Even Pink Toads Get Their Day in the Sun

"Head Boy, Prefect, Barnabas Finkley Award for Excellence in Spellcasting, Gold Medal for Pioneering Contributions to the Cairo International Alchemy Conference, and British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot. Those were Albus's titles when he graduated and left the school."

"But I believe all of those combined still couldn't compare to being awarded the First Class Order of Merlin."

Another wizard struck up a conversation with Harry.

Harry was used to it by now. He guessed this was another Wizengamot member, or perhaps a recipient of the First or Second Class Order of Merlin.

He'd confirmed long ago that there was no Third Class. If there were, that idiot Gilderoy Lockhart—the peacock who loved to show off—would've come over to say hello ages ago.

Only ten minutes had passed, and he'd already met plenty of so-called bigwigs.

Percy, up in the stands, was practically on the verge of fainting.

Still, this was the first time he'd seen Dumbledore act so warmly.

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

The man before him wasn't Newt, either.

Earlier, Dumbledore had also lamented that Newt was busy delivering a Thunderbird and hadn't been able to come.

"This is..."

"He's Elphias Doge, a special adviser to the Wizengamot and my best friend." Dumbledore smiled as he stepped forward and embraced the old man.

What a hypocritical old geezer. Don't think I don't know about Grindelwald.

Harry's expression remained urbane. "Hello, Mr. Doge."

Elphias Doge's smile widened. "Albus and I were friends back when we were students. He was the only one who didn't discriminate against me, a boy with Dragon Pox. We once promised we'd travel the world together."

"In the end, I had to set out alone, and Albus and I kept in touch by letter."

"Shut up, pockmarked face!" A man cut Doge off. "Have you forgotten what else happened back then?"

The speaker was a man who had little more than an extra arm and leg on Professor Kettleburn, with the rest of him horribly battered.

Mad-Eye Moody. Harry recognized him at a glance: the toughest of the tough, a veteran of the front lines, and a legendary Auror who had personally killed and arrested enough people to fill half the cells in Azkaban.

His blue magical eye, which whirled around wildly in its socket and could even turn inward until only the white of his eye remained, was his most obvious feature.

"Of course I know, Alastor." Doge frowned. "In fact, I've avoided talking about it for the past thirty years. But Albus kept insisting that avoiding the subject would only hurt him more, especially coming from an old friend."

"And what are you looking around for?"

"Do you think a Dark wizard is going to attack us here? With Dumbledore and the rest of us present?"

"Can't rule it out!" Moody stomped his wooden leg and pulled out the silver flask he carried with him, taking a long swig. "And that's why you've always lost to him."

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

Dumbledore's usually composed expression finally crumbled.

Doge sputtered, "How did you—"

Moody, meanwhile, seemed to understand. "Nicolas Flamel. So the story that the youngest Weasley boy spread throughout the Wizarding World was true."

He looked Harry up and down. "Interesting. I can't see through your body at all. Your right arm seems not to exist. Tyr... I looked into it. That's your title in the Muggle World, isn't it? He lost the throne as king of the gods because he was missing his right arm. Nuada of the Silver Arm in Irish mythology had his missing limb restored, but that still didn't stop Lugh from taking his place as king of the gods."

"You think there's something wrong with Harry?" Doge scoffed, stepping directly in front of him.

"Of course not." Moody took another swig. "At last, I see hope. The next generation of the Wizarding World isn't made up entirely of fools."

"Hey, everyone. This is a solemn and sacred place, and I don't want any trouble." Fudge came hurrying over, wearing a suit beneath his wizard's robe.

Umbridge trailed close behind him.

"Here comes the fool," Moody muttered.

"You must be Harry." Fudge was dwarfed by Harry's shadow and had to look up. "You're tall."

Umbridge quickly waved her wand. The ground beneath Fudge rose in an instant, bringing his gaze level with Harry's.

Fudge's expression improved. "Here's a little preview. I've brought my simplified spell today, too: Mrs. Scour's Cleaning Charm."

"Harry, my dear boy! Your achievement—the simplified spell that lets even Squibs perform magic—is simply... Merlin's beard! It's incredible!"

He started to raise his arm to clap Harry on the shoulder in a friendly gesture, but caught Moody's look and pretended he was stretching instead.

"This trend of bringing magic to the masses! We've always been thinking about how to make magic... more... more a part of ordinary wizards' daily lives."

Noticing Dumbledore's gaze, he instinctively reported his vision for creating new spells like a subordinate.

"Look, cleaning! So basic, so important! Just think of all those busy housewives."

"Scourgify. It's my favorite spell, too. It washes away every last bit of dirt."

"As the face of the Wizarding World, the Leaky Cauldron—"

"That's enough. You're not the star today." Moody couldn't hold back any longer. Fudge's jumbled, incoherent rambling was grating on his ears.

Umbridge was secretly delighted. Fudge could take credit for the spell she'd invented and the speech she'd written, but he'd managed to recite them in such a muddled way.

But she wore a displeased expression. "That's enough. He's the Minister. Alastor Moody."

"You are..." Moody's magical eye spun around.

Fudge, who'd nearly been startled out of his wits, puffed out his chest again. "This is my secretary. She's excellent, and she can cast a corporeal Patronus. I'm considering making her my deputy."

"A corporeal Patronus? Impressive." Moody was surprised.

Wizards who could cast a Patronus—and a corporeal one, at that—were exceedingly rare in the Wizarding World. That alone could earn someone a ticket into the Wizengamot.

And yet someone like that was so plain-looking and unknown.

Those words of praise made Umbridge's legs go weak at once, and her eyes reddened. To get ahead, she'd broken with her family and disowned her father, who was merely a low-level employee. She'd sacrificed so much.

And now... those words of praise from an Auror among Aurors seemed to matter more than Fudge's compliments.

Unable to believe what she'd heard, she quickly lowered her head to hide her expression.

Damn it, is this Pink Toad falling for Moody?

What a hellish pairing!

Watching from the side, Harry was utterly speechless.

In the original timeline, after Moody died, his magical eye had been hung on the door of Umbridge's office.

Fudge, however, was quite pleased. He thought the praise was meant for him.

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

"My office needs someone like you, too."

"Yes." Umbridge stole another glance at Moody.

Damn! This is a hellish mess!