days at Hogwarts

It was the last week of the school year and the sun was shining brightly.

The school bell rang as usual, but there were no more confused students running hurriedly to class in the corridor. The bell echoed in the empty corridor, and the ancient castle of Hogwarts seemed quiet and melodious.

Every little wizard chose to leave the castle and go outdoors to enjoy the leisurely days without anxiety after the exams. Some strolled on the open-air Quidditch field, some swam in the lake with the company of giant squids, and some lay in the shade of the trees by the lake for a nap, covering their faces with useless but interesting books.

"Transfiguration and Charms are no problem...

"Astronomy and History of Magic are fine...

"Herbology and Potions aren't that difficult either..."

The exam was completely over. Hermione was ordered by Loren not to talk about the exam a few days ago. She thought that the deadline had passed and was determined to discuss the answers with Loren. She did not notice that Harry and Ginny, who were originally enjoying the cool air under the shade of the tree, had walked away quietly with light steps.

"The steps for Arithmancy Divination are rather complicated, but it should be fine."

"But I'm not sure about ancient runes." Hermione sat cross-legged on the grass, with a notebook spread out on her legs and a newly bought quill in her hand. She pleaded in a low voice, "Loren, I'll tell you the question, and you do it again, and we can check the answer."

Loren, who was lying next to him, slowly turned his head, frowning his handsome eyebrows, looking at Hermione, and couldn't help but ask, "The professor didn't assign any homework during this holiday, and you actually want me to do it?"

"Well, it's just a paper."

"You remember all the questions but can't find the correct answer?"

"The translation questions were okay, but I was unsure about some of the reading questions."

"Go find Professor Babeling."

Hermione was also somewhat helpless: "The professor has already left school."

"Well..." Loren blinked while lying on the ground, then turned sideways and hugged her waist. He took a breath and said lazily, "Professor Morgan is going to take a nap. Let's talk about it tomorrow."

"Then I'll write down the questions I'm unsure about and show them to you in the evening."

"I can't hear it, I can't hear it..."

After saying this, Loren closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

Hermione took the quill and pointed it at his face a few times angrily, but finally stopped.

When I opened my eyes again, it was already dusk.

"Well……"

Loren sat up slowly, feeling his whole body limp from sleep. He still didn't want to move. He stared at the orange-red clouds in the sky for a few seconds. His sleepy head slowly started to move, and he turned to look to the side.

The grass and the lake were also dyed crimson by the setting sun. The girl leaned against the tree, her cheek facing him, and closed her eyes to take a nap.

Next to him was a notebook filled with test questions. The handwriting was elegant and meticulous, except for a piece of small, not very neat handwriting at the end. It was his name. The first few letters were written in heavy ink, probably because he wrote with gritted teeth, and then he wrote the rest in lighter ink, perhaps because he was not satisfied with it and rewrote it dozens of times.

Loren pinched her face, chuckled a few times, took the feather pen from her hand, and started writing on the notebook.

The sun gradually sank into the hills, and the orange clouds dimmed little by little.

Hermione blinked her long eyelashes a few times, opened her eyes, and gradually woke up. She subconsciously looked to the side, only to find that she was leaning on Loren's shoulder and rubbed it subconsciously a few times.

Loren put his arm around her shoulders, put the notebook and quill into her locket, stood up and pulled her up: "Let's go back to the end-of-year dinner."

Hermione pulled his hand slightly harder and brushed the dust off the hem of her skirt: "How long have I slept?"

"You slept longer than me for the whole afternoon."

“I’m copying the questions.”

“Is it just a title?”

Hermione stopped talking. She turned her head and pushed him twice, urging him to go back to the castle as the end-of-year dinner was about to begin.

They walked across the lawn towards the castle entrance hall. The dim sunset illuminated part of the path, and as they approached, the lights in the entrance hall lit up the area around them.

After a day of playing, the little wizards returned to the castle, holding wrappers of various snacks in their hands and the "Special Issue of the Daily Prophet" which they used as cushions after reading. Rolf and Luna greeted them with a smile, holding the juicy red beans they had just picked from Hagrid's vegetable garden.

"Good evening, Loren, Hermione!"

Luna's voice was very light and somewhat ethereal: "Have you read the news in the newspaper? There is an abnormal cold wave at the edge of the border. The Daily Prophet said that it was the fog caused by the gathering of Dementors, but I think there must be a large number of harassment flies gathered in it..."

"Dementors?" Loren and his friends sat down in the two seats next to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, looked at Rolf next to them, and asked, "Is there any news we don't know?"

Rolf broke off some red beans and fed them to the Bowtruckle in his sleeve. "On the day when you were concentrating on the exam, Voldemort regrouped werewolves and dementors, absorbed many dark wizards from other countries, and openly revealed the Dark Mark to announce their return."

Voldemort has returned, and he has gathered a new group of forces...

Several thoughts flashed through Loren's mind quickly, and he frowned slightly: "Is there any action from the Ministry of Magic?"

Rolf said hesitantly, "According to the information revealed by my grandfather, Minister Scrimgeour and Ms. Amelia personally led the Aurors to investigate the situation at the border."

"how is the situation?"

"Not so good..." Rolf shook his head. "We were repelled by the combined efforts of Dementors and werewolves, and attacked by dark wizards. We sacrificed several senior Aurors before we retreated. In order to avoid causing panic, the Ministry of Magic only released some warning information, such as the areas where Dementors gather and roam... They are now soliciting solutions from some older wizards, and my grandfather is one of them."

"It's a problem..." Loren whispered, "Voldemort has started another terrorist attack, involving ordinary people and wizards. The Ministry of Magic can't do anything about them."

Hermione frowned, not expecting so many things to happen while they were concentrating on the exam: "Does Principal Dumbledore have any suggestions?"

"do not know."

"..."

Loren looked up at the guest of honor seat. Dumbledore was discussing something with Grindelwald in a low voice. His expression was solemn, but he smiled at the young wizards.

The end-of-year banquet finally ended in the joy of the upcoming holidays. A small number of students had already received the news, and on the way back to the common room, some people gathered in groups of three or five, whispering, and occasionally raised their heads and looked at Harry with strange eyes.

……

10 Downing Street, Westminster, London.

The night was getting darker and it was almost midnight.

The diligent prime minister was still sitting alone in his office, flipping through a document. However, too many things had happened in the past two weeks. Those unpleasant news reports kept echoing in his ears, making his head dizzy. The more he concentrated on reading the text in front of him, the more his head hurt.

The Brockdale Bridge collapsed not long ago, and more than a dozen cars passing through it sank to the bottom of the river. However, he could only accept the questioning of reporters and kept repeating that the cause was still under investigation.

A serial murder case occurred on the border, but the subordinates could not even find out the cause of death. The autopsy report even said it was a natural death!

How could there be so many natural deaths in a short period of time in one area? How could a family die of natural deaths at the same time? There were even soldiers in their prime among the victims!

And that weird hurricane in the Southwest that caused so much damage to life and property…

It can be said that people in half of the country were in panic.

The Prime Minister rubbed his sore brows and subconsciously looked at a portrait in the corner of the wall hanging in his office. With all these strange things put together, he always felt that something was wrong.

The portrait showed a short man wearing a silver wig, dressed strangely, and with a face like a frog.

That happened many years ago, but he still remembers it clearly, and will never forget it until his death.

On the night he won the election for Prime Minister, he was alone in his office enjoying the joy of success, at the most proud moment of his life, the ugly little portrait coughed softly and then spoke...

Green flames rose from the fireplace, and a fat man who claimed to be the Minister of Magic walked out of the flames, shook his hand, and introduced him to a whole new world.

In hidden corners that modern society cannot touch, a large number of wizards with magic live secretly all over the world. Non-wizards know nothing about this. The bills that require his cooperation are jaw-dropping, such as the jurisdiction of flying brooms, the prohibition of flying carpet smuggling, the embargo on magical animals and customs inspections...

The small stick did work its magic in front of him. He saw with his own eyes that his teacup turned into a lively gerbil. The Prime Minister almost thought that the psychological pressure of the election had caused him to become mentally ill and have hallucinations.

When he woke up the next day, he called carpenters and construction workers to try to take down the portrait, but they couldn't pry it open. As for the gerbil, it is still active in his niece's cage.

He had prayed that the thing would remain still or silent from then on, but to his disappointment, he had caught a glimpse of the person in the portrait yawning or scratching his nose, and once or twice even walked out of the frame, leaving only an empty piece of dusty canvas.

Later, he met the fat Minister of Magic again. It was a few years ago. He appeared out of nowhere in the Cabinet Meeting Room and claimed that he needed his cooperation in some competition. Romania would send a few dragons to the country. There were some troubles in the "Ghost World Cup" and several Muggles were involved. The mark of the mysterious man appeared again...

Minister Fudge looked upset, muttering something: "Don't worry, it means nothing... Dumbledore is trying to take his power..."

It sounds like this wizard named Dumbledore is his political enemy.

The Prime Minister thought so and cooperated in blocking the news from Devon.

While working with those wizards over the years, he had also vaguely figured out some things and asked the intelligence department to compile some files that obviously contained hidden secrets. These files recorded a period of frequent cooperation more than ten years ago, and the truth of some homicides and bombings was covered up.

There was also the thick fog in New York a few years ago. The intelligence department found out that the government of that country seemed to be conducting some secret experiments...

The Prime Minister gradually recalled the contents of the file, his eyes fell on the ugly portrait, and he became more and more certain that the recent events were related to the wizarding world.

Just as he was lost in thought, a soft cough suddenly sounded in the room, a cough he had heard before.

"To the Muggle Prime Minister, requesting an urgent meeting. Please reply immediately, yours faithfully, Fudge." The man in the painting read mechanically.

"Oh... okay." The Prime Minister adjusted his tie and said in a deep voice, "Okay, I can meet Fudge."

He tried his best to control his facial expression and tried to remain calm, but when he saw the bright green flames suddenly emerge from the empty grate under the marble fireplace, he couldn't help feeling some surprise and panic in his heart.

A few seconds later, the obese Fudge walked out of the flames with a yellow-green bowler hat in his hand, stepped on the exquisite carpet in the office, dusted off the ashes on his body, and extended his hand politely: "Oh... Prime Minister, it's nice to see you again."

The Prime Minister shook hands with him expressionlessly while observing his facial expression. His fat face seemed to have lost some weight, his clothes were disheveled, his expression became more solemn, and his hair was thinner. This was not a good sign.

"You don't look well, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, these past two weeks have been terrible, Prime Minister. Brockdale Bridge, the murder..." Fudge sat down on a chair, put the green bowler hat on the table, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and said with a sad face, "Someone will communicate with you about these things. I am here today mainly for the handover."

"Handover?" the Prime Minister repeated, somewhat uncomfortably.

When the leader of a government is ousted, it often means that the situation is extremely serious.

"Yes, my dear Prime Minister." Fudge forced a bitter smile. "I made a serious mistake. The entire Wizengamot passed a resolution unanimously. I was removed from office and under investigation several months ago. I came here tonight to complete the handover and introduce you to my successor. He should be here soon."

Fudge turned his head and looked at the portrait in charge of communication.

The little man in the painting looked outside the frame, as if listening to something, and then said: "He is sending a letter to Dumbledore... Oh, he is here."

The villain's voice became mechanical again: "To the Muggle Prime Minister: Request for a meeting, urgent matter, please reply immediately! Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour."

"Okay, okay."

As the Prime Minister nodded in agreement, the flames in the fireplace turned emerald green again, and a strange man walked out.

His brown hair was a little long, and his eyebrows were thick and gray, proving that he was no longer young. His face was thin and pale, with heavy dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't had a good rest for at least a week, and he looked tired. However, the sharp eyes behind the lenses were still bright, and despite a slight limp, they still showed a sharp and tough demeanor:

"Hello, Prime Minister, I'm Scrimgeour."