Chapter 161: Voldemort's Jinchuriki: Harry
After placing his hand on the Portkey, Harry Potter felt a sensation like air being forcibly shoved down his throat. His stomach churned violently. At the same time, a powerful force yanked him, as if he were helplessly dangling from a speeding broomstick.
When the discomfort faded, he found himself in a place that resembled a chaotic street market. A disorderly crowd was shouting, and the atrium and corridors were packed with as many wizards as there were profanities flying through the air. If not for the formally dressed people huddled in the center of the mob, it would have been a perfect replica of a market at peak hours.
But he knew this place was the Ministry of Magic, the center of power in the British wizarding world.
He saw some young, passionate Ministry employees trying to push into the crowd, desperately trying to maintain order and keep everyone from getting hurt. They were resorting to physical restraint rather than using magic to fight back. The man in the lead was frantically dodging spells, shouting for everyone to calm down, to put down their wands and talk things out, pleading with them not to use such extreme measures and cause casualties.
"That man is in so much danger! Shouldn't we help him?" Harry asked, pointing out the lead employee to Dumbledore. He was hoping for the Headmaster's permission to intervene.
That's right. He wasn't hoping for Dumbledore to act; he wanted to test just how powerful Voldemort's power really was.
Previously, he hadn't known how to answer the question of whether he wanted power. But after experiencing the joy of being Voldemort's Jinchuriki, Harry Potter had only one thing to say: "This is awesome!"
The young Harry wasn't concerned with his actual combat prowess. He was, however, very concerned with his improved academic performance, his class participation, and the praise he was now receiving from his professors.
For example, in Transfiguration class, he used to watch Hermione effortlessly perform every spell Professor McGonagall taught, while he felt like a troll, waving his wand uselessly as the target object refused to change. But ever since signing that "indentured servitude contract" and becoming Voldemort's Jinchuriki, his performance in McGonagall's class was no worse than Hermione's. In Charms, he had already surpassed her. And in the practical lessons for Ryan's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, his performance was far beyond that of anyone else in his year.
He had been earning piles of points for Gryffindor and had won the respect of all his housemates. Percy, George, and the others had asked him more than once what kind of miracle potion he had been taking. Each time, Harry just gave a mysterious smile. He was finally beginning to understand how Senior Ryan felt.
Dumbledore followed Harry's finger and saw his former Head Boy charging into the fray, unflinching, courageous, righteous... and was struck speechless. Truly speechless.
How did my bright, cheerful Head Boy turn into... this?
Who corrupted him?!
"...That is your senior, Ralvin. Go and help him see if you can get the situation under control," Dumbledor said, his face an impassive mask. Kingsley, who had followed them, was showing more emotion than he was.
Kingsley simply could not believe that Ralvin's actions didn't have Dumbledore's approval. At the same time, he had to admire Dumbledore's acting skills. Here was his own hand-picked protégé stirring up trouble, and Dumbledore was behaving as if he knew nothing about it.
And why send a first-year to help? Kingsley didn't understand. Even if it was Harry Potter, it made no sense. Anyone with eyes knew that Harry hadn't been the one to truly defeat Voldemort. His status in the wizarding world was based on his symbolic meaning, not his magical prowess.
"I'll help too," he stepped forward, preparing to keep an eye on the young wizard Dumbledore had deployed. Everyone knew the "Savior" was a staunch Dumbledore supporter. Siding with him now was siding with Dumbledore—a no-lose proposition. Kingsley drew his wand and said kindly to Harry, "Don't worry, follow me."
He had barely taken two steps when he heard a loud shout from behind him: "Expelliarmus!"
A powerful beam of red light shot from Harry's wand, striking the ceiling. The thick beam shattered into a shower of smaller rays, and any wizard struck by them immediately lost grip on their wand. In an instant, as the countless twisting, snake-like red lights rained down, the number of spells flying through the corridor was cut in half.
What? That was a Disarming Charm?! Kingsley felt he must be hallucinating. Why else would he be seeing a mob storming the Ministry? Why else would the respected Head of the Auror Office be lying defeated on the ground? And why else would a first-year student suddenly unleash a spell with the power of an elite Auror?! That Disarming Charm was definitely elite-Auror level.
Harry himself was startled. He had dueled with George and Fred at school, but none of his other spells had ever had an effect like that. Is the Disarming Charm my specialty? He remembered Dumbledore telling him during their lessons that every wizard had spells they were naturally good or bad at, determined by their aptitude, personality, and other factors—a sort of innate talent.
With Harry's powerful support, Ralvin and his colleagues surged forward, calming the crowd. They soon "discovered" Scrimgeour, still lying on the floor.
"Mr. Scrimgeour, hang in there! We're here to save you!" Ralvin said, reaching down to pull him up, only to find his hand blocked by an invisible barrier. Scrimgeour, lying on the ground, still had his wand in hand, partially hidden by his robes. But if one looked closely, you could see the tip was glowing.
As if recognizing Ralvin's voice, the wand's light abruptly went out.
Ralvin's second attempt to pull Scrimgeour up met with no resistance. And, by sheer coincidence, Scrimgeour slowly "woke up." He blinked in confusion for a second, then, as if remembering he was in a battle, he warily drew his wand, his face a mask of determination, ready to protect Fudge at all costs.
Seeing this, Ralvin shouted, "Everyone, let's talk this out! Don't use spells on the Minister! If you have a problem, aim it at me!"
Fudge, peeking out from under his desk, was moved to tears. I have wronged my loyal men, and that is why this has happened! It was all Umbridge, that witch, misleading me! If only I had listened to Scrimgeour and Ralvin, none of this would have happened!
Dumbledore, leading Luna by the hand, calmly parted the crowd, which separated before him like the Red Sea. He used no magic, said no word, yet his presence was more commanding than all the wands and spells.
He looked toward the center of the commotion, but all he could see was a desk, surrounded by a few terrified Ministry employees.
"Where is Fudge?"
~~~
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