Fudge thought it was all over, but in reality, it had only just begun.
The letter Wayne had just written was addressed to Madam Greengrass, urging her to mobilise The Daily Prophet and The Wizarding Weekly to publicly denounce Fudge and further damage his already dwindling reputation.
Though there was currently no unpleasantness between Wayne and Fudge, given Fudge's temperament, conflict between them was inevitable.
Thus, it wasn't unreasonable for Wayne to make the first move and secure some advantages.
Wayne didn't expect this incident to directly oust Fudge—that was utterly unrealistic.
He merely wanted Fudge to recognise the power wielded by Madam Greengrass, thereby allowing him to position certain individuals.
Moreover, even if he didn't intervene, the young wizards and their influential families would still cause significant trouble for the Ministry.
Hmm, especially these students who, after numerous complaints, had now mastered the art of protest.
This time, Wayne didn't even need to organise them—they had already begun spontaneously writing letters to their families and the Ministry.
Still, being young, they were bound to overlook certain details, requiring his assistance to fill the gaps.
...
Wayne stationed himself near the owlery, imparting advice to the young wizards.
"Letters addressed to the Minister for Magic usually undergo screening. Howlers would never reach the Minister's office directly."
"Before that, experienced Aurors can incinerate the Howlers without making a sound."
"What should we do, then?" Many young wizards frowned at the red envelopes in their hands.
They had poured considerable effort into these complaint letters, including words they'd never dare utter normally—all written down this time for sheer satisfaction.
"I've invented a trap charm to prevent exactly that." Wayne waved his wand, and a spell materialised mid-air.
"If anyone attempts to destroy the Howler, the trap will trigger. Not only will the Howler remain active, but it will also erupt instantly, amplifying its volume tenfold."
Originally, the letters were merely for venting anger, but now they could learn a new charm—the students' interest was immediately piqued.
Many who hadn't used Howlers borrowed envelopes from others, eager to try it themselves.
Snape, who happened to be there to send a procurement list to Diagon Alley, witnessed the scene, his eyelids twitching violently.
He could already imagine the chaos awaiting the Ministry tomorrow.
But they had no one to blame but themselves.
If anything, they shouldn't have crossed Lawrence.
Snape quietly minimised his presence, sent his letter, and fled.
...
On Monday, Umbridge arrived at the Ministry as usual.
As Fudge's trusted confidante and a high-ranking official, she was entitled to use the private elevator directly to Level One, but Umbridge rarely did so.
She preferred to arrive during peak hours and squeeze into the public lifts with the Ministry staff.
This not only showcased her approachability but also allowed her to bask in the respectful greetings of ordinary employees, gratifying her vanity.
Today was no exception.
As she sat in her seat, brewing a strong cup of coffee and preparing to read the day's Daily Prophet, a tremendous roar erupted from next door.
"Useless Ministry of Magic! If you can't control the Dementors, why let them leave Azkaban!"
"A bunch of corrupt, good-for-nothing Aurors and Minister for Magic! Fudge, step down already!"
"Fucking bastard! Son of a bitch!"
Umbridge's ears rang with a buzzing noise, and she could no longer make out the subsequent curses as new voices rose one after another, each louder than the last, shaking the ceiling.
Even the Auror Office downstairs and the employees of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement heard it.
Soon, a large crowd gathered outside the Mail Receiving Office in the Logistics Department.
Fudge's face turned as green as if he'd swallowed a fly, and he bellowed something, but no one could hear him—they had all cast the Ear-Filling Spell on themselves.
Yet their eardrums still throbbed from the noise.
It took a full hour for the Howlers' voices to finally fade away.
The dazed employees lifted the spells.
Fudge nearly fainted.
Out of hundreds of Howlers, sixty per cent were cursing him, while the remaining forty per cent lambasted both him and the Ministry of Magic.
He had received many complaints before, but never anything as ferocious as today—this was a first since he took office.
Piled on the floor was an even larger mound of ordinary letters, forming a small hill.
The more he read, the more alarmed he became.
It wasn't just ordinary wizards complaining—even members of many pure-blood families were condemning him and the Dementors, their language even harsher.
Fudge trembled with rage. He knew his approval ratings were about to plummet again.
And if they dropped below twenty per cent, coupled with a motion of no confidence from the Wizengamot, the Ministry could hold a new election before his term ended. (Pure AU)
To Fudge's despair, worse news followed.
Scrimgeour barged into the Mail Receiving Office, clutching a newspaper and a magazine.
"Minister, I think you should see this."
Fudge took them, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
The Power Struggle Among the Elite? Hundreds of Students Sacrificed in Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic's Feud
The Ministry's Waning Control—Reflections on the Dementor Uprising
Just the headlines were enough to stop his heart.
And after reading the contents, Fudge felt...
He shouldn't be in the Ministry right now.
He should be locked up in Azkaban!
"Minister, what do we do now?" Umbridge panicked as well.
Her current position was entirely due to her sycophancy toward Fudge.
If Fudge fell, she wouldn't fare any better—she'd surely be purged into some dead-end department by the new Minister.
Fudge's temple veins throbbed before he finally ground out a few words.
"Go to the sixth floor. Find Greengrass!"
He wasn't a fool. For the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly to publish such articles, this couldn't be spontaneous—someone had to be pulling strings behind the scenes.
And the newly minted largest shareholder of both authoritative publications, Madam Greengrass, was highly suspect.
It took a full hour for Fudge and Umbridge to emerge from Madam Greengrass's office.
Fudge looked considerably more at ease, whereas Umbridge appeared even more displeased.
She couldn't help asking, "Minister, are you really going to agree to her terms?"
"Agree? Why wouldn't I?" Fudge actually smiled. "She wants to run for Minister next term, which doesn't directly conflict with my interests."
"As long as I help arrange a few positions for her people and endorse her after my retirement, I'll have two media outlets speaking for me in the future. Why wouldn't I take such a good deal?"
Umbridge was screaming internally.
I want to be the next Minister too! If you help Greengrass, what about me?
Fudge glanced at her, seemingly detecting some of Umbridge's petty thoughts, and his smile gradually faded.
"Dolores, don't covet what isn't yours."
"You're a competent assistant, but you'll never be the one leading."
"Do you have the capital to compete with the Greengrass family?"
With that, regardless of Umbridge's feelings, Fudge quickened his pace.
The media trouble was resolved, but there were still piles of letters from students and parents to deal with. He needed to quell this storm as soon as possible.
...
Hogwarts.
At noon, Dumbledore was absent from the Great Hall due to "localised discomfort."
This might have been the most severe injury the great white wizard had suffered this century.
Snape's lips were harder to suppress than an AK-47. Merlin knew how badly he'd wanted to burst out laughing when Dumbledore came to him for potions.
Though professional courtesy had prevented him from laughing outright, once Dumbledore left, he'd laughed for a full five minutes until he was physically exhausted.
...
That afternoon, during fifth-year Defence Against the Dark Arts class.
Professor Lupin, who'd been absent for three days, finally reappeared. The moment he entered the classroom, he sensed something amiss.
The room was unusually quiet, with every young witch and wizard staring at him intently, their gazes full of scrutiny and curiosity.
Lupin glanced down at his attire.
Well, still as shabby as usual, but clean—nothing out of the ordinary.
"What's wrong?" Lupin couldn't help asking.
"Professor," Fred suddenly stood up. "Do you know what happened during the Quidditch match?"
"Yes, though I wasn't there, I heard the details. I visited Harry this morning." Professor Lupin smiled. "He's doing well and should be discharged tomorrow."
"Wayne said you can cast the Patronus Charm, too. Is that true?"
The class leaned in even more intently, all eyes fixed on Lupin, hoping for confirmation.
Lupin didn't disappoint them. "That's correct. I do know the Patronus Charm."
"Professor, could you teach us how to cast it?" George also stood up. "Dementors are such a nuisance. Next time they barge in, I want to give them a proper thrashing."
"Yeah, I want a Patronus as cool as Wayne's, too."
The students clamoured, all voicing their eagerness.
This was a joint class with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and many little badgers had witnessed the majesty of the Dragon King up close, still awestruck.
It took Lupin considerable effort to restore order.
"The Patronus Charm is extremely advanced and difficult magic. You won't encounter it until the seventh year, and mastery isn't required."
"What you need to focus on now is your OWL exams. This charm won't be necessary for those."
"But the Dementors are still outside the school," George said. "If another situation like Saturday's occurs, we'll need to protect ourselves..."
"Dumbledore has returned," Lupin said seriously. "Haven't you noticed? There are far fewer Dementors around the school now, and they've all retreated to a certain distance."
"And even if you did face Dementors, don't you have those brooches Wayne made? Those are excellent pieces of work."
"Too poor, can't afford them," Fred lied without batting an eye, completely forgetting that both his and George's Patronus brooches had been shamelessly begged from Wayne under the pretence of being this year's Christmas presents.
Suddenly, someone muttered, "Seventh year? Are you certain you'll still be teaching by then?"
The class fell silent. Lupin fell silent too.
That had been a painfully direct question...
Even without the Defence Against the Dark Arts curse, Lupin had planned to leave after this year. Otherwise, he wouldn't have made the Werewolf lesson his final class.
The students, imagining what misfit might be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts two years from now, looked at Lupin with even greater enthusiasm.
"Professor," Cedric raised his hand politely and, after receiving Lupin's nod, continued:
"I've read the OWL examination guidelines. If students demonstrate magic beyond the curriculum, they should receive extra credit, correct?"
"That's true," Lupin admitted hesitantly.
"Then the Patronus Charm would be perfect, wouldn't it?" Cedric said earnestly. "Please teach us."
In the end, unable to withstand so many pleading faces, Lupin agreed to consider it – though definitely not during this lesson.
Next, Lupin began the lesson, teaching a highly useful protective charm that would trigger an alarm whenever any malevolent creature approached.
But the students' minds were elsewhere. Throughout the class, the most frequent questions were still about the Patronus Charm.
"Professor, what form does your Patronus take?"
"Is it as big as Wayne's?"
"Can you choose the type of Patronus yourself?"
Lupin felt utterly drained.
'Killed—emphasis on killed.'
'Comparing his Patronus to one that had killed hundreds of Dementors? You lot really overestimate me.'
Over the next few days, Lupin found himself reliving the same scenario in nearly every class.
The young wizards' enthusiasm for the Patronus Charm exceeded his expectations. Even though he repeatedly explained that not everyone was like that... that adorably peculiar student Wayne, capable of conjuring such a powerful Patronus, it made no difference.
What troubled him even more was that while it was understandable for the older students to want to learn, why were the first-year sprouts joining in?
Memorise the Levitation Charm and the Knockback Jinx first!
At his wits' end, Lupin sought out Professor McGonagall for advice.
"You should speak to Dumbledore," Professor McGonagall said. "Now that he's back, these matters should be his responsibility."
"By the way, the password to his office is spicy hot pot."
Professor McGonagall made it clear that after all her hard work, she wasn't about to keep worrying over things now that Dumbledore had returned.
...
In the Headmaster's Office, Lupin met with Dumbledore.
"Are you feeling unwell?" Lupin asked curiously, noting the elderly wizard's unusual sitting posture.
"Ah, I've recently changed my dietary habits. Still adjusting," Dumbledore explained with a smile, conjuring a glass of honeyed water for Lupin.
"So, Remus, what brings you here?"
Lupin explained the students' demands.
After listening, Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "It's a good thing that students wish to expand their knowledge."
"But many of them aren't yet at the level required to learn the Patronus Charm. It feels like a waste of time," Lupin said worriedly. He simply didn't want them to invest so much hope and effort only to end up disappointed.
"What if we held an open lecture, or perhaps founded a club?" Dumbledore suggested.
"Lockhart did quite well last term, though unfortunately, the professors lack the energy to continue the Duelling Club this year."
"You could dedicate one or several lessons to teaching the children the method of casting the Patronus. Even if they can't master it now, they'll have the opportunity in the future."
Lupin considered this—it was a sound idea.
"What preparations would an open lecture require?" Lupin asked.
"Since it's about the Patronus Charm..." Dumbledore mused for a moment. "I'll arrange for a Dementor to be brought in."
"Thank you for your trouble," Lupin said gratefully.
Just as Lupin was about to leave, Dumbledore called out to him with a smile.
"Now that you're here, why not stay for a meal?"
With that, two plates of crimson food appeared on the table.
"Achoo!"
"Apologies—what is this?" The pungent aroma alone made Lupin sneeze.
"Spicy chicken chunks, quite excellent. Do try some," Dumbledore warmly invited Lupin.
After two seconds of hesitation, Lupin picked up his fork and slowly speared a piece of chicken...