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Still chortling, Fudge had thrown some powder into the fireplace, stepped into the emerald flames, and vanished with a whooshing sound. The Prime Minister had stood there, quite motionless, and realized that he would never, as long as he lived, dare mention this encounter to a living soul, for who in the wide world would believe him. The shock had taken a little while to wear off. For a time, he had tried to convince himself that Fudge had indeed been a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep during his grueling election campaign. In a vain attempt to rid himself of all reminders of this uncomfortable encounter, he had given the gerbil to his delighted niece and instructed his private secretary to take down the portrait of the ugly little man who had announced Fudges arrival. To the Prime Ministers dismay, however, the portrait had proved impossible to remove. When several carpenters, a builder or two, an art historian, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer had all tried unsuccessfully to prise it from the wall, the Prime Minister had abandoned the attempt and simply resolved to hope that the thing remained motionless and silent for the rest of his term in office. Occasionally he could have sworn he saw out of the corner of his eye the occupant of the painting yawning, or else scratching his nose; even, once or twice, simply walking out of his frame and leaving nothing but a stretch of muddy-brown canvas behind. However, he visit web page trained himself not to look at the picture very much, and always to tell himself firmly that his eyes were playing tricks on him when anything like this happened. Then, three years ago, on a night very like tonight, the Prime Minister had been alone in his office when the portrait had once again announced the imminent arrival of Fudge, who had burst out of the fireplace, sopping wet and in a state of considerable panic. Before the Prime Minister could ask why he was dripping all over the Axminster, Fudge had started ranting about a prison the Prime Minister had never heard of, a man named Serious Black, something that sounded like Hogwarts, and a boy called Harry Potter, none of which made the remotest sense to the Prime Minister. Ive just come from Azkaban, Fudge had panted, tipping a large amount of water out of the rim of his bowler hat into his pocket. Middle of the North Sea, you know, nasty flight. the dementors are in uproar - he shuddered - theyve never had a breakout before. Anyway, I had to come to you, Prime Minister. Blacks a known Muggle killer and may be planning to rejoin You-Know-Who. But of course, you dont even know who YouKnow-Who is. He had gazed hopelessly at the Prime Minister for a moment, then said, Well, sit down, sit down, Id better fill you in. Have a whiskey. The Prime Minister rather resented being told to sit down in his own office, let alone offered his own whiskey, but he sat nevertheless. Fudge pulled out his wand, conjured two large glasses full of amber liquid out of thin air, pushed one of them into the Prime Ministers hand, and drew up a chair. Fudge had talked for more than an hour. At one point, he had refused to say a certain name aloud and wrote it instead on a piece of parchment, which he had thrust into the Prime Ministers whiskey-free hand. When at last Fudge had stood up to leave, the Prime Minister had stood up too. So you think that. He had squinted down at the name in his left hand. Lord Vol - He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. snarled Fudge. Im sorry. You think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still alive, then. Well, Dumbledore says he is, said Fudge, as he had fastened his pinstriped cloak under his chin, but weve never found him. If you ask me, hes not dangerous unless hes got support, so its Black we ought to be worrying about. Youll put out that warning, then. Excellent. Well, I hope we dont see each other again, Prime Minister. Good night. But they had seen each other again. Less than a year later a harassedlooking Fudge had appeared out of thin air in the cabinet room to inform the Prime Minister that there had been a spot of bother at the Kwidditch (or that was what it had sounded like) World Cup and that several Muggles had been involved, but that the Prime Minister was not to worry, the fact that YouKnow-Whos Mark had been seen again meant nothing; Fudge was sure it was an isolated incident, and the Muggle Liaison Office was dealing with all memory modifications as they spoke. Oh, and I almost forgot, Fudge had added. Were importing three foreign dragons and a sphinx for the Triwizard Tournament, quite routine, but the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures tells me that its down in the rule book that we have to notify you if were bringing highly dangerous creatures into the country. I - what - dragons. spluttered the Prime Minister. Yes, three, said Fudge. And a sphinx. Well, good day to you. The Prime Minister had hoped beyond hope that dragons and sphinxes would be the worst of it, but no. Less than two years later, Fudge had erupted out of the fire yet again, this time with the news that there had been a mass breakout from Azkaban. A mass breakout. repeated the Prime Minister hoarsely. No need to worry, no need to worry. shouted Fudge, already with one foot in the flames. Well have them rounded up in no time - just thought you ought to know. And before the Prime Minister could shout, Now, wait just one moment. Fudge had vanished in a shower of green sparks. Whatever the press and the opposition might say, the Prime Minister was not a foolish man. It had not escaped his notice that, despite Fudges assurances at their first meeting, they were now seeing rather a lot of each other, nor that Fudge was becoming more Baldurs gate mods 3 max level with each visit. Little though he liked to think about the Minister of Magic (or, as he always called Fudge in his head, the Other Minister), the Prime Minister could not help but fear that the next time Fudge appeared it would be with graver news still. The sight, therefore, of Fudge stepping out of the fire once more, looking disheveled and fretful and sternly surprised that the Prime Minister did not know exactly why he was there, was about the worst thing that had happened in the course of this extremely gloomy week. How should I know whats going on in the - er - Wizarding community. snapped the Prime Minister now. I have a country visit web page run and quite enough concerns at the moment without - We have the same concerns, Fudge interrupted. The Brockdale Bridge continue reading wear out. That wasnt really a hurricane. Those murders were not the work of Muggles. And Herbert Chorleys family would be safer without him. We are currently making arrangements to have him transferred to St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The move should be effected tonight. What do you. Im afraid I. What. blustered the Prime Minister. Fudge took a great, deep breath and said, Prime Minister, I am very sorry to have to tell you that here back. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back. Back. When you say back. hes alive. I mean - The Prime Minister groped in his memory for the details of that horrible conversation of three years previously, when Fudge had told him about the wizard who was feared above all others, the wizard who had committed a thousand terrible crimes before his mysterious disappearance fifteen years earlier. Yes, alive, said Fudge. That is - I dont know - is a man alive if he cant be killed. I dont really understand it, and Dumbledore wont explain properly - but anyway, hes certainly got a body and is walking and talking and killing, so I suppose, for the purposes of our discussion, yes, hes alive. The Prime Minister did not know what to say to this, but a persistent habit of wishing to appear well-informed on any subject that came up made him cast around for any details he could remember of their previous conversations. Is Serious Black with - er - He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Black. Black. said Fudge distractedly, turning his bowler rapidly in his fingers. Sirius Black, you mean. Merlins beard, no. Blacks dead. Turns out we were more info er - mistaken about Black. He was innocent after all. And he wasnt in league with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named either. I mean, he added defensively, spinning the bowler hat still faster, all the evidence pointed - we had more than fifty eyewitnesses - but anyway, as I say, hes dead. Murdered, as a matter of fact. On Ministry of Magic premises. Theres going to be an inquiry, actually. To his great surprise, the Prime Minister felt a fleeting stab of pity for Fudge at this point. It was, however, eclipsed almost immediately by a glow of smugness at the thought that, deficient though he himself might be in the area of materializing out of fireplaces, there had never been a murder in any of the government departments under his charge. Not yet, anyway. While the Prime Minister surreptitiously touched the wood of his desk, Fudge continued, But Blacks by-the-by now. The point is, were at war, Prime Minister, and steps must be taken. At war. repeated the Prime Minister nervously. Surely thats a little bit of an overstatement. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has now been joined by those of his followers who broke out of Azkaban in January, said Fudge, speaking more and more rapidly and twirling his bowler so fast that it was a lime-green blur. Since they have moved into the open, they have been wreaking havoc. The Brockdale Bridge - he did it, Prime Minister, he threatened a mass Muggle killing unless I stood aside for him and - Good grief, so its your fault those people were killed and Im having to answer questions about rusted rigging and corroded expansion joints and I dont know what else. said the Prime Minister furiously. My fault. said Fudge, coloring up. Are you saying you would have caved in to blackmail like that. Maybe not, said the Prime Minister, standing up and striding about the room, but I would have put all my efforts into catching the blackmailer before he committed any such atrocity. Do you really think I wasnt already making every effort. demanded Fudge heatedly. Every Auror in the Ministry was - and is - trying to find him and round up his followers, but we happen to be talking about one of the most powerful wizards of all time, a wizard who has eluded capture for almost three decades. So I suppose youre going to tell me he caused the hurricane in the West Country too. said the Prime Minister, his temper rising with every pace he took. It was infuriating to discover the reason for all these terrible disasters and not to be able to tell the public, almost worse than it being the governments fault after all. That was no hurricane, said Fudge miserably. Excuse me. barked the Prime Minister, now positively stamping up and down. Trees uprooted, roofs ripped off, lampposts bent, horrible injuries - It was the Death Eaters, said Fudge. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Nameds followers. And. and we suspect giant involvement. The Prime Minister stopped in his tracks as though he had hit an invisible wall. What involvement. Fudge grimaced. He used giants last time, when he wanted to go for the grand effect, he said. The Office of Misinformation has been working around the clock, weve had teams of Obliviators out trying to modify the memories of all the Muggles who saw what really happened, weve got most of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures running around Somerset, but we cant find the giant - its been a disaster. You dont say. said the Prime Minister furiously. I wont deny that morale is pretty low at the Ministry, said Fudge. What with all that, and then losing Amelia Bones. Losing who. Amelia Bones. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have murdered her in person, because she was a very gifted witch and - and all the evidence was that she put up a real fight. Fudge cleared his throat and, with an effort, it more info, stopped spinning his bowler hat. But that murder was in the newspapers, said the Prime Minister, momentarily diverted from his anger. Our newspapers. Amelia Bones. it just said she was a middle-aged woman who lived alone. It was a - a nasty killing, wasnt it. Its had rather continue reading lot of publicity. The police are baffled, you see. Fudge sighed. Well, of course they are, he said. Killed in a room that was locked from the inside, wasnt she. We, on the other hand, know exactly who did it, not that that gets us any further toward catching him. And then there was Emmeline Vance, maybe you didnt hear about that one - Oh yes I did. said the Prime Minister. It happened just around the corner from here, as a matter of fact. The papers had a field day with it, breakdown of law and order in the Prime Ministers backyard - And as if all that wasnt enough, said Fudge, barely listening to the Prime Minister, weve got dementors swarming all over the place, attacking people left, right, and center. Once upon a happier time this sentence would have been unintelligible to the Prime Minister, but he was wiser now. I thought dementors guard the prisoners in Azkaban, he said cautiously. They did, said Fudge wearily. But not anymore. Theyve deserted the prison and joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I wont pretend that fallout 4 newbie a blow. But, said the Prime Minister, with a sense of dawning horror, didnt you tell me theyre the creatures that drain hope and happiness out of people. Thats right. And theyre breeding. Thats whats causing all this mist. The Prime Minister sank, weak-kneed, into the nearest chair. The idea of invisible creatures swooping through the towns and countryside, spreading despair and hopelessness in his voters, made him feel quite faint. Now see here, Fudge - youve got to do something. Its your responsibility as Minister of Magic. My dear Prime Minister, you cant honestly think Im still Minister of Magic after all this. I was sacked three days ago. The whole Wizarding community has been screaming for my resignation for a fortnight. Ive never known them so united in my whole term of office. said Fudge, with a brave attempt at a smile. The Prime Minister was momentarily lost for words. Despite his indignation at the position into which he had been placed, he still rather felt for the shrunken-looking man sitting opposite him. Im very sorry, he said finally. If theres anything I can do. Its very kind of you, Prime Minister, but there is nothing. I was sent here tonight to bring you up to date on recent events and to introduce you to my successor. I rather thought hed be here by now, but of course, hes very busy at the moment, with so much going on. Fudge looked around at the portrait of the ugly little man wearing the long curly silver wig, who was digging in his ear with the point of a quill. Catching Fudges eye, the portrait said, Hell be here in a moment, hes just finishing a letter to Dumbledore. I wish him luck, said Fudge, sounding bitter for the first time. Ive been writing to Dumbledore twice a day for the past fortnight, but he wont budge. If hed just been prepared to persuade the boy, I might still be. Well, maybe Scrimgeour will have more success. Fudge subsided into what was clearly an aggrieved silence, but it was broken almost immediately by the portrait, which suddenly spoke in its crisp, official voice. To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Requesting a meeting. Urgent. Kindly respond immediately. Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic. Yes, yes, fine, said the Prime Minister distractedly, and he barely flinched as the flames in the grate turned emerald green again, rose up, and revealed a second spinning wizard in their heart, disgorging him moments later onto the antique rug. Fudge got to his feet and, after a moments hesitation, the Prime Minister did the same, watching the new arrival straighten up, dust down his long black robes, and look around. The Prime Ministers first, foolish thought was that Rufus Scrimgeour looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of gray in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. There was an immediate impression of shrewdness and toughness; the Prime Minister thought he understood why the Wizarding community preferred Scrimgeour to Fudge as a leader in these dangerous times. How do you do. said the Prime Minister politely, holding out his hand. Scrimgeour grasped it briefly, his eyes scanning the room, then pulled out a wand from under his robes. Fudge told you everything. he asked, striding over to the door and tapping the keyhole with his wand. The Prime Minister heard the lock click. Er - yes, said the Prime Minister. And if you dont mind, Id rather that door remained unlocked. Id rather not be interrupted, said Scrimgeour shortly, or watched, he added, pointing his wand at the windows, so that the curtains swept across them. Right, well, Im a busy man, so lets get down to business. First of all, we need to discuss your security. The Prime Minister drew himself up to his fullest height and replied, I am perfectly happy with the security Ive already got, thank you very - Well, were not, Scrimgeour cut in. Itll be a poor lookout for the Muggles if their Prime Minister gets put under the Imperius Curse. The new secretary in your outer office - Im not getting rid of Kingsley Shacklebolt, if thats what youre suggesting. said the Prime Minister hotly. Hes highly efficient, gets through twice the work Baldurs gate mods 3 max level rest of them - Thats because hes a wizard, said Scrimgeour, without a flicker of a smile. A highly trained Auror, who has been assigned to you for your protection. Now, wait a moment. declared the Prime Minister. You cant just put your people into my office, I decide who works for me - I thought you were happy with Shacklebolt. said Scrimgeour coldly. I am - thats to say, I was - Then theres no problem, is there. said Scrimgeour. well, as long as Shacklebolts work continues to be. er. excellent, said the Prime Minister lamely, but Scrimgeour barely seemed to hear him. Now, about Herbert Chorley, your Junior Minister, he continued. The one who has been entertaining the public by impersonating a duck. What about him. asked the Prime Minister. He has clearly reacted to a poorly performed Imperius Curse, said Scrimgeour. Its addled his brains, but he could still be dangerous. Hes only quacking. said the Prime Minister weakly. Surely a bit of a rest. Maybe go easy on the drink. A team of Healers from St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are examining him as we speak. So far he has attempted to strangle three of them, said Scrimgeour. I think it best that we remove him from Muggle society for a while. well. Hell be all right, wont he. said the Prime Minister anxiously. Scrimgeour merely shrugged, already moving back toward the fireplace. Well, thats really all I had to say. I will keep you posted of developments, Prime Minister - or, at least, I shall probably be too busy to come personally, in which case I shall send Fudge here. He has consented to stay on in an advisory capacity. Fudge attempted to smile, but was unsuccessful; he merely looked as though he had a toothache. Scrimgeour was already rummaging in his pocket for the mysterious powder that turned the fire green. The Prime Minister gazed hopelessly at the pair of them for a moment, then the words he had fought to suppress all evening burst from him at last. But for heavens sake - youre wizards. You can do magic. Surely you can sort out - well - anything. Scrimgeour turned slowly on the spot and exchanged an incredulous look with Fudge, who really did manage a smile this time as he said kindly, The trouble is, the other side can do magic too, Prime Minister. And with that, the two wizards stepped one after the other into the bright green fire and vanished. M CHAPTER TWO SPINNERS END any miles away the chilly mist that had pressed against the Prime Ministers windows drifted over a dirty river that wound between overgrown, rubbish-strewn banks. An immense chimney, relic of a disused mill, reared up, shadowy and ominous. There was no sound apart from the whisper of the black water and no sign of life apart from a scrawny fox that had slunk down the bank to nose hopefully at some old fish-and-chip wrappings in the tall grass. But then, with a very faint pop, a slim, hooded figure appeared out of thin air on the edge of the river. The fox froze, wary eyes fixed upon this strange new phenomenon. The figure seemed to take its bearings for a few moments, then set off with light, quick strides, its long cloak rustling over the grass. With a second and louder pop, another hooded figure materialized. Wait. The harsh cry startled the fox, now crouching sharpener kit apex 3 knife flat in the undergrowth. It leapt from its hiding place and up the bank. There was a flash of green light, a yelp, and the fox fell back to the ground, dead. The second figure turned over the animal with its toe. Just a fox, said a womans voice dismissively from under the hood. I thought perhaps an Auror - Cissy, wait. But her quarry, who had paused and looked back at the flash of light, was already scrambling up the bank the fox had just fallen down. Cissy - Narcissa - listen to me - The second woman caught the first and seized her arm, but the other wrenched it away. Go back, Bella. You must listen to me. Ive listened already. Ive made my decision. Leave me alone. The woman named Narcissa gained the top of the bank, where a line of old railings separated the river from a narrow, cobbled street. The other woman, Bella, followed at once. Side by side they stood looking across the Baldurs gate mods 3 max level at the rows and rows of dilapidated brick houses, their windows dull and blind in the darkness. He lives here. asked Bella in a voice of contempt. Here. In this Muggle dunghill. We must be the first of our kind ever to set foot - But Narcissa was not listening; she had slipped through a gap in the rusty railings and was already hurrying across the road. Cissy, wait. Bella followed, her cloak streaming behind, and saw Narcissa darting through an alley between the houses into a second, almost identical street.

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