Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 490 491: Cornelius Fudge

"Can you teach me? Please, Sean—" Harry asked excitedly.

But before Sean could answer, Stan Shunpike came swaggering over, humming a

tuneless whistle and effectively cutting off their conversation. He seemed to

have remembered that both Harry and Sean had paid for hot chocolate, and he was

currently balancing two steaming mugs as he navigated the narrow, swaying aisle.

That was when the "accident" happened.

The Knight Bus performed one of its signature leaps—jumping from the Isle of

Anglesey straight to Aberdeen. The sudden jerk sent the chocolate flying,

splashing all over Harry's pillow.

While Harry stared in dismay at the mess, Sean's hand moved instinctively.

Without a wand, he made a sharp, curling gesture in the air. The spilled

chocolate juice stopped mid-air, swirled into a neat ribbon, and flowed back

into the mug as if time had been reversed.

"Blimey! Masterful wandless magic! Merlin's beard—Mr. Green, that was—" Stan

clapped his hands in delight, standing right in front of Harry.

"Hey—" Harry began, annoyed that Stan was ignoring his chocolate-soaked pillow.

"Sorry, Neville, I'll get you a fresh one in a tick—" Stan turned to Harry for

barely a second before spinning back to Sean. "That was truly brilliant, Mr.

Green!"

As Harry sat back down, huffing under his breath, the other passengers—witches

and wizards in dressing gowns and slippers—began filing down from the upper

decks. They all seemed desperate to get off the bus as quickly as possible.

Finally, only Harry and Sean remained.

"Can we go to London now?" Harry asked.

"Right you are, Neville. Give us a moment. Mr. Green, where shall we be dropping

you?" Stan asked, his voice dripping with respect, as if he literally couldn't

see Harry standing there.

"We're going to London together," Harry said, resigned to his fate.

"Excellent, Neville," Stan clapped. "And where in London?"

"Diagon Alley," Harry replied.

"You got it," Stan said. "Hold on tight, and... GO!"

BANG! They thundered through Charing Cross Road. Harry sat up, watching the

buildings and park benches squeeze out of the way to let the violet bus pass.

The sky was beginning to pale with the first hints of dawn.

Ernie slammed on the brakes, and the Knight Bus screeched to a halt in front of

a small, shabby-looking pub: The Leaky Cauldron. Behind its weathered walls lay

the secret entrance to Diagon Alley.

"Thanks," Harry said to Ernie. He hopped off the steps and helped Stan lug his

trunk and Hedwig's cage onto the sidewalk.

"Right then," Harry said, eager to make a quick exit. "See ya!"

But Stan didn't respond. He remained standing in the doorway of the bus, his

eyes wide as he stared into the shadows of the pub's entrance.

"There you are, Harry," a voice said.

Before Harry could turn, he felt a heavy hand clap onto his shoulder.

Simultaneously, Stan let out a yell.

"Blimey! Ern, come look! Quick!"

Harry looked up at the owner of the hand. It was a man of very strange

appearance: short, portly, and stout, with a mess of grey hair and a look of

immense anxiety. His outfit was a bizarre mishmash—a pinstriped suit, a bright

red tie, a long black cloak, and purple pointed boots. Under his arm, he

clutched a lime-green bowler hat.

Stan leaped onto the sidewalk to join them. "What did you call Neville,

Minister?" he asked breathlessly.

The stout man, looking cold and exhausted in his striped cloak, frowned.

"Neville?" he barked. "This is Harry Potter."

"I knew it!" Stan cried. It was the first time he had looked at Harry with such

reverence, but Harry didn't feel like celebrating.

Minister? Harry thought, a cold pit forming in his stomach. Which Minister?

"Ern! Ern!" Stan shouted back toward the bus. "Guess who Neville is, Ern! It's

Harry Potter! Blimey, the big names never like to give themselves away—Justin

was Mr. Green, and Neville turns out to be Harry Potter! I should've known—I saw

the scar!"

"Yes, yes," Fudge said impatiently. "I'm glad the Knight Bus brought Harry here

safely, but now he and I need to go inside..."

Fudge's grip on Harry's shoulder tightened. "Wait... what was that about a 'Mr.

Green'?"

Fudge was a man whose ears were always finely tuned to certain names.

"Mr. Green? Why, he's right here—" Stan gestured as a dark-haired young wizard

stepped off the bus's long staircase.

"Ah... it's you. Mr. Green."

Harry felt the grip on his shoulder slacken. The "Minister" had suddenly adopted

a voice that was more oily and smooth than anything Harry had ever heard.

This was the first time Sean had met Cornelius Fudge, and the first time Fudge

had seen Sean in the flesh. Of course, they had seen each other's faces in the

Daily Prophet countless times, but this face-to-face encounter was a different

matter entirely.

"Minister Fudge," Sean said slowly.

The portly man squinted, looking as though he had just been told the most

delightful secret. "Oh, yes. Minister. Though it's a difficult job to hold these

days, I can tell you that." Fudge's face twisted into a complicated smile. "And

you? Mr. Green... if the position were offered, would you want to be Minister?"

Fudge had imagined meeting Sean Green a thousand times, but he hadn't expected

it to happen while he was out catching a runaway.

Mr. Green. The common folk called him that, and Fudge thought it a tragically

simple title for him. To the old eccentrics in the world of Alchemy, he was

"Hermes" returned in glory. But to Cornelius Fudge, Sean Green represented

something he himself had helped cultivate: the rumor of the "Future's Greatest

Wizard," the one destined to surpass Dumbledore.

It was an exhilarating thought. Dumbledore finally had a rival—and not a madman

like You-Know-Who, but a legitimate, well-bred wizard raised by the McGonagall

and Prince families. Whether Sean liked it or not, he already had a solid

following in Britain.

In the past, the British Wizarding World had only one name that mattered:

Dumbledore. Fudge knew his own authority only worked as long as he stayed in

Dumbledore's good graces. But now? Now there was a counterweight.

If Sean Green rose, Fudge's own name might finally carry its own weight.

"Mr. Green, please, join us... I won't lie, I've been looking forward to meeting

you for quite some time," Fudge said, practically ushering Harry and Sean into

the pub.

Sean followed silently, noting that the Minister seemed a bit too enthusiastic.

Inside, a hunched figure emerged from behind the bar, carrying a lantern. It was

Tom, the withered, toothless landlord of the Leaky Cauldron.

"You found him, Minister!" Tom squeaked. "Can I get you anything? A beer? A

brandy?"

"A pot of tea will do," Fudge said, his eyes still darting toward Sean even as

he kept a firm hold on Harry.

Loud scraping and heavy breathing echoed behind them as Stan and Ernie

reappeared, lugging Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage. They were looking around

the pub with wide, excited eyes.

"Why didn't you tell us who you were, eh, Neville?" Stan grinned at Harry.

Ernie's owl-like face peered over Stan's shoulder with interest.

"A private room, Tom, if you please," Fudge said firmly.

"Bye," Harry said miserably to Stan and Ernie as Tom led the way toward a

corridor.

"See ya, Neville!" Stan called out.

Fudge steered Harry down the narrow hallway, following the glow of Tom's lantern

into a small parlor. Tom snapped his fingers, and a fire roared to life in the

grate. He bowed himself out of the room.

"Sit down, Harry," Fudge said, gesturing to a chair by the hearth. Even with the

fire, Harry felt goosebumps crawling up his arms.

"If you'll excuse us for a moment, Mr. Green, I have a small matter to attend

to. It won't take long." Fudge glanced back at Sean with a look of indulgent

respect before turning his gaze back to Harry.

The contrast was stark. Fudge looked at Sean with admiration, but he looked at

Harry with the sharp eyes of an investigator.

Harry sank into his chair, certain that his life was over. He was sure the

Ministry was about to expel him for blowing up his aunt.

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