Oh, No, Not Goulash!

In Which Cornelius Fudge is continuously bombarded by the Bulgarian Minister of Magic to try Goulash, which he despises.

It was the afternoon before the Quidditch World Cup. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, was obviously very busy. In 10 minutes he had to go and meet the Bulgarian Minister.

He looked himself over in the mirror.

"Damn I'm lookin' sharp," he thought.

"That's the spirit," the mirror replied.

Fudge was used to the mirror constantly approving of him, he was the Minister for Magic after all.

He stepped out of his massive tent into the daylight. They were supposed to be undercover here in this field, trying to remain inconspicuous so as to not make the muggles suspicious. Fudge did not want to sleep in an ordinary tent. He, the Minister For Magic deserves at least some semblance of comfort, he thought.

He strode along through the field, his two aides at his side, until he reached a massive blood red tent set about a quarter mile from his own.

Pushing aside the flaps, he entered into what seemed like a palace. He knew that this was where the Bulgarian Minister was staying. He also knew that he was staying for lunch, but the place seemed deserted.

He noticed a table with two ornate chairs. He suspected this was where they were to have lunch, so he sat down and waited.

And waited.

Several minutes later, Fudge was getting down right irritable. He thought it was all highly rude that the Bulgarian Minister had made arrangements to meet him for lunch for 3:00 PM sharp, and 5 minutes later had still not appeared.

Fudge had had enough. "Can I get some help here please?" he called into the tent.

And, as though it were magic, a man wearing Crimson robes strode out from another part of the tent carrying a dish full of some sort of stew.

Fudge instantly recognized the man, and smiled, making to greet him, but the smile was wiped from his face when he realized what was in the bowl.

"Goulash!" the Bulgarian Minister bellowed gleefully.

"Oh, no, not goulash…" muttered Fudge as he stood up from his chair and backed away.

"Goulash?" said the Bulgarian Minister, still gleeful and blissfully unaware of the look of horror and revulsion on Fudge's face.

Fudge waved his hands in front of him, but the Bulgarian Minister continued pushing the bowl towards him, offering it.

Fudge scrambled around the tent. He would not be backed into a corner!

"I don't want any goulash," he nearly yelled at the Bulgarian.

For a brief second a flash of confusion passed across the Bulgarian Minister's face, as though he could not possibly understand why anyone wouldn't want his goulash. It disappeared as soon as it had begun, though, as the Minister dismissed the thought and continued trying to force the steaming dish on Fudge.

"NOT GOULASH!" Fudge screamed as he ran from the tent. He did not stop running until he had reached his own tent.

As he gasped for breathe, he thought about the 'meeting'. It had not quite gone as planned, not at all, and the appearance of goulash had not helped things. With any luck, he thought, Ireland would win tonight, and there would be no need for further meetings or conversation.


Not that funny, I know, but this was an obscure reference to a number of YTMND's featuring the "Hello Der!" "Oh no! It's you!" Grover scene. I enjoy goulash, and it is actually a Hungarian dish, not Bulgarian, but no matter. Hope you at least somewhat enjoyed anyway.

Whether you enjoyed it, hated it, or fawned over cheese, please let me know. Reviewing is good for your health after all, contrary to those many studies in those fancy-shmancy medical journals.