The moment those words left her lips, both Minister Bones and Dumbledore froze.
"I think the army you're referring to is the same thing we call Aurors," Bones said, frowning in confusion. "A group of elite, well-trained wizards who hunt Dark wizards for the Ministry of Magic, standing on the side of justice to fight back against our enemies..."
But Dumbledore raised his hand, his eyes flashing with sharp blue light:
"No, Amelia, I don't think that's what this child means... She's talking about armed forces organised in an entirely different way."
"When I was very young, I witnessed the shape of a wizarding army at Grindelwald's side... Unstoppable... the unity of hearts and power..."
His eyes took on a weight of deep contemplation as he gestured for Jane to continue.
"In Muggle society, they divide their military into different branches—army, navy, air force, and combined arms units... They possess a range of weapons and equipment like aircraft, tanks, warships, missiles, all under unified command and systems..."
"For instance, an infantry squad—the basic combat unit is a fire team, with a team leader, machine gunner, grenadier, and riflemen forming the group. In combat formations, they commonly use wedge formations, single-file columns... Or take pre-battle reconnaissance—the reconnaissance team is divided into several parts: command group, rescue group, prisoner group, surveillance group, route recorders..."
Jane spoke until her mouth was dry, though she couldn't be entirely certain whether what she was saying made sense.
If she had a chance to do it all over again, she would definitely have memorised the original works completely before "crossing over" and learned some more practical skills.
Having only a superficial understanding of such specialised knowledge was indeed a serious disadvantage.
Jane sighed, feeling deeply regretful about her past choices.
She could only hope these suggestions might prove useful to this newly appointed, dynamic Minister.
"A most interesting proposal—it would require centralised coordination of personnel, funding, and resources," Minister Bones mused. "Once we've solved our staffing issues, I'll carefully consider how to learn from the best practices in Muggle armies and apply them to our own force-building."
"But we must focus on the immediate priorities first," she said seriously. "Yu, Harry, Professor Dumbledore and I need to take you both to the Ministry of Magic."
...
Ministry of Magic Atrium.
Since Minister Bones had taken office, the security level here had risen by several notches.
"I'm here twenty-four hours a day—I don't even go home," Minister Bones explained. "All security protocols have been raised to maximum. Any disturbance is reported directly to me. If the Dark Lord wants to target the Ministry of Magic, he'll have to step over my dead body first."
She and Dumbledore led Jane and Harry into the main hall, describing the new defensive measures as they walked.
Anti-Apparition magic was in effect—all visitors and staff could only enter through the traditional telephone box and a very few selected fireplaces. The Atrium was heavily fortified, with guards posted every few steps all the way to the lifts at the back. Staff leaving the Ministry had to pass through two rounds of "security checks" to ensure they weren't carrying classified materials before being allowed to exit through the fireplaces on the right side of the hall.
The golden fountain in the great hall had been completely transformed. The water jets from the statues of wizards, centaurs, goblins, and house-elves could only be described as waterfalls. Several Ministry employees were grumbling as they passed through, casting Drying Charms on their soaked robes.
"We've adopted Gringotts'Thief's Downpour," Minister Bones explained. "It washes away spells and magical disguises—I'm afraid it's rather inconvenient for now—"
Her voice stuck in her throat as she stared, dumbfounded, at Jane using a Shield Charm to block the water around her.
"Scrimgeour!" Bones bellowed with tremendous volume, her voice echoing through the hall. "Come and see this!"
Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, who had been installing defensive equipment nearby, hurried over. With his wild tawny hair and thick eyebrows, his sharp yellow eyes gleaming, he looked every inch the lion—anyone could see his decisive nature.
In a single glance, Jane felt as though she'd been thoroughly examined from head to toe.
"Delix!" Scrimgeour roared just as loudly upon seeing how easily a single Shield Charm had solved the waterfall problem. "Come and see your mistake!"
A short-haired, humourless wizard hurried over, looking like a machine programmed only to follow orders.
"Sorry, Minister, Chief, but we're short-staffed," he said wearily. "Of course, I know it would be better to have an Auror manning a water-spraying checkpoint than using a waterfall, but everyone's already stretched to breaking point."
Minister Bones frowned deeply, looking as though she wanted to lower the already significantly reduced Auror standards even further.
"The staffing issue is being addressed, Delix. Move one of the checkpoint guards over to monitor this area..."
The new Minister, clearly overwhelmed, took a deep breath and turned to Dumbledore:
"You can see how severe our staffing shortage is. I'd like some seventh-year students to take their N.E.W.T. exams early and graduate, if you'd agree. If I could see them join the Ministry and contribute their talents sooner, I'd be most grateful."
"I'd be delighted to help," Dumbledore nodded slightly. "I'll write to the Wizarding Examinations Authority."
Bones' face lit up with a joyful smile.
After passing through the final wand-checking checkpoint, she led the three through the golden gates into the lifts.
This had now become a wand-scanning area—visitors had to point their wands at the buttons and inject a bit of magic to select their floor.
They arrived at the black doors of the Department of Mysteries, where security measures had been similarly enhanced.
Five or six cloaked figures whose faces couldn't be seen stood silently before the doors—Unspeakables, performing their duty of guarding the Department of Mysteries.
"As arranged, we've come to collect that item," Dumbledore said.
The lead figure shifted slightly, seeming to show great respect for Dumbledore. He nodded and silently stepped aside to clear a path.
This solemn, quiet atmosphere gave everyone an inexplicable sense of tension. Jane could feel Harry looking around uneasily beside her—perhaps it was a premonition, a sense of unease that fate was about to change.
Minister Bones didn't enter with them. She was conversing with an Unspeakable, apparently discussing topics involving "snakes" and "surveillance."
Dumbledore said nothing, leading Jane and Harry forward until they stopped before one of twelve doors.
"Don't look around carelessly, don't touch anything."
But what lay beyond the door was enough to drive anyone mad—a large, aquarium-like deep green tank containing brains with many tentacles, moving lazily about, some actually oozing brain matter.
"The Brain Room," Dumbledore said concisely. "They study thought. Quite fascinating, aren't they? If someone with weak willpower stays here too long, they'll be drawn to them, controlled by them, and eventually strangled. The damage they cause is mental."
Jane observed these brains and found they were also observing her, drifting slowly as if seeing them off.
Harry kept his eyes down, and upon hearing they might affect the mind, immediately looked away and frantically began practising Occlumency.
But the next room appeared shabby and eerie—a massive stone pit with rows of stone benches extending downward like an amphitheatre, but at the centre of the pit was not a stage, but a stone archway hung with a black, windless veil.
For some reason, looking at the veil, Jane suddenly felt a sense of displacement.
This feeling was peculiar—she'd had the same sensation when she'd found herself at the Sorting ceremony—
As if two timelines, two different worlds, existed here.
"I need to confirm something," Dumbledore said, staring directly at the veil. "Harry, stop practising Occlumency. Look at it."
But almost the next instant, Harry charged straight for the veil!
Jane grabbed him firmly, preventing him from climbing onto the platform and passing through the veil.
"Someone's speaking!" Harry stared at the floating veil with an entranced expression, struggling desperately to break free from Jane's grip, even placing one foot on the steps. "Calling to me... can't you hear it?"
Realising Harry seemed to have fallen into some kind of mental confusion, Jane gave his cheek a sharp slap.
"Sorry!" The pain brought Harry back to his senses, his eyes filled with panic and lingering obsession as he struggled to look away from the veil. "But what is that?"
Dumbledore didn't answer him, instead turning his questioning gaze to Jane:
"Yu, what do you feel? Joy, longing, sadness...?"
But Jane experienced two completely different emotions battling in her mind—acceptance and rejection fighting each other.
"Like another world," she replied. "One feeling is that it's quite ordinary, as if I could walk through and pass from this timeline to that one; but another feeling is that I don't want to go in."
Dumbledore pondered for a moment, seeming to confirm something, then answered Harry's confusion:
"The Death Chamber. No one knows what's behind the veil, because those who enter never return."
The three returned to the entrance, and after the walls spun around, they continued through another door—what Dumbledore called the Time Room.
But Dumbledore seemed very reluctant to linger here, as if merely giving them a tour.
They quickly passed various types of clocks, listening to a chorus of ticking timepieces, finally walking past a bell jar containing a bird in an endless cycle of birth and rebirth, arriving at the Hall of Prophecy.
The room was filled with towering shelves holding glass orbs with small labels, similar in style to Trelawney's crystal balls. The lighting was very dim, illuminated only by candles at both ends and some orbs that glowed faintly from within.
"Don't touch the crystal balls—mental confusion is most unpleasant," Dumbledore's voice rang out again.
They stopped at a spot a little way down the ninety-seventh row of shelves.
Jane saw a crystal ball with a label bearing the names of Voldemort and Harry Potter.
"This is what I wanted you to retrieve, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly. "But before you take it down, I hope you'll know something first."
The air was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
"Inside this crystal ball is stored a prophecy—a prophecy about you and Voldemort. This is why he wanted to kill you when you were a baby."
"I want to know," Harry said urgently. "What should I do?"
"You want to know," Dumbledore repeated his words. "I'm very sorry, but I must confirm once more—do you really want to know?"
Jane could read his subtext—it meant "you'd better not know."
She could discern some of Dumbledore's micro-expressions—a hidden worry, perhaps concern that Harry would be under too much pressure.
"This is a prophecy about me," Harry replied hastily. "I want to know what will happen to me in the future—"
But Dumbledore shook his head and asked:
"Let me ask you a question, Harry. Why do you say you want to become an Auror?"
"To protect people," Harry answered almost without thinking, his green eyes "casually" glancing in Jane's direction. "I want to protect many... friends, and Sirius, and those who've been good to me—I heard Minister Bones' speech, I saw those reports, and I felt that's exactly what I want to do—"
"Not for revenge?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Er... that's also a reason..." Harry said awkwardly, scratching his head. "Voldemort killed my parents, I want to eliminate him—"
"Even if you yourself might die? Even if you'd have to kill people?" Dumbledore interrupted his unfinished words.
Harry fell into brief silence, his expression conflicted, as if engaged in an internal struggle.
"I'm not afraid to die," he said slowly, word by word. "Though I wouldn't kill people... but if he tries to harm those around me, I'll fight back..."
"I'm very pleased, Harry," Dumbledore's voice softened. "To see that you're no longer walking forward solely on the hatred of revenge and the love your parents gave you. Friendship, family bonds... and some youthful spirit have given you the desire to protect others. Your first instinct is to protect those around you."
He looked up at the faintly glowing glass orb:
"So, now that you have such thoughts, do you still want to know the prophecy's contents?"
But Harry keenly caught some implications from this, also sensing that Dumbledore didn't really want him to know the prophecy's contents:
"Does the prophecy say... I'll die trying to eliminate him?"
His face paled, his breathing seemed difficult, as if he were sinking into an emotional swamp.
Though he'd said he wasn't afraid to die, when truly learning he would die, his heart still felt as if it had sunk into an ice cave.
"Oh, no," Dumbledore turned around. "The boy in the prophecy possesses power he knows not, and has the ability to defeat him... but part of the content is that only one of you can survive."
This didn't comfort Harry—he still looked utterly wretched.
Jane looked at Harry's somewhat unfocused eyes and pinched his philtrum, trying to help him break free from his despairing emotions.
This Chosen One—why did he look like he was having a respiratory alkalosis attack?
She casually transfigured Harry's glasses into a plastic bag, covering his nose and mouth, attempting to give him some first aid.
"Voldemort will definitely be the one to die," she said decisively, employing psychological counselling techniques. "Do you remember what I once told you? You'll succeed, you'll defeat him, you'll live a long life."
Though she'd always firmly believed in the power of the protagonist's halo, Harry's reaction still startled her.
Right now, she only hoped he could pull himself together quickly.
At the very least, he couldn't be scared to death by a few words before even beginning the fight!
Her measures worked.
Harry's unfocused eyes gradually sharpened, and he stared straight at her, his green eyes misting over.
He pulled away the plastic bag and gripped her arm tightly, as if clutching a lifeline.
He'd always felt that Jane believed in him more than he believed in himself.
Even when he often felt utterly useless—having once faced Voldemort only to be tied to a gravestone, helplessly watching everything happen, unable to fight Death Eaters, unable to kill, still needing a group of people to protect him—nothing like the prophesied boy Dumbledore described...
But she still believed in him, always stood on his side.
She'd done so much for him, had once prophesied that he would turn danger into safety and live well into old age...
So, he would always believe her words too.
And since he already had such a steadfast "Great Prophet" by his side—
Why should he listen to a prophecy made by someone of unknown name and uncertain ability?
"If the prophecy doesn't contain a specific method for defeating Voldemort," Harry's weak but determined voice rang out, "I don't think I need to hear it."
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