The Mysterious Return of Hogwarts

"James, Ferlando, Calvin...the Auror team...arrived in the original sea area of ​​Azkaban...all of them are missing."

"From 10:11 a.m. to 6:12 p.m., the deaths of the missing team members were confirmed one after another using... curses. The order of death is... The Fernando team has been dispatched to patrol again... .Tell them to pay attention to safety..."

"The frontline team sent back the latest report...Remote observation found no island...The entire sea area is suspected to be shrouded in a large-scale secrecy spell. Please apply for support..."

Several paper dragonflies flying in the depressing conference room did not take long before they were caught by a magic wand and unfolded one by one. Black writing emerged after decryption, stinging the eyes of the viewer.

"Things are troublesome."

Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, frowned. She was a woman with a broad jaw. She had been cautious since she succeeded Barty Crouch as the head of the department. Therefore, under her leadership , she could hardly remember the last time she received news that an entire Auror team had been killed.

Werewolf expulsion rally in 86? The crackdown on overseas smuggling wizards in Knockturn Alley in 88?

No, no such bad injuries occurred at that time.

"What's wrong with Azkaban? We have to figure it out. Raise the disaster level to Level [-]. Where is Minister Fudge? I'm going to see him..."

The minister's office suddenly became lively. Aurors, the Office for the Management of Magical Creatures, and the Team for Reversing Occasional Magical Events... all opened the door one after another after Amelia arrived.

At this panicking moment, Fudge's sullen face and bulldog-like lower cheeks resembled the traditional British tough guy.

Tuk Tuk.

He drummed his fingers on the wooden table, thinking about how this had happened.

"Contact with Azkaban has been lost. The Auror team that set out this morning was killed... Relevant information is temporarily blocked. No one should spread it until further information comes out. Don't think about the problem in a bad direction. It might just be an accident. What about the natural disaster time?”

"Blocking the news? But the death of the Auror team has been confirmed. How can the people below not think the worst?"

Amelia said bluntly, "This is just deceiving yourself."

"Has the news spread?"

Fudge's temples were slightly convex.

He never thought there was anything wrong with deceiving himself, otherwise, where would the legislative foundation of the Muggle Secrecy Act be?

However, its premise is to bully talents.

How can you let everyone know about this?

Fudge was not an Auror, but he was once the senior deputy director of the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters, another important department. He had to deal with countless problems, big and small. Although this made him develop a bad habit of keeping things quiet and whitewashing the peace. Fault, but I have to say that as the Minister of Magic, what he did at this time was not wrong.

If the follow-up situation is unclear, what good can be done by breaking the bad news first?

But the wizards don't understand the leadership considerations of maintaining stability in such important matters.

The weak social system of the British wizarding world has not yet evolved a group of qualified administrators. They do not have the administrative skills of the Muggle government, such as Downing Street civil servants. In the 40s, they were able to dismember subordinate jurisdictions through administrative decrees. Colonies, provoking religious conflicts to ensure the interests of the mother country, re-erected on the ruins of London a universal welfare system that is as sound as dental insurance, and maintains it to this day...

Oh, what can civil servants in the Ministry of Magic do? Apart from being active in collecting wages, they are no match for dark wizards when it comes to magic, they are strangled by Gringotts when it comes to finances, and their credibility is suppressed by an old immortal. Everything is difficult... .

Fudge twisted his butt again. Even so, I have to sit on this chair.

I want to make the Ministry of Magic great again, back to the glorious days before the Dark Lord wreaked havoc...

"How about we go...ask Principal Dumbledore for advice?"

Finally, a damn voice came from the corner. Fudge didn't look up to see who the speaker was. His mouth was a little bitter. This was the Ministry of Magic, and this was the platform where he wanted to display his ambitions.

"Just a crumbling prison, just a... Auror squad..."

If Minister Hephaestus Gore, who suppressed all rebellions and refused to rescue werewolf wizards, was sitting here in the eighteenth century, would he hear such suggestions from his subordinates?

I have to be patient. When Dumbledore gets old, he will be confused, make mistakes... and die. I will take back my power, and when the time comes, I will implement my will!

"Good suggestion, I'll write to Principal Dumbledore right now!"

Fudge relaxed the tense muscles in his jaw. Who was he showing his strength to?

These people have been talking for a long time. Are they really here to listen to their own decisions? They just want to let themselves send a letter...

.......

"I already know the situation. This may be a dark omen."

In the Hogwarts principal's office, Dumbledore wrote this sentence, and then folded his recent conjectures about Voldemort's return and some trace materials he had discovered into an envelope.

He didn't think the Ministry of Magic would be of any use in this matter, so these preparations were just appeasement, almost perfunctory.

"Lost in Azkaban, powerful secrecy spell, Death Eaters...could it be you, Tom?"

Afterwards, the old man looked thoughtful. There seemed to be something wrong with his habitual control. According to the prophecy, the returning Dark Lord should not have recovered such power so early. After all, he would die at the hands of a child. And that child has not yet entered school. Unless this little Mr. Harry Potter is the most genius wizard in 3000 years and can master spells and powers comparable to his own in a few months, otherwise, the prophecy will be correct. Not on.

Like the older generation of traditional wizards in England, this old man who personally experienced Grindelwald's era firmly believes in prophecies. They believe that "when a prophecy is spoken, the future cannot be changed."

Prophecy is not a trajectory of destiny, but a fixed point.

It was useless to think too much. Dumbledore rummaged through the letters again. In the pile of admission notices, all the letters sent to No. 4 Privet Drive were lost, and no news was sent back. Minerva could not help but go. Check the situation.

The night after the child lost his parents, Minerva turned into a cat and spent the whole day on Privet Drive until she saw Harry being sent to his uncle's house. She felt an elder-like closeness and concern for him.

She believed that it was Harry who ended the nightmare of that generation. She loved this little guy who was stuffed in Hagrid's coat and floated across the Channel.

Dumbledore remembered that Sirius was also asking around for the whereabouts of his godson, but after the Ministry of Magic refused to disclose it on the principle of confidentiality, he had been harassing him for some time. There was no doubt about Black's friendship with James Potter, but compared to Blood relatives, Potter is not suitable to go to Sirius now.

He had just left Azkaban and was too emotionally unstable.

"Harry, is he ready?"

As before, this time, the powerful white wizard still chose to let the children go through the ordeal while he sat by the fireplace and drank honey tea.