As the governing body for all witches and wizards nationwide, the Ministry of Magic maintained stringent regulations.
Standard procedure dictated fixed protocols for external visitors conducting business.
One must first approach a red telephone box, state their purpose, and await authorisation before entry.
Under normal circumstances, Dumbledore wouldn't flout protocol.
But today, the old wizard's heart burned with wrath, transporting him back to his fiery-tempered youth eight or nine decades prior – hardly the mindset for bureaucratic formalities.
...
In the Great Hall on Level Eight of the Ministry, figures flitted about as witches and wizards hurried to and fro.
At the hall's centre stood the Ministry's most famous landmark – the Fountain of Magical Brethren.
This golden monument depicted a witch and wizard atop its pinnacle, wands raised high, surrounded by adoring Centaurs, house-elves and Goblins gazing up in reverence.
Naturally, this reflected wizarding ideals rather than reality – apart from house-elves, neither species held wizards in such esteem.
A sudden conflagration erupted beside the fountain, startling nearby staff.
Several Hit Wizards and Aurors on guard immediately drew their wands, only to pause in recognition.
"Headmaster Dumbledore?"
There wasn't a witch or wizard in Britain who wouldn't recognise the elderly figure before them.
Dumbledore's expression remained stormy as he scanned the surroundings before addressing one figure:
"Kingsley, is Fudge in the building?"
"He is," the tall black wizard answered dumbly.
Dumbledore turned on his heel.
"Wait!" another wizard called after him. "D-Dumbledore, this breaches protocol! You haven't registered your visit, and unauthorised Apparition constitutes—"
Dumbledore halted, turning an impassive gaze upon the speaker.
The man gulped, his words dying in his throat.
Silence descended.
Even fools could discern that something grave had occurred from Dumbledore's demeanour. The interjector now regretted his intervention, uncertain how to proceed.
"Dumbledore?"
Fortunately, a voice broke the tension as Crouch emerged from the lifts, immediately sensing the peculiar atmosphere.
"Barty," Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgement.
"You've come at just the right time. I've been looking for you recently about..." Crouch moved to his side.
"Barty," Dumbledore interrupted him, "I have urgent business with Fudge right now."
"Then I'll accompany you. I won't let you slip away today."
Crouch was adamant. The task Wayne had entrusted him with had made significant progress. After receiving letters and commitments from the Ministries of Magic in America and Japan, Fudge had already begun to waver.
Now all that remained was to secure Hogwarts as the host venue, and the matter would be as good as settled.
"Very well," Dumbledore conceded with a resigned nod.
"Mr Crouch, Dumbledore hasn't registered yet," Kingsley Shacklebolt reminded them.
"Register what?" Crouch frowned. "He's my guest. Leave it be."
At his words, the witches responsible for security visibly relaxed.
...
Crouch led Dumbledore down to the basement level.
This entire floor housed only the Minister's office and administrative support departments.
Along the way, Crouch inquired why Dumbledore was so eager to see Fudge, but received only evasive answers.
As they arrived, a witch in a pink cardigan approached them, her broad, sagging face resembling a pink toad.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, what a pleasure to see you here," the woman simpered in a sickly sweet voice.
"Umbridge, Dumbledore is here to see Fudge," Crouch interjected.
Umbridge feigned surprise, covering her mouth. "I don't recall any appointment scheduled for you today. The Minister is currently receiving important guests. If you don't mind waiting..."
Crouch stared at her incredulously.
Had the woman gone mad?
Since when did Dumbledore need an appointment to see Fudge?
Usually, it was Fudge who had to make special trips to Hogwarts to see him!
"And you are?" Dumbledore studied Umbridge, finding no recollection of this former student.
"Dolores Umbridge," she trilled. "Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic."
Dumbledore gave a noncommittal hum. "Undersecretary to the senior undersecretary?"
Umbridge's revolting smile froze abruptly.
"She's Fudge's assistant," Crouch explained, though his lip twitched in amusement.
"You go ahead. I'll deal with this."
"Thank you, Barty."
With a nod of acknowledgement, Dumbledore brushed past Umbridge towards the Minister's office door.
When Umbridge moved to block him, Crouch restrained her.
"This isn't within your purview, 'Senior Undersecretary'."
Umbridge's face cycled through shades of pale and livid.
The office door burst open abruptly, startling Fudge mid-conversation.
"Albus! What brings you here?"
The office's other occupant was a familiar face.
Lucius Malfoy lifted his chin haughtily. "Dumbledore, you show a remarkable lack of respect for the Minister for Magic, barging in without even knocking. Did you mistake this for your Headmaster's Office?"
Lucius Malfoy had no pressing business here beyond maintaining social connections.
This was the Malfoy family's modus operandi – using their wealth and pure-blood prestige to cultivate Ministry officials, weaving an extensive protective network.
"Lucius, Albus is my friend. He doesn't need to knock when visiting," Fudge hastily mediated, but Dumbledore showed no appreciation.
"Lucius, I need to borrow Cornelius for some time. Please leave now."
Lucius Malfoy instinctively wanted to lash out, but under Dumbledore's calm gaze, it turned into an angry snort.
"Fine, I'll leave!"
With that, he stormed out in fury.
Fudge looked awkwardly at Dumbledore, unsure what had gotten into him.
This clueless expression only fuelled Dumbledore's anger further.
How could you, as Minister for Magic, remain unaware of such a major incident?
"Cornelius, why hasn't the Ministry of Magic restrained the Dementors properly? They invaded the school and nearly killed a student!"
Just as Lucius reached the door and was about to turn the knob, his movements froze. He hurried back to the two men, his face tense:
"Dementors entered the school? How's Draco? Is he alright?"
Seeing Lucius's anxiety, Dumbledore didn't insist on his departure.
Two minutes later, Fudge and Lucius finally learned the whole story.
Before Fudge could speak, Lucius erupted first.
"Minister Fudge! Is this how you manage the Dementors?"
"My son was still in the match! If anything had happened to him, could you bear that responsibility?"
"Those filthy creatures must pay, and you must withdraw all Dementors immediately. Otherwise, I'll rally other families to demand answers from the Wizengamot!"
"Quite right," Dumbledore's mood improved unexpectedly.
This might be the first time he and Lucius stood on the same side – something he'd never imagined possible.
"And you!" Dumbledore's relief came too soon, as Lucius, having finished berating a bewildered Fudge, now turned his firepower on him.
"As Headmaster, you weren't even at school when this happened?"
"You weren't present when Black broke into the castle recently, either, were you?"
"Dumbledore, if you don't want to be Headmaster anymore, plenty would gladly take your place!"
At this moment, only one thought crossed Dumbledore's mind.
Young man... you've got nerve.
...
Half an hour later, Fudge finally appeased both men's anger with appropriate measures.
Firstly, the Ministry wouldn't pursue the matter of the hundred dead Dementors, but Wayne was forbidden from approaching them proactively.
If Wayne kept killing them at this rate, Azkaban would soon have no Dementors left for guard duty.
The remaining Dementors would be strictly monitored by a team of Aurors, while being rotated back to Azkaban in batches to 'feed', ensuring no repeat incidents.
Ultimately, this happened because the Ministry neglected the Dementors' needs.
Had they sent wizards to negotiate with the Dementors, things wouldn't have escalated this far.
As for apologies or compensation – absolutely not.
Dumbledore's outburst today had already humiliated Fudge enough. Offering compensation would get him crucified by his subordinates.
"Cornelius, I don't want this happening again," Dumbledore stated before leaving, with Lucius following close behind.
Once they'd gone, Fudge's smile vanished instantly, his fists clenching.
Dumbledore...
An invisible rift had formed between Fudge and Dumbledore. This incident made Fudge realise once again that too many people didn't take him seriously as Minister for Magic.
...
Outside the door, upon seeing Lucius and Dumbledore appear, Umbridge immediately stepped forward with her sickly sweet smile plastered across her face.
"Mr Malfoy..."
"Dumbledore." Lucius didn't even glance at him, addressing Dumbledore with a warning instead: "Take good care of my son, or you'll face serious consequences."
With that, he stormed into the lift.
"Thank you for the reminder, Lucius," Dumbledore replied calmly, also ignoring Umbridge as he approached Crouch.
"You mentioned having something to discuss earlier. Shall we talk in your office?"
"That would be perfect."
Umbridge trembled with rage.
Nothing infuriated her more than being looked down upon or ignored, yet all three men today had treated her as invisible, utterly indifferent to her presence.
"Once I become Minister for Magic, I'll have my revenge!"
Gazing down the empty corridor, Umbridge uttered a venomous vow.
...
Meanwhile.
Dumbledore followed Crouch to his fifth-floor office.
"Barty, what's the matter that has you so urgent?"
Crouch gestured for Dumbledore to sit, then dismissed his assistant before taking the seat opposite.
"How are you considering the Triwizard Tournament expansion?"
"Ilvermorny and Mahoutokoro have already agreed to sponsor it and will send professors to assist with preparations. The Ministry has essentially approved it, too. Now we only need your agreement."
Dumbledore hesitated.
"Barty... this isn't something I can decide alone."
"Maxime and Karkaroff have already agreed," Crouch interrupted.
"This is beneficial for everyone. There's growing demand for exchange programmes with magical schools from other continents, and Hogwarts needs to reinforce its millennium-old prestige."
"What's holding you back? Lack of confidence in your students?"
"Of course not," Dumbledore denied immediately.
Even disregarding Wayne's exceptional circumstances, he firmly believed his students were outstanding.
Only...
After a brief hesitation, noticing Crouch's impatience, Dumbledore voiced his primary concern:
"Barty, why are you so invested in the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Because I intend to climb higher."
Crouch stated calmly: "For me, this represents political achievement – my trump card for the next election."
Their gazes locked, Crouch's ambition lay bare.
Only by ascending further could he become more useful to Wayne, thereby increasing his chances of securing that resurrection opportunity.
"The Goblet of Fire will only select three champions," Dumbledore murmured.
Truthfully, he currently wished to avoid diverting excessive attention to the tournament.
Without Voldemort's threat, he wouldn't mind hosting such a grand event to facilitate student exchanges with foreign magical institutions – beneficial for their development.
But greater numbers now meant greater risks.
Voldemort and Tom lurked like two venomous serpents in the shadows, fixated on Hogwarts... on Harry.
"The Goblet isn't an issue."
Crouch retrieved a leather case from beneath his feet. Upon opening it, an ornate golden cup gleamed within.
"This is my alternative. The Triwizard Tournament is outdated. This is a new era. What do you think of calling it... the Holy Grail War?"
Dumbledore picked up the Holy Grail.
After a long while, his expression grew solemn.
"This cup... where did you find it?"
"I didn't find it," Crouch said softly. "Mr Lawrence asked me to deliver it to you. He also sends his regards."
Dumbledore looked up in astonishment.
...
Hogwarts.
Wayne found himself surrounded by eager badgers, all wanting to learn the Patronus Charm.
Cedric tried to cling to his leg as usual, but this time Wayne gave him no chance, promptly sticking him to the wall.
Under the weight of so many hopeful gazes, Wayne felt a headache coming on.
He didn't have time to run a Patronus tutoring session—and even if he did, he had no interest in it.
"You can ask Professor Lupin. He knows this spell, too."
"Really?" Hannah looked sceptical. "Professor Lupin has never used this charm before. He wasn't even at the pitch today. How do you know?"
"He was about to cast the Patronus Charm to drive away the Dementors on the train last time—I just beat him to it," Wayne explained. "If you ask him in class, he definitely won't refuse."
"I don't have time to teach so many people. Everyone, disperse."
After shooing the badgers away, Wayne finally released Cedric from the wall.
The model student rubbed his sore back. "Wayne, that was harsh."
"Who told you to cling to people's legs like that? Who taught you such shamelessness?" Wayne shot him a sidelong glance.
"I just wanted to learn the Patronus Charm."
"Go look it up in the library. Ask the professors if you don't understand."
As Wayne turned to leave, Cedric hurried after him. "Where are you going?"
"To make money."
...
The Dementors' sudden attack left Harry as the worst victim—his Nimbus 2000 fell from fifty feet in the air and snapped in half.
Meanwhile, Wayne emerged as the biggest winner.
The energy in the students' Patronus badges had mostly dissipated after the match, meaning they all needed replacements.
After witnessing the formidable display of the Celestial Dragon Patronus, even those who had previously been indifferent to the badges became enthusiastic.
Hundreds of badges were quickly snatched up, with pure-blood heirs like Malfoy even commissioning enhanced versions—clearly, today's Dementors had truly frightened them.
...
The next day.
Dumbledore, absent for many days, finally returned to the school.
And the first thing he did upon his return was get scolded.