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HRHL# Chapter 116 - If You Give Them Face, Call It the Ministry of Magic; If Not...
🕑 Added 2025-03-09 19:34:14 +0000 UTCBefore Harry even had a chance to open the letter, another owl drifted down gracefully, landing beside him.
The envelope was extremely formal, embossed with the official seal of the Ministry of Magic.
"It’s an official letter from the Ministry of Magic, Harry," Ron said, looking slightly alarmed. "Did you use magic at home? Merlin’s beard…"
"It was just a couple of spells," Harry sighed. He had thought that if he didn’t use a wand, it wouldn’t be detected.
He tore open the letter, and the message read:
Mr. Potter,
We have received reports that since the start of the holiday, you have performed Apparition, a Silencing Charm, and have promoted magical products to Muggles at No. 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging.
You are aware that underage wizards are not permitted to perform magic outside of school, nor are they allowed to introduce magical substances, such as Euphoria Potions, into Muggle food. Should such behavior continue, you may face expulsion from Hogwarts (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Clause 3).
Furthermore, please be reminded that according to Clause 13 of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, any magical activity that might attract the attention of non-magical individuals (Muggles) is a serious violation of wizarding law.
Considering that you are a first-year student and this is your first offense, the Ministry is issuing this as a formal warning.
Enjoy your summer!
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office, Ministry of Magic
"How many laws did you just break?" Ron stared at the letter, looking thoroughly stunned.
"No idea," Harry said nonchalantly, folding the letter into a paper airplane and tossing it away. "I think Hermione was right—the Ministry just monitors a general area. Since I’m the only wizard at No. 4, Privet Drive, they assume it must be me casting spells."
Using a process of elimination, it was easy to figure out. After all, when Harry used magic in Little Whinging, he hadn’t used a wand, which meant the Ministry wasn’t just tracking wands.
And when he had performed a few harmless but potentially Azkaban-worthy jinxes in Knockturn Alley, the Ministry hadn’t noticed at all. That only reinforced one thing—when wizards gathered in large numbers, the Ministry couldn’t pinpoint individual spellcasters.
"No wonder Dad sometimes lets us practice spells at home," Ron said, suddenly enlightened.
He glanced up and saw Harry’s casual act of throwing away the letter, then asked nervously, "Uh… are you sure that’s a good idea? Won’t the Ministry…?"
"Relax," Harry shielded his eyes with his hand, watching as the paper airplane disappeared into the distance. "It’s just the Ministry of Magic. It’s not like they’re going to throw me into Azkaban—"
Though, deep down, he figured it was best not to stir up unnecessary trouble. Rescuing Veratia and Cassandra was far more important than getting entangled in bureaucratic nonsense.
Sometimes he wondered—how great would it have been if things had been reversed?
If he had come to Hogwarts now, it would have been perfect. From the moment he entered the wizarding world, he was famous, everyone wanted to shake his hand, and he had enough money to buy a mountain of sweets to share on the train.
He could have shone on the Quidditch pitch.
No matter what mistakes he made, he’d have friends by his side to share the consequences. If he was upset, he could always visit Hagrid, the towering, kind-hearted friend who always had his back.
But what about the him who had gone to school a hundred years ago?
He had no family, no friends, and not a single Galleon to his name. He had to be cautious, afraid that a single wrong word might get him expelled from school.
If not for Professor Weasley and Gareth’s help, he might have remained isolated forever.
Life a hundred years ago… was best left unspoken.
As much as he hated to admit it, aside from the Weasley family of the past and his two mischievous Slytherin friends, Cassandra had been one of the few bright spots in his life—along with Veratia, who transferred to Hogwarts in their fifth year.
So, after receiving the warning letter, Harry had no intention of picking a fight with the Ministry of Magic. Nothing was more important than saving the two girls. Everything else could wait.
…Though, knowing those two, they probably wouldn’t take the Ministry seriously.
One was the sister of a legendary Dark wizard, a natural spellcaster who could probably outmatch her infamous sibling. The other’s father had once been the true power behind the Ministry.
Harry turned his attention to another letter—one from Nicolas Flamel.
Dear Sir,
I was delighted to receive your letter. It has been quite some time since I last saw you. On a side note, your handwriting remains as dreadful as ever.
Albus has explained your situation to me in detail. Given my current schedule, I expect to receive you on August 16th.
Should there be any updates, please respond via owl—I would be most pleased.
Nicolas Flamel
Letter to Harry Potter, 29 July 1992
Harry glanced at the owl still perched nearby, then took out a quill and parchment, quickly scribbling a reply before sending the bird off again.
When he turned back, he found Ron in the yard, tossing garden gnomes around for fun.
The tiny creatures, which looked like ugly potatoes, squealed in protest as Ron grabbed one and hurled it through the air like a seasoned Chaser throwing a Quaffle.
"Nice throw, Ron!" Harry called out. "Looks like you’d make a great Chaser."
"Oi, if you’re done writing, get over here and help me!" Ron yelled back.
No sooner had he spoken than his mother smacked him on the head.
"Ron! Harry is a guest! How could you ask him to do chores with you?"
Then, just as quickly, Mrs. Weasley’s expression softened into a warm smile. "Oh, Harry dear, it’s wonderful to have you here—happy birthday!"
"Thank you, Aunt Molly," Harry said with a grin. He stepped forward and added, "I’ll help Ron out—it looks like there are way too many gnomes in the garden for him to handle alone. By the way, where are Fred and George?"
"No idea where those troublemakers ran off to," Mrs. Weasley sighed, hands on her hips. "Honestly, I can never keep track of them…"
Just then, a loud honk echoed from the sky.
"FRED! GEORGE!"
A furious roar erupted from the house.
Harry turned his head and then quickly looked away, feeling a sense of unease.
Terrifying… Aunt Molly was terrifying…
"Ha! They stole Dad’s car and got caught," Ron said gleefully, watching from the sidelines.
For once, Ron wasn’t in trouble himself, so he could thoroughly enjoy the spectacle.
Fortunately, Ron had been on his best behavior recently—his grades were good, and he had even earned Gryffindor fifty points at the end of the year. That was enough to spare him from his mother’s wrath.
After a round of scolding, Mrs. Weasley returned to the house to prepare dinner.
The moment she left, Fred and George dropped their innocent expressions and immediately started horsing around again.
"Oh, Harry!" Fred and George grinned as they flanked him. "We nearly forgot to show you our latest invention—try this candy."
Harry took the piece of candy, eyeing it curiously. "What’s this?"
"We call it the Instant Skive Sweet," Fred whispered. "One bite, and you’ll start bleeding from the nose—don’t worry, it’s fake blood, completely harmless. Think we could sell it at your cousin’s school?"
"Unfortunately, no," Harry sighed. "I sent my cousin some wizarding treats a few days ago and got a warning from the Ministry."
"I can confirm that," Ron added. "One more offense, and Harry’s off to Azkaban."
"Oh, right, that’s a rule," Fred shrugged.
George threw an arm around Fred’s shoulder and grinned. "No worries. We can still sell it to our classmates—"
"Just imagine," they said in unison, "a candy that costs just two Sickles but gets you out of Snape’s Potions class…"
"I'll take them all."
Ron said without hesitation. He rummaged through his pockets but only found a single Sickle and ten Knuts.
"How about this—since this is your first business deal, why don’t you give me a discount?" Ron asked tentatively.
"Two Sickles." Fred and George spoke in unison, giving him no chance to bargain.
"Come on, I'm your own brother!" Ron said indignantly. "Do you two only care about money?"
"Well said, Ron, well said." The twins nodded in agreement. "Four Sickles."
Harry nearly burst out laughing at the antics of the Weasley trio. It was clear as day—Fred and George were definitely Ron’s brothers. No one else would tease their younger sibling this much.
After some playful back-and-forth, Fred and George happily pocketed all of Ron’s savings and handed him several pieces of Skiving Snackbox sweets.
"You could help us sell them, little Ronniekins," George coaxed in a low voice by Ron's ear. "We’ll give you a cut of the profits. What do you say?"
"Deal!" Ron agreed instantly, afraid that his brothers would take back their offer.
"Settled, then." Fred and George said with satisfaction.
The group hung around in the garden, casually tossing garden gnomes while chatting idly.
They talked about everything—from the Dursleys to the Weasleys—until their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley calling them in for dinner.
"I actually have another friend," Harry suddenly remembered Poppy, reaching into his wallet to let her out.
The moment Poppy appeared, the entire room gasped.
"Bloody hell, Harry," Fred and George said in unison. "You know, we always thought you were a true Gryffindor because of your strength—but now we’re certain of it. You actually dared to bring a unicorn out of the Forbidden Forest!"
"If it weren’t for dinner, I might’ve forgotten about Poppy entirely." Harry chuckled before turning to her. "Poppy, want to have dinner with us?"
"I'm not hungry," Poppy said sheepishly. "I, uh... ate all the snacks you bought while I was in your wallet."
"You can eat that much...?" Fred was stunned. "Blimey, I never knew unicorns ate human food."
"Maybe I'm just special." Poppy nuzzled Harry's shoulder. "Are you all heading to dinner?"
"Yeah, though I suppose we won’t need to set a place for you," Harry teased, reaching out to scratch Poppy's neck. "Come on, I’ll introduce you to Aunt Molly first..."
"Alrighty!" Poppy said cheerfully.
As they walked inside, Mrs. Weasley saw Harry leading what looked like a horse, but at first, she didn't realize what she was looking at.
Then, as she took a closer look, her eyes landed on the horn.
"Is that... a unicorn?!" Mrs. Weasley asked in shock.
Percy, who had been reading at the table, dropped his book with a loud thud.
"Yeah, this is my friend, Poppy." Harry wrapped an arm around Poppy’s neck as he introduced her to everyone.
Poppy was sweet-tongued and had a knack for playing innocent. She called Mrs. Weasley "Aunt Molly" in the most affectionate voice possible, completely winning her over in an instant.
Harry’s eyelid twitched as he watched. You're over a hundred years old, for Merlin's sake...
Once introductions were done, everyone sat down for dinner—including Poppy, who, after some enthusiastic coaxing from Mrs. Weasley, stood beside Harry at the table.
Just as they settled in, Mr. Weasley rushed in, looking slightly out of breath.
"Looks like I made it back just in time," he said, setting down a large cream cake. "Here, this is for you, Harry—huh? A unicorn?"
"Thank you, Uncle Arthur," Harry said quickly before gesturing to Poppy. "This is Poppy. She’s my friend."
"Hello, Uncle Arthur!" Poppy bobbed her head in greeting.
"Well, hello to you too."
Mr. Weasley returned the greeting, then walked to the table and set down the cake. When he noticed Fred and George looking particularly dejected, he chuckled.
"And what’s wrong with you two? Fred? George? Why the long faces?"
"Oh, Arthur, don’t get me started—those two took the car!"
Mrs. Weasley’s temper flared the moment the topic was brought up. "Just imagine—a wizard buys an old, rusty Muggle car and tells his wife that he only wants to take it apart to study how it works. But in reality, he enchants it into a flying car—"
"Oh, don’t worry, dear. There’s actually a loophole in the law. As long as no one actually flies it, it's not technically illegal," Mr. Weasley said nonchalantly.
"But in reality! This afternoon! Your two sons were flying that very car!" Mrs. Weasley fumed.
"Really?" Mr. Weasley's face lit up with excitement. He turned to his sons eagerly. "How did it fly?"
Mrs. Weasley slammed her hand against the table.
"That was very, very wrong, children—" Mr. Weasley quickly corrected himself.
"Dad, why are you back so late?" Fred tried to change the subject. "Didn’t you say the situation with the Muggles had been handled?"
"Not quite," Mr. Weasley sighed. "It’s getting more complicated. The Muggle Aurors say that a murder took place on a cruise ship traveling from London to New York. Every Muggle on board was killed. And according to something called ‘security footage,’ the culprit was a girl with black hair and red eyes."
