Fudge sat in his office; alone, staring at a picture of himself shaking hands with Albus Dumbledore when he’d first been elected.

"I think he’s really lost it this time. I didn’t even see it coming. I mean I suppose I have a blind spot where it Dumbledore is concerned, and he’s always been a bit —er- unorthodox in the way he does things, but really! Saying You-Know-Who’s returned. That’s a recipe for mass panic- and of course it simply can’t be true. Harry must be mistaken, or unhinged, or something. And as for that young Crouch creature, well I think he got exactly what he deserved. We didn’t really need him. We didn’t!

I just wish Dumbledore hadn’t taken the sanity of half the ministry with him. I swear, every other hour someone is in here telling me I ought to contact the giants, or warn the muggle Prime Minister. Really! ‘Minister Fudge this,’ and ‘Minister Fudge that…’ Don’t they see that this is just a bad joke, or a big mistake? Sometimes I think young Weatherby is the only one with any sense at all.

After his son was ‘de-souled’ Barty Crouch took a leave of absence and they transferred Weatherby to the post of my personal assistant. He has ministerial aspirations and some very sound proposals about magical law enforcement. He’s one of the few who seems to understand that the ministry can’t stop running just because of Dumbledore’s overactive imagination.

I shudder to think what will happen when he goes public. After all, most witches and wizards hold Dumbledore in great esteem… and the scary part is that on top of that, he has Harry Potter." Pauses to let this sink in.

"I mean, everyone loves Harry Potter! You should have seen the letters-to-the-editor page of the Prophet after Rita Skeeter wrote that very informative article about his ‘problems’. The poor woman must have had more mail order hexes put on her than Barty Crouch when he arrested Ludo Bagman! Young Harry seems to have a following greater than anything we’ve ever seen before. People who disagree on everything from the sun to the moon, even (shudder) some people who didn’t vote for me! Well anyway, they all seem to agree on one thing- that Harry Potter is the savior of wizarding-kind. I, at the moment, am a little worried about Harry’s mental state. (That parsel-tongue thing?!) But of course I won’t publicly take that position- these people are still voters after all!"

Meanwhile, outside the office, an aid stands with her ear to Minister Fudge’s door. As she turns to face a redheaded man at a desk by the door she pushes some errant brown curls out of her face.

"Hey Perce?"

"Yes, Penny?" The redhead looked up.

"I reckon you’d better come listen to this… is there anyone in there?"

"Of course. Minister Fudge’s in there."

"No. I mean anyone else."

"What? No. He’s alone. Why?"

"Come listen to this…" She beckoned him over to the door and Percy pressed his ear to it. "…even some people who didn’t vote for me! Well, anyway…"

Percy straightened up and looked at Penelope. "It’s finally happened."

She nodded, "Well, we knew the stress was getting to him…"

"Yes, when he was going on about Dumbledore, and You-Know-Who coming back." He shook his head sadly. "He was such an accomplished Minister, too. No one did more for the cause of universal cauldron thickness than he did."

"You could put that on a plaque for him." Penny suggested. "I’d better go call St. Mungo’s." She walked over to the phone.

Half an hour later, wizards wearing all-white robes entered the outer office and Percy showed them in to Fudge.

"Minister," He began, "You are going to have a well-deserved vacation." Fudge stopped talking about mad hippogriffs to no one in particular and Percy hurried on, "These kind men are going to escort you there." Two of the robed medi-wizards moved to either side of Fudge’s chair and gently took his arms. As they guided him out of the office Percy called, "Don’t worry, Minister. I’ll keep things here under control! No thin cauldrons on my watch!"

The last thing Cornelius remembered was blacking out in a secure car. When he woke up he was laying in a bed with crisp white sheets in a private hospital room. He sighed. It was so quiet here. Maybe Dumbledore was here, too. Lord knew he could use the rest. As Fudge settled back onto his pillow, a plaque above his bed caught his eye:

Commended for his untiring work for

Universal Cauldron Thickness.

As Fudge drifted off to sleep only one thought entered his over-taxed brain-Universal cauldron thickness??