In fact, during the holidays at Hogwarts, Jon was not very idle either.
Or rather, the closer it was to the holidays, the busier he was. He had to take care of the preparations for the Phoenix Society, as well as the laboratory. Grindelwald would leave in a year, but the new batch of experimenters in the laboratory had not yet been trained, so he had to take care of some things here.
However, what was worth rejoicing over was that these things were all within his tolerance range.
In contrast, the other person who suddenly received a shock was not so lucky.
...
It was almost midnight. The Prime Minister sat alone in his office, reading a long memo. But his mind was blank, and he did not understand what was written on it.
He was waiting for a call from the president of a distant country.
On one hand, he doubted whether the unlucky guy would call, and on the other hand, he was restraining the unpleasant memories of this long and tiring week, so his mind did not have much space to think about other things.
The more he tried to concentrate on reading the words on the paper in front of him, the clearer he saw the gloating face of one of his political opponents.
This political opponent appeared on the news that day, and not only listed all the terrible accidents that happened in the past week (as if anyone needed reminding), but also logically and logically analyzed that each accident was caused by the fault of the government.
When the Prime Minister thought of these accusations, his pulse quickened, because they were very unfair and did not conform to the facts.
How could his government have prevented the bridge from collapsing?
Someone even suggested that the government did not invest enough in the construction of the bridge, which was intolerable.
The bridge had been built for less than ten years, and even the best experts could not explain how it suddenly broke neatly in two, and how dozens of cars fell into the deep river below.
In addition, someone even suggested that the police force was not strong enough, which led to the two vicious murders, and that the government should have foreseen the strange hurricane in the west that caused huge losses to people's lives and property.
Also, one of his assistant ministers, Herbert Jolly, acted strangely this week, saying that he wanted to spend more time with his family. Was this also his fault?
"The whole country is in panic."
The opposition concluded, barely concealing the smug smile on his face.
Unfortunately, this was indeed the case.
The Prime Minister himself felt that the people were more frightened than usual, and even the weather was not good. It was still the middle of July, but there was already a cold fog... This was not right, not normal...
He turned to the second page of the memo, but found that the content was still very long. Knowing that he could not read it all, he gave up.
He stretched his arms over his head and gloomily looked around his office.
It was a very grand room, with a beautiful marble fireplace facing a long lattice window. The window was tightly closed, blocking the unseasonable cold fog outside.
The Prime Minister shivered slightly. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the thin mist clinging to the glass.
As he stood there with his back to the room, he heard a soft cough behind him.
He froze, facing his own frightened face in the dark pane of the window.
He was familiar with the cough. He had heard it before. Then he slowly turned around and faced the empty room.
"Hello?" he said, trying his best to make his voice.
For a moment he knew that it was impossible, and yet vaguely hoped that no one would answer him.
However, a voice immediately answered. This voice was clear and decisive, as if it was reading a prepared speech.
The Prime Minister knew at the first cough that it came from the little frog-faced man in the long silver wig who was the figure in the dirty little painting in the corner at the far end of the room.
"To Prime Minister Muggle.
Urgent request for a meeting. Answer at once.
Faithful, Fudge. "
The man in the painting looked inquiringly at the Prime Minister.
"Well," said the Prime Minister. "Listen... this isn't the right time for me... I'm expecting a phone call... from a President--"
"That can be rescheduled," said the portrait automatically.
The Prime Minister's heart sank. That was what he had been afraid of.
"But I do wish to speak to him--"
"We'll make the President forget about the phone call. He'll call again tomorrow night," said the little man. "Please answer Mr. Fudge at once."
"I... oh... all right," said the Prime Minister helplessly. "All right, I'll see Fudge."
He hurried to his desk, straightening his cravat as he did so.
He had just sat down and adjusted his face to be as relaxed and composed as he wished, when a bright green flame burst into life in the empty grate beneath the marble fireplace.
The Prime Minister tried his best to hide the shock and panic in his heart as he watched a fat man appear in the middle of the flames and spin around like a top.
In a few seconds the fat man stepped over the grate, holding a turquoise bowler hat in his hand, and stood on a fine antique carpet, brushing the ashes from the sleeves of his striped cloak.
"Oh... Prime Minister," said Connelly Fudge, striding over and holding out his hand. "I'm glad to see you again."
The Prime Minister, unwilling from the bottom of his heart to reply to this formality, said nothing.
He did not want to see Fudge at all. Fudge's previous appearances, apart from being particularly alarming, generally meant that he was about to hear some particularly bad news.
Moreover, Fudge looked plainly worried this time.
He was thinner than before, his face darker, his head more balding, and his face wrinkled.
The Prime Minister had seen this look on the faces of politicians, and generally it was not a good sign.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
The Prime Minister asked, shaking Fudge's hand briefly and motioning him to the stiffest chair in front of the desk.
"I don't know where to begin," muttered Fudge, pulling up a chair and settling the green bowler hat on his knee. "It's been a rough week, a rough week..."
"Have you had a rough week, too?" asked the Prime Minister.
The Prime Minister asked with a straight face. He wanted Foggy to understand that he already had enough to worry about. He didn't want to share Foggy's burden.
"Yes, of course," said Fudge, rubbing his eyes wearily.
He looked gloomily at the Prime Minister. "I've had more or less the same week, Prime Minister.
Brockdale Bridge... the murders of Burns and Vance... not to mention the turmoil in the West... "
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