Oops! George in the Ministry!
The last thing George remembered was entering a green fire with an Auror who had come to collect him before getting knocked out.
George hadn't intended to find himself at the Ministry of Magic. A wrong turn, a slightly ominous fireplace, and now he was standing in the middle of the atrium looking like someone who'd just Apparated into the wrong dimension.
When he woke up, he realised that it was definitely not Diagon Alley. The building was vibrant — memos zipping overhead, witches darting past with files, and the hum of spellfire coming from somewhere down below. It was impressive, sure… but also sort of frightening.
He brushed soot off his sleeve and blinked up at the golden fountain. “Right,” he muttered, “definitely not Diagon Alley.” A couple of Ministry workers gave him curious looks as he clutched his wand like it was a map. “Erm— lovely place you’ve got here,” he said awkwardly to no one in particular.
After staggering about for a while (and almost walking on a memo), he finally saw a sign directing to the visitor's lounge. Great. A couple of incorrect corridors down, he landed on the fifth floor, sipping a hot cup of tea that had a slightly lavender and regretful flavor.
He gazed out the window, rain pouring down the glass in languid streaks. "Next time," he grumbled to himself, "double-check the Floo address before going."
When he finally got up to depart, a voice called, 'George!'. He turned so fast that he cricked his neck. He downed the last sip of tea, straightened his shoulders, breathed softly, "Okay, George. Let's give Diagon Alley this time.", and walked over to his lost Auror.
George hadn't intended to find himself at the Ministry of Magic. A wrong turn, a slightly ominous fireplace, and now he was standing in the middle of the atrium looking like someone who'd just Apparated into the wrong dimension.
When he woke up, he realised that it was definitely not Diagon Alley. The building was vibrant — memos zipping overhead, witches darting past with files, and the hum of spellfire coming from somewhere down below. It was impressive, sure… but also sort of frightening.
He brushed soot off his sleeve and blinked up at the golden fountain. “Right,” he muttered, “definitely not Diagon Alley.” A couple of Ministry workers gave him curious looks as he clutched his wand like it was a map. “Erm— lovely place you’ve got here,” he said awkwardly to no one in particular.
After staggering about for a while (and almost walking on a memo), he finally saw a sign directing to the visitor's lounge. Great. A couple of incorrect corridors down, he landed on the fifth floor, sipping a hot cup of tea that had a slightly lavender and regretful flavor.
He gazed out the window, rain pouring down the glass in languid streaks. "Next time," he grumbled to himself, "double-check the Floo address before going."
When he finally got up to depart, a voice called, 'George!'. He turned so fast that he cricked his neck. He downed the last sip of tea, straightened his shoulders, breathed softly, "Okay, George. Let's give Diagon Alley this time.", and walked over to his lost Auror.