"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 363: Fudge's Plush Toy Army
The morning sunlight was just right.
Students streamed out of their dormitories, eager to savor the last days of the term on campus.
By the edge of the Black Lake, a handful of students were deep in discussion over the day's headline in the Daily Prophet.
Just then, a Gryffindor student strode over, clutching a copy of The Quibbler in his hand. His face was caught between barely suppressed laughter and the thrill of having uncovered a world-shaking secret.
"You lot actually believe all that rubbish from the Daily Prophet?"
He grinned, waving The Quibbler for all to see. "Take a look at this—now here's the real story. Luna was handing them out in the castle just now…"
A few more students drifted over, drawn by the commotion.
A Ravenclaw boy with round glasses held up the magazine and, in a mock-serious tone, read out the front-page headline:
"'Fudge's Plush Toy Army? Is the Ministry's 'Werewolf Friend Program' a Cover for Assembling a Special Forces Pack—or Does the Minister Just Want New Pets?'"
"Pfft—!"
A Hufflepuff girl, mid-sip of her juice, burst out laughing and choked, her cheeks turning bright red.
"Plush toy army? Oh, that's brilliant…"
Beneath the headline was a crude, yet striking cartoon: Cornelius Fudge in a general's uniform, smugly inspecting a snarling line of green-eyed werewolves. The backdrop? Villages in flames and a shattered Ministry of Magic crest.
A Hufflepuff girl covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Merlin's beard… That's… that's a bit much, isn't it?"
The boy with the glasses flipped a page, commenting offhandedly, "Too much? I call it spot on! Though honestly, they should've swapped Minister Fudge for Hol—mmph, mmph—!"
He was abruptly silenced as a friend clapped a hand over his mouth, whispering, "Term's not over yet, mate. I'm not risking a mountain of summer homework."
Another boy snatched up The Quibbler and continued reading aloud,
"Exclusive Deep-Dive: The so-called 'Werewolf Friend Program' is, in fact, Minister Fudge's master plan to weaponize werewolves!
An anonymous Ministry official (requesting anonymity for fear of being dosed with Silencing Draught) revealed that Fudge is fed up with the Auror Office's inefficiency and lack of loyalty. He's plotting to form an elite, utterly obedient Moonlit Suicide Squad!
Howls have been heard from the Minister's office late at night. Sources say the Minister is hard at work mastering the 'Three Wolf-Taming Techniques!'"
"Moonlit Suicide Squad?" A tall boy snorted. "Fudge? Pull that off? More likely he's just collecting pets."
The previously gagged Ravenclaw adjusted his glasses and offered a mock-analytical tone, "Logically, werewolves are pretty formidable after transformation… If you could actually command them… But Fudge? Not likely."
A Gryffindor piped up, "Isn't the real story that there are howls coming from the Minister's office at night? Ten Knuts says that's Umbridge practicing her fake giggle—her laugh's so shrill it could shatter glass!
I met her once with my family. Her voice… let's just say, thank Merlin she's not a Hogwarts professor."
That got instant agreement from others who'd met Umbridge—even passing Slytherins couldn't help but smirk, clearly haunted by the memory.
"Oi, keep reading!" the glasses-wearing boy urged.
"'Werewolf Registry shifting from Beast to Being? We say: it's just semantics! The real aim is to rebrand werewolves from dangerous creatures to 'special magical assets!' Next up—werewolf assault squads?
Those so-called potion subsidies? Just bait to lure the strongest wolves. Job support? A smokescreen! All those full-moon-friendly positions—night security, potion ingredient gathering—are just covers for secret training!
And those 'safe full-moon zones?' Our sources say they're nothing but gladiator pits and obedience camps!
Soon, the howls echoing across the Scottish Highlands won't be lonely laments—they'll be rallying calls!'"
A student stroked his chin, "You think The Quibbler and Daily Prophet are in on this together?"
Another chimed in, "One side warns of 'new shackles,' the other jumps straight to secret armies. Good cop, bad cop?"
A nearby Gryffindor girl rolled her eyes, "Please, who can keep up with Mr. Lovegood's brain? Still, compared to the Prophet's fake piety, I'll take The Quibbler's wild ride any day—at least it's entertaining!"
She paused, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "Seriously, though—don't you think the Ministry's been a bit… much lately? Handouts, department shuffles, teaming up with Gringotts for loans…
With all that going on, if you told me Fudge didn't have something up his sleeve, I'd never believe it."
Her words brought a hush to the group.
The vague unease they'd felt reading the Daily Prophet now crystallized, the absurdity of The Quibbler making it somehow more real.
At the end of the article, a twisted-font editorial note declared:
[Dear readers, beware of policies wrapped in the language of care—for beneath the sugar coating often lies the deadliest poison! Fudge's smile may be more dangerous than a werewolf's fangs! This publication will continue to track the fate of the Werewolf Suicide Squad—and the true hairline beneath Minister Fudge's toupee!]
"The true hairline beneath his toupee…"
A quiet Ravenclaw girl suddenly burst out laughing.
"That's why I love The Quibbler—no matter how dark the conspiracy, it always finds the most ridiculous punchline."
A timid first-year piped up, voice trembling, "If… if Fudge really does build a werewolf army…"
A Hufflepuff blinked and replied, "Maybe we'll get less summer homework?"
A Ravenclaw girl rolled her eyes, bonking him with a hefty Intermediate Transfiguration Guide.
"Mr. Ast, is there anything in your head besides food and dodging essays? Maybe think about who'd be the first to get eaten if there really was a werewolf army?"
Ast clutched his head, muttering, "Wouldn't be me—I'm fast…"
He took off running toward the castle, the girl stomping after him.
Under the sunlight, the air shimmered with the energy of youth.
A Slytherin student, having overheard, sneered, "What rubbish. The Quibbler is off its rocker again."
But no one paid him any mind—not even the Gryffindors. Feeling ignored, he turned away, muttering,
"Werewolf legion? Only a Gryffindor could believe that sort of nonsense."
He comforted himself: it wasn't that he was afraid of Gryffindors—it was just that his cousin had been assigned to the Administrative Office, and he had no desire to end up in that terrifying woman's clutches for brawling.
As the discussion buzzed on, a light, airy voice drifted from behind them:
"Many great conspiracies sound like nonsense—until they aren't."
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