On a very thunderstormy September evening, the newly appointed PM gets a visit from the Minister of Magic

[iPreferBooks]

It was late into the evening on September 5th. Lizz Truss had gotten the keys to 10 Downing Street earlier on that day and had been deciding that her predecessor BoJo, had had a questionable taste in decoration. She decided she'd go and ask Rishi tomorrow to see if there was any more budget to do up number 10 to make it look a bit more presentable.

Earlier in the day she'd even found long forgotton hairbrush down the back of the sofa!

After finishing a long pamphlet about the current energy crisis, she thought she'd seen something out of the corner of her eye.

No, surely she was not imagining it?
The painting of the man with the moutasche had moved. She blinked. Then it said 'please agree to meeting the Minister of Magic who will be arriving shortly to meet you'.

'I, er, ok' said Lizz, thinking the stress of the ballot must have made her become extremely overtired.

Hermione Granger soon after appeared in Boris' old fireplace.

Love this :) The Other Minister was a great chapter. If only we had Hermione Granger influencing our government!

"Priminister, congratulations on your recent appointment." said Hermione. "I'm afraid we have a serious situation we need to discuss..."

… there’s been a run on kettle sales since your predecessor’s sage advice to the nation, stocks are critically low and you know a decent cuppa keeps the great unwashed off the government’s back.

Hermione: typically we wizards deliver bad news to the Muggle Prime Minister, but it appears that we are doing somewhat better than you all. It's about time, so I'll see you in a few years. Good luck.

Liz: huh?

The sky darkened and the birds ceased singing
A lone owl sailed graciously through the open window and dropped an envelope at her feet

Liz Truss looked at the memo summarising the current state of Britain. Blood drained from Truss’ face, as a chill ran down her spine. Slowly, her eyes rose to meet those of Granger.

”This is evil wizardry indeed,” murmured Truss.

”No. Serial incompetence by a succession of Conservative Prime Ministers,” replied Granger. “I am here to inform you that the entire wizarding community has left Britain and is now located in Ibiza. Good day to you. And good luck.” Granger turned towards the fireplace, preparing to leave.

“But… But… I don’t understand. You’re wizards!” Wailed Truss. “Surely you can DO something?!”

Granger glanced back over her shoulder, and for a moment her eyes glimmered with sympathy. “The trouble is, Prime Minister. The opposition party is crap too.”

The fire flared with unearthly colour, and Granger was gone.

Somewhere in the night outside, a lone owl hooted sadly.

“Oh, do shut up, Boris,” murmured Truss.

Later that night, Truss stared into her washbasin. She had filled it with filtered water and a small bottle of the exclusive face wash she’d been given by the new facialist she’d seen earlier that week. Strange lady that one - she could have sworn her mind was being read. And the face wash was funny stuff as well: no lather, no colour, just an ethereal, silvery gas. Oh well, perhaps it was a kind of aromatherapy, only without the smell, she thought as she bent her face over the basin.

Liz poured herself a large single malt and settled herself into the the chair that once housed Churchills bottom
What a conundrum she thought
'Alexa!' she screechd 'get me my most loyal ministers here immediately'
Then she waited and waited and waited ...
Meanwhile the dementors had started circling

Omg I'm living for this. Best thing I've read on MN in a long time.

Liz wondered if she had inadvertently bought some LSD as she felt herself swirling and floating. Now she too could claim to have had her, erm, cosmetics spiked.

She surfaced in a cave at a stone basin, surrounded by a lake with a greenish glow. At the basin was an old man groaning in pain, having been forced by his teenage companion to drink the foul substance in the basin. The scene looked familiar, like something she’d seen in a film. ‘Have I been here before?’ she wondered aloud.

‘No’, said a voice at her shoulder, ‘But you’ve probably read the biography.’ She turned round to recognise the middle aged version of the skinny teenager.

’I know, it looks vile,’ Harry Potter said sadly. ‘But he needed me to do it. And I’m warning you, Liz, you’re going to have to do something very similar. You have one hell of a poisoned chalice to knock back.’

Truss couldn’t even scream.

Professor McGonagall looked out of the Cabinet Office window. I'm getting too old for this caper, she thought to herself - a fortnight had been long enough. Thank goodness someone else was taking over. She stretched and gave a long yawn, then jumped down from the windowsill and trotted over to the fireplace. It was time for 'Larry' to disappear for a couple of days.

The smoke Professor McGonagall created by her departure awoke Liz , she had slept in her chair and the sun was rising once more
Where were her trusty advisors ? having block booked all the luxury hotels within a 3 minute distance- due to the threatened rail strikes -they should be here now
Then as if by magic they started to arrive through the fire place , their bellowing capes dropping flakes of soot across the 100%wool carpet Boris had the sense to order
Their hoods were pulled up tightly as if to conceal their identity, they stood in silence in a semi circle waiting for their great leader to speak
Liz was sad they all refuse her offer of a fist bump

Almost before Liz could draw breath, there was a knock on the Cabinet office door and in walked Jacob Rees-Mogg.

"Ah, Prime Minister," he said, "Perhaps I should explain. These are my people. They sent me into politics years ago."

One of the veiled guests drew back his veil and told JRM to sit down. "He's a squib you see, sent home from Hogwarts after three days. No sense of reality at all, and has no idea what life is like for real muggles. We thought life in the public domain would be best, as we can keep an eye on him that way."

Liz closed her eyes. This was not going the way she expected at all.

She reached for the whiskey again , good God she thought it only 20 past nine in the morning ,but needs must
Mr shheess Smog she slurred but her train of thought abandoned her , she shook her head to focus again . There, driving past her first floor window was an old car with two adolescents in it waving manically at her
She dropped to her knees
'what have I done?' she wailed

If only Boris hadn't let all those dammned immigrants into the country! This was all their fault...

"Well Prime Minister," said Rees-Mogg "so far my plan to increase my wealth is working well! All those nasty, lazy Northern people will soon be forced to move into my new workhouses and work for free and increase the GDP! Then we'll break the Scots, then the Welsh, the Northern Irish and finally the south!" He laughed maniacally.

A tatty old wizard’s hat drifted in through the window, to land on the desk. Surely that window had been locked, just a moment before?

Truss dived across the room and seized the hat, her knees banging painfully on that gigantic solid gold soup tureen that Boris bought to amuse his baby and refused to take away. Surely this tatty old hat must contain the legendary sword of Godric the Gryffindor, with which she could defeat Rees-Mog, fight off the hordes of immigrants who rudely come to our country to do carework, low paid farm jobs, waitressing and other jobs the local plebs refuse to do?

Surely this sword, THE sword, was the answer! To the economy, to the pandemic, to Nicola Sturgeon, to the war, to the sheer boredom of governing with no ideals, no plan, no competent opposition… To everything?! Truss thrust her hand into the hat and screamed as four sharp teeth bit into her fingers.

Yanking her hand out of the hat, she was surprised to see a long green snake wrapped around her wrist. The hat twitched, until its brim looked strangely like the lips of a drunk and corrupt Conservative politician.

“You’re a Slytherin,” the hat announced.

“What - what?! I don’t understand,” wavered Truss.

Bony fingers clamped onto her shoulder. “You will,” breathed Rees-Mog, his breath smelling like corruption and broken dreams. “Just give into it, Liz. Don’t try to make policy, of even make sense of this floundering little island. Just enrich yourself and your mates as swiftly as possible, then flee to the dark corner of some private members club to await the second coming of our glorious leader. For Voldemort Johnson is not dead, no no, he is tied to Westminster as long as fine wines are in the cellars of Downing Street, and neither can live while the other survives.

Rees-Mog threw back his head and laughed again. “The one with the power to vanquish the ERG approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied Johnson, born as the ninth month dies... and Johnson will mark them as his equal, but they will know what Johnson knows not.”

”But that could be anything!” cried Truss, stumbling backward and crashing into the gleaming mahogany of the automatic ski-equipment sorter cupboard left by her predecessor. The cupboard crashed open and a boggart fell out. In front of Truss’ horrified eyes, the hideous creature uncurled to reveal its new form as…

A general election ballot box! The boggart ballot loomed over Truss in a threatening sinister swirling cloud, forcing Truss to stagger forwards towards it, hands outstretched as if to ward off the thing that could threaten her future existence. With a fearful sweat glistening on her brow she somehow connived to push the boggart ballot to the back of the cupboard using a concentrated effort of mind, and slammed the door shut on it.

This is genius! Of course JRM is a Squib and Larry is Professor McGonagall!

With a crash, the door of the room burst open and Hermione, Ron and Harry rushed in with their wands at the ready. They stood shoulder to shoulder, confronting Rees-Mogg and his hooded confederates.

"Expecto patronum!" shouted Harry, and a gigantic silver stag erupted from the end of his wand.

Truss pressed herself against the cupboard, trembling but feeling a tiny glimmer of hope. But was it a false hope?

Later that afternoon, wearing her new pink tweed skirt suit and kitten heels, Liz summoned Boris to her office. She cleared her throat "ahem".. "Boris you have been a naughty boy. Lies will not be tolerated. You will write 100 lines 'i must not tell lies' " and with a cheery smile she handed Boris a special quill. "Now now Boris you know you deserve to be punished don't you?" Tinkly laugh.

Swivelling on the desk lay the eyeball of Rich Eye Rishi, which Liz had taken as a battle trophy and was using as a paperweight.

Brilliant

Hope JK herself contributes!

This has made me so happy

I love this 😍😍