HP Approaches the Magical World

"HP Approaches the Magic World ()"

In fact, when Hogwarts was on vacation, Jon was not very leisurely.

In other words, he gets busier during the holidays. He is not only responsible for some preparations for the Order of the Phoenix, but also responsible for the laboratory. Grindelwald will leave in more than a year, but a new round of experiments in the laboratory Members have not yet been trained, so he has to take on some things here.

Thankfully, though, these things are within his reach.

In contrast, another person who was hit suddenly was not so lucky.

...

It was nearly midnight, and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memorandum, but his mind was blank, and he had no idea what it meant.

He was waiting for a call from the president of a distant country.

He wondered if the hapless guy was ever going to call, and he held back so many unpleasant memories of a long, tiring week that he didn't have much room in his mind for anything else.

The more he tried to concentrate on reading the words on the sheet of paper in front of him, the more clearly he saw the gloating face of one of his political enemies.

This political enemy was on the news that day and not only listed all the horrific accidents that happened in the last week (as if anyone needed to be reminded), but also made a logical analysis that each accident was due to the government's fault Caused.

The prime minister's pulse quickens when he thinks about these accusations, because they are unjust and untrue.

How could his government have prevented that bridge from collapsing?

It is intolerable that someone should suggest that the government is not investing enough in bridge construction.

The bridge had been built less than ten years ago, and the best experts could not explain how it had suddenly snapped neatly in two, sending a dozen cars into the deep river below.

Also, someone went so far as to suggest that the police were inadequate for the two vicious murders that were so much publicized, and that the government should have foreseen that weird hurricane in the West that was taking a huge toll on lives and property.

Also, was it his fault that one of his assistant ministers, Herbert Jollet, had been behaving strangely this week, saying he wanted to spend more time with his family?

"There's panic all over the country."

The opposition finally concluded, barely hiding the smug smile on his face.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened.

The Prime Minister himself felt that people were indeed more panicked than usual, and even the weather was not satisfactory. It was still mid-July, and it was already filled with cold fog... This is very wrong, very abnormal...

He turned to the second page of the memo and found that the content behind it was still very long. Knowing that it was impossible to read it all, he simply gave up.

He stretched his arms over his head and surveyed his office gloomily.

It was a stately room, with a handsome marble fireplace facing the long sash windows, which were shut tightly against the unseasonably cold mist outside.

The Prime Minister shivered slightly, stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the thin mist against the windowpane.

As he stood with his back to the room, he heard a soft cough behind him.

He froze, his own terrified face in the black windowpane in front of him.

The cough was familiar to him, he'd heard it before, and he turned slowly to face the empty room.

"Hello?" he said, trying to sound brave.

At that moment, he knew it was impossible, but he still vaguely hoped that no one would agree to him.

However, a voice immediately answered, this voice was clear and decisive, as if reading a prepared speech.

The Prime Minister knew when he heard the first cough that it was coming from the little froglike man in the long silver wig who was the figure in a little dirty oil painting in the far corner of the room.

"To the Muggle Prime Minister.

Request an urgent meeting, please reply immediately.

Faithful, Fudge. "

The man in the oil painting looked at the prime minister questioningly.

"Well," said the Prime Minister, "look... this is not the right time for me... I'm waiting for a call... from a President—"

"That can be rearranged," said the portrait without thinking.

The prime minister's heart sank, and that was all he was worried about.

"But I do want to talk to him—"

"We'll make the President forget about the call, and he'll call tomorrow night," said the little man. "Please answer Mr. Fudge immediately."

"I ... oh ... well," said the Prime Minister resignedly, "OK, I'll see Fudge."

He hurried to his desk, straightening his tie.

He had hardly settled down, adjusted his facial expression to be as relaxed and composed as he wished, when suddenly a bright green flame burst from the empty grate under the marble fireplace.

The Prime Minister tried his best to conceal the surprise and panic in his heart, and watched a big fat man appear in the middle of the flames, spinning like a spinning top.

A few seconds later, the fat man stepped over the grate, a yellow-green bowler hat in his hand, stood on a fine antique rug, and brushed the ashes off the sleeve of his thin striped cloak.

"Ah...Prime Minister," said Cornelius Fudge, striding forward, holding out a hand, "it is a pleasure to meet you again."

The Prime Minister did not want to answer this polite remark from the bottom of his heart, so he said nothing.

He did not want to see Fudge at all, and the few previous appearances of Fudge, besides being particularly alarming, usually meant that some particularly bad news was about to be heard again.

Besides, Fudge was clearly worried this time.

He was thinner than before, his complexion was darker, his head was more bald, and his face looked wrinkled.

The prime minister has seen this look on politicians' faces before, and it's generally not a good sign.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

asked the Prime Minister, shaking Fudge's hand hastily, and beckoning him to sit down in one of the hardest chairs at the table.

"Don't know where to begin," muttered Fudge, pulling up his chair and sitting down, putting his green bowler hat on his lap. "It's been a rough week, a tough week..."

"Have you had a rough week, too?"

The prime minister asked with a straight face, he wanted the other party to understand that he had enough to worry about himself, and he didn't want to share any more for Fudge.

"Yeah, that goes without saying."

Fudge rubbed his eyes wearily as he spoke, and looked at the Prime Minister sadly: "I have had the same experience as you this week, Prime Minister.

Brockdale Bridge...the Burns and Vance murders...not to mention the riots in the West..."