Chapter 260

With a sensation of dizziness, Allen felt his feet touch solid ground once more.

Allen found himself standing in a long, gilded hall, its floor polished dark wood reflecting like a mirror. The peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with shimmering golden symbols that moved and shifted constantly, like a vast aerial bulletin board.

The walls were paneled with glossy black wood, embedded with gilded fireplaces. Every few seconds, with a soft pop, a wizard suddenly emerged from one of the fireplaces on the left. On the right, several people waited in line before each fireplace, ready to depart.

In the center of the hall stood a fountain. In a circular pool rose a set of pure gold statues, larger than life. The tallest was a noble-looking wizard, raising his wand high toward the sky. Around him stood a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The centaur, goblin, and house-elf gazed up at the two wizards with boundless reverence. Streams of sparkling water shot from the tip of the wizard’s wand, from the tip of the centaur’s arrow, from the point of the goblin’s hat, and from the ears of the house-elf.

Around him, water tinkled and splashed, the pops and cracks of Apparition echoed, and hundreds of male and female wizards shuffled noisily toward a row of golden doors at the far end of the hall, their faces wearing the dull, lifeless expression of early morning.

“Allen, Hagrid, over here!” Allen suddenly heard a voice he knew well—Mr. Weasley’s.

“Arthur, good morning! Nice weather today,” Hagrid rumbled from behind Allen.

“The weather is fine, and good morning to you both,” Mr. Weasley said, looking even fatter than before.

Then he turned to Allen. “I’ve seen the news about you lately—your achievements have made me and Molly very proud.” Mr. Weasley clapped Allen on the shoulder warmly.

Allen did not wish to discuss it. He looked around. “The Ministry’s letter said someone would meet me by the fireplace—where is that person?”

“Don’t look— it’s me,” Mr. Weasley said, shrugging. “Animagi are too rare. You’re the eighth registered in this century—only one every Shiji years or so. The Ministry can’t maintain a permanent office for this. Each registration is handled temporarily by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so I’ve been assigned to greet you. My office—the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office—is under that department.”

“I see. Where do we go next?” Allen asked.

“First, we register your wand, then I’ll take you to my office to go over the next steps,” Mr. Weasley said enthusiastically.

“Alright,” Allen nodded.

“I’m not coming—I have classes this afternoon,” Hagrid muttered, his beetle-black eyes fixed on a distant table as he gripped his red umbrella tighter.

“Very well, I respect your wishes,” Mr. Weasley said, sounding slightly disappointed.

Then Hagrid bid Allen farewell and stepped directly into one of the fireplaces.

Allen and Mr. Weasley joined the crowd, pushing through the Ministry staff. Some carried towering stacks of crumbling parchment; others dragged battered briefcases; still others read the Daily Prophet as they walked.

“This way, Allen,” Mr. Weasley said, steering them away from the stream of Ministry workers heading toward the golden doors.

At a table to the left, beneath a sign reading “Security Check,” sat a wizard in a peacock-blue robe with an unkempt beard.

As they approached, he looked up and lowered the Daily Prophet in his hand.

“I’ve brought a guest,” Mr. Weasley said, gesturing to Allen.

“Come over here,” the wizard said listlessly.

Allen stepped up to him.

The wizard raised a long, thin golden rod—slender as a car antenna, flexible and springy—and swept it slowly from Allen’s chest to his back, then from his back to his chest.

Then the wizard used a strange device to inspect and register Allen’s wand.

After registration, Mr. Weasley led Allen back into the flow of wizards heading toward the golden doors.

Pushed by the crowd, Allen and Mr. Weasley passed through the doors into a smaller hall. At least twenty elevators stood behind ornate golden railings. Allen and Mr. Weasley joined the group gathered around one of them.

They rode the elevator smoothly to the second basement level—the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Auror Command was also on this floor; Allen saw many Auror cubicles plastered with posters of Sirius Black’s face.

But Allen didn’t linger to observe—he and Mr. Weasley proceeded to Mr. Weasley’s office.

Mr. Weasley’s office was dim and shabby, even smaller than a broom cupboard. Two desks crammed inside, surrounded by filing cabinets along the walls, overflowing and spilling over. Piles of unstable documents teetered atop them; there was barely room to move around the desks.

Mr. Weasley expertly poured Allen a cup of tea. “Wait here a moment—I’ll go ask others about your registration procedure.”

He left the cubicle, leaving Allen alone. Allen noticed several car advertisements on the wall: one showed a disassembled engine; two depicted mailboxes—clearly cut from a Muggle children’s book; and one illustrated how to install an electrical outlet.

This was Mr. Weasley’s hobby.

Soon, Mr. Weasley returned.

“I’ve found out about your case. There’s good news and bad news.”

“The good news is Minister Fudge plans to make your registration ceremony grand—he says he’ll attend personally, and many other wizards will be there too.”

“The bad news is Fudge has suddenly gone on an inspection tour—he won’t be back for several days. Until then, you must wait here for his return. The Ministry has guest accommodations—you can stay there for a few days.”

This deepened Allen’s poor impression of Fudge, but he had no choice—he was under someone else’s roof. So he moved into the Ministry’s guest quarters.

He hadn’t expected to wait seven full days before Fudge returned to the Ministry…

Far away at Hogwarts, a dog and a cat met again…

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