Hello there! This is my second Pottertalia fic! It is sequential to Making the Grade but because I am awesome I decided to make it a separate book in its own right. You don't have to have read Making the Grade to understand what's happening! (good idea, right?)

So go on... Read it.

I dare you...

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"Look." England said, trying to regain his composure. "Voldemort is back. The second players are with him. He will be unstoppable."

Fudge glared at him over his desk. England stared back, eyes focused on the weaker man's face, cold and ancient. Fudge gulped. "Look, see here, England. We have no proof that He Who Must Not Be Named is back! None at all! Merlin's beard, you and Dumbledore are overreacting-"

"Overreacting, are we?" Hissed Arthur, making the Minister of Magic blanch slightly. "I know what I saw. Voldemort and the second players are returning and you know what that means, don't you?"

Silence from Fudge.

"Countries, Fudge! He has the strength of countries!" Arthur exclaimed, making Fudge drop his quill in astonishment, England never shouted. "You bloody fool! The muggles will be as good as extinct, and the wizards? The brave who have served now and in the past? Dead in their homes."

"You have no proof…"

England was very close to seriously losing his temper, something that had not happened since before the American war of Independence.

"What… about… my… people?" He managed to spit out, emerald eyes hard.

"Every wizard lost, I can assure you, will be mourned."

"And the muggles? Those without magic?"

"No importance. People of that class…"

"Don't matter?" England snapped.

For once, Fudge was calmer than Arthur.

"Exactly. Wizards are superior to muggles and squibs - even you must see that. Therefore, we should have priority."

England's normally calm and pleasant demeanour slowly changed and his face contorted in an all - consuming anger; nostrils flaring, eyes flashing and closing into slits, his mouth opening, spitting the worst insults the English language had to offer into the room. His hands closed into fists and he crouched forward, daring him to repeat once more the words that had torn into his heart; that had dashed all his expectations of 'fair' and 'just' policies.

"You bigoted BASTARD!"

Fudge smirked slightly, tapping his wand on his desk and making the papers fly into his briefcase.

Suddenly Arthur let go with a right uppercut to the head that sent Fudge flying from one side of the room to the other at what seemed like the speed of light. His body made contact with the opposite wall and he slid to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Arthur stood there, breathing heavily. He smiled grimly at the sight of the Minister of Magic crumpled like a ragdoll at the end of the room. Then the enormity of his actions hit him.

"Oh, God. What the hell have I done?"

He rushed over to Fudge and turned the man over; looking for any signs of life, frantically hoping that he had not killed the man. Fudge was still breathing, but his eyes were glazed and he did not respond to being shaken by Arthur. A thin trickle of blood ran from his hairline down to his jaw. He was out cold.

The door opened. A witch stood in the doorway. She wore a pink, frilly blouse and had a small bow perched on top of her mousy curls. Arthur thought that she was rather reminiscent of a toad.

"Do you want any tea…?" She simpered, before trailing off. "Minister!"

"No!" Arthur moved in front of the Minister's prone body, blocking it from view. "Nothing's wrong, nothing!" He tried to convince her, desperately hoping for a way to escape the current situation.

The woman pushed around him, and saw Fudge's body. She screamed.

"SECURITY! HELP! SOMEONE'S BEEN ATTACKED!"

Uniformed wizards burst into the room. There was a suddenly a tremendous amount of noise, Arthur covered his ears and tried helplessly not to get trampled. He tucked his knees to his chest and sheltered behind the minister's desk. Shouting. The sound of running feet. Silence. Arthur looked up.

Seven wands were pointing directly at him, seven pairs of eyes stared at him in fear and disgust. England stood up shakily and raised his hands above his head, closing his eyes again and trying not to think about the seven different deaths he could die.

He swallowed. Then suddenly words came bubbling to the surface and rushed out of his mouth. He was totally vulnerable.

"I- I didn't mean to… I'm sorry-"

He didn't see the jet of red light before he fell to the floor, stunned.