"Ialreadyapologized to you!" Fudge shouted, his voice filled with frustration.

Harry shook his head. "Cornelius, your apology isworthless."

Fudge's eyes widened in disbelief.

Worthless?

He was theMinister of Magic, for Merlin's sake! How could his words beworthless?

"Sit down," Harry commanded, flicking his wand. The chair blocking Fudge's path shot up,whooshingover his head before landing behind him with a loudthud, slamming into the back of his knees.

Fudge's legs buckled, and hecollapsedinto the seat, his face turning red with anger. He took a deep breath, gripping the table as he struggled to stand. "Mr. Potter,what elsedo you want?"

Harry said nothing.

Instead, he raised his wand and pointed it at his own chest. The badge pinned to his robe suddenlywhizzedinto the air. Fudge fumbled to catch it, his chubby fingers grasping at thin air as the badge dodged him like a mischievous Golden Snitch—before finallysmackinghim in the face.

"Potter!" Fudge fumed, his anger only growing.

Dumbledore said nothing.

He could see that Harry wasn'tintentionallyplaying tricks on Fudge... but really, if the man was thisclumsy, who was to blame?

"Read the words," Harry said softly.

Fudge huffed, squinting at the badge before muttering aloud, "Harry Potter."

"Trial—Debt Collection."

He froze.

He took a deep breath, then read the last part again, as if doubting his own eyes. "Debt Collection?"

"What debt?"

Harry tilted his head. "So, it seems thoseMinistry officialsat Legnark's forgedidn'treport my case to you after all?"

Fudge's eyes flickered with recognition. Suddenly, it clicked. He nodded hastily. "Ah—you meanthatincident..."

Harry nodded.

Fudge cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze. "As of now, the fugitive Legnark hasnotbeen captured. Therefore, the financial matters concerning his forge—"

"To my knowledge," Harry interrupted, "Legnark fled withonlyhis hammer."

He smiled coldly. "Theledgerandearningsarestill in your hands."

Fudge straightened, regaining his confidence. "However, because Legnark has yet to be apprehended,everythingrelated to him must besealedand held by the Ministry—including the earnings of his forge."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Includingmyshare, butnotthe Ministry'sownshare of the profits?"

Fudge nodded, speaking as though he were delivering anofficial ruling. "No—at this moment, it does not belong toeitheryouorthe Ministry. It is still consideredLegnark'sassets and has not yet been divided accordingly."

"Mr. Potter, only after Legnark iscapturedand thesealed assets are releasedcan the earnings be properly distributed."

Harry's voice remained calm. "But the Ministry is makingnoeffort tofindLegnark."

"The Ministry isverybusy!" Fudge waved his hands dramatically. "Extremelybusy!"

"There's theKarkaroffsituation..."

"And thenyourcase—oh, I should say, the case of the 'Butcher of Little Hangleton.'" Fudge smirked. "Oh, that's notmynickname for you—it's thepublic's. That's what the readers ofThe Daily Prophetvoted for. It's thewillof thepeople."

"Well,Mr. Potter, let'sendthis conversation here!"

Fudge slammed his palm against the table, tossed the badge aside, andstormedout of the room—his quick steps betraying his eagerness toescape.

Harry chuckled softly. "'Butcher of Little Hangleton,'" he repeated the words, as if tasting them.

"Ilikeit."

His laughter was light and pleasant.

It sent chills down the spines ofeveryonein the room.

"Harry?" Dumbledore's gaze softened with concern. "Are you—"

"Professor," Harry interrupted, shaking his head. "Don't look at me like I'mTom Riddle the Second."

He smiled. "Relax—I'm just here tocollect a debt, notcollect a life."

"Fudge refuses topay up, but don't worry..." Harry's smirk deepened. "I haveother waysto make himreturn what he owes."

Dumbledore hesitated. "Even if you do notharmhim,tormentinghim is not—"

"Do Ilooklike the type of person who would do that?" Harry asked, feigning innocence.

The others in the room desperately tried tomasktheir expressions.

Not that type of person?

Ifnot, thenwhyhad he justenthusiasticallypraised his ownbutchernickname?

The officials hastily gathered their papers andleftthe chamber.

Once the last person exchanged polite farewells with Dumbledore and exited, the headmaster turned to Harry with curiosity. "And howdoyou intend to reclaim the money owed to you by the Ministry?"

"To my knowledge,Fred and Georgenever succeeded in recovering the moneyLudo Bagmanowed them."

Vernon Dursley had tried to help Fred and George.

Though hishatredfor wizards was well-known, he had recently signed a contract with Arthur Weasley to sell him adrilling machine—a deal thatreliedon payments in British pounds. As a businessman, Vernon hadtemporarilyset aside his disdain.

With his connections, he had provided the twins withdozensof case files and legal guides ondebt collection. He had evengathered the courageto take them to witnesstwolive court trials.

But...

The laws of theMuggleworld and thewizardingworld wereentirely different.

The British wizarding world hadno conceptoflabor protections.

Fudge's arrogance wasnotwithout basis—the Ministrycontrolledthe creation, interpretation, and enforcement of wizarding laws.

AMinister of Magicwaspracticallyadictator—if not for people likeDumbledore and Harrystanding in the way.

Fred and George hadfailedto collect their money.

They had even beenmockedby Ministry officials.

"Merlin's beard—imagine a wizard trying to use Muggle laws against the Ministry!"

The twins hadfought back, but it wasuseless.

They were simplytwo skilled seventh-years—capable ofduelinga few Aurors, perhaps, but powerless against theentire Ministry.

Harry clapped his hands. "Thanks for the reminder—I almostforgotthat Bagman still owes me myTriwizard Tournamentwinnings."

"That'sone thousandGalleons, after all."

"Are we leaving now?" Dumbledore gestured toward the door.

"We need to findPercyfirst," Harry replied. "IpromisedArthur."

They made their way to thefifth underground level, where Percy Weasley worked in theDepartment of International Magical Cooperation.

Percywastalented—smart, disciplined, and ambitious. Unlike many of hislazycolleagues, he haddrive.

Even though theWeasleyname sometimes invitedridicule, he had earned apromotionwithinone yearof graduation. He now served asHead of the Cauldron Quality Control Office, with a salary thatexceededhis father's byfive Galleons per week.

A Ministry official pointed them to Percy's office.

They knocked.

"Come in," came awearyvoice—exhausted, like a man who had beenpushing a boulder uphill for years.

Harry pushed the door open.

"Just put it on my desk," Percy mumbled, not even looking up from his mountain of paperwork.

"Percy," Harry called.

The response was immediate.

Percyjerked uprightin his chair, his head snapping toward them. "Harry?!"

His glasses slipped down his nose.

"AndProfessor Dumbledore?"

"You two—"

Harry casually picked up a report from Percy's desk. It was animport inspectionfor cauldrons—written with a level of rigor thatfarexceeded standard Ministry procedures.

"Well, itseemsthatHead Inspector Weasleyisverybusy."

"Today isAugust 31st, Percy."

"My trial date."

Percy's eyeswidened. "It's already thethirty-first?"

Percy looked shocked. He flicked his wand, summoning a small calendar from beneath a stack of cauldron reports. His eyes scanned the date, and he visibly stiffened.

"How long has it been since you last went home?" Harry asked.

Percy said nothing. His fingers gripped the edge of his desk, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Harry exhaled lightly and placed the report back on the desk. "Molly Weasley isworriedabout you."

"If youcan'tvisit in person, at least let me bring her some kind of message—just to let her know thatHead Inspector Weasleyis stillaliveand well."

Percy's face remained stony.

Harry shrugged. "Alright, then. Let's go."

Dumbledore blinked. "That's it? We're justleaving?"

Arthur had specificallyaskedHarry to come talk to Percy, to try andreconcilethings.

Harry had barely tried.

"There's nothing to discuss," Harry said dismissively. "I'mnotProfessor Sprout—I don't have the patience to be someone'spersonal therapist."

He turned toward Percy, his gaze cool. "Head Inspector Weasleyis a grown man. If he wants tocut offhis family, then that'shis decision."

Percy flinched.

He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something—but hesitated.

Then, in a dry voice, he murmured, "Harry."

Harry turned his head slightly, waiting.

Percy's fingers twitched against the desk. His expression was complicated—his pride, his internal conflict, hisfrustration—all of it was painfully visible.

"I just..." Percy hesitated. His brows furrowed, and then, in a quiet, hoarse voice, he asked,

"How do youdo it?"

Harry met his gaze, unblinking. "Dowhat?"

Percy clenched his fists. His shoulders tensed. "How do you..." He struggled to find the right words.

Dumbledore observed the scene in silence, his blue eyes twinkling with quiet understanding.

Finally, Percy inhaled sharply and finished his question.

"How do you get people tofollowyou?"

His voice was laced with frustration—jealousy, even.

Harry studied him for a moment.

Ah.

Sothatwas it.

Percy had spenthis entire lifestriving to climb the ranks, chasing authority, clawing his way toward respect.

But no matterhowmany titles he collected—Prefect, Head Boy, Ministry Official—people still treated him as just anotherordinarywizard.

Meanwhile,Harry—someonefour years youngerthan him, someone who hadneverheld an official leadership position—was naturally followed, respected, and trusted.

Even inside the Ministry, Percy often heard people discussingHarry Potterin hushed, reverent tones—whilehe, the mostdistinguishedgraduate of his year, was treated like a simple clerk.

Harry didn't answer.

Instead, Dumbledore—who had been silently watching—spoke for him.

"It's because Harrycarries more weightthan you do."

Percy's head snapped toward him. "What?"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Youknowof Harry's past, don't you?"

Percy hesitated, then nodded stiffly.

Heknew—of course, heknew.

TheBoy Who Lived, the child orphaned by war, the student whofaced Voldemortyear after year, who constantlyrisked his lifeto save others.

Intellectually, Percyunderstoodall of this.

But still...

Something inside himrefusedto accept it.

He opened his mouth—to argue, toprotest—but Dumbledore merely raised a hand.

"And yet," the old wizard continued, "it is not justtragedythat sets Harry apart."

Percy stilled.

"Harry ismaturein ways you are not," Dumbledore said simply. "He iscapable. He isbold—but notreckless. He isindependent—but notisolated."

He gestured toward Harry.

"And above all... he does not chasepowerfor power's sake."

Percy swallowed hard.

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, studying him. "Tell me, Percy—what is it thatyoutruly want?"

Percy instinctively opened his mouth—then hesitated.

Whatdidhe want?

For years, his answer had beensimple.

He had wanted to become like Barty Crouch Sr.—an official of power, order, and discipline.

But Crouch Sr. was dead now.

And, despite thepraisesthat surrounded the late official, Percy had learned things—things that made him realize that the man he hadidolizedmight not have been sohonorableafter all.

So then...

What was left?

What was hispurposenow?

Percy's throat felt dry.

Dumbledore continued, his voice soft and knowing. "If you become a Department Head, if you rise to the rank of Minister...then what?"

Then what?

The words were deceptively simple.

Yet, when they hit Percy's ears, it was as if a giant boulder had come crashing down, shattering his carefully constructedillusionof certainty.

"I..." Percy tried to speak—but no words came out.

Dumbledore smiled, his expression warm with understanding. "I once asked myself that same question."

He reached out, lightly patting Percy's head like a mentor comforting a troubled student.

"I, too, once desired power," he admitted softly. "Like you, I was ambitious—perhaps evenmorethan you."

Percy swallowed.

"But in my pursuit," Dumbledore continued, "I overlooked the things that truly mattered—friendship, family..."

His voice grew quieter.

"...and love."

A shadow passed over his face.

For a brief moment, a deep, old sorrow flickered behind those kind blue eyes.

"If I had the chance tospeakto my younger self," Dumbledore murmured, "I would ask him the same question I am asking you now."

"What is it all for?"

Percy's breath caught in his throat.

"You still have time to find your answer," Dumbledore said gently.

"But don't wander down this path inconfusion—don't let yourself become lost."

He smiled. "You havea good family, Percy."

He glanced toward Harry.

"You havegood friends."

Percy remained frozen in place.

Dumbledore gave a knowing chuckle. "And, if I am not mistaken—you also have averyspecial person in your life, do you not?"

Percy's ears turnedred.

"I believe her name is—"

"That'snotimportant," Percy muttered hastily.

Dumbledore simply chuckled.

He patted Percy's shoulder one last time before straightening. "Don't carry everything alone, Percy."

He smiled. "Even Harry knows how to vent his frustrations—by scoldingmeor pesteringHermione."

"Idon'tdo that," Harry interrupted, scowling.

Dumbledore ignored him.

"If you ever need to talk," he said to Percy, "I am always willing to listen."

Then, with one final nod, he turned to leave.

Harry and Dumbledore stepped out of the office, shutting the door behind them.

"Professor," Harry mused as they walked. "I must say—I'mimpressed."

"Oh?" Dumbledore chuckled.

Harry nodded. "Youfinallyacted like aproperHeadmaster."

"I assumed Ialwayswas," Dumbledore said innocently.

Harry smirked. "Gryffindor himself woulddisagree."

Dumbledore sighed dramatically. "Ah, well. No Headmaster isperfect."

They continued toward the exit, the conversation lighthearted—until Harry suddenly stopped.

"Wait a moment, Professor."

Dumbledore turned. "What is it?"

Harry's expression darkened.

"Debt collection," he said.

Dumbledore followed his gaze—and his eyebrowsrose.

There, in the grand entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic, stood the Fountain of Magical Brethren—golden statues gleaming, water pouring from their enchanted spouts.

"Harry..." Dumbledore said slowly.

Harry raised his wand.

Asurgeof magic pulsed through the hall.

With a loudWHOOSH—

The waterexplodedinto the air.

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