Umbridge keenly sensed this was her opportunity.
By helping Fudge deal with Dumbledore, her standing in Fudge's eyes would rise rapidly. She might even become the next Minister for Magic.
"Minister, I believe Dumbledore's power base is Hogwarts," Umbridge said, presenting her long-planned scheme. "He's been Headmaster far too long and excels at manipulating minds."
"Over the years, too many wizards have been deceived by his façade—like Potter and Lawrence."
"We should weaken his influence at Hogwarts and find ways to remove him from his position."
Fudge was pleased with Umbridge's initiative but pretended to hesitate. "But the Ministry has no jurisdiction over Hogwarts."
Umbridge declared righteously: "Minister, the Ministry has jurisdiction over all matters in the wizarding world."
"Hogwarts has always accepted Ministry funding. We need to establish a new department to regulate education, not let Dumbledore continue brainwashing students."
"Well said!" Fudge slammed the table. "Dolores, I'll entrust this to you. You'll teach at Hogwarts next term."
"If you can accomplish what you've described..." Fudge trailed off, giving her a meaningful look that made Umbridge tremble with excitement.
"Minister, I won't fail you!"
"Good, I admire your drive." Fudge suppressed his disgust to pat Umbridge's shoulder.
"Remember—your enemies are Dumbledore and Potter, not Lawrence."
"His status in the Muggle world is too special. If you provoke him, even I won't be able to protect you. Understood?"
"I understand, Minister." Umbridge simpered, batting her eyelashes at Fudge, who nearly vomited and quickly shooed her out.
Meanwhile, he comforted himself:
'Stupidity is good. As long as Umbridge causes enough trouble to stir public discontent...'
'...I can dump all the blame on her later.'
'As for me?'
'Just a poor Minister deceived by Umbridge.'
'Poor judgement, poor judgement indeed.'
...
Soon, personnel changes were announced at the Ministry.
Dolores Umbridge became Senior Undersecretary to the Minister.
This was an unusual position—the Ministry typically had no deputy ministers. But Fudge exploited this loophole to elevate Umbridge overnight to nominal second-in-command.
In reality, the Undersecretary had no direct departments, only a few clerks. Even Arthur Weasley held more actual power.
But Umbridge didn't care. Her authority came entirely from Fudge. As long as he remained Minister, she would remain his proxy.
No one at the Ministry dared underestimate her.
To repay Fudge's favour, Umbridge began plotting against Harry and Dumbledore, charging ahead as Fudge's vanguard.
Meanwhile, the Werewolf Legislation passed smoothly.
Soon, another new department appeared at the Ministry. Every registered werewolf wizard could receive a free Wolfsbane Potion, along with a certificate provided by the Ministry of Magic. No company or employer was permitted to discriminate against them.
To encourage werewolves to register, Mr Diggory contacted major corporations to secure stable job placements for them. The wages didn't need to be high—just enough to cover basic family expenses.
With these policies in place, werewolf wizards soon began registering at the Ministry. The first three applicants were directly recruited as Aurors, with their success stories widely publicised in newspapers as model examples.
Soon, the number of registrations exceeded eighty, accounting for over half of England's werewolf wizards. Seeing everything progressing smoothly, Wayne shifted his attention elsewhere.
...
On the 11th, after dining with the resident of Buckingham Palace, Wayne departed for France to accompany Fleur. He didn't pay much heed to this nominal head of state. The Lawrence family's enterprises had long expanded beyond this decaying empire, reaching across the globe.
Money wasn't the most important thing—influence was. With a single word, he could render hundreds of thousands of workers homeless, cut off water and electricity to half of England, or paralyse transportation networks. That was true influence.
Thus, even the elderly monarch treated Wayne with warm cordiality during their meeting, presenting him with a medal. Fortunately, Humphrey wasn't present—he would have undoubtedly launched into lengthy explanations about how exceptionally rare such honours were.
...
Time swiftly turned to August.
Privet Drive.
The weather grew increasingly hot, reaching a sweltering thirty degrees today. Early in the morning, Dudley cranked the living room air conditioning to its lowest setting while continuously complaining about the heat.
Harry didn't even look up. With Dudley's obese frame, the boy practically oozed grease just sitting there. Only locking him in a freezer would provide proper cooling.
At 8 a.m. sharp, Uncle Vernon switched on their new summer purchase—a television with crystal-clear picture quality that Aunt Petunia adored for watching her endless soap operas. Due to scarce morning programming, the channel defaulted to news.
Harry stared fixedly at the screen, unusually captivated by the broadcast.
"They won't have news about your kind on there," Aunt Petunia said sharply, noticing his odd behaviour. "Honestly, why you'd watch such things is beyond me. Dudley never watches—doesn't even know who the Prime Minister is. That's normal for teenagers."
"Mum! I do know," Dudley protested, pointing at the falsely smiling man on screen. "Jim Hacker—he's the Prime Minister, isn't he?"
"Oh, darling!" Petunia's eyes welled up. "You're growing up so fast, taking an interest in current affairs."
"Mum!"
Fifteen-year-old Dudley found such exaggerated displays embarrassing rather than endearing.
"I just like hearing the news, same as reading newspapers," Harry muttered absently, though the strike coverage made him want to gag. Strikes, protests, demonstrations—the same stories recycled daily. Harry thought the Muggle world seemed even more absurd than the wizarding one. Did they have nothing better to do?
"Freak watching the news? Can you even understand what it means?"
Uncle Vernon spat venom, but Harry didn't look up as he retorted, "Wayne taught me. He thinks I've got potential for business."
The necks of all three family members seemed to constrict, rendering them speechless.
After a long pause, Uncle Vernon finally mumbled, "If it's Young Master Lawrence's instruction... then go ahead. Want to change the channel?"
"No need. I'm done watching and eating." Harry shook his head, finishing his last bite of bread before heading for the door. "Don't make lunch for me. I'll be back in the evening."
With that, he vanished through the doorway.
...
Walking down the street, Harry's mood was as gloomy as the weather.
The world seemed unnervingly calm. Neither the Daily Prophet nor Muggle news showed any signs of abnormality, which was good news.
It meant Voldemort hadn't begun moving yet.
Perhaps he was scared. Or perhaps scheming something. But at least no lives had been lost.
What saddened Harry was how disconnected he felt from the wizarding world beyond reading the newspaper.
He'd written many letters to Ron, Neville and the twins, but only received a reply from Mr Weasley, advising him to avoid sensitive topics to prevent their letters going astray.
Even Sirius had grown busy. Harry had wanted to move in with him, but Dumbledore refused.
Dumbledore explained he must spend a set period each year at Privet Drive to maintain his protective charms.
He'd also instructed Harry not to leave the neighbourhood unnecessarily, barring even visits to Diagon Alley.
Harry couldn't wait for the term to start. At least Hogwarts wouldn't be as dull as Privet Drive.
After aimlessly wandering all morning, he ate lunch at a corner fast-food joint.
He'd intended to nap at home, but Mrs Figg dragged him in for afternoon tea, roping him into cat-sitting too.
Only at dinnertime did Harry return to the Dursleys'.
The evening news remained uneventful. Afterwards, Harry wandered out again, unconsciously ending up at the local park.
Dudley was hanging with his usual gang of hooligans. His bulk had made him the school bully, earning him the title "Big D".
"Duddy!" Harry called. "Aunt Petunia says come home for dinner!"
"Damn it, Piers. Same time tomorrow—gotta go."
"See you then."
Dudley stomped over, growling, "Could you not use that nickname!"
"What should I call you then... Big D?"
"Shut it!" Dudley hissed, ham-like fists clenching.
Harry wasn't afraid. Since Wayne's visit, Dudley hadn't dared hit him—he knew exactly where their improving lifestyle came from.
Now their conflicts stayed at a bickering level, their relationship oddly improved.
Sometimes Dudley even invited Harry to play video games, gleefully thrashing the inexperienced boy.
"What's for dinner tonight?"
"Boiled peas, fish head stew, roast potatoes."
"Just kill me. Why won't Mum make pork chops?"
"Maybe she's afraid you'd pity your own kind when you see them on the plate."
"Damn it, do you really think I won't hit you?" Dudley panted, his fleshy fists waving about.
Harry drew his wand, causing Dudley to turn pale instantly and dart into a nearby alleyway. "You can't do magic outside school, I know that!"
Harry deliberately teased Dudley, as this was one of his few entertainments, curling his lip in feigned disdain: "Forgotten how I inflated your aunt, have you?"
Dudley forced a smile. "Let's talk this through, Potter. We're civilised people here, no need for violence."
'Civilised? With those six Acceptable grades barely scraped together?'
Harry nearly laughed aloud. Just as he was about to lower his wand, Dudley suddenly shuddered, sucking in a sharp breath as if doused in ice water—the sweat from earlier heat vanishing instantly.
Harry sensed it too. The deep blue night sky turned pitch black, street lamps extinguishing as the world became deathly silent.
"Harry, did you do magic?" Dudley whimpered, his entire body wracked with nausea. "I'm telling Mum!"
"You should take after Malfoy—telling Dad actually gets results." Harry scanned their surroundings warily. "This isn't my magic. Shit, why are Dementors here? Stay behind me and don't move."
Two enormous hooded figures drifted through the air. Harry knew they were heading straight for them.
"Stay back! I'm warning you!"
Harry's shout proved useless. As the Dementors accelerated, he finally acted.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A massive silver stag erupted from Harry's wand, charging the Dementors. A single collision sent both creatures tumbling away, fleeing without hesitation.
The world righted itself.
Dudley still clung to him desperately.
"You can let go now, Big D." Harry exhaled in relief, teasing.
Too shaken to protest the nickname, Dudley gasped, "What just happened?"
"Monsters you can't see. From the wizarding world."
"That stag... You made that?" Dudley watched the silver creature gallop across the sky before dissolving into light, his voice tinged with awe.
"Let's not discuss it. Thought you hated all this freakish stuff. Go home for dinner."
Harry brushed him off, his mind racing.
Why had Dementors appeared here? He was certain they'd been targeting him.
At home, Petunia noticed Dudley's distress and demanded explanations.
Dudley glanced at Harry... and chose to cover for him.
Harry retreated to his room to write Ron about the incident—just as an owl swooped in.