Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Other Magic	By : starry-pseudonym Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 962 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story - my very first - is compliant up to the start of the Half-Blood Prince. I do not own Harry Potter or any canon references. The story within is purely for entertainment, noncommercial purposes.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
She stared down at her uneaten stale piece of toast, slathered in undercooked beans in red sauce, and sighed. Two mornings of this was her limit – if the man keeping her under house arrest didn’t drive her mad, the banality of English breakfast would.
“So much for getting home,” she exhaled and let the hardened bread drop back onto the chipped plate, giving rise to her attention elsewhere. It was morning, and for the first time in what felt like ages the sun was shining. “Probably the predicament in the West Country,” she said to no one, though no less proud of herself for piecing things together.
The last two days Alison had been alone in Scabior’s flat. She had tested the locks the moment she was left to herself, but either her theory was incorrect, or there were other types of wards in play, those that not even magical people could thwart. Biding her time was her only other choice, and by six o’clock local time today her parents would be fully aware of her missed flight and lack of phoned communication. That meant that by this time tomorrow a manhunt would be underway, her face plastered on every television in the country. That’s how it worked, right?
But her time wasn’t wasted. Though there were no books in his apartment, a pile of newspapers in the corner revealed a wealth of information. She knelt down and spread them out on the floor like a puzzle to be solved. After getting over the discovery of animated photographs on the printed paper, Alison scoured every article for details that would help her understand what was going on.
Murder of Amelia Bones. She vaguely recalled reading about it in the Guardian one morning at a market café, not long after she arrived in the country. Bridge Collapse: Death Toll Rises. She skimmed down the columns. Gathering the front page in both hands, she raised it to the streaming sunlight over her shoulder. She read aloud the headline:
“You-Know-Who’s attacks threaten to uncover wizard world.”
Smack. She nearly leapt out of her skin at the sudden whack of the wand tearing at the newspaper. She let it go before it could rip and glared upward from her knelt disadvantage to the elusive man grinning down at her.
“Understatement of the century, love.”
Later that day, approaching early evening, the Prime Minister sat stiffly at his executive desk, phone in hand and ear pressed in consternation. “Mr. President, I agree, this is a terrible situation. I will have my top men looking into the disappearance of Ms. Hayes. It’s understandable, given the last week … yes, of course. Please extend my sympathies to … very well.”
As if the disasters spreading across the countryside weren’t enough, he now had the President of the United States to contend with in priority. He set the phone down and dropped his forehead into his outstretched palm.
About to reach for a glass with his free hand, he paused at the sound of another cough from the painting above his office door. “What is it this time?” he groaned.
“To the Prime Minister of Muggles, urgent request. Respond immediately, kindly yours, Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic.” Hadn’t he already met the man a few days ago?
“Get on with it then!” he blasted impatiently.
The spinning swirl of emerald smoke deposited Cornelius Fudge onto the rug. “Oh,” the Prime Minister straightened in his chair, “It’s you. What-what happened to the other … the Minister?”
Fudge was not carrying his lime-green bowler hat. It seemed in the short time since his last visit he realized it was no longer necessary or important for him to have it cradled against his pinstriped side. “He’s very busy as you know.” The aging wizard dumped himself into the chair opposite the muggle leader, “Oh good, if you’re pouring,” he motioned to the whiskey on the desk.
The Prime Minister sighed, but rather than argue he poured them each a glass, then sat back with his. “Very well, what’s the issue this time? Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named dead yet?”
Fudge’s jaw tightened but acquiesced in favor of a long sip. He was jovial in demeanor most always, even in the face of uncontested, horrific reality. The time for his blundering recounts of his world’s intersections with the Prime Minister’s was over. “We’ve been exposed.”
The Prime Minister choked on his drink. “Wait-what? How? I thought that wasn’t possible?”
“Oh well, we’re on the verge of being exposed,” Fudge revised, ignorant to the frustration now fully spread across the muggle’s face.
“The Muggle Liaison Office is sorely understaffed with all the mayhem his followers are causing these days. We’ve been able to perform memory modifications on everyone so far, but truthfully, it’s become a mess.”
The Prime Minister loudly returned his whiskey glass to the desk and leaned forward. “So hire more people? Isn’t this paramount to the stability of our two societies?” Up until now, he had felt quite uninformed, deliberately so, about this other world, which put him in the passenger seat of every conversation with this man in front of him. But after his last phone call, the events of this week, and this latest turn in news, he could no longer tolerate this subordinate position.
“I require you to get your Ministry under control, Fudge, and quickly. If my people learn about what is really happening, I will not have it within my authority, nor will I want to deny claims of witches and… and … warlocks …”
“Wizards,” Fudge interjected.
“And magic!” the Prime Minister stood from his chair to peer down at his former counterpart in governance. “Because my people come first. So if your war becomes our war, you best hear me plainly right now. I will throw the full weight of the United Kingdom, and her global allies, into defeating this Lord What’s-His-Name, with every non-magical force at our disposal. We’ve been dismissed as inferior,” he could tell from how Fudge’s jaw dropped that he as a muggle knew more than he let on, “And for that, we’ve paid the price. Our cities are in chaos, citizens are turning up dead, freak storms are tearing up our villages, an American woman has gone missing from Leadenhall, and …”
“What did you say?” Fudge stood. He still had a few sips left in his glass but it was set down. “About Leadenhall?” He knew what the Prime Minister truly meant.
“A woman, Alison Hayes. She went missing the same day as the bridge collapse and now I have not just your war to consider, but keeping the yankees out of our business as well.”
“A muggle, then?”
“I presume so, why?”
“No-nothing, I ought to be going.” Fudge spun around and inspected his chair. After some shifting about he remembered he hadn’t brought his hat for once, and so he scrummaged inside his jacket pocket for a handful of powder.
“What is it?” the Prime Minister pressed, rounding the corner of his desk.
Fudge, no longer the Minister, felt less tight-lipped than usual, and so with a slump of his shoulders, he looked sidelong at the other man, one who he did not envy these days. “She may be the first of many to come.”
The powder exploded in vibrant, emerald light, and before the Prime Minister could utter another word, the wizard was gone.
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Other Magic