HP: The Necromancer

They landed next to a shabby phone booth on a deserted street. The door of a tavern was tightly closed, and the remaining buildings looked like offices, but their glass windows were dirty, and spiders had spun webs on the broken frames. The street had clearly been abandoned for a long time, likely because some higher authority hadn't yet decided what to do with it. It was the kind of place that wouldn't be marked on even the most detailed map of London.

Oscar apologized as he used his frozen fingers to untie Anthony. "I can't use a warming spell, Professor Anthony. You know, it's a strictly controlled spell..."

"Is it really strictly controlled?" Anthony asked in surprise as he stepped off the broom. The kitchen elves at Hogwarts used that kind of magic at least a million times a day. He had always assumed it was as common as the cleaning spell—wait, isn't cleaning also a controlled spell?

Oscar explained, "Oh, yes. That's because the warming spell could make the world feel like a boiled egg or something... A lot of wizards like to use it on their homes in the winter to keep warm." He leaned the broom against the tavern door, as if the janitor had absentmindedly left it there.

As they entered the phone booth, Oscar continued, "It's not that I think there's anything wrong with it, but for some reason, the Ministry of Magic in several countries issued a joint statement saying that excessive use of the spell might melt the icebergs or something like that... So, now it's a controlled spell. I really don't get it. Alright, I've got this right, six-two-four-four-two." He muttered to himself as he turned the dial.

As soon as the dial turned back, a cold, female voice rang out, instructing them to state their names and reason for their visit.

"Oscar Weaver! Trainee Auror!" Oscar shouted, his voice booming in the narrow phone booth and startling Anthony. "Escort - Professor Henry Anthony - from Hogwarts! We're here to see the Minister – and Professor Dumbledore!"

A square badge slid out from the coin return slot, reading: Henry Anthony, Courtesy Call. Anthony pinned the silver badge to his wizard's robe, wondering where the voice had come from since Oscar hadn't even picked up the phone receiver.

"Oh, I should have asked you to make the call," Oscar noticed Anthony looking at the phone. "I don't really know how Muggles use this thing. Luckily, I don't usually have to walk through the guest aisle. Stand still, Professor Anthony. This is our modified elevator."

They began to slowly sink into the ground. Anthony held on to the phone booth's broken glass frame and watched as darkness gradually crept up the window, like the sidewalk outside was trying to bury him. He thought, Wizards, this is not what elevators look like!

…

After registering his wand at the security counter ("Oscar, why haven't you come home yet? What happened again? Wait, Anthony? That Henry Anthony? Uh... Come on in. Shhh, don't ask."), Oscar led Anthony into a grand corridor.

It was nearly the end of the workday, and the Ministry of Magic was full of employees packing up. Although the hands on the golden clock on the wall still lingered next to "Off Duty" and refused to move over, people were already leaving via the fireplaces, briefcases tucked under their arms.

Two wizards emerged from an elevator, and Anthony overheard them talking about the recent rise in beef prices, "all because a fire dragon's egg was stolen in Romania." One complained that he would be eating only bacon tonight, so the other invited her to join him for Spanish seafood risotto at a nearby restaurant. With two pops and snaps, the pair disapparated away.

"Here we are, Professor Anthony," Oscar said, trying to mask the fatigue and envy in his voice. "The Minister and Professor Dumbledore should be in the Minister's office..."

He led Anthony to Fudge's office and knocked, but before he could speak, the door swung open. A pale man with sharp features stepped out. His cold gray eyes flicked over Anthony and Oscar as he nodded to them, a gesture both haughty and perfunctory.

"I assume you must be Professor Anthony? Oh, how nice to meet you," he drawled lazily, as though regarding a piece of beef whose price had just gone up.

"Nice to meet you, and you are...?" Anthony waited, confused, for him to announce his name.

Oscar whispered, "This is Mr. Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh, nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy," Anthony said, nodding politely and stepping aside to avoid blocking his path. For some reason, this seemed to irritate Malfoy.

"Fudge has been waiting for you for a while... Oh, I wish you a pleasant evening," Malfoy added, before turning and walking away.

"Why is he still here?" Oscar muttered, and then said loudly, "Minister, Professor Anthony is here!"

"Thank you... er, Wilbur? Please come in, Mr. Anthony." Fudge's voice came from the office. Oscar waved goodbye to Anthony gently and then quickly left to finish his workday. Anthony noticed his steps were much lighter than when they had arrived.

There were two people seated in the office. Dumbledore smiled as Anthony walked in. He sat comfortably in an armchair with a cup of steaming black tea in front of him, lemon slices floating in the water. Opposite Dumbledore, behind the desk, sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Fudge was a stocky man dressed in a yellow-green suit with a bright yellow tie, seated in a cushioned chair.

When Anthony entered, Fudge gave a start as though he'd tried to stand but immediately reconsidered, looking like someone who'd nearly slipped on a banana peel while seated, only to awkwardly settle back into his chair.

"Good evening, Mr. Anthony," Fudge said, his tone somewhat unnatural. "It must have been quite an effort to come here so late."

"Have some tea, Henry," Dumbledore said, waving his wand to summon an extra chair into the room. "I guess you're not used to flying?"

Anthony glanced at Fudge, who was pretending to be deeply interested in his tea, and then walked over to sit beside Dumbledore. "Not at all. I hope this method of travel is only for emergencies and not a regular means of commuting."

"Of course, of course," Fudge said, laughing a little too eagerly. "I really don't enjoy flying either—especially broomsticks. To be honest, flying carpets are much more comfortable, aren't they?" He chuckled awkwardly.

After some small talk about travel preferences, the conversation gradually shifted to the real reason Anthony had been summoned. Contrary to what Oscar had told him earlier, it had nothing to do with the Basilisk but was instead related to Voldemort.

"I've shared some rather interesting information with Cornelius," Dumbledore said casually, "but he seems to find it hard to believe."

"No, no, Albus," Fudge interjected. "I don't mean to doubt you at all. It's just, well, you know... maybe you might be mistaken? You're just concerned about what could happen, right?"

"That's correct," Dumbledore said with a calm smile. "Of course, I could make mistakes. Henry, I must apologize for interrupting your work. I know how busy the professors are at the end of the term. But could you recount your experience with Quirrell for Cornelius? He would like to hear it from you directly."

"Oh... no problem," Anthony replied. "Let me think—where should I start? Well, the Ministry of Magic advised me not to go home, so I ended up staying at the Leaky Cauldron. By the way, Professor Dumbledore kindly paid for my room in advance, and the Ministry of Magic never reimbursed me."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, as if Anthony had just told a joke. Fudge, on the other hand, looked even more uncomfortable.

"Albus, Mr. Anthony, I offer my sincerest apologies," Fudge said, dabbing his chubby face with a gingham handkerchief. "I don't handle financial matters myself, you know. Being Minister is a very busy job."

Dumbledore, still smiling, said, "I'll remind myself to check if Hogwarts has been prompt with your salary, Henry." He gently tapped Anthony's arm on the chair's armrest.

Anthony said, "It doesn't matter, Minister, after all, I am considered a dark wizard. You haven't punished the wrong person. Uh… in a way, I should thank you for not insisting on sending me back to Azkaban."

"Haha, yeah, yeah. That's over, right? All in the past?" Fudge said, fiddling nervously with his handkerchief.

Anthony then recounted his experience to the Minister of Magic: from meeting Quirrell at the Leaky Cauldron, to becoming neighbors after starting his job, to solving the basilisk together, and finally to the dead unicorn in the Forbidden Forest, bathed in moonlight. He detailed how he followed Quirrell's footsteps into a pre-set trap one sleepless night, only to accidentally let his prey escape.

Fudge mumbled some platitudes about how he hoped Anthony wasn't hurt and mentioned St. Mungo's health care.

In his rambling speech ("We are working hard to improve cooperation between the Department of Health and St. Mungo's, providing affordable, comprehensive coverage for all sorts of magical injuries…from spell accidents to magical creature bites. We're also focusing on preventive care, investing in research and education, promoting healthy magical behavior to ease the burden on St. Mungo's..."), Dumbledore interjected, saying he had to leave for a meeting with the headmaster of Ilvermorny about school collaboration. Due to time zones, the meeting was scheduled for that evening.

Anthony stood up, ready to leave as well, but Fudge was quick to say, "Of course, thank you so much for coming despite your busy schedule, Albus! Don't worry about your professor, we'll arrange a broomstick to send Professor Anthony back to Hogwarts!" He smiled at Anthony, adding, "We had a great chat, didn't we? Please, don't rush off just yet."

"I still have final papers to mark," Anthony said, preferring to go back and read through the twenty-six creative uses of the Confundus Charm compiled by his students rather than hear more about the Ministry's plans for healthcare.

"No, no, Mr. Anthony," Fudge insisted, "please stay. I enjoyed our conversation."

Dumbledore, sensing Anthony's reluctance, said with a smile, "It's all right, Henry. Extra papers will always find someone to mark them, just like some exams always find Severus."

Anthony laughed. "Okay," he said, seeing Dumbledore out of the office before sitting back down.

...

Fudge waved his hand and closed the office door. Though he looked a little flustered, he spoke to Anthony in an oddly friendly manner: "I feel a connection to you, Mr. Anthony."

"Oh, really?" Anthony asked, surprised.

Fudge likely remembered their last meeting at the Ministry. He picked up his teacup and took a sip. When he spoke again, the topic had shifted. "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Anthony—being Minister of Magic is no easy job. If you're not careful, complaint letters come flooding in like snowflakes... You can't imagine the amount, Mr. Anthony."

"That sounds challenging," Anthony said quietly.

"Yes, yes, it is," Fudge said. "Look, Albus was just here, and I didn't want to contradict him... I respect him greatly. But, Mr. Anthony, have you noticed a slight discrepancy between your story and Albus's? Not much, but just a bit…"

Anthony asked, "What discrepancy?"

"Well, do you know what Albus told me?" Fudge leaned slightly toward Anthony. "He told me... something about 'that matter'."

"That matter?" Anthony echoed, confused.

"Albus is cautious—very, very cautious," Fudge said, clutching his handkerchief. "He's suspicious of things… He's been spreading this theory for years, thinking that the wizarding world isn't safe yet."

"Oh, you mean the idea that Voldemort isn't dead?" Anthony asked.

Fudge shuddered violently, staring at Anthony in horror. "Don't say that name!" he hissed.

"What?" Anthony asked, bewildered.

"Don't say that name," Fudge repeated, lowering his voice as if someone invisible was eavesdropping. "Call him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Uh... okay," Anthony said, concerned. "Are you all right, Minister?" He watched as Fudge wiped his sweaty forehead with his handkerchief, the beads of sweat glistening under the light.

"Just don't say that name!" Fudge said, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, Albus has this paranoid delusion that he is still out there."

"I think he might be," Anthony said, recalling his encounter with Quirrell, "though he might not be doing too well."

"That's the issue," Fudge said. "Did you see him with your own eyes? Did Albus tell you that Quirrell was him, or did you see it yourself? Did Quirrell tell you he was him? Did Quirrell kill anyone in front of you?"

Fudge gained confidence from Anthony's silence, his voice growing firmer. "Did Quirrell commit any heinous acts? Was he really a dark wizard? According to our records, Quirrell was a shy, quiet, and talented young man. His character and experience don't align with being connected to You-Know-Who."

"Minister," Anthony said warningly.

"Oh, I'm not suggesting Albus did this intentionally, nor am I saying you're lying," Fudge quickly added, smiling. "Have some more tea, Mr. Anthony. I heard Albus has also started a club?"