Chapter 181 – Ministry of Magic
The next morning was a Sunday.
Harry sat cross‑legged on his bed in the Ravenclaw dormitory, pulling out the little box that held his Christmas gifts. He wanted to distract himself, even for a while, from the memories of the Forbidden Forest.
As he sorted through his things, his hand froze.
There—on top of everything—his Invisibility Cloak lay neatly folded, a note pinned to it:
Just in case.
Harry stared.
How…?
When Fred and George had returned the cloak from the Astronomy Tower, they had stuffed it back in any old way, not folded with this uncanny precision. And that handwriting—the long, narrow loops, the delicate circles within circles—Harry knew it. It was Dumbledore's.
Which meant… his suspicions were right.
Why Dumbledore? Why not another professor?
Because I fought Voldemort? Because of that strange burst of magic in me?
A chill went through him. Hogwarts was supposed to be a school, but Dumbledore was treating it like a battlefield.
And yet… facing Voldemort, Harry didn't feel fear. He felt an edge of excitement.
But reason cut through that rush—he knew how far below Voldemort he still was. The Forbidden Forest proved that even a half‑crippled Voldemort was terrifying.
But was that black‑robed wizard really Quirrell?
Or was it some curse‑born tumor on the back of his head?
He didn't think Dumbledore knew that Harry could recognize his handwriting.
It was thanks to Alexander Smith that Harry even knew about the cloak's extraordinary nature—how it had always been in Dumbledore's possession.
The Christmas note and this one… both from the same hand.
And then, something else gnawed at him: for some reason, Harry hadn't seen Alexander around lately.
A strange ache squeezed his heart. Alexander wouldn't… wouldn't go after the Philosopher's Stone himself, would he? And if he did… would he still stay at Hogwarts? Would he still… help me?
The thought consumed him so completely that, for the rest of the morning, even the image of Voldemort drinking unicorn blood faded from his mind.
Ron and Draco exchanged confused looks over breakfast. They had been ready to talk Harry out of obsessing over the Stone, but he seemed preoccupied with something else entirely.
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"Harry, look at this article—it's insane! Do American wizards never sleep?" Ron shoved a copy of the Daily Prophet toward him.
"According to Rita Skeeter, the wizards at the U.S. Department of International Affairs have been working three days and nights straight. They only stop to eat and use the bathroom!"
Harry blinked. "What?"
Draco snorted and said in mock surprise, "Ron, this is your fault. Because of your ridiculous story, there's been a wave of poaching British wizards in the States. Now they're overworked!"
Harry looked between them. "What does any of that have to do with Ron?"
Before Ron could answer, Draco picked up the newspaper dramatically and read aloud:
"Harry! Harry! Do you know what spell this is? Or what potion?" His voice rose theatrically, and some nearby students giggled.
He was exaggerating on purpose, trying to snap Harry out of his brooding. Rita Skeeter always sensationalized everything.
Harry frowned, intrigued despite himself. "International Affairs? What do they even do?"
Draco smirked and gestured to Ron. "Ron, you explain."
Ron hesitated, then shrugged. "Basically… they handle trade agreements, magical law cooperation, that sort of thing. Rita Skeeter wrote about how some of our older classmates have started making money smuggling magical creatures from abroad."
Harry's eyes widened. "Smuggling?"
"Not technically illegal," Ron said quickly, "as long as you pay taxes. The Ministry barely looks at it."
Harry leaned in, interested despite himself. "Taxes? How does that even work in the Ministry?"
At that moment Percy appeared, positively glowing at the chance to lecture.
"Well, Harry," Percy began, "the Ministry of Magic is a carefully organized body. Allow me to enlighten you—"
Ron groaned inwardly, but Percy had already launched in.
> Office of the Minister of Magic & Logistics
Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Auror Office, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, Counterfeit Defensive Spells Unit, Wizengamot and its governing body.
Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes—Obliviators, Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Muggle Liaison, and more.
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions; Goblin and Centaur Liaison; Pest Advisory; Misinformation Office.
Department of International Magical Cooperation—Trade Standards, International Magical Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards (UK Branch).
Department of Magical Transportation—Floo Network Authority, Broomstick Regulation, Portkeys, Apparition Tests.
Department of Magical Games and Sports—Quidditch League HQ, Official Gobstones Club, Patents for Joke Products (Ludo Bagman's old stomping ground).
Department of Mysteries—well… no one knows much, but rumor has it there are the Hall of Prophecy, Hall of Time, Hall of Death, Hall of Brains, Hall of Space, and even one that studies the power of love.
"And of course," Percy added proudly, "various smaller offices: Experimental Charms Committee, Magical Maintenance, Public Information, Wizarding Examinations Authority, the Ministry Investigation Committee…"
Ron muttered, "Percy…"
But Percy beamed at him as if he'd just aced a test. "Ron, you've really grown. Taking an interest in these things."
Ron winced. "Er… thanks."
Hermione, sitting nearby with a forkful of potatoes, nearly choked with laughter at Percy's seriousness.
Harry and Draco could only stare, bemused.
Then Susan Bones from Hufflepuff approached shyly, her twin ponytails bouncing. "About taxes… I know how that works."
Percy straightened, clearly impressed. Anthony Goldstein whispered to Draco, "She's Amelia Bones' niece," and Percy immediately fell silent, listening intently.
Susan explained, "It's tied to an ancient goblin contract. Whenever you earn galleons officially, a percentage is taken automatically and transferred to the Ministry's treasury. Even the Minister of Magic can't touch that account directly. That's why a lot of people prefer private cash deals."
She flushed and hurried back to the Hufflepuff table as Percy clapped softly, scribbling notes. "Brilliant, simply brilliant…"
At last, Percy turned back to Ron. "See? This is exactly the kind of knowledge you need."
Ron slumped, thoroughly drained by the lecture. Harry had been listening, but his mind kept wandering—to Dumbledore's handwriting, to Alexander's absence, to the cloak folded with such care.
And the strangest thing?
His original question—Why don't American wizards sleep?—never got an answer.
With so many students in the Great Hall and so many interruptions, the conversation drifted, leaving that mystery hanging in the air.
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(End of Chapter 181)
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