HP: The Necromancer

"Yes, the Albacore Club." Anthony followed the conversation carefully, accepting the teacup Fudge handed him. 

"Albus always has such fantastic ideas. Albacore—how interesting!" Fudge said enthusiastically. "But what exactly does this club do?" 

"Well..." Anthony hesitated. He wasn't sure why the conversation had veered so suddenly from Voldemort to this. 

Fudge's expression shifted to one of anxious seriousness. "This isn't something that needs to be kept secret, is it, Mr. Anthony? Haha, if it does, I apologize. I completely understand... of course, I do..." His uneasy expression, however, suggested otherwise, as he began dabbing his forehead with the handkerchief again. 

"No, there's nothing confidential about it," Anthony replied calmly. "It's an interest group focused on learning Mermish. The Headmaster thought, given our location by the Black Lake, it would be the perfect place to explore the mermaid language." Anthony refrained from mentioning Harry Potter's Parseltongue abilities—his instinct warned that it was better not to involve the Ministry in that matter. 

"Mermaids! Of course!" Fudge exclaimed. "Why didn't I think of that? Such a clever name. If it weren't for this chat, I'd never have known! Mermaids, how delightful!" 

Anthony repeated patiently, "Yes, it's all about the Mermaid Club." He added pointedly, "But does this have anything to do with that... individual?" 

"What? Ah, no, no, you misunderstood me, Mr. Anthony—completely misunderstood!" Fudge stammered. "This is just a bit of curiosity on my part. You know how Albus is—always busy. Of course, a club like this wouldn't need to be registered with the Ministry of Magic..." 

"Does forming a club require registration with the Ministry?" Anthony asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"No, no, it's not mandatory," Fudge admitted quickly. "But we encourage clubs to register. You see, the Ministry's top priority is always ensuring the safety of the public. Clubs that are registered... well, they tend to be safer." 

Anthony gave him a measured glance over the rim of his teacup, prompting Fudge to add hastily, "Not that I'm saying Albus's club is unsafe! It's just that... well, sometimes Albus can be a little... thoughtless. He's always so busy, don't you think, Mr. Anthony?"

"Perhaps," Anthony replied noncommittally, thinking that this was a question more suited for Professor McGonagall. 

"Yes, yes—he's very busy," Fudge continued, nodding earnestly. "And with so much on his plate, it's understandable if some things slip through the cracks. Being the headmaster of Hogwarts isn't easy, after all." 

Fudge's tone was as if he had personal experience running Hogwarts himself. He looked at Anthony, seemingly waiting for some kind of validation. But Anthony merely took another sip of tea—finding the taste much better than Scrimgeour's, likely due to the absence of Veritaserum—and Fudge carried on. 

"The school year isn't even over yet, and we've lost our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Many parents are already expressing their dissatisfaction.

"Really?" Anthony asked, surprised. 

As far as he knew, although there had been a few complaints about Snape's teaching, the opposition wasn't particularly loud. Even the Daily Prophet had not found it worth reporting. Any minor objections seemed to disappear when news spread that Dumbledore himself had prepared the test papers. 

"Of course, that's what I mean," Fudge said. "You see, people sometimes can't tell who is responsible for what. Sometimes, even I don't know what's going on, and yet complaint letters demanding my resignation still land on my desk. But if someone were willing to help us—someone who could report the true state of affairs at Hogwarts to the Ministry..." 

Anthony smiled, half amused and half surprised: "Are you asking me to be a spy, Minister?" 

Fudge looked offended. "What, Mr. Anthony! Spy—such an ugly word! Albus and I aren't enemies! He's simply too busy, and sometimes forgets to inform me... If the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts can't communicate smoothly, how am I supposed to know Albus's intentions? How can I help him? I only need someone to assist us!" 

"With all due respect, Minister," Anthony replied, "unless that person is ready to forgo herbal tea and butter cookies for the rest of their life, that's just not possible." 

For a moment, Fudge's expression darkened in frustration, but he quickly composed himself, saying in a tolerant tone, "Of course, you are entitled to your own opinions, Mr. Anthony." 

The clock on the wall chimed several times, and Fudge seemed to realize how late it had become. Anthony asked to borrow a broom and a length of twine to return to Hogwarts, but Fudge insisted that Anthony stay another night at the Leaky Cauldron—offering to cover the cost. In the end, Anthony declined, explaining that he had unfinished papers to grade. Though not pleased, Fudge relented and arranged for someone to escort Anthony back. 

"It's been a pleasure chatting with you, Mr. Anthony," Fudge said as they parted. "I hope you'll think carefully about what I've said." 

As Anthony was once again tied to a broomstick, he did indeed think carefully about Fudge's words—concluding that the Minister might be slightly unhinged. Otherwise, why would he believe Anthony was inclined to side with the Ministry? No amount of polite reluctance seemed to stop the Ministry clerk from binding Anthony's broom to his own. 

When Fudge led Anthony to search for an office that was still open, they found an unfortunate wizard leaning back in his chair, lazily drawing colorful geometric shapes in the air with his wand. Upon spotting the Minister, the wizard quickly put down his wand and, with a look of forced concentration, began flipping through a stack of parchment as though he were in the middle of something urgent. 

Lacking time to grab a quill, he simply stared at the signature line on one parchment for a few moments, then casually set it aside. 

Fudge, however, had more pressing matters. He assigned the wizard the urgent task of returning Anthony to Hogwarts—like someone attempting to return undeliverable mail. Fudge didn't seem to remember the clerk's name, but that didn't stop him from confidently ordering the man to work late into the night.

...

"Sit tight, Mr. Anthony," said the wizard whose name the Minister couldn't remember, in a curt tone. He kicked off the ground unsteadily, sending the broom into the air. Anthony, tied awkwardly to his own broom, trailed below, both of them gliding slowly toward Hogwarts under the cover of night. As Anthony looked up, he noticed the other wizard's hat—a wide-brimmed, pointed affair that resembled a bird's beak in the dim light. 

"Is this really the only way for someone who can't ride a broom to fly?" Anthony asked. Their progress was much slower than the earlier journey, presumably because the official was not very skilled with brooms. 

"Yes," the wizard replied impatiently, then added in a slightly softer tone, "Flying lessons are a required course for first-years at Hogwarts." 

"Well, I'm sorry," Anthony muttered. 

For a while, they flew in silence. Because they were flying relatively low, Anthony could make out the dark outlines of trees rushing past beneath them. They passed streets glowing with the soft yellow light of car headlights and streetlamps, and a sleepy town with only a few windows dimly illuminated. A river curved away in the opposite direction from Hogwarts, reflecting a fractured moon on its surface. The air was filled with the chirps of frogs, toads, and songbugs. 

"So, why are you heading to Hogwarts?" the official asked suddenly. 

Anthony blinked. "Well... because I live there?" 

"You live there?" the man repeated, glancing down at him in surprise. "Are you a student or a professor?" 

"Professor," Anthony answered. "I teach Muggle Studies." 

"Oh, that makes sense," the man said. "Muggles don't use brooms, do they?" 

"Not in the way wizards do. Mostly for sweeping floors." 

"We use brooms for sweeping too—just not broomsticks," the man grumbled. "I hate broomsticks." 

"Why's that?" Anthony asked. 

"I can't afford one," the official muttered bitterly. His sigh was so long and weary that Anthony couldn't help but sigh in sympathy.

Anthony said sympathetically, "I guess working a clerical job at the Ministry of Magic isn't easy, is it? What's your name again?" 

"William Cubby," the other man replied. "No, the job isn't difficult... it just doesn't pay much." His tone was as heavy as if he were announcing an impending crash. 

In fact, they were quite literally falling. Whether it was due to William Cubby's heavy heart or the ancient brooms beneath them, they were flying lower and lower without noticing—so low, in fact, that they nearly collided with a house's lace-covered table and lounge chairs on the balcony. 

Cubby swore under his breath—using a word Anthony sincerely hoped he hadn't learned at Hogwarts. People, after all, tend to expand their vocabulary in colorful ways once they start working. With some difficulty, Cubby pulled his broom upwards, barely missing the balcony. Anthony scraped past a flowerpot on the railing, causing it to rattle noisily. 

"Are you okay, Professor Anthony?" Cubby asked. 

"I think so. Just a pansy," Anthony muttered, glancing at the jostled plant. 

Then they heard a latch click. The balcony window creaked open, and the light from inside spilled onto them. A woman poked her head out, looking around. "It's probably a stray cat," she said dismissively. 

"No, Mum," came a child's excited voice. "I saw it!" 

"Oh no," Cubby groaned. "We did use the Disillusionment Charm before we set off, right, Professor Anthony?" 

"Um… I think so," Anthony replied thoughtfully. "But does the charm also cover the broom?" 

"Well..." Cubby hesitated, "Two sober wizards flying around on broomsticks, seen by a Muggle child, that's just great." He glanced downward and groaned again as they passed a street sign that read Privet Drive. "If only we'd been drunk, at least we'd have an excuse." 

Just then, the child's voice drifted clearly from the open window: "Mum, it's a flying sleigh! Santa's practicing! Can I get more presents this year?" 

"Of course, dear, as long as you're a good boy," the woman answered indulgently. 

"Excellent," Cubby breathed a sigh of relief. "Good thing they didn't realize it was us. Secrecy... ugh..." He let out another long, weary sigh, as if he had a lot more bottled up inside that needed releasing. 

...

Mr. Cubby was about to leave after dropping Anthony off at Hogwarts. "I've got work in the morning, alas..." he sighed. Anthony still had a stack of uncorrected test papers waiting for him. All he could do was thank Mr. Cubby profusely and ask a house-elf to bring some food, either as a midnight snack or for breakfast. 

"Oh, apple pie." Mr. Cubby gazed wistfully at the warm treat wrapped in parchment. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the sweet aroma. "I loved these when I was at school... Is there any pumpkin juice? I think I could use a glass before I leave." 

"Of course!" shrieked Coco, the elf closest to Anthony. "Pumpkin juice! You can take a whole jug, sir!" 

Coco promptly brought out a large jug of pumpkin juice and tied it securely to Mr. Cubby's broomstick. 

"Would you like some beef sandwiches, sir?" Coco asked eagerly. "Or fried chicken legs? Pork chops? Grilled sausages? Mashed potatoes? Chocolate ice cream?" 

Mr. Cubby looked as if he were about to cry. 

"I'd love to..." he murmured, "but if I eat all that, I won't be able to fly. Just the apple pie and pumpkin juice, thank you... oh, this is enough..." 

"Keke has a way!" Coco suddenly declared, puffing out his thin chest with pride. "Keke can help Mr. Cubby apparate!" 

"What?" Mr. Cubby asked in disbelief. 

"What?" Anthony echoed, equally surprised. 

"Keke can apparate Mr. Cubby!" Coco said proudly. "Keke can apparate all the way to Wellington if needed!" 

"But I can't, Coco," Mr. Cubby said, crouching down. "Wizards are prone to splinching or other unfortunate things during long-distance Apparition—even when taking someone along." 

"Thank you anyway, Coco," Anthony said, patting the now dejected elf on the shoulder. Coco's large ears drooped listlessly. 

"Coco just wants to help Mr. Cubby and Professor Anthony," the house-elf said. "Mr. Cubby was always kind to Coco when he was in school. Professor Anthony is very kind too." 

Mr. Cubby looked surprised. "You know me, Coco?" He stared at the elf, trying to recall any memory of encountering him. Typically, students are unaware of house-elves unless they stumble into the kitchens. 

"Of course, I know you!" Coco said enthusiastically. "Mr. Cubby lived in the third boys' dormitory on the left side of the Ravenclaw Tower. It was the messiest room of them all! We loved tidying it up. Mr. Cubby also hid sour-flavored popping candy under the bed. It made the floor all sticky!" 

"Thank you, Coco," Mr. Cubby said, sighing deeply once more. 

In the end, they decided to send the food via the Owlery. Mr. Cubby looked delighted as he tied the food package to an owl. "Feels like Christmas has come early, even though I'm gifting myself," he remarked. 

"No, it's a gift from Hogwarts Cubby to Ministry Cubby," Anthony said with a grin. Mr. Cubby laughed, climbed onto his broom, and flew off to London alongside the owl. 

---

The next morning, presumably because of the shortage of owls, the owl post arrived later than usual. The owls delivering baked potatoes and fried steaks the previous night returned with ruffled feathers. With letters and newspapers tied to their legs, they looked exhausted, as if they were about to dive headfirst into someone's porridge. 

"What?" Professor Sprout exclaimed as she unfolded the Daily Prophet. 

"What's the matter?" Anthony asked, slicing broccoli into strips.

Professor Sprout didn't answer immediately. She pressed her lips together tightly, scanning the article line by line. Anthony leaned over and noticed a photograph of Cornelius Fudge, speaking with a solemn expression. The bold headline read: 

"Educational Challenges: Where Should the Next Generation of Wizards Be Headed?"

The article described an undercover survey conducted among concerned parents and citizens, revealing a surprising level of dissatisfaction with Hogwarts. Rumors suggested the wizarding community was growing weary of the "autonomy" Hogwarts enjoyed and now looked to the Ministry of Magic to implement much-needed reforms. 

The complaints focused on the lack of oversight and accountability at Hogwarts. Many parents were worried that the school's outdated practices and insular curriculum might be teaching students harmful ideas. They believed that the Ministry of Magic, with its extensive resources and expertise, could enforce the necessary changes and ensure students received the education they deserved. 

Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts and a vocal advocate for educational reform, expressed his concerns: "I've heard that Miss Parkinson was treated harshly at school, but the institution refused to acknowledge it. Moreover, my son has also been subjected to unfair treatment by certain professors. I, along with many friends, am deeply concerned about the education of our children," he lamented. "It's time for the Ministry to intervene and guide Hogwarts back onto the right path." 

The article concluded with: Reported by special correspondent Rita Skeeter.