HP Approaches the Magical World

"HP Approaches the Magic World ()"

"You're—well—your—I mean, some of you are—related to these events, aren't you?"

Fudge glared at the Prime Minister very sternly.

"Of course it is," he said. "Surely you understand what's going on?"

"I..." the prime minister hesitated.

It was this state of affairs that disliked Fudge's visits.

After all, he is a dignified prime minister, and he doesn't want anyone to make him feel like a primary school student who doesn't understand anything.

But that had been the case since his first meeting with Fudge on his first night as Prime Minister.

He still clearly remembered the scene at that time, as if it just happened yesterday, and he knew that he would never forget that memory until he died.

At that time, he was standing alone in this office, savoring the joy of finally achieving success after so many years of dreaming and careful planning, suddenly, he heard a cough coming from behind him, just like tonight, he turned around and saw, It was the ugly little portrait that was talking to him, announcing that the Minister for Magic was coming to visit him.

Naturally, he thought the long campaign and the stress of the election had caused him to be a little unhinged.

Not to mention the fact that he found a portrait speaking to him in horror, and then a man who claimed to be a wizard jumped out of the fireplace and shook his hand, and he was even more frightened.

He said nothing, and Fudge kindly explained that there are still wizards living in secret all over the world today, and reassured him that these things are nothing for him to worry about, because the Ministry of Magic has the responsibility to manage the entire wizarding world and keep it from non-wizards. their presence.

It was quite a job, said Fudge, covering everything from stipulating how to use broomsticks responsibly, to controlling and governing all dragons (the Prime Minister remembers clutching at this table so that you don’t fall over yourself).

After Fudge finished speaking, he patted the shoulder of the still dumbfounded Prime Minister like a loving father.

"Don't worry," he said, "you probably won't see me again. I'll only bother you if there's serious trouble on our side that might affect the Muggles, that is, the non-wizard population." .

Other than that, you just go with the flow. By the way, I have to say one more thing, your attitude towards accepting this matter is much stronger than that of your predecessor.

He thought I was a crook sent by his political enemies and was going to throw me out of the window. "

At this time, the Prime Minister finally found a chance to speak.

"So you—are you not a liar?"

It was the last sliver of hope he had left.

"no,"

Fudge said gently, "I'm sorry, I'm not.

look. "

As he spoke, he turned the Prime Minister's teacup into a gerbil with a flick of his wand.

"But," said the Prime Minister breathlessly, watching his teacup and nibbling at his next speech, "but why—why hasn't anyone told me—?"

"The Minister for Magic reveals himself only to the ruling Muggle Prime Minister."

Fudge said, reinserting the wand into the clothes, "We think this is the best way to maintain concealment."

"But," said the Prime Minister in a trembling voice, "why didn't the previous Prime Minister remind me—"

Hearing this, Fudge actually laughed out loud.

"My dear Prime Minister, are you going to tell others?"

Still grinning, Fudge threw some powder into the fireplace, stepped into the emerald green flames, and disappeared with a whoosh.

The prime minister stood there motionless. He knew that as long as he was alive, he would never dare to mention this meeting to anyone. In this vast world, who would believe him?

After a while, his frightened heart slowly calmed down. He had tried to convince himself that that Fudge was just a hallucination, and that the hallucination appeared because of the exhaustion and lack of sleep caused by the campaign.

To get rid of everything that reminded him of this unpleasant meeting,

He gave the gerbil to his delighted niece, and ordered his private secretary to take down the portrait of the ugly little man who had announced Fudge's visit.

But to his great dismay, the portrait could not be removed.

They used several carpenters, a builder or two, an art historian, and the chancellor to try, without success, to pry it off the wall.

In the end the Prime Minister stopped trying and just hoped that the thing would remain still and silent for as long as he was in office.

Occasionally, out of the corner of his eye, he was sure to catch a yawn or scratch his nose, and once or twice he even stepped out of the frame, leaving nothing but a dusty gray canvas.

However, the Prime Minister trained himself not to look at the portrait too often, and whenever something strange like this happened, he always firmly told himself that his eyes had an illusion.

Then, three years ago, on a night like today, when the Prime Minister was alone in his office, the portrait announced Fudge's impending visit, and then Fudge burst out of the fireplace, wet as a drowned chicken , a look of panic.

Before the Prime Minister could ask him why he had dripped all the water on the Axminster pile rug, Fudge began angrily babbling about a prison the Prime Minister had never heard of, a prison known as A man who was Black the Wolf, a Hogwarts-sounding thing, and a boy named Harry Potter, the Prime Minister was so confused he had no idea what he was talking about something.

"I just came from Azkaban."

Gasping Fudge, pouring a heap of water from the brim of his yarmulke into his pocket, "You know, it's a rough ride in the middle of the North Sea . . . the dementors rebelled— —”

He shuddered, "—they've never had a breakout before.

Anyway, I must come to you, Prime Minister.

Blake is a well-known Muggle killer, but is probably going to join You-Know-Who... Of course, you don't even know Who You-Know-Who is! "

He looked resignedly at the Prime Minister for a moment, and said, "Well, sit down, sit down, I'd better tell you the details... have a whiskey..."

Even though he was in the prime minister's office, he was told to sit down and offered to drink his own whiskey.

The Prime Minister was annoyed, but he sat down anyway.

Fudge drew his wand and conjuring out of thin air two large glasses filled with amber liquid, which he pushed into the Prime Minister's hand, and then dragged a chair.

Fudge talked for more than an hour, and when he got to a certain place, he refused to say a name aloud, and wrote it on a piece of parchment, and stuffed it into the Prime Minister's hand that was not holding whiskey.

Finally, Fudge got up to leave, and the Prime Minister got up too.

"So, do you think..." He narrowed his eyes and looked at the name in his left hand, "Vodi—"

"The devil who can't even mention his name!"

"I'm sorry...you think the devil who can't even mention his name is still alive, don't you?"

"Yes, that's what Dumbledore said," said Fudge, tucking his pinstriped cloak under his chin, "but we never found him.

In my opinion, he's only dangerous if he's supported, so it's Black we have to worry about.

Are you going to post that warning?

Very good.

OK, I hope we don't see each other again.

Prime Minister, good night. "