a magical entrance
Percy Weasley slumped against the wall of the ascending lift with an overly despondent sigh. Apparently fate had decreed him simply unfit for the echelons of power, with every person of political importance he worked for ending up seeing their careers crashing and burning. From Barty Crouch sr., to Cornelius Fudge, and now even the new Minister of Magic taking a heavy pounding in the wizarding press.
Not so long ago Percy himself had been a rising name in the Ministry, with a top position as Cornelius Fudge’s junior assistant. The reigns of Wizarding England has been just within his grasp! Everything had been perfect.
But that had ended rather abruptly once it turned out Fudge had been wrong about ‘you-know-who’. Completely wrong. In the ensuing bureaucratic shuffle, his aspiring hopes had been all but dashed
Things had to change now, he’d been told. Sacrifices had to be made. He would understand, wouldn’t he? He was a good chap, and one day would make a fine senior assistant. But not right now.
Just yesterday he’d been informed of his new temporary position -if it could even be called that.
Which was why he was currently sulking in the Ministry of Magic lift as it rose up towards London rather than happily working in his office.
He’d been sent up to fetch the muggle ambassador. The muggle ambassador that he was to ‘keep a watchful eye on’.
He’d gone from aiding the most brilliant and respectable figure in the entire Ministry to minding a muggle!
it was such a dreadful plummet, Percy could almost burst into tears. He would have too, if the phone booth lift hadn’t risen up into the street just then.
Stepping out, Percy nervously licked his lips. He hated this entrance to the ministry, and rarely used it unless he absolutely had to. The grimy street was, as always, littered with trash, and the clinking of breaking glass and slurred shouts of patrons drifted from the entrance of a nearby pub.
A sudden and distinct hissing sound to his left sent Percy into rigid fright, images of giant slithering Basilisks and glowing dark marks and all things ‘you-know-who’ flashing in his mind.
Whirling around and desperately reaching for his wand, he relaxed against the phone booth in shaky relief upon seeing the tall, brightly garbed muggle standing several paces away. No death eaters or giant snakes; just a muggle, up to strange muggle business. Thank goodness.
The lanky man was standing in front of a heavily graffitied section of wall, and the hissing noise was from the can of spray-paint he was using to add his own vandalism to the mess of colours and graphics. He was so into his work, he hadn’t even noticed the phone booth’s sudden appearance. Which was perfectly fine with Percy, as he didn’t feel comfortable attempting to obliviate such a thuggishly intimidating muggle anyways. Really he wanted nothing more than to collect the ambassador and flee back down to the safety of the ministry’s bowels
Just a little beyond the muggle sat a large stylish four-door van parked along the curb, two large men in dark suits and sunglasses standing impassively beside it, watching the vandal.
Quickly reasoning that the muggle ambassador must be in the officious-looking automobile, Percy stepped into the vacant street, straightening out his robes and slightly throwing back his head. Despite the unfairness of the situation, he would be the first wizard this muggle politician would have contact with, and it was his duty to give a good, no-nonsense impression of both the Ministry and wizard-kind.
Taking care to give the muggle street-thug a wide berth, Percy strode importantly towards the van.
“Excuse Me, Sirs,” he spoke clearly and slowly so they would be able to understand. “I Am From the Ministry.
I Am Here For The Ambassador. Can You Please Tell Him I’ve Arrived.”
Both men just stared silently at him from behind their tinted sunglasses, neither making a move to comply. Percy harrumphed in annoyance, and was about to try again (even slower this time and with added hand gestures) when the tall one smirked, nodding on towards the graffiti scrawled wall.
The former junior assistant turned in confusion. What was he-
Oh Merlin. He couldn’t mean-
The street-thug before them slipped the spray-paint canister into a pocket and stepped back from the wall, admiring his creation. He had essentially desecrated an already existing piece of graffiti -a coiled red snake with a golden crown atop its hissing head, emblazoned with the muggle monetary pound symbol.
Percy gazed uncomfortably upon the graphic display the muggle had added.
He had painted a man wearing a sideways cap, loose shirt and sagging pants squatting above the snake, his hands gripping what was unmistakably his large, limp and very elongated private part
. A private part that seemed to be relieving itself
upon the crowned snake below. The figure’s face was detailed with narrowed eyes and lit with a wicked grin, and a cartoon bubble from his mouth shouted “WEST STAINES 4 LYFE!”
Below the serpent’s red coils, the gothic-style script V.E. Viperz
had been crossed out, V.E. Suckaz
scribbled in its place.
The muggle turned and walked towards them with a grudgingly satisfied expression on his face.
“That’ll tell the V.E off. If they ship us bad product again, next time it won’t just be a picture of me West Side Massiv
raining down piss. It’ll be…
"me Uzi raining hollow-tips and empty clips/ doin’ bitches dirty in they punani slits…eating extra hot BBQ chips...while doing back flips. With even more hollow-tips…word.”
He snapped his fingers, looking imploringly at the dark suited men. “Yo, how was that? You think my flow is improved? I has been practicing in front of the mirror like, near every day.”
They both nodded.
“Wicked. I’ll have to record a new track to send to Rape-Murder Records. F’real I hope they hear it this time, it’ll be well over the hundredth try. They has
to accept at least one! Being a hardcore-underground-platinum-record label-signed-rap-star has been my lifelong dream! Well, that and doing J-lo and Vida Guerra at the same time. No diggity-doubt.”
He turned and gawked at Percy, looking him up and down.
“What up. You must be from them wizards, innit. I heard you all wear wack threads, no offence.”
Percy frowned, but wisely decided to keep his opinions of the muggle’s strange attire to himself. Everything was all bright oranges and yellows, from the oversized running shoes all the way to the tinted glasses and loose-fit cap.
The tall muggle grinned, holding out a closed fist. “Anyways, respect. Me name’s Ali G, and I is the first official ambassador of normal England to your magic ministry. But for real, I is a huge fan of your lot’s mushrooms and markers. To be honest, the markers is basically the only reason me ever bothered going to school at all.” markers? Mushrooms?
Grasping the ambassador’s fist and awkwardly shaking it, Percy politely smiled and nodded, trying and completely failing to make any sense of his garbled speech. The muggle was harder to understand than Stan Shunpike had been that Christmas party when Fred and George had jinxed his butterbeer into firewhisky.
“Ah, well then. Good to meet you, Ambassador G. My name is Percy Weasley, and I’ll be your official Ministry escort for the next short while.”
As he proceeded to unload and spell-shrink the ambassador’s luggage, Percy couldn’t help but strongly feel that the shorter the time would be, the better.
Cornelius Fudge rubbed his hands together in anticipation, his lips twisted in a fiendish smirk. Everything was set. The heads of the other ministry departments had all been informed of the new muggle diplomat, and all the necessary legal arrangements had been made. Almost bouncing on his feet, his eyes greedily took in the scene before him.
A wide section around the Fountain of Magical Brethren had been temporarily cordoned off with a low rope fence, and a couple of aurors were at hand to help keep curious onlookers out of the area. Rufus Scrimgeour was standing before a thin, ornately carved oak podium that had been conjured up, and beside him sat several finely robed ministry officials and members of the Wizengamot, chatting jovially amongst themselves. Everyone was happy that the ministry was taking such a benevolent and noble gesture in response to the sad (though in Fudge’s mind, ultimately irrelevant) muggle murders that had occurred of late.
Outside of the cordoned area, the wide open space that was the Atrium was bustling with a steady flow of ministry employees, general visitors and tourists from around the wizarding world. The former Minister’s heart swelled with pride at the knowledge that tourist numbers had not yet dropped, even now that ‘you-know-who’ had been officially declared back. It was good to know that despite darkening times such as these, the English Ministry of Magic was still such a magnificent marvel to behold.
As specially selected members of the national and international wizarding press began to fill the rows of seats facing the podium, Fudge craned his neck, looking worriedly around. Where the devil was that Weasley boy? He’d only been asked to go to the street and fetch the muggle. Honestly, that entire family was brainless as they were penniless; and he’d had such high hopes for Percy- Ah, here we go.
Percy was making his way towards the Fountain, carrying a bundle of miniature luggage. He kept pausing and waiting impatiently as a tall brightly dressed man trailed slowly after him, staring around the vast atrium with open-mouthed wonder. Fudge pursed his lips smugly. Well, it was clear who the muggle was.
Finally the pair made it through the crowds to the former minister, Percy sullenly gesturing towards the tall muggle.
“Sir, Let me introduce you to the ambassador, Ali G. Ambassador G, this is Ministry Advisor Cornelius Fudge.”
Fudge gave his politician’s smile for the muggle. He made sure to speak loudly and slowly so he would understand.
“Good To Meet You, Ambassador. I Can See You Like The Atrium. Beautiful Place!”
“F’real. It feels like me is having a massive trip, everything is so wack and incredible! Who would have ever thought we could get from all the way up on the street down to an underground club so quick without taking stairs? No doubt by some impossible feat of magic.”
Fudge’s smile faltered, his eye quizzically meeting his assistant’s in shared confusion.
“Err, you mean the lift? Don’t you muggles have lifts?”
“Wut? Yo, me never even heard of something like that in me life! It was crazy; one second we is up in the street, with this one,” he jerked his head at Percy, “trying to get me into the phone-booth with him -which was seriously sketch, but whatev, nothing happened- and then all of a sudden we is shooting through the ground
and end up down here! Straight up witchery!”
Fudge just stared at him in bafflement, his mouth working wordlessly. He was thankfully saved from making a response as a ministry aid suddenly appeared, urging and ushering them towards two empty seats beside the podium. Percy just stood awkwardly to the side, looking nervously over the dozens of seated reporters and the sizeable crowd of onlookers that had gathered around.
Gazing forth with an air of confidence from the podium, Rufus Scrimgeour raised his arms for quiet. When everyone had settled into attentive silence, he began.
“My fellow wizards and witches, we find ourselves in perilous times. ‘you-know-who’ is back, as has been ascertained by this ministry, and as we all know, there have been several tragic muggle deaths over the last short while. We have kept the muggle government completely informed of this alarming situation for the past several months, but we now find the increasing danger faced by the muggle population to be dire. So, at the strong public urging of the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, the Ministry of Magic has taken an unprecedented action that will help bridge the information gap between the wizarding and muggle worlds. Unfortunately, the headmaster was unable to make it here today, so-”
Rufus’ words ground to a halt as a sudden swell of commotion and surprise erupted across the crowd. Looking around in confusion, the Minister found to his horrified shock that Dumbledore had
indeed somehow made it, and was currently sitting in a large plush purple chair at the end of the row of ministry officials.
The headmaster rose, his deep blue robes shimmering around him as he gave a sweeping bow. He sent Rufus a knowing smile, his piercing eyes devoid of twinkle from behind half-moon spectacles.
“Sorry for the late arrival. Please Rufus, by all means, continue. I am quite sure that everyone is most interested
in what the ministry has taken the unprecedented step of doing –apparently at my suggestion, no less.”
Sitting back down, the headmaster popped some sweet into his mouth, sucking on it loudly and slowly blinking up at him, his expression now the picture of innocent curiosity.
Swallowing back the angry lump in his throat, Rufus smiled, shuffling his notes to stall for time. How that wily old wizard had found out about the press conference, the Minister would have to find out. Heads would more than likely roll.
With a deep breath and a confident tone, he continued, turning to look at the seated muggle as he spoke.
“Ehem. Yes, then. At the Headmaster’s public urging, we have decided to take the step of doing more for wizard-muggle relations. We have decided to accept, for the first time ever, an ambassador from the muggle government of England to live and learn among us in the Wizarding world.”
There was a collective gasp of shock, followed by a silence that stretched well beyond the immediate crowd.
Nudging the shoulder of the robed wizard beside him and completely oblivious that he had suddenly become the centre of attention, Ali G’s loud Whisper carried across the stunned crowd.
“Yo, geezer, the fuck does muggle mean?”
A/N: I hope you all appreciate my sweet ghetto-ass Microsoft paint art.