Chapter 86: The Child Who Became Famous
“Dear Harry: I’m glad to see your heroic performance at Hogwarts. You may not know me, but I was classmates with your parents. Yes, James and Lily. I must say, you inherited all their strengths: skilled at Quidditch, brave and fearless, sharp-minded and able to notice signs that ordinary people miss…”
Harry sat on the bed submerged in envelopes, reading a letter from Wiltshire, with an irrepressible smile on his face.
Unfortunately, the other roommates hadn’t gotten up yet, unable to share this joy.
If it was just praise for himself, he was already tired of hearing it lately, but the letter mentioned Father and Mother, and said he was like them, inheriting all their strengths…
When it came to information on this topic, Harry had no resistance at all, reading the letter over and over, piecing together bits of his parents’ school days from others’ retellings.
Father James was very brave, enthusiastic about using those complex and fancy techniques in Quidditch matches, always drawing cheers from the whole audience.
Mother Lily had excellent grades; her sharp observation and meticulous hands-on skills stood out, always earning praise from professors for brewing potions and tending herbs.
It seemed he hadn’t inherited Mother’s potion talent.
Harry slowly folded the letter, stuffed it back into the envelope, and suddenly noticed something else inside the envelope. He fished it out: a moving photograph from student days.
It looked like it was taken many years ago, with the background in Gryffindor Tower. Dozens of students crowded together, surrounding the victorious Quidditch team. The Seeker in the middle held up a medal high, his face smeared with cream cake. A witch stood in the corner with dark red thick long hair, very fair skin, and deep green eyes.
She looked a bit impatient; it was probably Father who annoyed her.
Harry thought so, and a warm feeling naturally welled up in his heart, like having his parents by his side.
“Whose letter is this?”
Seamus from the next bed exclaimed, quickly noticing the sender and recipient on the letter. “Harry! It’s a fan letter for you!”
Dean immediately perked up: “Can I take a look?”
“Of course. I want you to help me check if there are photos of my parents inside. There are too many letters; I can’t get through them all.”
“Let me see, let me see!”
Ron also wanted to crawl over to join in the fun, but after crawling a few steps, he found a letter right by his bedside, addressed to him.
“……”
A few minutes later, Ron lay flat on the bed, feet dangling off the edge, reading content praising his heroism and wit. He got excited, clutched the letter, and chuckled foolishly, wriggling on the bed like a grub turning into a worm.
This witch sister was also from Gryffindor!
She played Wizard Chess too!
Probably an intellectual and gentle young witch; he wondered if she was pretty.
Ron couldn’t help but chuckle foolishly again.
Unfortunately, these witches had all graduated, while he was still a first year student with no chance for face-to-face interaction. That was fine too; once he grew taller and his freckles faded a bit, maybe he could try holding a fan meet-and-greet.
Fantasizing about many wizards chasing and admiring him, perhaps a world-famous Wizard Chess club inviting him to join, the Charlie Fire Cannons coach specially recruiting him, and the cold drink shop owner in Diagon Alley treating him to free ice cream… Ron buried his head in the pillow, unable to suppress continuous laughter.
His stomach even started to ache faintly.
Then thinking that if witches from the nearby years admired him, greeting him kindly in the corridors, inviting him to the library to study together or play Wizard Chess, like the scene he once saw in the Mirror of Erised was about to come true—that school life would be wonderful.
“Hee hee…”
Ron couldn’t help wriggling again.
As he laughed, his expression suddenly stiffened. He quietly composed his face and stealthily glanced at the other roommates in the dormitory.
He was now a famous person too and needed to watch his actions and demeanor at all times. If his roommates leaked it out and ruined his clever and brave image, that would be dreadful.
Neville wasn’t in the dormitory.
Seamus and Dean were helping Harry open letters, occasionally exclaiming or shrieking, making more noise than him.
Harry was sorting through the gifts he received.
Whether letters or gifts, the quantity was much more than his; after all, Harry was the protagonist.
A twinge of sourness flashed in Ron’s heart.
Just a little bit. After all, in the previous months at The Burrow and the first ten years there, he was an overlooked nobody. His grades and abilities couldn’t compare to his older brothers, and in cuteness, he couldn’t match his younger sister. Now he was at least a wizard with some fame.
Though not as much as Harry.
……
The sun slowly rose.
Melvin returned to the office, set aside the ordinary letters and newspaper, collected all the Howlers, noted down the senders, and then destroyed them all.
He didn’t have any idea of holding grudges or revenge. Many wizards were purely scared of Voldemort; they’d get sensitive to any related news. For a long time, they were shrouded in the shadow of the skull snake mark. After finally having a few stable years, suddenly hearing Voldemort might return—losing emotional control was normal.
Wizards are human too; the strong-willed are a minority. Most are ordinary residents who instinctively refuse to believe such cruel truths and can only vent their inner fear and anxiety somewhere.
Sweeping the ashes into the trash bin, Melvin opened his notebook, ready to start planning final exam questions. He unscrewed the pen cap, paused briefly as he was about to write.
As behind-the-scenes staff, he already had so many people thinking of him, even spending time and cost to send Howlers. Hermione and the others must have received even more letters.
“……”
Melvin pondered briefly, put away the paper and pen, and prepared to go talk to the Headmaster about student mental health issues.
……
In the Headmaster’s Office, Dumbledore sat behind the round table, holding a glass of iced pumpkin juice, sipping it slowly in small mouthfuls.
Across from him sat the figure of a short, stout man, with a bright red tie, black long cloak, purple pointed boots, dark green top hat—his attire clearly referenced Muggle style but only half-learned, making the outfit somewhat mismatched.
His face was decent, with sparse hair carefully styled, edges turning white. When he smiled, he looked like a kindly middle-aged wizard.
“Good morning, Cornelius.” Dumbledore greeted softly.
“To be honest, not great, Albus.” Fudge said in a crisp, rapid tone. “The situation is complicated; I had to come talk to you in person. The films playing in taverns everywhere have caused a stir. Uninformed residents are writing letters asking about the Dark Lord. My assistants have all cut short their holidays to reply to those baseless speculations.”
“Is that so?” A faint disappointment flashed in Dumbledore’s eyes. “What do you want to discuss with me?”
“We’re friends; I won’t make trouble for the school.” Fudge fidgeted with his teacup, his tone slightly awkward. “I hope that Professor Levent will step forward and take responsibility, issue a public statement in the newspaper clarifying that the images are just fictional stories, and that Quirinus Quirrell was just an ordinary Dark Wizard with no relation to the Dark Lord.”
“Is that it?” Dumbledore met his gaze.
Meeting those blue eyes, Fudge unnaturally looked away: “Last time Dolores prosecuted you all, I was visiting Ireland and didn’t get the news in time. If I’d known, I definitely wouldn’t have agreed to his actions.”
“It’s nothing, Cornelius. Facing unfamiliar new things, some wizards can’t accept them right away; that’s normal.”
“Yes, Dolores is that kind of wizard.”
Perhaps because the old Headmaster’s attitude was too accommodating, Fudge paused, then continued: “If you could also make a public statement, it might reassure the residents even more, Albus. What do you think?”
Dumbledore neither confirmed nor denied, his gaze returning to calm, but the disappointment in his heart grew heavier.
Two years ago in the Minister election, Fudge actually had little hope. Apart from Crouch whose reputation was implicated, he couldn’t compare to Scrimgeour and Madam Bones’ group of hardliners. They were ruthless in capturing Death Eaters, earning hatred from many pure-blood families.
For a smooth power transition and to maintain stability in the wizarding world, Dumbledore had chosen to support Cornelius Fudge. He had worked in the Department of Accidents early on, without participating in war actions, and had a mild temper…
In the early days after being elected, he handled affairs quite thoroughly and would write to consult on uncertain matters.
Dumbledore had also heard the rumors calling Fudge his puppet, so afterward he proactively reduced specific action suggestions, instead helping Fudge analyze situations and organize thoughts, thinking it would help Fudge grow.
He hadn’t expected that in just two short years, power had already eroded Fudge’s soft heart.
“Easter Holiday, you know, preparing final exam questions, second year course selection, fifth year advanced class preparations—lots of things to handle… Melvin can’t spare the time.”
Dumbledore softly declined his proposal. “It was originally just a story in the projection mirror; the images already noted it was purely fictional. Responding seriously in the newspaper would instead make residents suspicious and uneasy.”
“This…”
“Wizards aren’t fools; they’ll discern the truth.”
“But Madam Bones and Director Scrimgeour are overreacting a bit; they’re preparing to launch a crackdown, focusing on screening those former Death Eater families.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“……”
Fudge was speechless.
A crackdown was fine; the Department of Magical Law Enforcement should stay vigilant. Even if no Dark Lord was found, some Dark Wizard activities could be uncovered.
But he just didn’t want Dumbledore to have his way.
“That child—I mean Harry—can he do an interview?”
“Cornelius, students’ most important work is studying; final examinations are coming up. He shouldn’t be disturbed.”
“What about that centaur? He doesn’t need to review, does he?”
“You can go look in the Forbidden Forest.”
“……”
Fudge was in a very bad mood; all his proposals were rejected, and with perfectly valid reasons. He couldn’t find any grounds to refute and could only storm out in frustration.
……
Melvin stood outside the office door, hearing footsteps inside. He stepped aside behind the stone pillar by the doorway until Fudge got up and left far away, then slowly pushed open the door.
Dumbledore watched him approach the desk, pour himself half a glass of iced pumpkin juice, and sit casually—not as formal or stiff as their first meeting.
Melvin tasted the pumpkin juice without mentioning Fudge: “Owls delivered lots of letters—some praising, some criticizing. I even have Howlers here. Harry and the others must have even more; they’re still young and might be negatively affected.”
“Might be?” Dumbledore softly repeated.
“Get cocky from praise, downcast from criticism.” Melvin set down the teacup. “First year students’ worldview isn’t stable yet; they need an experienced old Headmaster to guide them.”
“Worldview…”
“Worldview, values, outlook on life.”
“A concise and profound analysis.” Dumbledore thought for a moment. “Sounds like the field of psychology; a Muggle Studies professor doing mental counseling would be more appropriate.”
“Easter Holiday, you know, preparing final exam questions, second year course selection, fifth year advanced class preparations—lots of things to handle.”
These were the words the Headmaster had just used to brush off Fudge. Hearing Melvin deliberately slow his tone to imitate and repeat them, Dumbledore gave a helpless smile and pondered briefly: “Perhaps we can divide the work.”
“?”
……
Hermione sat alone under the beechwood tree, holding letters in her hands. Two stacks of audience letters were in front of her: one from pure-blood wizards, one from Muggle-borns.
And some news briefs.
In an unremarkable corner by the Black Lake, the stone path outside was silent. Sunlight filtered through the tree gaps, laying a golden carpet on the ground—warm.
Waves rolled on the lake surface in front of her, bubbling and gurgling like the lake water was boiling, but no steam rose; the water temperature hadn’t actually increased. It was just the Howlers submerged at the bottom, making the churning waves a bit scary.
This was also a letter from a pure-blood wizard.
Hermione knew some wizards in the wizarding world upheld pure-blood supremacy; many Slytherin classmates were like that. At first, she thought it was just student cliques—Muggle schools had those too, huddling to exclude outsiders, eating lunch together at noon.
That Slytherin group had cliques, and Gryffindor had them too, so she hadn’t paid much attention at first and didn’t really believe people used blood status to distinguish closeness.
Later, pure-blood Malfoy excluded pure-blood Lumbardons, making Hermione even more convinced of her view.
So she hadn’t expected that after seeing the images, someone would insult her because of her background, even writing a Howler just to make her hear “mudblood” once.
Pure-blood wizards seemed not too bright.
“Hiss…”
The little witch opened a parchment envelope, and a sound like a detonator fuse rang out from inside.
Hermione kept a straight, expressionless face, stuffed a pebble into the envelope, and tossed it into the Black Lake with a plop. The Howler sank to the bottom, bubbling—quite fun.
The next was an ordinary letter. From the tone, it was from a half-blood witch, graduated from Rowena Ravenclaw house, effusively praising her performance in the challenges.
“Miss Granger, the Sorting Hat might have made a mistake. Your clever mind belongs in Rowena Ravenclaw, not just reckless fist-swinging Gryffindor. Believe me, you’d like the bronze door knocker in the lounge, but this error did lead to the later story…”
Hermione read the letter word by word, her pursed lips curving faintly. She folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, and placed it in the right stack.
She had already planned: during summer vacation, drag her parents to the Leaky Cauldron, watch Professor Levent’s projection mirror as a family, then share these letters with Mother at home.
Continue sorting the letters.
Not long after, she heard footsteps approaching.
