HP Approaches the Magical World

"Ah, Mafalda!"

Umbridge looked at Hermione and said, "Travers sent you here?"

"Y-yes," said Hermione softly.

"Okay, you'll do well."

Umbridge turned to a wizard in black robes embroidered with gold and said, "That will settle the matter, Minister, and if Mafalda will come and take notes, we can begin now."

She looked at her clipboard: "Ten people today, one of whom is the wife of a Ministry of Magic employee!

Tut, tut... right here, inside the Ministry of Magic! "

She stepped into the elevator and stood beside Hermione, followed by the other two wizards who had been listening to Umbridge and the Minister.

"Let's go straight down, Mafalda, everything you need is in the courtroom.

Good morning, Albert, are you not going out? "

"Get out, of course."

said Harry in the low voice of Len Cowan.

Harry stepped out of the elevator.

The golden gate clanged shut behind them.

He turned to see Hermione's anxious face lowered again, a tall wizard on one side, Umbridge's velvet bow reaching Hermione's shoulders.

"What's your business here, Runcorn?"

asked the new Minister for Magic, his long black hair and beard streaked with silver strands, his forehead shadowed over his twinkling eyes, making Harry think of a crab looking out from under a rock.

"Looking for it," Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second: "I want to talk to Arthur Weasley.

Someone said he was on the first floor. "

"ah,"

Piers Thicknesse said: "Has anyone caught him talking to bad guys?"

"No," Harry said dryly, "no, it's not."

"Ah... well, it's only a matter of time,"

Thicknesses muffled, "A pure-blood traitor is as bad as a mudblood, if you ask me.

Goodbye, Runcorn. "

"Goodbye, Minister."

Harry watched Thicknesse walk away down the thickly carpeted passage.

As soon as the Minister had disappeared, Harry took the Invisibility Cloak from under his heavy black robes, threw it on, and walked in the opposite direction.

Runcorn was so tall that Harry had to bend over to make sure his big feet weren't showing.

Fear came over him one after another, and he passed one shiny wooden door after another, and each door had a small sign with the name and position of the person in the house.

The majesty, complexity, and inscrutability of the Ministry seemed to overwhelm him, making the four weeks' elaborate plan of action he, Ron, and Hermione had been planning seem like a ridiculous child's play.

They put all their minds on how to get in, but they didn't even think about what to do if they were forced to separate from each other.

Now that Hermione is stuck in court, it will undoubtedly drag on for hours;

Ron was trying to experiment with magic that Harry knew was beyond his ability, and a woman's freedom might depend on his performance;

And Harry, still wandering around the top floor, knew perfectly well that the person he was looking for had just taken the elevator down.

He stopped, leaning against the wall, trying to make up his mind what to do.

Silence oppressed him: there was no bustle, no voice, no hurried footsteps, and the purple-carpeted corridors were as silent as if under a spell.

Her office must be here, Harry thought.

It seemed unlikely that Umbridge had hidden the jewels in his office, yet it seemed foolish not to search to make sure.

So he walked down the aisle again, only to see a frowning wizard murmuring something to a quill that was writing rapidly on a roll of parchment suspended in front of him.

Harry began to pay attention to the name on the door. After turning a corner and walking for a while, the passage opened into a large area.

A dozen wizards and wizards sat at rows of small desks, similar to school desks, only much smoother and free from graffiti.

Harry couldn't help but stop and watch, because the sight had a hypnotic effect.

The wizards waved and twirled their wands in unison, and squares of confetti floated in the air like little pink kites.

After a few seconds, Harry realized that this was a rhythmic procedure, that the confetti came and went in a certain way.

After a few more seconds, he realized that he was watching the process of making a pamphlet. Those square papers were page by page, folded together, fastened with magic, and neatly stacked next to each wizard.

Harry approached softly; in fact, the wizards were so absorbed in their work that he doubted they would notice his footsteps muffled by the carpet.

He smuggled a bound booklet from a young witch and read it inside the cloak.

The pink cover is emblazoned with the headline in bold gold letters:

mudblood

A threat to the peaceful pure-blood society

Below, a red rose is drawn tightly strangled by a green grass with fangs and a sinister look, with a smirking face in the center of the petals.

The pamphlet was unsigned, but the scar on the back of Harry's right hand was tingling again.

Then the witch beside him confirmed his suspicions, waving and twirling her wand as she said, "Is the old hag going to be there all day interrogating Mudbloods? Does anyone know?"

"Be careful."

The wizard next to her looked around uneasily and said that one of his papers had slipped to the floor.

"Why, not only does she have a magic eye, but now she has magic ears?"

The witch glanced at the polished mahogany door opposite the bookletmakers.

Harry looked that way too, anger rising in his chest like a poisonous snake.

In the place of the mirror on the Muggle door, embedded in the mahogany was a large round eye with a bright blue iris, eerily familiar to anyone who knew Alastor Moody.

For a split second, Harry forgot where he was, what he was here for, and even that he was invisible.

He strode to the door to look at the eye, which stopped moving and just stared blankly upward. The sign below reads:

Dolores Umbridge

Senior Undersecretary for Magic

There is also a brighter new brand underneath:

Director of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission

Harry looked back at the dozen or so wizards making the booklets, and though they were all busy at work, it was hard to imagine that no one would notice if the door of an empty office opened in front of them.

So, he took out a strange-looking thing from the inside pocket of his clothes.

It has little swaying legs and a bulbous rubber horn for its body.

Harry crouched under the cloak and dropped the decoy bomb on the floor.

The decoy bomb immediately moved, quickly passing between the calves of the group of wizards.

Harry waited with his hand on the doorknob. After a while, he heard a loud bang, and a large amount of acrid black smoke poured out from a corner.

The young witch in the front row screamed, and the pink pages flew everywhere, and she and her companions jumped up, looking around for the source of the confusion.

Harry took the opportunity to turn the doorknob, stepped into Umbridge's office, and closed the door behind him.

He felt as if he had stepped back in time, a room that looked exactly like Umbridge's office at Hogwarts: lace drapes, upholstery and dried flowers covered every adornable surface, and the same flower plates on the walls , the pattern is a big cat with a bow tie and bright colors, jumping and playing there, it is disgusting.

The table is covered with a tablecloth with ruffles and floral decorations.

Mad-Eye has a telescope-like device attached to the back of his eyeball, allowing Umbridge to spy on the staff outside the door.

Harry took a closer look, saw that they were still clustered around the decoy bomb, and tore the binoculars off the door, leaving a hole in the door.

He removed the magic eye and put it in his pocket, then turned to face the room, raised his wand and whispered, "Flying locket."

There was no movement, but he hadn't counted on it either, Umbridge was no doubt well versed in warding spells.

He hurried to the back of the desk, opened drawers one by one, and saw quills, notebooks and correction tapes;

Enchanted paper clips spiraled out of drawers like snakes, and he had to punch them back;

There's also a dainty lace locket filled with bows and hairpins; just missing the locket.

There was a filing cabinet behind the desk, and Harry rummaged through it.

It was full of folders, like those filing cabinets owned by Hogwarts administrator Filch, each with a name on it.

Harry searched all the way to the bottom drawer before he came across one distraction: Mr. Weasley's file.

He pulled it out and opened it.

Arthur Weasley

Bloodline: Pureblood, but with intolerable pro-Muggle tendencies.

Known members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Family: Wife (pure-blood), seven children, the youngest two still at Hogwarts.

Note: Younger son is currently at home seriously ill, confirmed by Ministry of Magic inspectors.

Security Status: Tracking.

All movements are monitored.

Possibly contacted by Undesirable Number One (had lived at the Weasleys.)

"Number one bad element."

Harry muttered softly, putting Mr. Weasley's file back and closing the drawer.

He knew who he was referring to, and sure enough, when he straightened up and searched for other hiding places in the house, he saw a large portrait of himself on the wall, with the words "Number One Undesirable Element" printed on the chest.

A small pink note with a kitten in one corner was pasted on the painting.

Harry walked over to look, and saw that Umbridge had written "Punishment" on it.

Furious, he fumbled in vases and baskets of dried flowers, but he wasn't surprised that he couldn't find the locket.

He took one last look around the office when his heart stopped: Dumbledore was looking at him from a small rectangular mirror on the bookshelf by the desk.

Harry rushed to grab it, but as soon as he found it he realized that it wasn't a mirror, and that Dumbledore was smiling broodingly on the glossy cover of a book.

Harry didn't notice for a moment the words in green cursive on his hat: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, or the smaller writing on his chest: Rita Skeeter, bestseller Armando Dippet: Master or idiot? "author.

Harry opened the book casually, and saw a page of photos of two teenage boys, putting their shoulders on each other, laughing wantonly.

Dumbledore's hair had grown to his elbows, and he had added a thin mustache, reminiscent of the fine beard on Krum's chin that Ron hated so much.

The boy laughing silently next to Dumbledore had an air of joy and wildness, his blond curls falling to his shoulders.

Harry wondered if he was the young Doge, but before he could read the instructions, the office door opened.

If Thicknesse hadn't turned his head to look out when he entered, Harry wouldn't have had time to put on the cloak.

Still, he thought Thicknesses might have caught a glimpse, for he stood motionless for a moment, staring in wonder at the spot where Harry had just vanished, and perhaps decided that what he had just seen was Dumbledore scratching at the cover. Scratching his nose (Harry had hurriedly put the book back on the shelf).

Thicknesse finally made his way to the desk, and pointed his wand at the quill in the inkwell, which jumped out immediately and began writing a note to Umbridge.

Holding his breath, Harry slowly exited the office and returned to the spacious area.

The wizards who made the pamphlets still huddle around the wreckage of the decoy bomb.

It was smoking and whining faintly. Harry walked quickly into the aisle and heard the young witch say: "I guess it must have crawled over from the Experimental Spells Committee. Duck?"

Harry considered his options as he hurried towards the elevator.

It was unlikely that the locket was in the Ministry of Magic, and Umbridge sat in a courtroom full of people, and there was no hope of finding the locket's whereabouts from her by magic.

The immediate priority now is to get out of the Ministry before exposure, and try again another day.

First, find Ron, and then work together to find a way to get Hermione out of the courtroom.

The elevator came, but there was no one in it.

Harry jumped in, ripping off the Invisibility Cloak as he began his descent.

To his great rejoicing, when the elevator creaked to a stop on the second floor, Ron, soaked and with staring eyes, stepped in.

"M--good morning."

He stammered, and the elevator moved again.

"Ron, it's me, Harry!"

"Harry! My goodness, I forgot what you looked like - why isn't Hermione here?"

"She and Umbridge went downstairs to the courtroom, there was no way to refuse, and—"

But before Harry could finish, the elevator stopped again.

As soon as the door opened, Mr. Weasley walked in, talking to an old witch with a light-blond bun as high as an anthill.

"...I understand what you're saying, Wakanda, but I'm afraid I can't participate—"

Mr. Weasley stopped suddenly because he saw Harry.

It was a very strange feeling for Mr. Weasley to stare at him in that disgust.

The elevator doors closed, and the four of them descended again, snorting.

"Oh, hello, Reggie," Mr Weasley said over his shoulder when he heard the sound of Ron's robe dripping, "isn't your wife going to court today?

Huh - what's the matter with you? so wet? "

"It's raining in Yaxley's office,"

Ron said, looking over Mr. Weasley's shoulder, Harry thought he was afraid that his father would recognize him if their eyes met: "I can't help it, they sent me to Bernie - Piersworth, I think they said-"

"Yeah, it's been raining in a lot of offices lately," Mr. Weasley said. "Have you tried the Cloud Curse to withdraw? Bletch works really well."

"Cloud curse withdrawn?" Ron whispered. "Haven't tried it, thanks, old—I mean, thanks, Arthur."

The door opened, and the old witch with the anthill on her back stepped out of the elevator, Ron ran past her and disappeared, Harry tried to follow him, but was blocked, Percy Weasley stepped into the elevator, nose pierced Almost buried in the papers he read.

The door clanged shut, and Percy realized he had taken the same elevator as his father.

He raised his eyes and saw Mr. Weasley, his face flushed into a carrot, and he went out as soon as the elevator doors opened.

Harry tried to go on again, but this time was blocked by Mr. Weasley's arm.

"Wait a minute, Runcorn."

As the elevator doors closed and Ding Dang went down another floor, Mr. Weasley said, "I heard you exposed Dirk Creswell."

Feeling that Mr. Weasley's anger had only grown unabated by meeting Percy, Harry decided the safest thing to do was to play dumb.

"what did you say?"

"Stop pretending, Runcorn," Mr. Weasley said angrily, "You hunted down the wizard who made up the family tree, didn't you?"

"I—so what?"

"How about it?

Dirk Cresway is ten times better than you as a wizard! whispered Mr. Weasley, as the lift was still descending: "If he ever gets out of Azkaban, he'll come after you, let alone his wife, children and friends—"

"Arthur," interrupted Harry, "did you know that you were being followed?"

"Is this a threat, Runcorn?"

"No," said Harry, "it's true! They're watching your every move—"

The elevator doors opened and they were in the lobby.

Mr. Weasley gave Harry a stern look and walked away.

Harry froze, hoping he wasn't impersonating Runcorn...the lift doors slammed shut.

Harry took out the Invisibility Cloak and put it back on, and Ron was still dealing with the rainy office, and he had to figure out a way to get Hermione out alone.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped into a torchlit stone hallway, as opposed to the carpeted, wood-paneled corridor above.

Harry shuddered slightly as the lift clanked away, looking at the distant black door that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.

He walked forward, the goal was not the black door, but the door on the left in his memory.

There was a flight of stairs down to the courtroom.

As he crept downstairs, he imagined all kinds of possibilities: he still had two decoy bombs, but maybe it would be better to just knock on the door and go in as Runcorn and ask to speak to Mafalda?

Of course, he didn't know if Runcorn had such great power. Even if it could, Hermione's failure to go back might cause a search, and they hadn't had time to evacuate the Ministry of Magic...

Thinking about what was on his mind, he didn't immediately feel an unusual coldness creeping in, as if he had fallen into the fog, and every step became colder.

The cold air poured into his throat, piercing his heart and lungs, and he felt the despair and helplessness invade his heart and spread to his whole body...

Dementors.

At the bottom of the stairs, turn to the right, and there is a horrible scene in front of you.

The dark corridor outside the court door was full of tall black figures wearing hoods, their faces were completely covered, and harsh breathing was the only sound there.

The Muggle-born wizards who were called to appear in court huddled together in fear, shivering on the hard wooden bench outside, looking a little weird and uncomfortable.

Because many people covered their faces with their hands, perhaps instinctively trying to block the greedy mouth of the dementor, this situation looked a little miserable, at least in his eyes, a little uncomfortable.

The people were crowded together, some with family members, others sat alone.

The dementors floated back and forth in front of them, the cold, the helplessness and the despair pressed Harry like a spell...

Resist, he said to himself, but he knew that if he summoned a Patronus here, he would be exposed immediately.

So he walked on as quietly as possible, the numbness of his mind increasing with each step, but he forced himself to think about Hermione and Ron, who needed him.

It was terrifying to walk among those tall shadows: eyeless faces turned under the hoods as he passed, and he was sure they could sense him, and perhaps sense what was still in a man's body. Some hope, some vitality...

Suddenly, in freezing silence, the door of a courtroom to the left of the corridor opened, and an echoed shout was heard.

HP Approaches the Magic World