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HRA# CHAPTER 151
🕑 Added 2025-06-07 01:36:30 +0000 UTCFor a moment, Cornelius Fudge’s face darkened—though he knew he shouldn’t let such an expression show, some things were simply beyond his control.
Everything was far too different from what he had anticipated. He hadn’t expected the Wizengamot members to be so utterly clueless about what truly mattered. Was the focus supposed to be on new magic? Shouldn’t it be about the law and the authority of the Ministry of Magic?
What was wrong with these people?
His expression flickered between frustration and calculation as Fudge pondered. Perhaps his next priority should be to win over some of the Wizengamot, to sway a portion of them to his side. Only then could he ensure their support in the future, aligning with him instead of Dumbledore.
To shed the label of an incompetent puppet and become a true Minister for Magic, wielding power and prestige—perhaps even becoming a legend like Yurick Gamp.
(Note: Yurick Gamp was the first Minister for Magic after the Ministry’s establishment.)
Fudge’s ambition had never waned; the longer he sat in his position, the stronger it grew. Perhaps only he believed he was hiding it well.
People always deceive themselves, seeing only the truths they wish to see.
On the stands, Ministry employees and Wizengamot members were exiting in an orderly fashion, while Harry and Dumbledore stood near the doorway. Under Dumbledore’s guidance, Harry was greeting the Wizengamot members.
Harry hadn’t missed the sour look on Fudge’s face from the highest seat in the stands, but who cared about such an insignificant man?
In Harry’s eyes, Fudge wasn’t even a threat. He’d seen countless self-important, ambition-driven schemers like him. Who would take an ant’s ambitions seriously?
That would be degrading himself.
Unless, of course, that ant was larger than a man and had built its own insect kingdom—but clearly, Fudge was no such formidable creature.
If Fudge did something foolish, Harry could simply eliminate him. No one should be punished for crimes they haven’t yet committed, and unjust laws wouldn’t stop Harry. Death would end all of Fudge’s ambitions, but until then, Harry didn’t think such a trivial schemer warranted his careful attention.
He wasn’t even an enemy.
“Mr. Potter?” Another wizard in a crimson robe stood before Harry, extending a friendly hand. “I read your paper, and today I witnessed everything you described in it. I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”
“An apology?” Harry asked, curious.
“Yes. I always thought those ‘elements’ were mere fantasies, but I was wrong,” the wizard said with a sigh. “It’s called the Draught of Insight, right? I’ll try it when I get home.”
“I see,” Harry nodded. “You’ll find it opens a whole new world, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Without further ado, the wizard shook Harry’s hand and left Courtroom Four, as others were waiting behind him.
“Write another paper, lad,” an elderly wizard, looking even older than Dumbledore, said with a hint of dissatisfaction. “I can tell you held back too much in that one. Do it properly. The wizarding world needs young people like you, passionate about exploring the mysteries of magic. Wizards these days care less and less about it…”
The old wizard continued grumbling about how each generation of wizards was worse than the last, his words heavy with the weight of age.
“…If I’m not mistaken, Mysteries of Magic hasn’t published my paper yet,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.
“Indeed, it hasn’t, Harry,” a wizard in his thirties or forties with a full beard replied. “But you should know who we are. Wildersmith ran to nearly every family to make sure your claims didn’t sound like the ravings of a madman.”
“Not every family, Valencia, you know that,” another wizard interjected.
“Fair enough,” the wizard named Valencia nodded. “Regardless, I’m looking forward to your next paper. After today, whether some believe it or not, Wildersmith will have to publish yours soon.”
“Thank you, I’ll get to writing the next one soon,” Harry said with a smile.
So, the Wizengamot—those wizards of status or power—already knew about the elements. No wonder they seemed so calm compared to the Ministry employees.
“Keep it up, lad. I’m excited about this new magical system you’re talking about.”
“I can’t wait…”
It felt almost like a fan meet-and-greet. The Wizengamot wizards greeted Harry one after another, eager about the new magic he had demonstrated. For these accomplished wizards, magic itself mattered more than it did to the average witch or wizard.
To ordinary wizards, magic was merely a tool, much like Muggles used appliances. In lifestyle and essence, there was little difference between them.
Of course, there were also endless greetings directed at Dumbledore, who, as Chief Warlock, led the Wizengamot, even if he hadn’t taken the highest seat today.
Only when the crowd finally dispersed did Harry and Dumbledore get a moment’s respite.
“If you’re looking for Arthur, no need to bother, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a playful tone. “I told him you might be late getting back to the Burrow. Oh, and he asked me to tell you Molly’s made meatballs—hope you won’t miss them.”
“Will I miss them?” Harry teased.
“Of course not,” Dumbledore replied without hesitation. “I’m just a withered old man, not about to keep you tied to my side, haha.”
Harry laughed, but his smile faded as they walked.
“Clearly, Dumbledore,” Harry said calmly as they moved through the dim corridor, “the Fudge you backed is spiraling out of control. He wants more.”
“Ah, there seems to be a slight misunderstanding,” Dumbledore said softly. “At least in my view, our Minister for Magic was never my choice, nor have I ever thought to control him.”
“Are you deceiving yourself, or is this some kind of game?” Harry said bluntly. “Not even ordinary wizards believe that, let alone Fudge himself. Even Ron, a kid, knows Fudge used to owl you his work daily for your advice when he first took office.”
“And I firmly refused to offer any advice,” Dumbledore replied. “Fudge governs wizarding Britain according to his own will.”
“Clearly, Fudge doesn’t see it that way,” Harry said directly. “He wants to break free of your control. I can see his ambition—you don’t need to repeat your explanations. I won’t punish him for things he hasn’t done.”
Harry cut off Dumbledore’s words.
“But you know my enemy, who still hates me, has fragments hidden who-knows-where. If Fudge makes decisions that disrupt my peace, I won’t tolerate him like you do, letting him buzz around like an annoying fly.”
“Harry, we must use our power cautiously, especially people like us,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “If we resort to violence at every displeasure, forcing others to bend to our will, how are we different from Voldemort?”
“Our greatest enemy is always ourselves, Harry. Forgive my preaching.”
“People like us?” Harry gave Dumbledore a strange look and snorted. “If you don’t take the responsibility you should, you let schemers control the situation. That’s the real mistake.”
“Oh, Harry, I was invited to be Minister multiple times in my youth, but I always refused,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “I’m not interested in power. I’d rather teach young people at Hogwarts and help them grow.”
“That’s exactly your problem,” Harry shot back. “You’re not in the position you should be, and that’s why wizarding Britain is such a mess. You’re so busy fighting Voldemort that you have to deal with the Ministry’s interference—twelve years ago, I read the records, so don’t try to gloss over it.”
“My answer, I’m afraid, is simple, Harry. I cannot take that position,” Dumbledore said with unexpected firmness.
That was all—no further explanation.
“Is that so?” Harry said sarcastically. “But in reality, anything you want to do, even if Fudge openly objects, he can’t stop you. I can even guess what you’d say—‘Oh, dear Cornelius, I’m afraid we must do this.’ Fudge can’t defy you, as many suspect. You could command the Ministry or many within it.”
While chatting with his teammates from the Kenmare Kestrels—Callum O’Hare, Kate McCarthy, Aidan Lynch, Quigley Kelly, Ronan Kaiser, and Tegan Ryan—a group of guys naturally discussed the state of the wizarding world and their opinions. Harry had been listening.
“Oh, dear Harry, I’m afraid you overestimate me,” Dumbledore said, echoing Harry’s tone in a jesting manner, but his face was unusually serious, his voice heavy.
“I swear to you, I have no such intentions,” Dumbledore said earnestly.
“Is that so?” Harry said calmly. “I don’t know why you bind yourself with what could almost be called self-deception, locking yourself in a cage of your own making… but have it your way.”
“At least the Ministry hasn’t fallen so far that I need to tear it down and rebuild it. I don’t have the inclination, nor do I want to waste my time managing wizarding society.”
“That’s good to hear,” Dumbledore said with a light chuckle. “I’m glad you still see some value in the Ministry’s existence.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean Fudge will last much longer,” Harry said with a mocking smile. “Last week’s Daily Prophet published an anonymous poll on Fudge’s approval rating. Sixty-one percent disapproval?”
That was an alarmingly low number, signaling his time was running out.
The Minister for Magic was an elected position, not a lifelong emperor.
“Fudge underestimated the impact of this whole affair,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “What started as a minor issue of underage magic outside school spiraled because Fudge only saw the wizards’ strong reactions, not the years of resentment over the Ministry’s repeated mistakes.”
“Accumulated public discontent,” Harry summarized. “Even orc laborers would strike in protest.”
To clarify, orc laborers, despite their name, were orcs unsuited for combat, relegated to manual labor. Though less respected in their martial culture, they weren’t slaves. Their strikes didn’t cost lives—that was Alliance propaganda.
“I’m not sure what these orc laborers are, but I understand your point, Harry,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “Still, a month ago, I didn’t expect you to sue the Ministry directly and air everything through the Daily Prophet… quite unexpected.”
“Because I didn’t come to you to fix it?” Harry chuckled. “If I had, you probably wouldn’t have let me sue the Ministry. Clearly, Dumbledore, we’re very different.”
The empty corridor echoed with their unhurried footsteps. A long silence followed.
“…Yes, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “I’m afraid that’s true.”
Dumbledore wouldn’t let the Ministry’s authority crumble, knowing that its loss of credibility would chaos wizarding society’s order. He would defend it.
Harry wouldn’t.
No further words were exchanged as they left the Wizengamot’s area. The people they encountered grew, making conversation less convenient.
—But there wouldn’t have been more talk anyway.
Another rift, without hysterics or shouting, but both Harry and Dumbledore knew exactly what their words meant.
Such conversations had happened before, but this one, unlike those at Hogwarts, was more formal, more serious.
Harry had all but drawn a line for Dumbledore: whatever reasons kept Dumbledore from becoming Minister, allowing petty men to run the Ministry—such a Ministry, such laws, couldn’t bind Harry.
It was an open threat: if Fudge did something harmful, Harry would end him… send him to the Twisting Nether.
This was something Dumbledore could never do, nor allow others to do.
Both knew it.
Perhaps because he was with Dumbledore, Harry wasn’t mobbed by fervent supporters again as they reached the Ministry’s main entrance. The earlier crowd had been escorted out.
The Ministry’s formal entrance was a roadside telephone booth. As Harry stepped out of the lift onto the street, he glanced back at the rusty, ordinary red booth—nothing unusual inside.
Wizarding magic at its finest.
“Grab my arm, Harry,” Dumbledore said, returning to his usual cheerful demeanor, raising his arm. “I’ll take you back to the Burrow. You won’t miss Molly’s meatballs.”
“Apparition?” Harry asked, matching Dumbledore’s casual tone. He placed a hand on Dumbledore’s arm.
Oddly, Dumbledore seemed unaware that Harry had already mastered Apparition.
Was Mr. Weasley that tight-lipped?
Saying nothing to anyone, as promised?
The familiar sensation hit, but Harry was used to the side effects of spatial travel. He landed steadily, the Burrow not far off.
“Prepare to truly become famous, Harry,” Dumbledore said leisurely. “Not the Boy Who Lived, but the discoverer and creator of new magic, worthy of a place in magical history.”
“Meaning my Christmas gifts will shift from candies and pastries to books?” Harry joked, recalling a story Dumbledore once shared.
“Ah, that’s quite a headache,” Dumbledore sighed. “But you’ll get used to it. From what I hear, your friends are already sending you books, aren’t they?”
“So? Is that all the advice from an elder?” Harry asked. “That’s not like you.”
“What did you expect me to say?” Dumbledore suddenly laughed. “To warn you to stay vigilant? To avoid losing yourself? No, no, Harry, I told you long ago—I no longer see you as a child.”
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T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
Comments
Vick
The relationship between them remind me a bit of Dumbledore and Grindelwald (romance removed). But with Harry more down to earth and less extreme. Great power mean great responsability.
