Even a Pink Toad Has Its Spring

"Head Boy, Prefect, recipient of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, winner of the Cairo International Alchemy Convention Groundbreaking Contribution Gold Award, and British youth representative to the Wizengamot. These were Albus's titles when he graduated and left school."

"But I believe none of them compare to a recipient of the First Class Order of Merlin."

Another wizard approached Harry.

Harry was long used to it—likely another Wizengamot member, or a First or Second Class Order of Merlin recipient.

He'd ruled out Third Class early on, because if there were any, that fool Gilderoy Lockhart, that glittering peacock, would have already come over to greet him.

In just ten minutes, he'd met so many so-called great figures.

Percy in the stands looked about ready to faint.

Yet this was the first time he'd seen Dumbledore so warm.

After all, Dumbledore was also Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and a First Class Order of Merlin recipient.

The man before him didn't resemble Newt either.

Dumbledore had previously lamented that Newt was busy delivering a Thunderbird calf and couldn't make it.

"This is..."

"He's a special advisor to the Wizengamot, Elphias Doge, my dearest friend." Dumbledore smiled and stepped forward to embrace the old man.

—Lying old coot, don't think I don't know about Grindelwald.

Harry's face remained courteous. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doge."

Elphias Doge's smile grew even brighter. "Albus and I have been friends since our school days. He was the only one who didn't look down on me, a little boy with dragon pox. We once planned to travel the world together."

"In the end, I had to embark on that journey alone, exchanging letters with Albus."

"Shut it, pockface!" A man cut Doge off. "Have you forgotten what else happened back then?"

The speaker was a man who had only one more hand and one more leg than Professor Kettleburn, with the rest of his body a patchwork of scars.

Mad-Eye Moody—Harry recognized him at once. The toughest of the tough, an Auror who fought on the front lines, who personally killed and captured enough criminals to fill half of Azkaban. A living legend.

His magical eye spun wildly in its socket, even rolling back into his skull until only the white showed—the most unmistakable mark.

"Of course I know, Alastor." Doge frowned. "In fact, I've avoided talking about it for the past thirty years. But Albus always urged me—says avoiding it as an old friend only hurts him more."

"And what are you looking around for?"

"Do you really think there's a Dark wizard attacking here? In front of Dumbledore? In front of us?"

"Hard to say!" Moody stomped his wooden leg, pulled out a silver flask from his pocket, and took a deep swig. "And that's exactly why you always lost to him."

"You're talking about Gellert Grindelwald? Dumbledore's old flame?" Harry frowned.

Dumbledore's ever-composed face finally cracked.

Doge sputtered, "How did you—"

Moody, however, had a flash of realization. "Nicolas Flamel. So the story the youngest Weasley boy spread across the wizarding world is true."

He looked Harry up and down. "Interesting. I can't see through your body at all. Your right arm feels like it doesn't even exist. Tyr... I looked into it—that's your title in the Muggle World, isn't it? He lost his throne as king of the gods because he was missing his right arm. Nuada of the Silver Arm in our Irish myths replaced his missing limb, but still couldn't stop Lugh from taking the throne."

"You think Harry's a problem?" Doge snorted, stepping directly in front of Harry.

"Of course not." Moody took another swig. "I finally see some hope. The next generation of the wizarding world isn't all empty-headed."

"Hey, everyone, in this sacred and solemn place, I'd rather no one cause trouble." Fudge jogged over, wearing a wizard's robe over a suit.

Umbridge followed close behind.

"Here comes the empty head," Moody muttered.

"You must be Harry." Fudge was overshadowed and had to look up. "Quite tall."

Umbridge quickly waved her wand, and the ground beneath Fudge's feet rose, leveling his gaze with Harry's.

Fudge's expression improved. "Let me give you a preview—today I've brought my own simplified spell, Mrs. Scour's Cleaning Charm."

"Harry, my dear boy! Your achievement—simplified magic, letting Squibs cast spells—this is... Merlin's beard! Absolutely remarkable!"

He raised his arm to pat Harry's shoulder in a show of familiarity, but caught Moody's glare and pretended to be stretching instead.

"This trend that benefits the masses! We've been thinking—how can we make magic... more integrated into ordinary wizards' daily lives?"

He noticed Dumbledore's gaze and instinctively reported his innovative magic concept like a subordinate.

"You see, cleaning! So basic, so important! Think of all those busy housewives."

"Scourgify—that's my favorite spell too. Cleans all the filth away in one go."

"As the face of the wizarding world, the Leaky Cauldron—"

"Enough. You're not the star today." Moody couldn't help interrupting; Fudge's jumbled, incoherent speech was grating on his ears.

Umbridge felt a secret satisfaction. She'd invented the spell and written the speech, only to have it credited to Fudge—and he'd butchered it into this mess.

But her face showed displeasure. "That's enough. This is the Minister. Alastor Moody."

"You are..." Moody's magical eye swiveled.

Fudge, startled, puffed out his chest. "This is my secretary. She's excellent—can cast a Corporeal Patronus. I'm considering making her my Deputy Minister."

"Corporeal Patronus? Remarkable." Moody was surprised.

Being able to cast a Patronus, and one with a physical form at that, was a rarity even in the magical world. It was also the ticket into the Wizengamot.

And yet such a person was so unremarkable in appearance, so utterly unknown.

That single word of praise made Umbridge's body go weak in an instant, her eyes reddening at the edges. To rise above the crowd, she had cut ties with her family, refused to acknowledge her father as just a low-level employee—she had paid too much.

And at this moment... this evaluation from the Auror among Aurors seemed even more important than Fudge's praise.

She couldn't believe it, quickly lowering her head to hide it.

—Damn, this pink toad isn't falling for Moody, is she?

—What a hellish combination!

Harry, watching from the sidelines, was speechless.

He knew that in the original timeline, after Moody died, his magical eye ended up hanging on the door of Umbridge's office.

But Fudge was quite pleased, thinking this was all because of him.

"Dolores, don't get so worked up. You deserve this praise."

"My office is exactly where someone like you is needed."

"Yes." Umbridge stole another glance at Moody.

—Fuck! Bloody hell!