The Savior Chased Away Voldemort

Before the sound had even fallen, the Silver Arm had already driven its fist into the Steam Figure.

The scene was deeply distorted. In everyone's eyes, Harry spoke first and then threw the punch, but when the fist actually landed, their memories seemed to have gone wrong—the order was reversed.

This was the illusion caused by Harry's Spirit Fist moving faster than his physical punch.

The Milky Way pierced through the Black Moon, striking the Moon-White Steam, yet it produced a muffled thud like hitting a sandbag—a rhythmic "puff" sound.

Then came the scream, from the Dark Lord who had just been so high and mighty.

Voldemort wanted not to scream, but though he had no physical body, it was as if his backside had grown back. The power in Harry Potter's fist somehow kept tearing, healing, tearing, healing...

It was like the nightmare he had at age thirty, when he first learned of Dumbledore's sexual orientation, had become reality.

"Don't look! Dumbledore! Don't look at me!"

Dumbledore's eye twitched. The heat he was maintaining at his wand tip nearly exploded.

"What's wrong, Albus?" Doge asked hurriedly.

—Nothing. I almost blew everyone except me and Harry to bits.

Dumbledore felt guilty.

Of course, it wouldn't have caused casualties. He would have controlled it well enough to only damage the venue.

Still, he quickly muttered a few awkward syllables to rein in the explosive force.

Boom—!

—It didn't actually explode, did it?

Dumbledore's hand trembled.

Only then did he realize the explosion came from the Black Moon.

Like ink splashed on white paper, black stained the sky, while the Milky Way that was Harry's right arm erased all the darkness.

"He escaped," Harry sighed.

In a corner no one noticed, within the [Shadow] hidden in the light, the Acromantula-Dragon that had finally been born let out a loud burp.

Those fears, the magic of Voldemort's flight—all became its food.

—The moon's magic...

The Phase Magic Ritual progress instantly jumped to 10%.

Boom—!

A blast interrupted Harry's thoughts.

He saw Dumbledore raising his wand high, a towering pillar of fire shooting into the sky, like a cannon celebrating his victory.

No one knew Dumbledore was gasping for breath inside.

Everything about Voldemort today had exceeded his expectations, forcing him to use Grindelwald's methods for the first time—the War Magic still popular at Durmstrang, which Grindelwald had innovated and refined.

The result was that he had nearly lost control.

For a moment, he even started complaining about Voldemort's incompetence. If this Sacred Fire Pillar had exploded, he could hardly imagine what the stadium would have become.

But on the surface, he remained relaxed and effortless.

The falling flames turned into maple leaves that never appeared in this season.

Scarlet autumn scattered across the silver-white landscape.

"How beautiful."

Hermione caught a maple leaf.

The fact that Harry had driven back Voldemort was so shocking that even Dumbledore had fired a celebratory cannon, and almost everyone present was still frozen in place.

Until...

Fred and George shouted.

"Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry!~"

This time, they didn't play any tricks—they just called Harry's name directly.

Then the whole stadium joined in.

Some of the great figures from the Wizengamot and the Order of Merlin in the center of the field even joined in.

Fudge was clapping wildly.

Until Dumbledore said, "Quiet."

He looked at Moody, who had Dolores Umbridge cradled in his arms.

"Everyone can celebrate and be happy. But at the same time, don't forget Dolores Umbridge, who sacrificed her life for others."

"We shouldn't judge people by appearances."

"With a heart of gold and the ability to cast a corporeal Patronus, she only finally made it at this age, in the last minute of her life—no longer just a secretary."

"She saved my life," Fudge choked out. "I had just told Dolores she would be promoted to Deputy Minister."

This time, he was genuinely emotional, speaking from the heart.

"There's something I need to tell everyone. The simplified magic I brought to display alongside the Order of Merlin medal was actually mostly her work."

"The Cleaning Charm—seemingly ordinary, yet every wizard uses it, and every Squib desperately needs it."

"Harry Potter could use it to decorate the Great Hall, the castle, and even make people shine."

"And Dolores... oh~"

"This spell, I will name it the [Dolores Cleaning Charm]."

"[Dolores Cleaning Potion]." Ron snapped the newspaper shut. "I almost thought that bastard Fudge had turned over a new leaf!"

Hermione's eyes reddened. "This really is a good thing. For every bottle of [Dolores Cleaning Potion] sold, Ms. Umbridge's family gets a share of the money."

With Umbridge's death, a grand funeral was held.

With Voldemort leading the charge in shipping the couple, no one thought Umbridge was just caught up in the moment; everyone believed she had harbored a long-standing secret crush on Moody.

Moody even showed up in formal attire, presiding over the funeral as the bereaved spouse.

At the same time, Umbridge's true background was exposed.

Also revealed was how, to climb the ranks, she had deliberately distanced herself multiple times from Alford Umbridge of the Magical Maintenance and Repair Department, claiming he wasn't her father, and hiding the fact that she still had a mother and a Squib brother in the Muggle world.

But this, ironically, made her more three-dimensional.

When a hero has flaws, they become more approachable, more grounded.

"Her Squib brother has now returned to the magical world and gotten a job at the Ministry of Magic," Draco said. "I hear he doesn't have to do anything and still gets paid."

"That's only right," Hermione said. "Especially since Mr. Alford Umbridge refuses to take a promotion."

"My dad," Ron muttered suddenly.

His dad was in the same situation, preferring to stay in a trivial department as an office director, with only two people in the whole department, located in a cramped broom closet.

"By the way, Hermione," Neville said, walking in after finishing his push-ups and cleaning off his sweat with his wand, "there's something I need to warn you about. Lately, Harry's been getting pretty close to a Ravenclaw girl."

[[Zhang Qiu's Confidence] quest completed. 10 experience points. Draw count +1]

--Damn, a draw count with no pity system.

"Alright, that's it. Chinese can cast magic just as well. It's not inferior; on the contrary, it's quite superior."

"As a highly condensed analytic language, it has rich monosyllabic morphemes, flexible combinations, and distinct tones, naturally aligning with the precision and efficiency that magic spells demand."

"The Magic Institute on South Sulfur Island uses Chinese as its casting language."

"Because of this linguistic advantage, they can enroll at age seven to formally begin studying magic."

"With the same four syllables, Chinese can imbue flames with additional imagery."

"Repeat after me, [Spark Fire Engulfs the Plain] (Chinese)." Harry guided gently.

"[Spark Fire Engulfs the Plain] (Chinese)." Zhang Qiu gazed at the silver-white magical flames rising in the fireplace, the timidity in her eyes beginning to fade.

Now, she no longer needed to arm herself with a Quidditch hobby to fit in.

Before the Sorting, who would have known that Ravenclaw—the house that prided itself on embracing outsiders and valuing wisdom above all—was second only to Slytherin in exclusivity, and in its own unique way?

Zabini, with his dark skin, was accepted by Slytherin because he was pure-blood.

But Ravenclaw, which didn't care about pure blood...

They didn't mind that she was born in Britain, or that both her parents were wizards.

They didn't even mind her inescapable skin color.

But they cared about her name, which didn't fit in—a rejection rooted in cultural circles, exclusive to the cultured.

This rejection was so subtle that sometimes she thought it was just her imagination.