The large, ornately carved fireplace in the Minister of Magic’s office erupted in a belch of flames as Rufus Scrimgeour appeared, followed a moment later by a beat-red Cornelius Fudge. The former Minister of Magic hadn’t even been fully transported before the whining began.
“Are you sure this is the correct course, Rufus? This is entirely unprecedented! There has never been more than a nominal relationship between the ministry and the Muggle Government-“
“Yes,” Rufus turned on him with an exasperated frown, “and whose fault is that? That muggle just started his second term
in office, and you’d never even met him once
before today! Merlin’s monocle, man!”
Fudge at least had the decency to look sheepish, his fingers fiddling in agitation.
“Well, yes, yes I suppose I should have made more of an effort to keep him in the loop…” Obviously.
The new Minister rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh and strode to his wide furnished desk. Turning around, he thrust the morning’s Daily Prophet under his advisor’s nose. “Read.”
CONFIDENCE IN MINISTRY CRACKS AS MUGGLE DEATHS MOUNT Hogwarts Headmaster Calls for Greater Assistance
“But,” Fudge looked up at him incredulously, “But they’re just muggles!”
“That’s exactly the problem, you twit!” Rufus barked, curling up the newspaper and slapping Fudge upside the head.
“Dumbledore was right all along, and now the public is finally listening to him! For now, Voldemort is only attacking the muggles. But how long will it be before the Death Eaters start openly attacking wizards?
The outrage will be ten times greater than it is now! We have to be very careful if we want to stay where we are, Cornelius. Even if it means allowing Dumbledore his little muggle envoy. The man clearly has an agenda in mind, but I’d rather give in on this issue than end up with nothing at all because we were too stubborn to cede the small ground.”
If anything, Cornelius Fudge was a politician. Whether it was the warning of loosing even more standing in the public eye, or being whacked with a rolled up newspaper, Rufus Scrimgeour didn’t know; but ether way the message got through.
He could practically see the mental cogs begin to turn as the disgraced Minister caught his predecessor’s train of thought.
“Well, yes. That does
make sense, now doesn’t it?” He muttered begrudgingly, almost to himself. “Though we’ll have to address the legalities. This is all highly unprecedented-“
Scrimgeour waved that trifle away.
“These are dangerous times. We can discuss everything with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the necessary laws can be appropriately altered.”
His face split in a crafty grin.
“And since this is all at Dumbledore’s noble suggestion, he
can hold the bag in case things go badly. That’s why I asked the muggle Prime Minister specifically for someone who could teach
. Dumbledore wants the ministry to do more to bring muggles and wizards together? What better way to spread tolerance than by having a bonafide muggle teach from experience? It’s such a Dumbledore thing to do; he won’t be able to back down without coming off looking bad.”
Cornelius Fudge burst into delighted laughter as he clasped his hands.
“Ooh, Marvelous! That will shut the old man up! He’ll get his ‘authentic’ Muggle Studies professor alright -and all the trouble along with it! His new popularity will fall faster than a bludger!”
Fudge’s gloating smile suddenly faltered, a funny expression twisting his face as he cocked his head at the Minister of Magic.
“Em, Rufus, speaking of Dumbledore…by any chance did you notice anything ‘peculiar
’ about the muggle Prime Minister…?”
Rufus Scrimgeour cleared his throat, knowing exactly what Fudge was going at.
“Yes, I noticed it right away. Quite bizarre.”
The muggle politician had borne a disturbingly striking similarity to Albus Dumbledore -minus the waist-length white beard, half-moon spectacles and twinkling eye, of course.
Nonetheless, it was still a rather unnerving resemblance.
“Just coincidence, I’m sure. Now! Let’s get Robards up here. We have some work ahead of us…”
Sitting rigidly behind his desk, the British Prime Minister stared dumbly at the fireplace, where only moments before, two men had disappeared in a blast of green fire.
He wasn’t sure which had startled him more; the large framed painting of the grassy meadow that had suddenly sprouted a talking and moving man within its frame (bellowing about an ‘incoming visit’) or the ‘visitors’ themselves who, seconds later, had stepped out of his roaring fireplace as if it were the most unremarkable thing in the world.
Rumors and whispers of secret meetings and mysterious ‘visitors to the PM’ had flown around the halls of power since before he’d become involved in politics, but that was all they had ever been. Rumors. Bad jokes. Ridiculous fairy tales and little more.
But now? Now those tales were reality. They were as frighteningly real as the magic the men had just demonstrated, right here in this office. And now he, apparently along with every former Prime Minister of this great nation, was sworn to secrecy about this hidden society of wands and wizards and green flames and absolute insanity!
“What are we going to do, sir?”
Deputy Prime Minister Smitherman’s strained tone cut through his quickly swelling urge to burst into peals of manic laughter. Deflating with a shudder, the Prime Minister’s shoulders slumped.
we do? We have to find someone to swap with them. All those freakishly coincidental fatalities over the last two months- to think that they were all caused by these, these dark rogue wizards…
He shook his head, looking hopelessly up at his newly appointed Deputy minister.
“What can we even say to the cabinet? They’ll think we’re completely loony!”
“Could we keep the appointment secret, telling only the candidate and no one else?”
The PM looked thoughtfully back at the still smoldering fireplace, a flicker of hope for his possibly-salvageable political career returning. “Yes. We could.”
“No, we need him in Education.”
“What about Spence?”
“Too valuable as well. We need someone expendable, but also already far enough out of the way that moving them around won’t attract any unnecessary attention.”
Smitherman looked down at the cabinet roster. Suddenly his eyes lit up.
“Well, we do have one person who fits those requirements. And he does
technically have volunteer teaching experience…
Instantly realizing exactly who
he had in mind, the Prime Minister gave a laugh of triumph, hope for his political life surging back. As the MP in question had once taught him, he snapped his index finger against his middle finger and thumb with a resounding THWACK!
“Brilliant suggestion! Call the embassy immediately! I want him back here as soon as possible.”
“Yes sir!” Smitherman crowed, running to the door.
The Prime Minister leaned back with a lion’s grin. Problem presented; problem solved. His eyes fell to the painting of the meadow, its occupant once again nowhere in sight.
He always had detested that particular piece; now he knew why.
Well, no matter. Hopefully with such a unique
ambassador to deal with, the wizards would have their hands too full to bother him for a long while. Some time later…
They heard the MP approaching several blocks before he actually arrived.
The blanket of nocturnal calm settled over Downing Street was torn away as a massive, bright yellow Hummer peeled around the corner, its after-market sound system blasting the rapid-fire beats of the latest jungle mix at a volume set to wake the dead.
Revving excessively fast down the middle of the vacant street, the sound-blearing Hummer left a trail of thick, sweetly pungent smoke lingering in its wake.
The mammoth yellow juggernaut pulled to a screeching halt in front of Number 10, parking well up onto the sidewalk. The two nervous policemen on guard outside the Prime Minister’s residence visibly relaxed upon recognizing the large, airbrushed graffiti-style Union Jack, marijuana leaf and Jamaican flag sprayed across the Hummer’s side; they knew it could belong to only one MP.
Whoever was driving turned the pulsing music down to a slightly less painful degree, just as the back door popped open.
Thick white marijuana smoke billowed from the interior out into the night air as several beautiful, scantily-clad and clearly intoxicated young women tumbled from the vehicle, collapsing in a writhing, giggling heap.
A tall silhouette loomed out of the Hummer after them, obscured by rolling waves of marijuana.
Tendrils of white smoke curled like energy around the imposing figure before drifting away as he stepped forward; revealing pristine white sports shoes, a baggy yellow tracksuit and several platinum chain necklaces hanging under an unmistakable trimmed goatee, color-tinted glasses and yellow loose-knit cap.
One of the Policemen quickly got the door for him, while the other stepped out of his way.
“Nice entrance, sir.”
Ali G grinned down at the two officers, bumping fists with each as he passed.
The British ambassador to Jamaica stared wide-eyed at the Prime Minister, his entire world reeling in super slow motion.
Whether this was from the amazing things the PM had just dropped on him, or from the hotboxed plane ride followed by the hotboxed Hummer ride, Ali couldn’t be completely sure.
“So, them magical blokes want me to school the children?” he asked, smiling happily at the memory of his days at the John Nike Leisure center.
“I believe so. They seem to be quite uneducated about the outside world.”
The Prime Minister leaned in, his expression stern.
“But Ali, your mission is not only to teach, but to learn! We know next to nothing about these wizards. I need you to find out everything you can. Anything you think would be of use to our nation. As I said, these wizards are in a war, and the British government will not
stand by while our citizens are being killed off!”
Ali G grinned, snapping his fingers.
“Ah Wicked! Me will be like 007 on the sly. Them won’t even know that I is even there
“Yes. Well. Good. You will report back to me every few weeks. And no one can know about this mission; it is as of this moment, absolutely classified.”
Ali’s face fell. “Wut!? Me can’t tell nobody?”
The Prime Minister shook his head.
“I’m sorry Ali. But the Wizards insist on total secrecy. We will inform your loved ones that you are involved in a secret appointment, but that is all we can do- ”
“Yo. Wha’eva.” The ambassador scoffed, waving his hand.
“Now hear me out. We’re working with their Ministry to try and pan out the details, and depending on how things go, we might be able to eventually inform others of the truth. As it stands now though, you are officially on secret assignment.”
The Prime Minister grasped his arms lightly, looking him in the eye.
“Ali. This may well be the most important Ambassadorial position of your career! Of your life! You must do your best, if not for Queen and Country, then at least for your friends and family. These magical terrorists are enemies to all normal people! Any one of us could fall to them next!”
Ali G’s face was suddenly set in solumn determination.
“No doubt. I will do my part, Prime Minister. For me Julie. For me Nan. For the West Stains Massiv…”
He paused, grudgingly nodding his head.
“and yes, even for dat old slag up on the coins. ”
A slightly tipsy Deputy Minister Smitherman turned and raised a glass of freshly poured whisky in encouragement.
“Godspeed, man! For England!”
The Prime Minister returned the cheer, smiling as he downed his glass. Those wizards won't even know what hit them.
All things ‘Ali G indahouse’ belong to Sacha Baron Cohen and Universal Pictures. All things Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and co. I only claim this ridiculous crossover plot.Timeline:
right after Ali G indahouse and following Order of the Phoenix. (this story is not HBP compatible) we’ll say it’s in Ali G’s timeline, 2000-whateva.