Scrimgeour's change was particularly striking. When they first met, he had deemed this young wizard unreliable, but now he was saying that if Harry were willing to run, he would step aside.
"Surprised?" A faint smile flickered across Scrimgeour's stern face. "I've always adhered to one principle: professional matters should be handled by professionals. You know far more about those elemental spirits and demons than we do, and you've proven your capabilities—when you shared your expertise with the Ministries of Magic across the world, I mean."
"There's another important reason," Scrimgeour said, his tone growing serious again. He glanced toward the castle, though it wasn't visible from here, he knew what lay there. "Those statues… I want to thank you on their behalf, Professor Potter."
"It's not my achievement alone," Harry said, shaking his head. "It's the gratitude of everyone at this school. You deserve it. It was your bravery in battle that won us this war."
The reconstruction of Hogwarts was still ongoing, even more than a week after the battle. Yet, the day after the war ended, a cluster of stone statues had already been erected on the lawn outside the castle's main entrance.
These statues didn't commemorate famous heroes but the Aurors and Hit Wizards who had fallen in the fight—unsung individuals, their faces carved with fierce determination, wands raised high, fearless even in the face of death.
Before heading to the Great Totem, Scrimgeour had made a point to visit the statues, standing in silence for a long time.
"In short, thank you," Scrimgeour said, his expression complex. "Their children will surely be proud when they see them in the future."
"Yes, they're all heroes," Harry said softly.
"You really don't want to?" Scrimgeour asked again.
"No," Harry replied candidly. "I don't have the energy for political scheming."
"Then, if I choose to run, will you support me?"
"If you're doing the right thing," Harry said earnestly. "The wizarding world is facing new challenges. A capable Minister is crucial—and at the very least, you're better than Fudge."
"…Indeed," Scrimgeour said, breaking into a sudden smile. "Of course."
Scrimgeour left, brimming with confidence. Before departing, he asked Harry to use his prophetic abilities to locate Dumbledore as soon as possible.
As for Harry—favored by the Hogwarts Board of Governors and many wizarding nobles as a future Headmaster, and seen by numerous Ministry officials as a potential candidate for Minister—he was, in the eyes of the British wizarding world, a figure of considerable influence. And yet, Harry Potter was currently… well, plotting to infiltrate the Ministry.
The illegal kind.
The kind that would land him in Azkaban if he were caught.
Harry needed to enter the Department of Mysteries' Death Chamber.
He had submitted multiple requests through Fudge, but each time, the head of the Department of Mysteries had denied him. Fudge, the Minister of Magic, had no sway with the department's head. Rumor had it they'd even had a heated argument, after which Fudge stormed off in a huff.
Since legitimate methods had failed, Harry had no choice but to resort to unconventional ones. He had to check the Death Chamber.
The prophecy Gellert Grindelwald had made, using the wizards' own methods, was showing signs of coming true. Demons from the Twisting Nether had indeed appeared in this world, suggesting that the world Harry hailed from was one of the countless worlds enveloped by the Twisting Nether. Perhaps Azeroth was out there somewhere, reachable by starship.
The thought of possibly seeing his familiar family and trusted comrades again made Harry's calm heart pound faster.
This made Nicolas Flamel's prophecy—the one foretelling the arrival of the Ebon Blade—all the more critical. The Death Chamber!
Harry had already infiltrated the Ministry. It was almost too easy. He blended in with a crowd of protesters in the Atrium, dressed in a black robe with a hood concealing his face—a common enough look among wizards.
Once inside, he found a quiet corner and cast a Disillusionment Charm to hide himself, then swiftly made his way to the lifts.
[Level Nine, Department of Mysteries]
When the lift doors opened, there was only a simple corridor beyond the grille, ending in a plain black door.
There were no extraneous sounds. In fact, the moment Harry stepped out of the lift, he could no longer hear the clatter of the lift itself. This was a silence achieved through magic.
Tapping the door's handle with his wand, Harry cast a detection spell to check for any alarm charms or curses. Once he confirmed it was safe, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The Department of Mysteries was, well, mysterious. Even Arthur Weasley, who had worked at the Ministry for decades, had no idea what the Unspeakables did here. Their work was top secret, and they didn't even give face to the Minister of Magic.
After all, the Department of Mysteries predated the Ministry itself, dating back to the days of the loose Wizarding Council.
Harry found himself in a vast circular room. Everything—from the ceiling to the walls to the floor—was black. Twelve identical black doors, unmarked and without handles, were spaced evenly along the walls. A few candles burning with blue flames provided the only light in the pitch-black space.
As Harry stepped into the room, the door behind him snapped shut instantly. Then the walls began to spin rapidly, making the twelve doors indistinguishable.
Harry wasn't sure if this was a standard procedure for accessing the Department's rooms or if an Unspeakable had detected his intrusion and triggered a trap. He strode quickly to the now-still wall and pushed open one of the doors.
Beyond it was a square room, illuminated not by torches or candles but by an eerie glow. In the center stood a massive tank filled with inky green liquid. Harry's brow furrowed as he saw what swam inside—not fish, but pale, ghostly brains trailing white tendrils.
He didn't recklessly use Astral Vision to examine the room or touch the spirits within.
"The Brain Room," Harry recalled from Nicolas' intelligence. This was where wizards studied the brain and memory, likely where spells like the Memory Charm were developed.
But it wasn't his destination. Before the curious brains could poke their heads out of the tank, Harry closed the door and moved to the next one.
"The Planet Room," Harry realized the moment he opened it. The dark room, devoid of extra light, made him feel as if he were standing in the void, surrounded by enormous planets.
Drawing on the natural science he'd learned in Muggle school, Harry recognized the planets of the solar system.
Still not his destination. He closed the door and, after the walls stopped spinning, pushed open another.
The moment he did, Harry knew he'd found the right place.
The room was dimly lit, a single beam of light from an unknown source illuminating an archway-like relic in the center. A chilling cold permeated the air, as if it could freeze the soul.
Everything matched Nicolas' prophecy perfectly. A square stone pit, about twenty feet deep, sat in the room's center, surrounded by steep stone steps descending in tiers, much like the courtroom Harry had visited twice—except for the black veil.
The veil, half-hanging before the archway, fluttered as if stirred by an unseen breeze in this sealed room. But in Nicolas' prophecy, the veil was supposed to be still.
So far, the supposedly impenetrable Department of Mysteries had triggered no alarms. The Unspeakables, also clad in black robes, seemed to be in some unknown space—Harry hadn't encountered a single person.
Standing at the entrance to the Death Chamber, he heard whispers, as if someone were calling him, inviting him to learn some secret. The voice was so intimate, so compelling.
It was faint but undeniably real. As Harry snapped out of his trance with immense willpower, he was shocked to find himself at the bottom of the stone steps, standing before the broken archway.
The edge of the fluttering black veil was inches from his nose. Harry saw clearly: for a fleeting moment, as the veil swayed, a human face slid across its silken surface like water.
Hollow eye sockets and a gaping mouth appeared, then vanished.
Harry pressed his hand against the archway. The stone was ice-cold, chilling to the bone.
[…Harry… Harry…]
The voice calling him grew clearer, coming from beyond the black veil. It wasn't an illusion.
Gripping his wand tightly, Harry took a deep breath and swung it to the left.
With his motion, the two halves of the black veil, previously joined, were suddenly pulled apart!
Thud!
A heavy thud echoed as Harry stared, dumbfounded, at the figure that tumbled out from the veil. Clad in a teal robe adorned with golden stars and moons, a wizard's hat falling to the ground, and pale white beard and hair—it could only be Dumbledore.
Completely unprepared for Dumbledore to appear in such a place, Harry looked up at the veil. The curtains, which had been fluttering moments ago, now hung still on either side of the archway, motionless, as if they had always been so.
Harry even noticed a thin layer of dust on the veil, as if time had passed in an instant, coating them in grime.
But this had all just happened.
"Dumbledore?" Harry cautiously drew the warhammer from his waist, using his wand in his other hand to roll Dumbledore over. Dumbledore was indeed alive—Harry could see his chest rising and falling. Then, his eyes snapped open.
Harry's spell was barely contained.
"Cough, cough, cough cough cough!" Dumbledore hacked violently, as if trying to expel his lungs. "This air is truly dreadful—cough cough cough!"
Harry didn't lower his guard just because Dumbledore could speak and seemed rational. He kept his hammer in one hand and wand in the other, watching him warily.
"Are you really Dumbledore?" Harry asked in a low voice. "How can you prove you're you?"
"How does one prove oneself? That's a fine question, Harry," Dumbledore said, finally ceasing his coughing. He propped himself up against the archway. "Let's see… how about some Sherbet Lemons? Cockroach Clusters would do nicely too. I haven't had sweets in ages, and honestly, I never realized they'd play such a significant role in my life."
"Not enough," Harry said coldly.
"Not enough?" Dumbledore lowered his head in thought. "Well, I'd rather not be caught by you lurking outside the Headmaster's office in the middle of the night again—how's that?"
"…The Headmaster's office doesn't exist anymore," Harry said, his expression shifting subtly. After a moment's silence, he reattached the warhammer to his belt but kept his wand out. He used his other hand to help Dumbledore up. "How did you come out of there?"
"The Headmaster's office is gone?" Dumbledore repeated, sitting up and looking around. "It seems a lot has happened in my absence. And this place… the Death Chamber. I knew it…"
Astonishingly, Harry noticed Dumbledore's expression looked as if he might cry in the next moment. But he quickly took a deep breath, regaining his composure.
"…It seems I've embarked on a new adventure ahead of schedule, Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to him. "I thought—forgive me, my thoughts are still a bit muddled. I didn't expect this. I suddenly felt your presence, Harry, in another world."
"I thought it was just my imagination, but that feeling was real—the Death Chamber. Merlin's beard, this is extraordinary. Every time I think magic has reached its limits, it surpasses my imagination."
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