Chapter 31: The Minister's Summons(Bonus Chapter)
Cornelius Fudge, resplendent in a pinstriped suit and a violently green tie, looked nothing like a happy man. He was pale, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. The news Umbridge had just delivered felt like a physical blow.
The batty Seer at Hogwarts had prophesied. Again.
This was not a small thing. Fudge was one of the handful who knew the original prophecy concerning Harry Potter and Lord Voldemont had come from that very woman. For her to speak in a trance again, after all these years…
"'The traveler from a world unseen… He will change this world. The chosen boy's fate… it twists…'" Fudge muttered the words Umbridge had scrawled for him, his voice tight. "'A power awakens… the Master Supreme…'"
A traveler. According to Dolores, that peculiar sixteen-year-old first-year was from Asia. In a literal sense, that could be considered 'a world unseen' from Britain. But prophecies weren't meant to be literal, were they? The thought of linking it all to a single student seemed too neat, too simple, which somehow made it more terrifying.
Change the world? Twist the chosen boy's fate? He knew, with a cold certainty, that 'the chosen boy' was Harry Potter. But how could his fate be twisted? And by whom?
And what in Merlin's name was a 'Master Supreme'? It sounded grandiose, ominous, and completely outside the normal vocabulary of magic. It grated on his nerves.
Fudge slammed a fist onto his polished desk, making his inkpot jump. It was all Dumbledore's doing! He was sure of it. The old man was orchestrating this, using this 'Thorne' boy and that madwoman to undermine him, to create a crisis that only Albus Dumbledore could solve. It was a play for power, and Fudge would not stand for it.
He had to see for himself. He had to question Trelawney and confront this mysterious student.
His mind was made up. He was going back to Hogwarts.
In the days that followed, a tense quiet settled over the castle. Perhaps due to Dumbledore's firm intervention, or because Umbridge was biding her time and gathering more decrees, no other professors were dismissed. Umbridge herself became a less frequent, though no less hated, sight in the corridors.
The gossip, however, did not die down. If anything, it grew. The story of Professor Trelawney's trance and her cryptic words about Elian Thorne spread from common room to common room, becoming more elaborate with each telling. Even the staff room buzzed with subdued speculation about the unusual first-year.
Which was why Elian had been avoiding the Great Hall. Today, driven by a desperate craving for something other than stale bread from the kitchens, he had risked it.
It was a mistake.
He found himself trapped at the Gryffindor table, wedged between Luna and Hermione, with Harry, Ron, and Ginny forming a perfect circle of intense curiosity around him. A plate of roast chicken sat untouched before him.
"Where have you been hiding, Elian?" Ron complained through a mouthful of mashed potato. "It's like you've learnt a Disillusionment Charm!"
"Elian," Hermione said, her voice a mix of concern and accusation. "Is there something you're not telling us?" She felt a sting of betrayal. She'd thought they were study partners, maybe even friends. Now he felt like a stranger.
Elian offered a weak smile. "Just… busy. You know. Lots of… reading." He made to stand up. "Well, this has been lovely, but I really should—"
"Elian…" Luna's dreamy voice cut through his escape attempt. Her large, silvery eyes seemed to look right through him. "You are the traveler from far away. Harry is the chosen boy. And the Master Supre—"
"LUNA!"
Elian's hand shot out and clamped over her mouth. His heart hammered against his ribs. Why did she have to be so perceptive? And so blunt?!
He laughed, a high, strained sound. "Ahaha! See? Luna's… she has these funny turns. You know how she is!" He gestured vaguely near his own temple, his face burning with the awkwardness of the lie.
The reaction was the opposite of what he wanted. His panic was too obvious. Harry was staring at him with a sharp, analytical focus he usually reserved for Quidditch tactics. Hermione's eyes had narrowed. Ron had stopped chewing. Ginny looked deeply suspicious.
Luna, for her part, simply waited patiently under his hand, her gaze drifting to a chandelier as if fascinated by the way the candles flickered.
Just as the silence became unbearable, a third-year Gryffindor boy skidded to a halt beside their table, panting.
"Thorne! Elian Thorne!" he gasped. Hermione, who had been about to swat Elian's hand away from Luna's face, paused.
The boy pointed a shaky finger at Elian. "Headmaster Dumbledore wants you. Now. In his office. The Minister of Magic is there. Cornelius Fudge. They're waiting for you."
The words landed in the middle of the table like a bombshell.
All chatter from their group ceased.
Elian's hand fell away from Luna's mouth. His own mouth had gone dry.
Cornelius Fudge? The Minister for Magic?
Waiting for me?
(End of Chapter)
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