Chapter 295

When Harry and Mr. Weasley came out of black's old house together, there was only a slight light in the sky. Looking up, it was gray, and the air seemed to be soaked by night dew, with a cold morning.

They staggered in pace, gently bypassed the square and walked outside the residential area.

"Where's the Ministry of magic? How can we get there?" Harry asked suddenly after two silent steps, as if he wanted to relax his tight nerves.

"No one knows exactly where it is, except that it is deep underground... Employees like us usually move to work in phantom," Mr. Weasley explained casually. "But obviously you won't."

"Moreover, we'd better go there through the visitor entrance. After all, you're going to be tried. It's better not to use magic, so as to avoid leaving a bad impression on the normal staff of the Ministry of magic."

As Mr. Weasley walked, one hand was stuck in his jacket. Harry knew that he must have a magic wand in his hand.

There was almost no one on the dilapidated street, and the floor tiles were wet. It seemed that there had been a light rain last night.

But as soon as they walked into the shabby and insignificant subway station, they found that it was already crowded with Muggle passengers on the morning shift.

Mr. Weasley has always been particularly fond of Muggles and Muggle machinery products, which is the biggest reason why he honestly stays in the "division against the abuse of Muggle products" without complaining.

Now that he has both, it's no wonder that he has a little difficulty in restraining his strong interest - every time he finds himself close to Muggles dealing with daily affairs.

"It's incredible," he said excitedly, pointing to the ticket vending machine in front of him. "It's wonderful!"

"They're broken," Harry said, pointing to the sign.

"Really? But even so, still..." Mr. Weasley said, looking at the faulty ticket machines with joy.

"We have to buy tickets... I mean, Mr. Weasley..."

Harry had to pull Mr. Weasley so that he could look away from the ticket machines.

"Mr. Weasley," Harry asked reluctantly, "you see! We have to buy tickets -"

"Oh!" Mr. Weasley looked back and said, "yes, buy tickets! I probably remember..." he said, took a handful of pounds out of his pocket and looked over and over, "er... Although I've been thinking about it, I still can't tell the face value of these Muggle currencies..."

"Let me do it!" Harry reached for the colorful pound and looked up again. "By the way, where should we go?"

"Central London," Mr. Weasley replied immediately, "well, if I remember correctly - I was also clanging with Ding, and Harry saw a small thing sliding out of the metal groove of the coin return slot.

He picked it up: it was a square silver badge with the words "Harry Potter - on trial".

The woman's voice rang again when Harry held the badge over his T-shirt.

"Guests of the Ministry of magic, you need to go to the security check-in counter and register your wand - the security check-in counter is at the end of the main hall."

Before the words fell, his feet suddenly shook and slowly sank into the ground with them.

Harry looked in surprise at the telephone booth outside the glass partition. The sidewalk was rising higher and higher. Soon it became dark and couldn't see anything.

In the dark, only the harsh friction that lingered in his ears proved that they were still moving, but Harry couldn't answer if he was still moving vertically.

After about a minute, the feeling is much longer than that.

When a thin golden light fell on Harry's feet, he couldn't help breathing.

Then the golden light widened and extended to his body. Soon, Harry had to narrow his eyes to adapt to the sudden light.

"The Ministry of magic hopes you have a good time today."

With the last words of the indifferent female voice, the door of the telephone booth suddenly opened. Mr. Weasley took the lead to go out, and Harry followed him, looking at the scene around him, his mouth almost closed in surprise.

But even so, he subconsciously touched the sleeve.