Chapter 501 Garrison

It is almost midnight now. The British Prime Minister is sitting alone in his office, reading a note that suddenly appeared in his hand tonight, but his mind is blank and he has no idea what that sentence means. What's the meaning--

In other words, he had some unrealistic conjectures in his mind, but he was not sure whether his conjectures were correct.

It was as if he was waiting for a call from the president of a distant country.

On the one hand, he doubted whether the unfortunate fellow would call at all, and on the other hand, he suppressed many unpleasant memories of this long and tiring week, so there was not much room in his mind for other things.

The more he tried to concentrate on deciphering the words on the sticky note in front of him, the more clearly he saw the gloating face of one of his political opponents.

The political opponent appeared on the news that day, not only listing all the terrible accidents that had happened in the previous week, but also clearly analyzing each accident as being caused by the government's fault.

The Prime Minister's blood pressure rises and his pulse quickens when he thinks about these accusations because they are unjust and untrue. How could his administration have prevented that bridge from collapsing?

It is outrageous that some people even suggest that the government does not invest enough in bridge construction. The bridge was built less than ten years ago, and even the best experts can't explain how it suddenly broke neatly in two, sending a dozen cars into the deep river below.

In addition, some people even suggested that it was the lack of police force that led to the two vicious murders that were widely reported. They also said that the government should have foreseen the weird hurricane in the west that caused huge losses to people's lives and property.

Also, is it his fault that one of his assistant ministers, Herbert Cholet, has been acting strangely this week, saying he wants to spend more time with his family?

“The whole country is in panic,” the opposition member concluded, barely concealing the proud smile on his face.

Unfortunately, this is indeed the case. The Prime Minister himself feels it.

People do appear to be more panicked than usual, and even the weather is unsatisfactory. It is still mid-July, and there is already a cold fog... This is very wrong, very abnormal...

The Prime Minister shivered slightly, stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the thin mist clinging to the window glass. As he stood with his back to the room, he heard a soft cough behind him.

He froze, his own frightened face reflected in the dark windowpane in front of him.

He knew the coughing sound, he had heard it before.

The Prime Minister slowly turned around and faced the empty room.

"Hello?" he said, trying to sound brave.

At that moment, he knew it was impossible, but he still vaguely hoped that no one would agree to him.

However, a voice immediately answered. This voice was crisp and decisive, as if he was reading a prepared speech.

The Prime Minister knew when he heard the first cough that it came from the little frog-like man in the long silver wig who was the figure in a dirty little oil painting in the corner across the room.

"To the Muggle Prime Minister, requesting an urgent meeting, please reply immediately, your trustworthy, Cornelius Fudge." The man in the oil painting looked at the Prime Minister questioningly.

"Well," said the Prime Minister, "listen... this time is not right for me... I'm waiting for a call... from a President—"

"That can be rearranged," the portrait said without hesitation. The Prime Minister's heart sank. That's what he's worried about.

"But I do want to speak to him—"

"We will make the president forget about the phone call. He will call again tomorrow night." The little man said firmly, "Please reply to Mr. Fudge immediately."

"I...oh...ok," the Prime Minister said helplessly, "Okay, I'll see Fudge."

He hurried to his desk, straightening his tie. He had just sat down and adjusted his facial expression to be as relaxed and calm as he hoped, when he saw bright green flames suddenly bursting out from the empty grate under the marble fireplace.

The Prime Minister tried his best to hide his surprise and panic, and watched helplessly as a big fat man appeared in the middle of the flames, spinning rapidly like a top.

A few seconds later, the fat man stepped across the grate, holding a yellow-green round hat in his hand, stood on an antique carpet, and dusted the ashes on the sleeves of his thin striped cloak.

"Heh... Prime Minister..." Cornelius Fudge strode over with a smile and stretched out a hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you again."

The Prime Minister sincerely did not want to answer this polite remark, so he said nothing.

He didn't want to see Fudge at all. Fudge's previous appearances, apart from being particularly alarming, usually meant hearing some particularly bad news.

"Can I do anything for you?" the Prime Minister asked, hurriedly shaking Fudge's hand and motioning for him to sit on the hardest chair in front of the table.

"I really don't know where to start." Although Cornelius Fudge's face was rosy, he had a frown on his face.

"Then please keep the story short." The Muggle Prime Minister, or Jim Harker, said impatiently but had to be patient.

Jim Hacker will never forget the scene where he tried his best to win the party dispute and successfully moved into No. 10 Downing Street, but was suddenly startled by this short, fat wizard who jumped out of the stove. .

"Okay!" Cornelius Fudge replied angrily, "Then I'll make the story short, first of all -"

"A Dark Lord has risen in our magical world. He is planning to invade the Muggle world, and our lack of firepower means there is nothing he can do. So I am here to remind you to pay attention to safety and wish for good luck." Kangnai Lifuji said quickly.

"Dark Lord? Dark Lord!" Jim Hacker's face instantly turned pale, "The legendary Dark Lord who cannot even be named?"

The day after meeting Cornelius Fudge, a large book thicker than the Encyclopedia Britannica suddenly appeared on Jim Hacker's desk.

There is also a message attached -

"Here's everything you need to know about the wizarding world - Cornelius Fudge"

Jim Hacker flipped through it a few times when he was bored.

Most of them seemed to him like fairy tales and fantasy novels, but only one of them, the story of a dark wizard named "Voldemort", seemed like a horror story, or the journey of a mentally ill person.

"I'm afraid so." Cornelius Fudge said with a shameful expression, "He has risen again, and is even more powerful than when he was last in power, and has formed a more powerful army... I mean... He is carrying out terrorist activities all over the UK and there is nothing we can do about it..."

After Jim Hack heard this, he didn't know what to say for a moment, but he had a deep-rooted habit of showing that he knew everything no matter what topic he talked about, so he searched hard in his memory for what he had seen before. story about this dark lord.

"That is to say..." Jim Harker suddenly changed his attitude and said in a stern voice, "He is going to start killing non-magical people? And you are unable to do anything about it? This is different from what you promised me, Minister Fudge."

"Yes, I'm really sorry, Mr. Prime Minister." Cornelius Fudge nodded humbly and apologetically, "This is our mistake, so I'm afraid I have to ask you for help."

"Help?" Jim Hack asked pretending to be angry, "What help?"

"We request that you can secretly send a group of modern troops to station at the Ministry of Magic for a long time." Cornelius Fudge made Tiera's request.