"Fire elementals are doused in water, water elementals are thrown into flames, and subjected to all sorts of bizarre, unspeakable methods.
They're practically torturing those elementals—no need to hold back, either, since elementals are everywhere. If one dies, they can just capture another."
"I never thought I'd hear such agonizing screams from creatures… from beings so close to natural phenomena," Scrimgeour growled, clenching his fists. "Those Muggles are terrifyingly cruel! If they can do this to a race that can speak, that has intelligence just like theirs, then what about us?"
"If they learned about wizards, realized there's another race out there that looks so much like them but possesses powers they can't even imagine, how would they treat us?"
On this matter, the greatest difference between wizards and Muggles was that wizards knew the world was full of intelligent races, many with their own civilizations. They had long grown accustomed to this multi-species coexistence, seeing it as the most ordinary thing.
Muggles, however, were different.
For centuries, Muggles believed humans were the only intelligent species in the world. So, when faced with the sudden appearance of one or more unknown races, their instinct was to react with caution—or even malice.
"I'm certain, Headmaster Potter!" Scrimgeour said through gritted teeth. "Those ordinary wizards—the ones who can barely cast a decent Cleaning Charm—they're no match for Muggles. And there are just too many Muggles. They'll always find an opportunity, always find a way!"
"Calm down, Rufus," Harry soothed. "Things haven't gotten that bad yet."
"Sorry, Harry," Scrimgeour said, correcting himself. He took a deep breath, quickly trying to steady his emotions. "It's just… I saw too many horrific things at that Muggle military base. I'm sorry, but that place… it was worse than the lairs of the darkest wizards. Those things haunt me like nightmares…"
"I understand," Harry nodded slightly. "But Rufus, you have to admit, there are evil dark wizards among us too—ones who take pleasure in slaughtering Muggles."
"And just as there are differences among Muggles, the same goes for wizards. The majority of wizards are ordinary, just like most Muggles are ordinary—living their lives, working, dying. Honestly, aside from our ability to use magic, there's little difference between their lives and ours."
"And the things wizards can do with magic, Muggles are gradually achieving through their technology. Perhaps, in the future, the gap between us will shrink even further."
"I know," Scrimgeour sighed. "But that's a distant future, isn't it? They can't do it now. I'm the Minister for Magic in 1992, so I only need to deal with the problems of 1992."
"I support your plan, Harry," Scrimgeour said earnestly. "I agree that we need to start engaging with people beyond the Muggle Prime Minister. But we shouldn't show them our soft side. We need to be firm, make them aware of our strength. We can't let them understand us too well—because if they do, they'll realize—"
Scrimgeour's increasingly impassioned voice cut off abruptly.
"That we're actually quite weak?" Harry calmly finished the sentence Scrimgeour couldn't bring himself to say, voicing the truth wizards had long refused to admit.
Since ancient times, only the weak needed to hide, to conceal their tracks.
Truth be told, Harry was rather pleased with Scrimgeour as Minister. The man's temperament reminded him a bit of Madam Margolyes—both were hardliners, the kind who never backed down. When faced with challenges, people like them would stand firm and take responsibility… unlike someone like Fudge, who'd likely turn tail and run.
Scrimgeour was dependable.
If it were Fudge sitting across from Harry now, his personality would probably prevent him from ever admitting the weaknesses of the wizarding world—or he'd refuse to yield simply to protect his own authority.
"Don't worry, Rufus," Harry reassured him. "You can't view Muggles as a monolith. Their society is divided into hundreds of nations, not a single unified entity. They're constantly embroiled in wars and schemes among themselves. They can't unite."
"More importantly, just like wizards, most Muggles have little control over the bigger picture and are merely swept along by it," Harry continued. "In other words, whether Muggles and wizards go to war in the future depends on the decisions of those at the top. Do you see where I'm going with this?"
"It means… we could easily assassinate their Prime Minister?" Scrimgeour ventured, thinking it over.
"Not just the Prime Minister, but all their leaders," Harry corrected. "Muggles have no way to counter Apparition. A wizard skilled in Apparition could kill them effortlessly. In fact, hasn't the peace between your Ministry and Muggle leaders over the years been maintained precisely because of this threat? At least until they develop a way to counter such assassinations, Muggle leaders won't dare start a war with wizards."
"I understand," Scrimgeour nodded. "Those who hold power and enjoy its benefits fear losing what they have far more than ordinary people do… Very well, then. The British Ministry of Magic will cooperate with you to make this Triwizard Tournament a success. I'll speak with the Muggle Prime Minister myself."
"Thank you," Harry smiled. "If we no longer have to expend so much effort hiding the wizarding world, your work should get a bit easier. Though, I suppose it'll be quite busy at first."
"That's an understatement," Scrimgeour gave a wry smile. "Half the Ministry hasn't had a proper vacation in months. They'll love hearing this."
"I think so too," Harry agreed. "But Rufus, I need to warn you: if Beauxbatons or Durmstrang—more specifically, the French or German Ministries—don't agree to this—"
"Then we'll do it ourselves," Scrimgeour snorted. "Who cares what the French think?"
On the island nation far from the mainland, Britain once again took the lead.
Harry didn't go anywhere.
He stayed at Hogwarts, overseeing exams alongside Madam Marchbanks.
According to Madam Marchbanks, while grades wouldn't be finalized until the holidays, the practical exam results suggested this year's two batches of students ranked above average compared to previous years.
Perhaps the string of incidents at Hogwarts over the past couple of years had instilled a sense of urgency in the students. Or maybe the presence of those shaman apprentices had spurred them on. Either way, the students had been noticeably diligent in their studies.
"Finally—holidays!"
Kneeling on the grass outside the Great Totem, arms raised high, Ron looked like a prisoner who'd just been released, practically vibrating with excitement.
"What am I going to do? I think I messed up one of the questions! I mixed up the twelve uses of dragon's blood. Damn it, I definitely got it wrong!"
In stark contrast, Hermione was frantically flipping through a thick book nearby, her brows furrowed as she checked her answers. She'd let out a sigh of relief for every correct answer and a frustrated yell for every mistake, looking for all the world like she'd lost her mind.
Neville, on the other hand, had already given up thinking about grades. He was busy playing with Fang.
"Oh, Hermione, can you stop being such a buzzkill?" Ron groaned, unable to stand her obsessive answer-checking any longer. "It's the holidays! Summer's started! And no matter how much you check, you can't go back and retake the exam!"
"At least I'll know how many points I got!" Hermione shot back, undeterred.
"Fine, whatever," Ron shrugged. "I don't get you… Hey, Harry! You're such a cheat! How come you don't have to take exams?"
"Because I'm the Headmaster," Harry replied matter-of-factly. "Headmasters don't take exams."
"Damn it, you got off easy," Ron grumbled. "And you skipped the death march of revision before the exams too. You should've been with us, Harry. You wouldn't believe how many books Hermione made me and Neville go through every day."
"At least you'll have decent grades to enjoy your summer with," Hermione retorted sharply. "Unless you want to spend the whole holiday being nagged by Mrs. Weasley!"
"No thanks," Ron said, shrinking back. "Anyway, that's all in the past now. Time to have some fun! Got any plans for the summer, Harry?"
"Work, school stuff, preparing for the new term," Harry said, deliberately keeping the Triwizard Tournament a secret to surprise his friends—and to prevent Ron's big mouth from spreading the news too soon.
"Oh, I thought…" Ron's face fell, clearly disappointed.
"No helping it, Ron. Harry's not like us anymore," Neville said, walking over with Fang. "He's got bigger things to worry about, like Dumbledore did."
"It's not that bad," Harry said, chuckling. "Actually, I was thinking of inviting you all to my other home this summer. Well, to be honest, it's more like inviting you to help out. Interested in exploring an old wizarding manor?"
"A visit?"
"Help out?"
"A wizarding manor?"
Each of the three latched onto a different part of the invitation.
"Exactly," Harry explained. "Sirius isn't a student or a professor, so he can't stay at Hogwarts forever. We talked it over, and we're planning to clean up the old Black family manor this summer so he can have a proper home. According to Sirius, the place is full of dust and junk, not to mention all sorts of mischievous creatures that've moved in while it's been empty."
"It's his home, after all," Ron said excitedly. "I mean, the Black family's down to just him now, right? Who else has a better claim to it? I'm in, Harry! A real pure-blood manor! Who knows what kind of secrets we'll uncover!"
"I can come too, but I'll need to visit my parents first," Hermione said after a moment's hesitation. "It's been a while since I've seen them."
"Same here," Neville raised his hand. "I need to go back with Gran first. We can stay in touch by owl."
"Oh, if you don't mind, I could ask Mum to come help," Ron said suddenly, an idea sparking. "Even without Lockhart's useless books, Mum's brilliant with household charms. She's great at dealing with those pesky critters."
"Of course," Harry said with a grin. "I was actually thinking about asking Mrs. Weasley for help myself. And don't worry, there's no rush. I'll send owls to let you all know when."
"Deal," Hermione said quickly.
"Oh, Neville," Harry said, turning to him. "Remember that promise I made you?"
"What?" Neville looked back, confused.
"Your parents," Harry said softly. "Can I come see them?"
"What?!" Neville's eyes widened. "You mean—you mean?!"
"Don't get too excited," Harry said quickly. "I've made some progress with my spell research lately, so I just want to take a look first."
"Of course! Of course you can!" Neville said, practically buzzing with excitement. "Right now! Or whenever you're free—I'm ready anytime!"
"How about now?" Harry said with a smile. "I'll take you."
"Yes!!"
With that, Harry Apparated with Neville straight to the entrance of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. After explaining their purpose to an ugly dummy in the shop window, Harry followed Neville through the glass.
Even in the hospital's bustling entrance hall, patients with all sorts of bizarre magical ailments were everywhere. One man, his head wreathed in flames, sat chatting casually as if nothing was wrong.
Perhaps because St. Mungo's was the only major magical hospital in Britain, it was crowded with people—visitors asking for ward numbers and directions, and healers in emerald-green robes weaving through the throng.
Harry's face was well-known by now, and as soon as he stepped inside, he was swarmed by patients with all manner of odd conditions, eagerly greeting him.
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