time provide for the care and wellbeing of the infirm was definitely something worth researching, if for no other reason than posterity's sake.
Well sir, before I can say goo-goo the two of them have got my clothes off.
"Hey, I only stained my shirt?"I complain, trying and failing to cover my modesty who, by the by, is willfully betraying his master by stirring to life.
It's got to be the sudden cool air,.. it's just gotta be?
"Yes, but you are all sticky and need a bath." Daphne coos suggestively.
Alice sings out that she'll soak my shirt and start my bath water as Daphne pokes and prods my protesting form toward the bathroom.
There are three faucets running hot, cool and warm water at the same time and four flavor scented bath foams.
Flavor scented? Hey wait a minute?
"What're you going to do with that? You keep that sponge away from me, lady. No, I won't uncross my legs. What's that rubber frog for...URP!"
"Don't worry, my Harry. You'll feel oh so much better once you're all clean and had a good night's rest." Alice coos suggestively. "Why tomorrow you'll feel like a new man."
"No...no...oh...OH.. Ohhhh, The sun will come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar on tomorrow...Come what may... TOMORROW-TOMORROW..I LOVE YA...TOMORROW...You're only a day a-wayyy..."
I don't know what it is, but ever since that night I keep popping out show tunes whenever I'm feeling particularly emotional.
That and I've decided that if I ever have a child of my own I am definitely employing a nanny named Daphne to "help wittle Harry get all cwean".
He'll thank me for it one day.
Enough about tomorrow, here in the present I'm still sitting in my cubical awaiting the pleasure of the new Minister of Magic, one... Arthur Weasley.
The ungrateful sod.
That damn Wizengamot didn't even consider me for the job. They said I lack in experience, what with only being an intern for a mere two months. What they really mean by experience is that I can't hold my liquor they way Fudge could. In that regard –who can?
They're right about the liquor though. The last time I got good and pissed was the day I got canned from Hogwarts and fell into this ministry gig. Naturally my grateful peers at Hogwarts wanted to throw me a little get together to commiserate my leaving and celebrate my good fortune in landing a better than average entry level job at the Ministry.
All I can really remember from my going away party was that Goblin ale, (supplied by Flitwick), is as potent as drinking rubbing alcohol. That and Filch informs me- now, that aphrodisiac potions seem to be more powerfully active when combined with butter cream frosting; which explains why Porfessor Mc-G, insisted upon making the cake herself. That and the fact that she was trying to "fatten me up" by insisting I have two extra helpings.
Ya know something..? That old girl is gonna make one hell of a Headmistress with a strong emphasize on mistress. She invited me up to her office to show me the personal touches she added.
The place looked like some Sultan's tent out of Ali Baba. Thick Persian carpets covered with poufs which I found out later were purely for positioning purposes.
The place was one giant harem of decadence.
You ever heard of the dance of seven veils? Well I hadn't, but I'm acquainted with it now. She did the whole spiel complete with symbols, a heady incense that was probably the magical world's version of hashish and a ruby in her navel to complete the effect.
Where she got a ruby that large to fit her navel I'll never know? And talk about sticking charms? I'll bet you couldn't of pried that ruby out with a can opener, I should know.. I tried, but the suction on that thing was incredible. I broke three fingernails in the attempt.
Boy did she pick up on Dumble's old tricks to. Every decanter in the joint, of which there are many, was filled to the brim with yep,.. you guessed it- lemon drops.
I swear it was a damn week before Mohammed could leave the damn mountain, if you know what I mean? That and the fragrance of lemons on my breath finally abated.
You know... I just had a stroke of genius, hmm, it propably was a stroke. Anyway, I've got an idea for the Magical world's version of Life Savers. Think of it? I could give Bernie Bott's beans a run for their money.
I've gotta get in touch with the twins and strike while the iron's hot. We could do a line for the kids, maybe.. banana flavor that turns you into a chimp for a few minutes. Pear flavored turns you pear shaped like one of those Oompa-Loompas on Willy Wonka. The possibilities are endless.
I decided we could do an adult line inspired by Dumbles.. We could keep the Lemon flavored aphrodisiac for sentimental reasons. Add a cherry flavored one for those wishing to turn back the clock to a state of innocence. For Professor Mc-G that will be some pre-Victorian era. A nice, long lasting banana flavored one for the gents. Grapefruit for the ladies-He-He-He.
You see where I'm going with this? Man 'o man I'm gonna be rich. Hey, wait a minute,.. I'm all ready rich. Hmm,.. well,.. I'll figure out something constructive to do with the extra money.
The sound of my intercom alarm tells me Minister Weasley beckons.
I poke my head in his orange headed worship's office. "You wanted something, sir?"
"Ah, yes,.. Pisser,.. there's a good lad. Take a letter for me."
"That's Potter, sir" I correct politely. Though I have to give him credit- Pisser's a good one in view of recent events.
You know,.. I like Mr. Weasley, I really do, but Minister Weasley...?
"Yes, yes, Porker... the letter..." he waves off distractedly.
Hmm, it must be the job? Maybe Voldie put a curse on it that turns those subsequently elected into idiots. That or you'd have to be an idiot to want the job in the first place.
Now, I could put up with Mr. Weasley getting the minister's gig, I really could. Even though the only reason he got the job was primarily due to the fact he doesn't imbibe. Which is rather amazing given the fact that he's married to Molly.
As I said, I could handle that, but him promoting Percy back over me, well sir.. that leaves a bad after taste in my mouth like one of Dumble's,.. er, scratch that,.. one of Mc-G's lemon drops.
Note to self.. 'tweak formula to eliminate bad aftertaste'. I want people clamoring for more. It's just good business.
"And further more Blah-Blah-Blah..." sheesh can this guy run on. You know, I don't think I've ever heard Mr. Weasly say a paragraph, not that he can finish a thought without Molly taking over the conversation. But Minister Weasely is another critter entirely.
Diarrhea of the mouth or what?
Say, there's an epiphany. I wonder if the twin "you no poo' line could dry up Minister Weasley's diatribe?
Aw the hell with that, Molly'll shut him up good when he gets home. Course, I notice he's been spending more and more time at the office of late. I wonder if years of hen peckery have caught up and the man is bursting to let it all out- literally so.
"There's a good man, Porter, no off you get and send a copy to the individuals depts. And the wizengamot for their consideration. "
"It's Potter, sir." I grumble wearily.
"Yes, yes, Pervo, that'll be all." He dismisses me without so much as a glance in my direction as he returns to reading his muggle funnies which he thinks are a work of non-fiction.
Wait a minute..Pervo?
I'm insulted, albeit it's a rather true and honest mistake, but for all that I'm outraged.
That's it. Past considerations aside, this guy just blipped on my radar screen.
What to do... what to do...?
Eureeka-I've got it!
Harry.. you Pervo!
Weasley returns home late as per usual these days and I go to work...
A few charms around the office, a picture or two, some flowers... yes,.. that's nice.
Now I can get a good night's sleep and look forward to Tomorrow-Tomorrow... I love ya tomorrow... you're only a dayyyy a-wayyyy. Stop that, enough already- sheesh.
Tomorrow comes and as per usual, Arthur Weasley sneaks in early to avoid spending extra time with his wife. The job has become the man's escape. Now I can't fault him for that ever man needs his safety zone, but then again- he blipped on my radar.
Before tha man's arse can warm his chair I'm already hatching my evil master plan and am lovingly wrapping my, I mean hs gift to the little woman that I send off with the Minister's own private owl.
Some flowers for Molly, laced with the concentrated extract from one of my most potent aphrodisiac candle lines. A small bag of treats with- yup, you guessed it; some special lemony confections that are sure set the mood. Last but not least... a rather provocative, if not skimpy, ensemble with an invitation to "lunch" with the minister's private floo address highlighted in Pink lettering.
Amore ,... I'm a true romantic at heart. Did I mention that I made a point of offering to clean and polish the Minister's wand. I used a special polish; one that blocks prophylactic charms.
He'll thank me for it later.
It's nearly noon time and I'm twitching in my seat in eager anticipation.
The second hand finally hits twelve and I pop out of my seat.. "Let's get ready to Rum-bleeeee!"
In my zeal I accidently click on the Minister's office intercom link.
It's a somewhat honest mistake. That and my having charmed the pictures in the Minsiter's office to display the inner workings of the people's government much like a close circuit television only using pictures throughout the Ministry to display the live feed.
I'd like to take credit, but really I got the idea from Dumbles and the way he used the portraits around the castle to spy on students, especially that slut of a mermaid in the prefects bathroom.
But, I digress.
"M-Molly...what're you...?" the man gasps in shock.
Molly Weasley has emerged from the Minsiter's private floo with her red tresses pinned up, a semi opaque black pin stripe secretary's power outfit complete with pad and quill in hand.
"I'm ready to take dic-tation, Minister he-he-he." she simpers suggestively.
"Oh dear..." she dropped her quill and bent over to pick it up giving the man, (and the rest of the ministry), a panoramic view of her ample posterior that has red glowing letters that state:
Classified material- Minister's eyes only
I've got admit, nice touch that. You know, as well rounded as Professor Mc-G is she's got nothing on Molly Weasley's well rounded- wait .. what am I saying!
Bad Harry.. very bad... I'm gonna smoke a turd in hell for that one!
If not for that, than for what I do next.
Being the romantic that I am I wait for Weasley to finish passing some rather personal legislation and then pay him a little visit.
He didn't tab me Pervo for nuthin.
A few glamours, a familiar skimpy secretary's outfit, pad and guill and a rather voluptuous, blonde and younger secretary enters the Minister's office to take...
"I'm here for our usual rendezvous Minister to take dic-tation." I simper suggestively.
"Arthur Weasley!" Molly shrieks in outrage trying and failing to cover her bits with her hands.
Come on, the human hand is only so big.
You know something... that Molly Weeasly has got the whole MILF thing down... oh-God! Stop that, what's wrong with me...?!
Sigmund Freud couldn't cure my mother complex in a year of couch time.
Anyway, back to the former, Minister Weasley. I feel sorry for the man, I really do. These aren't tears of mirth, really they aren't.
Apparently the Wizengamot was appalled and sickened by the way he conducted his ministerial duties.
Personally, I think they're all jealous as the man proved he's got staying power. Many of the department heads apparently agreed as they elected him their union rep in a land slide vote.
I'm reliably informed that they were of a mind that Arthur was the kind of man who wouldn't back down in the face of insurmountable adversity.
He should be out of St. Mungo's spell damage ward just in time to entrench himself in his new duties just before the arrival of yet another Weasley.
Now eight might not be a magically powerful number, but if it's a girl I know just the name to suggest to put the proper spin on things.
Thank Merlin it's nearly September and I can drop this Ministerial nightmare, er, I mean opportunity.
I'd like to believe if nothing else I've got a real handle on how to conduct myself professionally within the political arena. Ethics aren't just a word, but something I feel I've brought back to civil service in spades.
Thankfully I had a week to rest and relax before entering my final NEWT year. I spent the week under the supportive and nurturing care of my God family.
Thank Merlin, schools starting as I can't take any more supportive and nurturing care, at least not without breaking out in show tunes at the top of my lungs.
Speaking of singing.. you know that Voldemort really has a nice rich baritone. No seriously, I mean it. The man can hit some pretty amazing chords with the right prompting, but just what Daphne Greengrass was doing to him when he came up with that unexpected falsetto I'd rather not repeat.
I'd thought about working on severing the link with his former dark-ness, but I don't think I could sacrifice the loss of inspirational material.
I owe it to the people. The everyday shmoe who needs a little pick me up, a chuckle or two to brighten another tedious, if not, dreary day in his or her daily endeavors.
By that I mean that I owe it to myself.
I created this masterpiece and I'm gonna run with it. They don't call me Hairy Pervo, ah,.. I mean Harry Potter for nothing.
Merlin the ride to school on the Hogwart's express seems to go on forever, of course it doesn't help that the Creevy brothers keep harassing me.
"I don't know,.. turn into creepy mist and seep under the door to feed on your virgin prey or something."
"Colin, have you and your brother been watching crummy vampire flicks on the late night telly again?" I assume.
"Yeah, but they're cool."
I roll my eyes. "So is a glacier but you don't see me wasting my time watching one."
Hey, that's a good metaphor. I'm gonna have to writ e that one down.
"How about a bat then."
"Sure, why not."
"Really, you'd do that so I can get a picture for the school's annual?"
"Absolutely" That said I conjure a baseball bat and proceed to beat the annoying little flea with it.
"Did you get a good shot of that?" I ask as the twerp groans and limps away with his broken camera.
Ah well, at least I can preserve the image in a pensieve.
The beginning of the school year feast is about to begin and the sorting hat is singing its usual spiel about uniting against the common foe. Now normally I wouldn't mind , but this year everyone's casting surreptitious looks my way and I'm starting to feel a bit underappreciated if not downright unwanted.
It's not bad enough that I've been demoted to a mere student again, but hey, I'm still an adult and should at least have the use of my wand, shouldn't I? It's not my fault , I genuinely thought I was serving the public trust by keeping the student population safe.
Here I was walking into the castle for my last term, just minding my own business, and out of nowhere a blast from the past pops up in front of me.
Now, I know for a fact that the greasy git is dead, cause I was there when he died, tragic accident that.
Anyway, I'm just coming through the castle doors when the great bat swoops up in front of me with his trademark sneer in place, drawling out the usual... "So nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter. That'll be oh say fifty points from Gryffindor for your..erp!"
Now come on, it was pure reflex on my part. Seriously, Death Eater and all around creep that he was at least he did the noble thing and died, thereby serving the public interest for once in his miserable life. Now,.. here the villain is resurrected from the dead- nuh- uh, I'm not having any.
So being the conscientious young man that I am, I desperately try to put right what has obviously gone horrifically wrong and hit the king of creepiness with every hex in the book from first year through sixth year curriculum and even throw in a few seventh year spells for good measure.
Hermione would be so proud that I've been studying ahead. Speaking of Hermione, apparently her parents locked her in some sort of rehab over the summer and she looks good- very good. You know... I'm thinking maybe her and I should get together in the other than friends sense. Brains, looks and an addictive personality... sounds like a winner to me. Now,.. waitaminute... where was I?
Oh, yeah... the pudding that was once the resurrected Snape. I thought Malfoy looked bad that time we all hexed him into oblivion on the Hogwarts express, but this?
Have you ever seen one of those gelatin moulds that doesn't come out of the mold rights and just looks like a blob of goo? Well, there you go.
So there I was pocketing my wand whilst taking grim satisfaction in that I've saved many a first year from wetting their beds at night. Now, I wasn't exactly expecting an award for services to the school, but an "atta boy, Harry" would've been nice.
What I got was professors pouring out of the woodwork with wands drawn, all of them pointed at me. Now I ask you,.. how was I to know that Nymphadora Tonks took over the D.A.D.A class and was using her metamorphing skills to play a little sprank on yours truly.
I suppose I may have overlooked the fact that Snape's features strated changing drastically when the hexes started flying, but I just thought I was doing an admirable job of it. In retrospect, it explains why the goo at my feet keeps cycling though different colors of the rainbow.
It's strange that... It almost looks like there's a pattern to the color changes...?
"Omigod,...it's Morris Code!" I shout in revelation. "Quick somebody, give me a quill and parchment."
The guill and parchment and no sooner in my hand than the flashes from the goo pile start again in earnest...
I-t-h-i-nk-i-s-w-a-l-l-o-w-e-d-m-y-s-p-l-e-e-n- Stop... I-m-g-o-i-n-g-t-o-k-i-l-l-P-o-t-t-e-r-i-f-i-l-i-v- e-t-h-r-u-t-h-i-s-Stop...
Poor girl is in so much pain she doesn't know what she's saying. A quick erasure spell removes the evidence of what I'm sure would only embarrass her if made public.
"Tonks..try to use your metamorph abilities to pull yourself together." I yell into the puddle of jelly in roughly the direction of where Snape's ears used to be when he did his 'wicked witch of the west' interpretation.
More colors... maybe my message got through?
She must be in agony; either that or her brain is losing cohesion like the rest of her.
A snort from my left tells me that Prof Mc-G is reading over my shoulder. I color slightly in embarrassment making sure she understands that... "She's talking out of her head-literally."
A gasp and a pointing hand from Mc-G has me looking down curiously. Thata girl, nymphie!
I'm relieved to see that she's starting to pull herself together as a hand rises out of the primordial goo that used to be my favorite auror.
My relief turns to disgust when a very universal one fingered sign greets yours truly.
There's gratitude for you.
So here I am drinking my feast through a straw as my hands are currently manacled to my seat and my wand is in Professor Mc-G's breast pocket which she pats almost languidly every time she catches my eye.
I've got a bad feeling that getting my wand back is going to cost me a lot more than your average detention.