The Well-Connected

"How was your summer vacation?"

The two turned into a desolate street, with only a few run-down offices around them. It was practically a different world from the bustling street they had just come from.

"Not bad. Are you planning to watch the Quidditch World Cup this year?"

A shabby red telephone box some distance away caught his attention. He remembered that one entrance to the Ministry of Magic was in a public toilet, while another was an old telephone box.

"No. England's teams have always played terribly. They haven't won a trophy in thirty years, and they'll probably lose badly again this year." Bard had little faith in England's Quidditch teams.

"That's normal. This country has been declining for ages. It feels lifeless, and the Muggle side has caused quite a few problems lately too, to the point that I don't even dare eat beef anymore." Albert casually picked a topic to chat with Bard about.

"We're here." Bard pointed at the shabby red telephone box ahead and said to Albert, "You go in first."

"The entrance is here?"

Albert opened the battered telephone box and stepped inside, then turned to ask Bard behind him, "I'm actually curious. Why don't we just Apparate directly to the Ministry of Magic?"

Bard squeezed into the telephone box after him, picked up the broken receiver, and said to Albert, "Just consider it a novel experience."

"It certainly is novel. How do we use it?" Albert examined the battered telephone box. He figured Muggles were unlikely to wander in by mistake; at most, they would wonder why this wreck of a phone box had not been torn down.

"You need to dial 62442." Bard reached out and dialed the number, demonstrating for Albert. "The main reason is that you're still underage, and there