Without realizing it, Fudge felt his forehead go cold as a great deal of sweat seeped out. His instincts screamed that his current situation was dangerous.
But his reason kept whispering in his ear, trying to calm him down.
He and Harry had never met before, and there was absolutely no grudge between them. In a first meeting like this, how could Harry possibly have any hostile intent toward him?
And yet, in that brief instant, Fudge's eyes suddenly widened in panic as a horrifying thought flashed through his mind:
Could it be that Harry—like the previous two Dark Lords—also intends to rule the entire wizarding world?
No, no, no!
How could that be?
Harry was the savior, not a Dark Lord.
He was the wizarding world's hope—confirmed by prophecy. And in this world, prophecies were like a sword of destiny hanging high in the sky: once it fell, it was nearly impossible to change.
Just as Fudge was comforting himself and about to breathe a sigh of relief, he suddenly felt a bone-chilling coldness come from his other side.
That cold wasn't strong in "amount," but because the one it came from was far too powerful, it was even harder to endure than the intense unease Harry gave him.
And that icy feeling… was coming from Dumbledore!
We're screwed!
Sweat poured down Fudge's face like rain, pattering onto the floor and soaking into a small dark patch.
Could it be that Dumbledore also wants to do him harm?
Sure, the outside world claimed Harry's strength was extraordinary, far surpassing most adult wizards.
But Harry was only a first-year. His path in magic had only just begun.
Fudge prided himself on having solid magical foundations. Against a green little wizard, he still felt he had a chance.
But if the opponent was Dumbledore… Fudge knew that was a completely different matter.
Unlike Harry, who had only just begun to shine, Dumbledore had been famous in the magical world for nearly a century. His towering reputation had been forged through one breathtaking duel after another, one life-and-death crisis after another.
No matter how confident Fudge felt, he had absolutely no certainty of defeating Dumbledore.
Fudge might be arrogant in daily life, but in front of Dumbledore, he knew it clearly: he had no chance.
If they truly came to blows, he would be helpless—barely even able to struggle.
Damn it… what do I do?
Fudge was terrified, yet he realized he had no options at all. He could only pray in his heart that his cursed intuition was wrong, and that Harry and Dumbledore had no hostile intentions toward him whatsoever.
His neck felt like it had frozen stiff. He slowly, rigidly turned his head to the side, the movement sluggish and difficult.
When he saw Dumbledore's still-kind, still-benevolent face, the heart that had been hanging in his throat finally eased a little, and he secretly let out a breath.
Of course. It was all his imagination just now!
Then he turned his gaze to the other side. Harry wore a radiant smile, his eyes clear and bright.
This time, Fudge completely relaxed, the tension in his nerves finally loosening.
Seriously… at my age, why am I overthinking like this? Scaring myself for no reason.
How could Harry and Dumbledore be the kind of people who murder for profit?
He then handed the Order of Merlin, First Class to Harry and had him pin it to his chest. After that, he faced the many young witches and wizards—and the newspaper staff who had arrived at some point—and announced solemnly:
"Now, I formally declare that from this day forward, Harry Potter is an official member of the Order of Merlin!"
Behind the scenes, unseen by Fudge, Harry and Dumbledore exchanged a few subtle glances, passing messages back and forth.
Harry: Headmaster Dumbledore, this is a good opportunity. After the ceremony, should we take care of Fudge?
Dumbledore: Harry, you're too extreme. We should build our strength in the shadows and reform the wizarding world quietly—like a gentle rain that nourishes without a sound.
Harry: But I'm worried the wizarding world doesn't have that much time. If a dimensional demon-god arrives later and tries to invade this world, we won't have any power to resist.
Dumbledore: Harry, you're too tense. For thousands of years, nothing like that has happened. Dimensional demon-gods won't just happen to invade the wizarding world in the next few years. You need to be a bit more patient.
…
And so, after several rounds of silent eye-contact "conversation," Harry temporarily gave up the idea of getting rid of Fudge.
Dumbledore wasn't wrong. He really did need more patience. He could wait until the timing was truly ripe.
After all, over the long thousands of years, the wizarding world had never suffered an invasion by a dimensional demon-god. Surely it wouldn't just bring disaster down in these short few years, right?
Right?
No way. No way. No one's that unlucky… right?
So Fudge narrowly escaped a calamity.
In truth, Harry wasn't an impulsive extremist in the first place. Even if he did plan to deal with Fudge, he wouldn't choose to take his life. He intended to imprison him properly, keep him well-fed and well-treated, and hold him there until the reforms were finished.
After that, the award ceremony went very smoothly. Once the newspapers spread the news of Harry's medal, his fame soared again, and he became a true celebrity of the wizarding world.
A few days later, exam results were posted. Naturally, Harry took first place in the year. Hermione was second, and even Ron passed with a very high score.
What surprised Harry was that even Neville scraped by and passed. With Neville's usual grades, it had been almost impossible.
That day was the students' departure from school—they were about to spend more than two months on summer holiday.
On the morning of departure, when Harry woke up, he found all his belongings packed neatly into his trunk.
Without a doubt, that was house-elf work. And of course, because they bore Harry no hostility, they hadn't woken him up.
Before leaving, a notice was delivered into every student's hands, warning them that magic was not allowed during the holidays.
Harry didn't care. With his level of magic, as long as he didn't make too much of a spectacle, he could cast whenever he wanted. Those fools at the Ministry wouldn't be able to detect it.
Soon, just like before, Hagrid led them to the boats across the Black Lake. When the Hogwarts Express arrived, they boarded once again, riding the train to King's Cross Station.
Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville shared one compartment. Harry sat by the window, propping his chin up as he watched the scenery pass by.
The train rolled past one Muggle town after another. Under the shy, half-avoiding looks of Miss Otter, Harry finished making his plans in his head.
He was fully rested now, and what he needed to do at Hogwarts was basically complete. He could return to the multiverse!
Harry planned that once he got back to Aunt Petunia's house, he would immediately return to the multiverse and see what that green moose was up to.
After everyone changed into their wizard robes, the train finally pulled into King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Unlike Christmas, everyone was going home this time. The crowd was enormous—not only the returning students, but also many parents from wizarding families.
It took Harry and the other two a long time to get off the platform.
A shriveled old guard stood at the barrier, only allowing two or three people through at a time, so a huge group wouldn't burst out of a solid wall all at once and draw Muggle attention.
"You've got to come to our house this summer," Ron said. "Both of you. I'll send an owl to invite you."
"Thanks," said Harry.
"Uh… alright…" said Hermione. She already knew Harry's address and wanted to live a two-person life with Harry—she didn't want Ron included.
Ron was just way too much of an eyesore!
But since Harry agreed, she couldn't very well refuse.
They walked toward the exit back into the Muggle world, people squeezing past them from all sides. Some called out:
"Bye, Harry!"
"See you, Potter!"
"You're still that famous," Ron said, grinning at him.
Harry smiled faintly and didn't answer.
In the future, he would only become more famous—he just didn't know whether it would still be under the title of savior, or under a name even more terrifying than a Dark Lord's.
A moment later, Harry, Hermione, and Ron passed through the exit together.
"He's there, Mum, he's there, look!" Ron's little sister Ginny pointed at Harry, her pretty face bursting with excitement.
"Harry Potter!" she shrieked. "Look, Mum! I saw him!"
"Don't shout, Ginny. Pointing at people is rude," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling down at them.
Harry had already heard from Ron that Ginny was his superfan, utterly obsessed with him.
Now that he saw it for himself, it was clearly true.
Ginny was very cute. The moment she realized Harry was looking at her, her cheeks went bright red. She clung to Mrs. Weasley and buried her face in her mother's clothes, too shy to keep looking at Harry.
And Mrs. Weasley looked at Harry with a peculiar gaze—exactly the same gaze Gwen's mother, Helen, used to look at him.
Mrs. Weasley smiled and said, "Welcome back, dear."
After that, Harry met Hermione's parents again. He greeted them with a smile, then rode back home in Uncle Vernon's car.
Once home, under the Dursleys' eager stares, Harry handed them many specialties from the wizarding world.
In truth, most of those items had been bought at Christmas. To avoid hassle, Harry had bought a lot at once, planning to gradually give them as gifts to the Dursleys over the next two or three years.
After learning about the grudges of the previous generation, Harry's impression of the Dursleys had improved dramatically. Now the family could be considered fairly harmonious.
After dinner, Harry returned to his bedroom.
The moment he pushed the door open, he immediately interfaced with the chaos source power, and a resonance formed.
Then the warm, lived-in décor of a 1990s London home faded from his sight like morning fog meeting the sun.
In its place, an extremely luxurious New York villa slowly appeared.
At the same time, a beautiful girl's soft, alluring hum drifted into his ears like a gentle breeze, teasing at the heartstrings.
He had returned to the multiverse—ready to throw himself into the headache-inducing battles ahead.
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