Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

"Mr. Potter!"

Fudge had never been this sensitive before. Even before the door was fully opened, he heard footsteps behind it. The moment he pushed it open, he blurted out, "You're finally here!"

"What's going on?"

He raised his voice, demanding an answer.

"The Office for the Improper Use of Magic told me—you killed people! At least twenty lives, including infants!"

"What the hell happened?!"

"I nearly brought Scrimgeour to arrest you—if Dumbledore hadn't stopped me!"

Harry drew his wand.

Fudge flinched like a frightened bird, his voice cutting off abruptly.

"Relax, I'm not going to attack you now," Harry said softly.

Fudge hadn't been that nervous at first, but Harry's words sent a shiver down his spine. "Mr. Potter, you—"

"Oh, I'm just taking something out."

Harry flicked his wand, and something flew out of his pocket, landing on the floor. A small, lifeless body followed.

Cold. Stiff. Pale.

Fudge's breath hitched.

What was this supposed to mean?

Was Potter trying to intimidate him? To show that if he didn't comply, he'd end up like that dead baby?

No. That was absurd.

Mr. Potter wasn't that kind of person.

Not that he couldn't be ruthless—but if he had such intentions, he wouldn't resort to vague, ominous hints. He would just put a sword to Fudge's throat and spell it out plainly.

"Mr. Potter." Fudge's voice trembled as he edged closer to Dumbledore, feeling slightly safer in the old wizard's presence.

Dumbledore, of course, understood how ambiguous Harry's words had been. He also understood why Harry had said them.

Fudge wasn't the kind of person who would listen to reason unless it was forced upon him.

Dumbledore didn't like this method, but he had to admit—it was effective.

"Oh, someone's outside," Dumbledore said, ignoring Fudge completely. He glanced at the Marauder's Map hanging on the wall. "Harry, Hermione is outside. Should I let her in?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, both doors swung open.

Fudge grew more uneasy. He looked at Harry, then at Dumbledore. Only under the protection of this seemingly unreliable old man did he feel even a little safe.

The room was heavy with silence, everyone waiting.

Fudge sat awkwardly, unable to find comfort whether standing or sitting.

The short wait felt excruciatingly long.

The moment Hermione stepped inside, Fudge couldn't hold back. "Mr. Potter, just tell me! What the hell is going on?"

"It was Voldemort's trap."

Harry met Hermione's gaze. Seeing the clarity in his eyes, her worry faded—only to flare up again at the weight of his words.

"The Dark Lord?" Fudge shuddered, raising his voice. "Mr. Potter, I didn't come here to listen to such ridiculous nonsense!"

"I don't joke." Harry's face was unreadable. "And Fudge, if you have any questions, wait until I've finished speaking, all right?"

Fudge begrudgingly nodded and pulled up a chair.

Harry continued, "We all know the Death Eaters have been plotting against me."

The professors nodded.

Hermione wasn't surprised either.

Only Fudge looked around in disbelief.

What the hell was going on?

Was he the only one in the dark?

"The incompetence of the Ministry of Magic exceeds even my imagination." No one bothered explaining to Fudge. They focused on Harry's words instead.

"A Portkey was used in the Triwizard Tournament."

Fudge clenched his fists. He wanted to protest that the Ministry was not incompetent—but with such an incident on record, he had no ground to stand on.

Harry continued, "The Portkey led to Little Hangleton. You all know it—that's the home of Tom Riddle's father."

"Tom Riddle?" Fudge was confused. "Aren't we talking about the Dark Lord? Who's this 'Tom Riddle'?"

"Voldemort," Harry explained briefly. Then he continued, "Professor, your guess was right. That baby—it isn't his or Barty Crouch Jr.'s child. It's him."

Fudge jumped to his feet in shock.

"A baby?!"

"The Dark Lord?!"

"That thing?!"

Fudge pointed with a trembling hand, as if he'd been hit by a hurricane.

Harry nodded. "Yes, that's him."

Fudge opened his mouth to speak.

But with a flick of his wand, Harry cast "Silencio," sealing Fudge's voice.

"Relax," Harry said. "He's safe for now. Ask your questions when I'm done."

Fudge turned to Dumbledore for help.

Dumbledore ignored him, his attention fixated on the small, lifeless body as if it were a fascinating puzzle.

"Tom Riddle wanted my blood," Harry continued. "For that, he gathered twelve Death Eaters—each nearly as strong as an Auror."

"And he taught them a Dark spell that let them sacrifice their own lives, using the Dark Mark as a core, to gain greater power."

"It was troublesome, but luckily, Professor Snape had improved my potion, or else I wouldn't have been able to take them down so quickly."

"He wanted your blood?" Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, surprised.

Harry nodded. "Yes. What are you thinking?"

"A very ancient Dark ritual," Dumbledore said softly. "One related to resurrection."

The word sent a ripple through the room.

Dumbledore quickly regained his composure. "The dead cannot return. But for someone like Tom, whose body was destroyed but whose soul remained intact... there is a way."

"The bone of the father, taken unwillingly."

"The flesh of the servant, given willingly."

"The blood of the enemy, forcibly taken."

"Boil them together with the host body of the wandering soul... and a new, whole body will be born."

Harry nodded. "No wonder the Death Eaters kept trying to lure me in with fake negotiations—so they could take my blood."

"Then... his plan failed?" Dumbledore glanced at the lifeless baby again. It was empty—no soul left.

"He exploded," Harry said bluntly.

Dumbledore hesitated, as if struggling to process the answer.

Harry patiently explained, "After I killed the last Death Eater, I planned to capture him while he was this weak."

"But Tom Riddle refused. He chose to destroy himself, obliterating his own soul."

Fudge let out a deep sigh, collapsing into his chair so hard that it creaked under his weight.

"But," Harry added.

Fudge immediately tensed again.

"Barty Crouch Jr. wasn't there."

"And Tom Riddle told me—we will meet again."

Harry didn't elaborate further with Fudge present. Instead, he casually brushed his hair aside. "I suspect he's not truly dead."

Everyone except Fudge understood what he meant.

Voldemort may attempt to return through his Horcruxes.

Harry lifted the spell on Fudge.

"Mr. Potter!" Fudge tried to stand, but his legs were weak. "I don't know where you came up with such nonsense! But I can tell you—The Daily Prophet makes things up all the time!"

"Rita Skeeter—has she ever told a single truth?"

"Barty Crouch Jr. is dead!"

He paused.

Then, summoning some unknown strength, he shouted, "And this nonsense about the Dark Lord returning—pure fiction! Probably another one of Skeeter's lies!"

"She probably made up the whole thing about Crouch helping the Dark Lord, didn't she?"

Harry cut him off. "Fudge, even if Rita is a liar—"

"What I encountered had nothing to do with Crouch."

"Stop deceiving yourself. Denying Skeeter won't erase what happened to me."

Fudge clenched his fists, his face red with frustration.

"Potter, you're strong. But you're young. You just won the Triwizard Tournament—"

"You don't need to invent a 'legendary tale' to boost your fame."

"You're already famous enough—"

Harry silently raised his wand.

"Aguamenti."

A jet of water sprayed into Fudge's face.

"Scourgify."

Water dripped from his hat as Fudge sat there, stunned.

"This isn't a joke," Harry said softly. "Voldemort could return at any time."

He paused. "Remember the prophecy?"

Dumbledore nodded.

Fudge blinked. "What prophecy?"

"The one stored in the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore reminded him.

Fudge nodded as if he understood.

But his face screamed: "I have no idea what you're talking about."

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