Because there was still half an hour before dinner time, the classes for the other years had not yet ended.
Soon, the fifth-grade students who had finished their exams all went outside the castle to breathe in the fresh air or to prepare for the night's revelry.
Unlike the excitement of the fifth-grade, the seventh-grade students were somewhat sad. The air was filled with an atmosphere of reluctance to part. They used their last time to leave memorials around the Hogwarts. After all, after graduation, many of them might not have the chance to return to school in their lives.
Several first-grade students rushed past Elwyn and Hermione, happy for the upcoming carnival.
In any case, in the past year, because of Umrich's intervention, there were not many happy things in the Hogwarts and Gryffindor. Everyone was too tense and needed to relax.
When only Elwyn and Hermione were left, Hermione stopped her tidying up work.
"When are you leaving?" She could not help but ask.
"Probably in the morning the day after tomorrow. Dumbledore helped me apply for a special flight network. I can go directly to the Cairo Explorer Hotel through the school's fireplace," Elwyn said, arranging the exam materials according to their categories. "I've booked a room there."
"I want to go with you!"
"I've talked to you about this before. There's only one invitation. Don't worry, Hermione!"
"But, I'm still a little worried about you going alone..."
"It's not like I haven't been to Egypt," Elwyn said softly, "Lord Voldemort is not there. Nothing will happen!"
He hugged Hermione in his arms and whispered to her. Elwyn promised her that he would find Hermione when he came back.
Just like last year, after Harry left his uncle and aunt's house, they would spend the summer at the Order of the Phoenix headquarters at 12 Grimmauld Square.
At that time, everyone would gather there, including Elaine.
In the current situation, Harry's safety was still the top priority.
After Dumbledore had a frank conversation with them, Harry also understood why he wanted to return to the Dursleys.
He was no longer so resentful, and the Lord Voldemort no longer invaded his thoughts.
For the time being, Sirius did not have any tasks to do during the holidays, so he did not have to accompany Elwyn everywhere. A few days ago, he had said that he would talk to the Dursleys about Harry, and if possible, he would stay at Muggle's house.
Although Dumbledore didn't agree with him doing this, he thought that Harry wouldn't be too sad this summer.
Up until now, the Dursleys still thought that Sirius was a fugitive who had committed murder and escaped from prison.
Since they were talking about fugitives, the panic in the World of Magic quickly spread to the Muggle World.
This summer vacation was destined to not be peaceful!
… …
Just as Elwyn finished his exams and was preparing to head to Egypt to participate in the International Alchemy Conference, a group of unwelcome guests arrived at the British Prime Minister's office.
It was almost midnight, and the Prime Minister sat alone in his office, reading a long memo.
However, his mind was blank, and he had no idea what was written on it.
He was waiting for a call from the leader of a country in the far east. Part of him wondered if that unlucky fellow would call, and the other part of him resisted the many unpleasant memories of this long and tiring week.
The world was getting more and more chaotic, and England was facing unprecedented challenges.
The more the Prime Minister tried to focus on the words on the paper in front of him, the more clearly he saw the gloating face of one of his political enemies. His political enemy had appeared on the news that day, and not only had he listed all the terrible accidents that had happened recently, but he had also logically analyzed that each accident was caused by the government's mistakes.
The Prime Minister probably could not find any words to describe his current situation other than bad luck.
The economy continued to be in a slump, there were frequent terrorist attacks, and there were terrible natural disasters. It was said that a larger demonstration was in the works.
If things went on like this, he would probably end his political career before the end of the holiday …
But faced with the current situation, first of all, he had no idea what to do.
His pulse quickened at the thought of these accusations, for they were unjust and untrue.
Imagine, how could his government have prevented the bridge from collapsing?
It was intolerable that someone had suggested that the government had not invested enough in the construction of the bridge. The bridge had been built less than ten years ago, and the best experts could not explain how it had suddenly broken in two and plunged a dozen cars into the deep river below.
Moreover, someone had suggested that the lack of police power had led to the two murderous cases that had been widely reported, and that the government should have foreseen the strange hurricane in the West that had caused great loss of life and property.
And was it also his fault that one of his assistant ministers, Herbert Jolley, had behaved strangely that week, saying that he wanted to spend more time with his family, and had simply handed in his resignation?
"The country is in a panic," the opposition concluded, hardly concealing the smug smile on his face.
Unfortunately, that was indeed the case.
The Prime Minister himself could feel that the country was slipping into a panic, and that people were more frightened than usual.
Even the weather was unsatisfactory. It was only early June, and London was covered with a cold fog and no sunlight.
It was not right, it was not normal …
He turned to the second page of the memo first, found that it was too long to read, and gave up, knowing that it was impossible to read it all.
He stretched his arms over his head and looked gloomily around his office.
It was an imposing room, with a beautiful marble fireplace facing the long sash windows, which were tightly shut to keep out the unseasonable cold fog outside.
The Prime Minister shivered slightly, got up and went to the window, looking out at the thin fog that clung to the panes.
As he stood there with his back to the room, he heard a soft cough behind him.
He froze, and in the dark pane before him was his own frightened face.
He was familiar with the cough. He had heard it before. He turned slowly to face the empty room.
"Hello?" he said, trying to sound brave.
He knew for a moment that it was impossible, but he still hoped vaguely that no one would answer him.
However, a voice answered immediately. This voice was clear and decisive, as if it was reading a prepared speech.
The Prime Minister heard the first cough and knew that it came from the little froglike man in the long silver wig, who was the figure in a dirty little oil painting in the corner at the far end of the room.
"To Prime Minister Muggle, urgent meeting requested. Answer at once. Your faithful, Fudge. "The man in the painting looked inquiringly at the Prime Minister.
"Yes!" Said the Prime Minister, trying to sound steady. "Listen, this isn't the right time for me. I'm expecting a phone call, from a very important national leader …"
"That can be rescheduled," said the portrait, without thinking.
The Prime Minister's heart sank. That was what he had been worried about.
"But I do wish to speak to him …"
"We'll send someone to make him forget about the phone call, and he'll call again tomorrow night," said the little man. "Please answer Mr. Fudge at once."
"I, oh, all right, all right!" said the Prime Minister helplessly. "All right, I'll see Fudge."
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