Chapter 816: Connections
Chapter 816: Connections
"How was your summer break?"
The two turned onto a desolate street, surrounded by only a few dilapidated offices, a stark contrast to the bustling street they had just left.
"It was alright. Are you planning to watch the Quidditch World Cup this year?"
A dilapidated red phone booth caught his attention. He recalled that one of the entrances to the Ministry of Magic was located in a public restroom, and the other was through an old phone booth.
"No, I'm not interested. The British team has been performing poorly for years, and it's been three decades since they last won a cup. I expect they'll lose badly again this year," Bagman said, clearly not a fan of the local Quidditch teams.
"That's to be expected. This country has been on a downward spiral, and it feels like it's dying a slow death. There have been quite a few troubles with the Muggles lately, to the point where I'm hesitant to eat beef," Albert replied casually, making small talk with Bagman.
"We're here." Bagman pointed to the old red phone booth ahead and said to Albert, "You go in first."
"Is this the entrance?"
Albert opened the door of the phone booth and stepped inside. Turning back, he asked Bagman, "Out of curiosity, why didn't we just Apparate directly to the Ministry of Magic?"
Bagman squeezed into the phone booth as well, picking up the broken receiver and explaining to Albert, "Think of it as a novel experience. Besides, it's a necessary procedure since you're still a minor, and there have been quite a few eyes on you lately. I've informed them that we're just here to go through the motions."
"Those people have nothing better to do," Albert said with a shake of his head. "If they're envious, they should have more children. Who knows, they might produce a few geniuses. Even if they don't, they'd still be contributing to the wizarding population. If there were as many wizards as there are Muggles, we wouldn't have to live like rats underground."
"Your words remind me of someone."
"Gellert Grindelwald?"
"Yes, he was an idealist, but his methods were too extreme and his thinking muddled. Even if Albus Dumbledore hadn't stopped him, Grindelwald would have failed eventually."
As Bagman reminisced, the dial slowly returned to its original position. Suddenly, a cold, indifferent female voice filled the phone booth, not coming from the receiver but seemingly from an invisible woman standing right beside them.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and purpose of visit."
"Bagman, a member of the Wizengamot, here to assist Mr. Albert Anderson with the application procedure for temporary usage of magic by underage wizards."
"Thank you," the woman said coldly. "Guest, please take the badge and pin it to the front of your clothes."
A silver badge slid out from the coin return slot. Albert picked it up and examined it. On it were the words: Albert Anderson, Procedure Application.
"I guess you don't like this process much," Bagman said with a wink. "To be honest, I don't either. It's too cumbersome. And it doesn't leave a good first impression on young wizards visiting the Ministry for the first time."
Albert smiled faintly as he watched the phone booth slowly sink into the ground.
To be honest, Albert was quite looking forward to seeing the British Ministry of Magic, cowering in the shadow of Tom Riddle.
There were actually quite a few ways to prevent Lord Voldemort's resurrection. The simplest one would be to scatter or replace Tom Riddle's ashes, so he couldn't use his relative's bones to regenerate his body.
However, Albert had never considered doing that.
In his opinion, the process of defeating Voldemort was crucial for the entire British wizarding community. It could be considered a revolution, and only through this revolution could the pure-blood faction within the Ministry be thoroughly weakened.
As for the bloodshed and sacrifices?
Every revolution comes with a price.
As long as it wasn't his blood, he was fine with it.
There was a saying from his previous life that seemed fitting: There's no end to the number of other people's children who can die.
"What are you thinking about?" Bade asked.
"I was just pondering how many lives will be lost in the Second Wizarding War." Albert murmured.
"Do you think the prophecy is close to fulfillment?" Bade inquired, surprised at Albert's train of thought.
"Yes, it's drawing near."
As they spoke, the sidewalk outside the phone booth began to rise, eventually leaving them in complete darkness above their heads.
"Wormtail isn't dead." Albert gazed into the darkness ahead, "He's likely gone to Albania."
Bade understood what Albert was implying—with Voldemort rumored to be in Albania, it seemed to foreshadow the Dark Lord's resurgence.
"What else have you seen?" Bade probed further.
"The signs will manifest at the Quidditch World Cup." Albert said mysteriously, "I've also seen Potter's wanted poster. He's the number one Undesirable, with a reward of ten thousand Galleons."
"As long as Dumbledore is still alive..." Bade trailed off, a sense of foreboding washing over him, "...the Ministry shouldn't be able to..."
Indeed! As long as Dumbledore lived, Voldemort wouldn't dare to openly control the Ministry. It was a case of the tall holding up the sky.
In times of peace, no one would realize the significance of this.
Scrimgeour was rather unfortunate; after Dumbledore's death, he didn't grasp the severity of the situation and met his end soon after.
In truth, even if Scrimgeour had taken measures to counter Voldemort's rise, it would have been futile. Voldemort would have needed to eliminate him to gain control of the Ministry, finding a suitable puppet to replace him.
Even compromising with the Dark Lord would have been useless; the Director of the Auror Office had simply made too many enemies.
"Unless something unexpected happens, the Headmaster's days are likely numbered."
"Such a cruel truth." Bade asked, "Have you tried to divine Dumbledore's death?"
"No." Albert shook his head, "And I don't believe I can change anything."
"The Ministry hopes you have a pleasant day."
The woman's voice echoed once more, and the door of the phone booth suddenly swung open.
The two stepped out of the booth, and not far ahead was a splendid hall. Albert followed Bade toward a security checkpoint with a sign that read "Safety Inspection."
A middle-aged wizard greeted them, looking like a dead fish, but he showed respect to Bade. Upon noticing Albert's name, he stared at him in surprise.
"Please place your wand here."
The wizard was relatively polite to Albert, asking him to place his wand on a brass machine resembling a scale.
It was a wand-inspecting device.
"Eric, we must be off." Bade led Albert directly to the Department of International Magical Cooperation to find old Barty Crouch, intending to use this connection to bypass the Improper Use of Magic Office.
Yes, Bade didn't want to deal with Dolores Umbridge if he could help it.
"Oh, well, that's quite a surprise."
Old Barty Crouch appraised Albert up and down, while Percy, who stood beside him, looked on with similar astonishment. "Weasley, please take this over to the Improper Use of Magic Office and have it signed by their director, Umbridge."
"Yes, Mr. Crouch, I'll go right now." Percy took the parchment and walked away.
"You look tired." Bade remarked.
"Organizing the distribution of the Portkeys across five continents is no easy task." Crouch indeed appeared weary.
"If I were you, I'd find an easier job." Bade said with a smile.
"Not everyone is as fond of slacking off as you are." Crouch shook his head.
"I haven't been slacking; I've been cultivating outstanding witches and wizards." Bade raised his finger and gestured to Albert, indicating that he hadn't been idle.
"It's a shame Albert isn't interested in joining the Ministry; otherwise, I would have recommended him to assist you after graduation. It would have made your life much easier." Bade continued his sales pitch, "Albert is also proficient in numerous languages, making him an ideal candidate to succeed you when you eventually retire."
"Oh, that's quite a pity." Crouch responded noncommittally.
As they conversed, Percy returned with the parchment, which Crouch quickly stamped and handed back to Bade.
"Good luck, and I hope you win an award. It's been a while since Britain received international recognition." Crouch said to Albert.
(End of Chapter)
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