Witcher at Hogwarts

After finishing the bet, Ethan finally let Ludo Bagman go.

Bagman shoved a notebook into Ethan's arms and fled, almost as if he were taking flight.

As the day crept toward afternoon, an electric excitement spread through the camp. By dusk, even the still summer air seemed to tremble with anticipation.

As night descended like a curtain over the hundreds of eager wizards, the excitement became uncontrollable.

Suddenly, the sky erupted with dazzling magical fireworks, cast from countless wands. The camp came alive with an infectious energy.

From somewhere deep in the woods came the resonant sound of gongs, and moments later, thousands of lanterns—red, green, and gold—blossomed among the trees, illuminating the path to the arena.

The crowd gathered instinctively, flowing along the glowing road in a swelling tide. Shouts, laughter, and snatches of song filled the air, the joyful atmosphere sweeping everyone along.

Ethan, juggling an armful of snacks, joined the throng as they surged forward.

Eventually, he found himself before a colossal stadium. Its towering walls loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the crowd. Gasps and murmurs of awe rippled through the sea of wizards as they craned their necks to take it all in.

"Hello, sir, your ticket?" A curly-haired witch approached Ethan, her tone polite but firm.

Ethan promptly handed over the ticket Dumbledore had given him.

"Ah, your seat is at the very top, next to Minister Fudge," she said, her voice tinged with surprise as she looked Ethan over. It wasn't often someone so young occupied such a prestigious position.

"Thank you," Ethan replied politely before starting up the staircase.

The stairs, lined with a plush fuchsia carpet, spiraled upward, flanked by a steady stream of people filing into the stands on either side. As the crowd thinned, Ethan continued climbing until he reached a platform at the stadium's summit.

The top floor offered an unparalleled view. Directly opposite him stood the gleaming golden goalposts, and before him were two rows of purple, gilt-edged seats.

Several figures were already seated, their silhouettes illuminated by the golden glow emanating from the stadium. Among them, Ethan recognized Fudge's stocky frame immediately.

He gazed down at the scene below. From this vantage point, the stadium seemed even more immense. Hundreds of thousands of wizards were finding their seats, arranged in steep tiers encircling the oval arena.

The field itself shimmered under a mysterious golden light, its surface smooth and inviting. A giant blackboard at the far end flashed vibrant advertisements, adding to the spectacle.

"Ethan! Over here! Here!" Fudge's booming voice broke Ethan's reverie. The minister waved enthusiastically, gesturing for Ethan to join him.

Ethan approached with a warm smile.

"Good to see you, Ethan!" Fudge exclaimed, beaming.

"I heard you traveled to Poland. How was the trip? Did it meet your expectations?"

"Thanks to you, the trip was excellent," Ethan replied with a polite smile.

"That's good, that's good," Fudge said warmly, his grin so wide it looked as though he'd just been handed a hundred Galleons.

"Tonks is the best of the younger generation at the Ministry of Magic. Ethan, you're a lucky guy!" Fudge added in a conspiratorial whisper, giving Ethan a cheeky wink.

"By the way, Ethan," Fudge said, suddenly lowering his voice and adopting a more serious tone.

"It's a pity Dumbledore didn't come to watch this match. Do you know what he's up to these days?"

Fudge's tone was casual, but his sharp eyes betrayed his curiosity.

"Oh, he's destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes," Ethan replied nonchalantly, as if discussing lunch plans.

The casual response, however, made Fudge's face pale. His expression tightened immediately.

Narrow-minded as he was, Fudge had always feared Dumbledore's immense influence, suspecting it might one day overshadow his own authority. The realization that Dumbledore was actively battling Voldemort unsettled him deeply.

After Ethan had eliminated Peter Pettigrew and Barty Crouch Jr., the Ministry of Magic had enjoyed a brief respite.

This tranquility had lulled Fudge into a false sense of security. He had even begun to entertain the notion that Voldemort's return was nothing more than a misjudgment on Dumbledore and Ethan's part.

But Ethan's words now shattered that illusion.

"Ethan, is the fight against Voldemort going well?" Fudge asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"Everything is proceeding in an orderly fashion," Ethan replied calmly, almost dismissively.

"So… you've reached that point?" Fudge pressed cautiously, his anxiety clear.

For all his love of power, Fudge had always been reluctant to involve himself in the direct battle against Voldemort.

During Voldemort's first reign of terror, Fudge had been a minor official, far from the frontlines of the chaos. The memories of those dark times still haunted him.

"We've destroyed two of Voldemort's Horcruxes so far and secured a third," Ethan reported.

"Two? Three?!" Fudge exclaimed, his voice rising in alarm.

As Minister of Magic, Fudge knew the theory of Horcruxes but had never imagined Voldemort would create several of them.

"How many Horcruxes did he make?" Fudge asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We don't know," Ethan admitted, "but it's certain there are several more waiting to be found."

"Merlin's beard," Fudge muttered, shaking his head.

"That lunatic…"

The idea of Voldemort splitting his soul multiple times was horrifying, even to someone like Fudge, who had tried to avoid direct involvement in the war.

Suddenly, a new thought struck him.

"Ethan," Fudge began, his tone panicked, "are we safe here? With so many people gathered in one place, what if Death Eaters are hiding among us?"

Ethan gave Fudge a reassuring look. "Don't worry, Minister. I'll make sure you're protected."

Only then did Fudge remember just how capable Ethan was. Relief washed over him, and some color returned to his face.

"Thank you, Ethan," Fudge said earnestly.

"I'm the Minister of Magic, after all. If the Death Eaters captured me, it would be a disaster."

"Yes, yes," Ethan replied, nodding, though his tone carried a hint of exasperation.

At that moment, a man with a long brown beard, dressed in an elegant black velvet robe trimmed with gold, entered the scene, flanked by a group of Bulgarian wizards.

Fudge's demeanor changed instantly. Jumping to his feet, he hurried toward the man, his hands outstretched in welcome.