Hogwarts: Harry Returns from Azeroth

Chapter 186, Section 185: Fudge's Wrath

“The students of Slytherin House were incredibly devoted to the Dark Lord,” Professor Sinister said softly. “Back then, I was just a student, but I can never forget their fanatical demeanor. Even the first-year Slytherin students were like that, wishing they could graduate from Hogwarts the very next day and join their Dark Lord’s ranks to serve him.”

“In that context, Slytherin students could be considered Death Eaters’ reserves, and they were proud of that,” Trelawney said, staring at the glass in front of her. “The war outside also affected the school. Most of the people who opposed the Void were from Gryffindor, and many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs also disapproved of his actions.”

“So the situation at the school at that time was that the Slytherin students looked down on the other three houses, and the students of the other three houses were hostile to them,” Professor Flitwick continued after taking a sip of butterbeer. “I don’t want to be so blunt, but Harry, in those days, most students and adults thought that targeting the Slytherin students was targeting the future Death Eaters, which was a very righteous and correct thing to do, and also a very heroic act.”

"This is especially true for students who have lost loved ones to the mysterious figure."

“We’re not defending your father and his friends, Harry, but Professor Snape…” Professor McGonagall said with a troubled expression, “He was proud of Slytherin House and did indeed idolize Voldemort…”

“And then there’s the Dark Magic,” Harry sighed, adding to what Professor McGonagall was reluctant to say, “I understand—he’s certainly not innocent.”

Snape still calls Voldemort the Dark Lord, which carries a sense of worship compared to the title "Mysterio," which was born out of fear.

“Nobody likes the Mystic,” Professor Sprout said, shaking his head. “We just couldn’t defeat him—until you showed up.”

"Fortunately, Headmaster Dumbledore refused the man's request to become a professor, otherwise I can't even imagine what Hogwarts would have become under that man's influence," Professor Sinister said with lingering fear. "A reserve army of Death Eaters?"

"Ha! We all know that Mysterio is only afraid of Dumbledore," Hagrid exclaimed. "Luckily we have Dumbledore!"

"Yes, thank goodness we have Dumbledore."

"Respect to Dumbledore."

The professors chimed in, and everyone drank another cup together.

Drinking and chatting, Harry sipped his mead while listening to the professors recount the past. Even though twelve years had passed, the wizarding world still seemed unable to escape the shadow of Voldemort.

Harry's alcohol tolerance also exceeded the professors' expectations. Although the alcohol content of mead wasn't too high, Harry's behavior of drinking one cup after another was something they couldn't do. As a result, Hagrid was accused of secretly taking Harry to drink to train his alcohol tolerance and was scolded by Professor McGonagall.

This made Hagrid cry foul, claiming that Harry was born to drink.

This made him get scolded even worse.

Time passed by in laughter and conversation, and by the time it was completely dark and the streetlights in Hogsmeade were lit, even Harry, with his high alcohol tolerance, was slightly tipsy from the professors' repeated toasts.

Especially Professor Kettleburn, who, despite having a long beard and looking about the same age as Dumbledore, had a lively spirit. Among the professors, he toasted with Harry the most.

When drunk, he would enthusiastically tell Harry about his adventures in his youth, including strange and magical creatures and dragons.

The old professor, who had devoted his life to the class on magical creatures, was left with only one arm and half a leg, all because of the dangerous magical creatures he loved. However, he felt no remorse or resentment.

Love more.

Harry, who was listening to Professor Kettleburn share his experience in caring for dragons, suddenly turned around. There were three people standing next to him. Harry recognized the one in the lead; it was Cornelius Fudge, the current Minister for Magic, with two Aurors behind him as bodyguards.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your gathering, professors,” Fudge said with a bright smile. “Can we talk? Harry—I mean, just the two of us.”

His smile faded, and the professors all looked over.

“Of course, Minister,” Harry said calmly.

Harry's answer brought a smile to Fudge's face. He turned to Rosmerta and called out, "Are there any rooms available upstairs, ma'am? We need a quiet place."

“Of course, Minister, just go up there.” Unlike her enthusiasm when facing Harry, Rosmerta now maintained a professional fake smile, and it was clear that she didn’t like Fudge.

"Thank you."

The Three Broomsticks pub had curtained booths on the second floor, with lights on and magic cast to prevent sound from escaping. The two Aurors stood guard at the door, while only Harry and Fudge sat inside.

“Very well, Harry, this isn’t our first meeting.” Unlike his amiable demeanor in front of the many professors, Fudge’s attitude became quite unfriendly in this private setting. “If that crazy reporter is right, then you should have guessed why I’m here—the great, intelligent, and powerful Professor Potter.”

It's clear that Fudge harbors a great deal of resentment towards Harry. Perhaps he agreed to reopen Sirius's case at Rita's urging in order to strike at Crouch, but that doesn't mean he would like the impact Harry has on the Ministry of Magic, or his own declining approval ratings.

Frankly, if circumstances allowed, Fudge would have even wanted to throw this calm, childlike monster into Azkaban.

Look at the things he did! Are those things a normal child would do?!

“Do you have a problem with me, Minister?” Harry noticed Fudge’s malice and had no intention of indulging him. He tilted his head. “Speaking of which, I haven’t met Mr. Crouch yet. I wonder what kind of attitude he would have towards me if he were sitting here.”

Fudge's eyes widened at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Are you threatening me?!" His face flushed red. He glanced nervously at the door of the cubicle, and after confirming that no one could hear the conversation inside, he growled, "Who do you think I am?! I am the Minister of Magic! I do not accept threats!!"

“Let me correct you. A minister who has accomplished nothing since taking office the year before last, who can’t even properly unite his own forces, who still has people who don’t obey his orders, and whose approval rating keeps declining” Fudge’s roar was like a gentle breeze, having no effect on Harry. He simply covered the mouth of his wine glass to prevent Fudge’s excited spittle from spraying into it, and said leisurely, “Perhaps it won’t be long before public opinion urges you to step down… You may have already heard those rumors.”

Fudge was completely stunned, as if struck by lightning. He had never imagined hearing such vicious words from this child. No, this child wasn't a child at all; he was a demon! "That wasn't my fault at all!" Fudge slammed his hand on the table, roaring furiously, "I didn't take the keys to Potter's mansion, I didn't write you the warning letter, and I didn't throw Sirius into Azkaban—I didn't even know any of these things happened!! I'm innocent!!"

The more I think about it, the angrier I get; the more I talk about it, the angrier I get.

“I’m practically a target that’s been pushed onto the slate. They only come to me after something has happened and say, ‘Please handle this, Minister—what can I possibly do?!’”

Logically speaking, Fudge shouldn't have said such things to others, but as soon as he saw that calm face in front of him, Fudge felt like his lungs were about to explode with anger.

Why did I think this child had a bright future? Why did I promise to take care of him in the future?

If time could turn back, Fudge would definitely slap his younger self who was smiling and talking to Harry!

Fuck the savior, fuck the golden boy!

It's all because of this boy. Since I took office, I haven't encountered a single good thing. Those brainless ordinary wizards question the Ministry of Magic and question me, wishing they could send him to Azkaban. They're a bunch of lunatics! A mob!!
Do they want their own blood?!
“Excuse me, your drink, Minister.” The curtains of the cubicle were drawn back, and Rosmerta placed the wine on the tray in front of Fudge, then refilled Harry’s glass. “Consider this a gift from me, Professor Harry.”

"Thank you," Harry said with a smile, completely unaffected by Fudge's outburst.

"You're welcome."

Rosmerta's arrival and departure acted like a tranquilizer, somewhat bringing Fudge back to his senses—Harry looked at the minister and was quite certain that he was an incompetent ruler.

He lacks talent, courage, decisiveness, judgment, and willpower.

He couldn't even control his own emotions, which is the most fatal flaw for a ruler.

Extreme emotions can cloud judgment and prevent people from making the right decisions.

“You are not innocent, Minister,” Harry said softly, breaking the silence in the cubicle. “As a ruler, the greatest incompetence is the inability to control your subordinates and the situation. Your ignorance is not an excuse for your innocence. You should know, and you should be in control of everything.”

"Ha, I'd like to," Fudge chuckled, taking a couple of gulps of mead followed by a long sigh of relief. "So, Squibs really can use magic?"

"It's limited to a small number of duds; they're currently living right next to the Forbidden Forest."

"What about Muggles? Can Muggles use magic too?"

“If that Muggle is favored by the elements enough,” Harry explained, “Shamanic magic is very different from wizarding magic, and the talents required for the two are also different—but I can assure you that there aren’t many people with that talent, and not all Squibs and Muggles can use magic.”

"In other words, they're just some new wizards. Muggles are still Muggles, and Squibs are still Squibs," Fudge snorted. "That's not so bad, at least they can vote now."

“If you’re willing to improve their living conditions and speak up for them, then I think those former Squibs would be happy to vote for you,” Harry said calmly.

“I just hope they don’t come and blame me when they can’t find a job themselves,” Fudge sneered. “Shops in Diagon Alley don’t hire employees who can’t use cleansing charms.”

“But they can work in new industries,” Harry said. “New departments, new jobs, doing what they’re good at.”

“…That makes sense,” Fudge pondered. “A new job should help me regain a lot of support…The Shamanic Priests’ Department?”

From the corners of his memory, Fudge unearthed a term that had once been discussed as a joke.

By now, Harry's ideals and the resurgence of the elements are no secret, and many wizards are hoping that the future Harry described will come to pass, with more wizards and more magic.

However, in Fudge's eyes, he only saw the difference between shamanic magic and wizarding magic—that meant the Ministry of Magic had to establish a corresponding response mechanism, a completely new department, a department without interference from other factions—a department that was entirely established by him and obeyed his orders.

The offensive capabilities of elemental magic have been acknowledged by the Wizengamo mages, which means that this department, which obeys their orders completely, possesses strength comparable to that of an Auror.

This is a good thing.

“…I will consider it,” Fudge said reservedly. “The Ministry of Magic wants to establish a Squib training program for all the Squibs in the wizarding world—you should know that those Squibs who came to Hogwarts recently are just a part of this group, right?”

In fact, this was an idea suggested by Fudge's advisors. Once the Squibs, who were previously unable to use magic, could use magic, they would no longer be Squibs, but wizards.

Since they are wizards, the Ministry of Magic needs to control them.

“Hogwarts can’t have any more strangers,” Harry said, shaking his head. “That would be irresponsible for the safety of young wizards. You wouldn’t want to suddenly receive news of an accident involving a young wizard one day, would you?”

Without a doubt, this was Harry's way of declining. With him and Dumbledore watching over Hogwarts, what trouble could some apprentices who had just mastered shamanic magic possibly cause? Harry simply didn't want some random people to become shamans.

He can't control who the element chooses, but at least the shamans he develops must undergo a test of their character.

“Don’t worry, Minister,” Harry reassured him after a moment’s thought. “Once this batch of Squib shamans have a basic grasp of this power, the Ministry of Magic can use them as a basis to start Squib training courses.”

(End of this chapter)