Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, was a short man whose outfit, in Harry's eyes, seemed quite bizarre.
He wore a purple pinstripe suit and green pointed leather shoes, resembling a clown ready to take the stage.
At the moment, he stood beside Dumbledore and felt immense pressure.
He saw the massive maze and the eager, battle-ready glances of the students, which made Hogwarts feel utterly unfamiliar to him.
Just two and a half years ago, when he first assumed office and visited Dumbledore at the school, he marveled at how everything looked exactly as it had during his own student days.
But this time, he almost doubted whether he had come to the right place.
The students were extraordinarily lively yet orderly, with over a third of them not wearing their school robes. Instead, they were dressed in soldier-like outfits, designed for vigorous activity.
Their arms displayed noticeable muscle definition, and their wand holsters were strapped in easily accessible positions. Some young wizards even carried objects that resembled shields.
Each of them looked sharper and more capable than the tall, lanky Ministry employee standing beside him.
What struck him as even more unfamiliar was Dumbledore himself.
The man who had once been a warm and guiding presence—the headmaster who had repeatedly yielded and sometimes even seemed a bit senile—now appeared much colder.
Though Dumbledore merely refrained from smiling and spoke more succinctly and directly, it was enough to make Fudge, who had been plotting to diminish Dumbledore's influence, feel a twinge of fear.
As a result, the questions Fudge had originally planned to ask died in his throat. Instead, he began inquiring about the arrangements for the event.
On a grassy area by the Black Lake, house-elves had placed rows of benches, with temporary tiers of steps stacked at the back.
Dumbledore now sat in the front row with the Ministry officials, followed by the school's professors, while the students not participating in the competition occupied the stepped seating at the back.
Among the crowd, a blonde girl stood out.
She wore a bizarre and vividly colored flamingo hat and had a dreamy expression. Her yellow-brown outfit made her look like an oversized Bowtruckle.
Because of her odd attire, the other students preferred to squeeze together rather than sit near her.
In front of the spectators loomed the tall walls of the maze.
Seated in his spot, Fudge asked a genuine question:
"With us sitting here, other than looking at the leaves on the walls, what exactly are we supposed to see?"
"Oh, that, I believe Wade will help us solve this problem." Dumbledore replied.
Dumbledore spoke casually:
"I assume you're familiar with Wade Grey?"
"Yes, yes... I met the boy once..."
Fudge, distracted, glanced at Wade, who was busy working up ahead, and replied absentmindedly:
"That time I took Peter Pettigrew away from here, I believe he was there too..."
In truth, Fudge had been preoccupied with thoughts about Peter, Sirius Black, the years of wrongful accusations, and the question of who among Voldemort's followers remained loyal.
He hadn't spared much attention for a "regular student witness."
It was only later, after hearing his subordinates discuss the matter, that he realized that student was the inventor of several recent, wildly popular products. His regret over missing the opportunity was beyond words.
Now, Fudge's gaze followed Wade's movements. He silently wished Wade would overhear them talking about him and come over to introduce himself.
—Just like the older students who were glancing at them eagerly.
This way, Fudge could smoothly offer a few compliments and showcase the ministerial poise and friendly demeanor he hadn't had the chance to display during their last encounter.
For Fudge, the Malfoy family vault was like an inexhaustible deep well—although it held abundant riches, every effort only yielded a small amount.
And to maintain this relationship, he had to smile and make concessions he would rather not.
However, someone like Wade—a young and talented alchemist—was akin to a massive gold mine, one that could yield immediate returns once tapped.
But Wade didn't turn around even once.
He was like an ordinary maintenance worker, and ignored the presence of the Minister of Magic and the greatest wizard of the century. Instead, he focused intently on securing three large mirrors with the help of a few others.
With a flick of his wand, the already sizable mirrors—taller than a person—began to grow. In moments, they stood ten feet high and each one resembled an entire wall.
"What is that?"
Fudge couldn't help but ask, and he heard the Ministry officials and Aurors behind him starting to murmur.
"Hmm..."
Dumbledore, watching the arrangement with admiration, thought for a moment before responding:
"Magic television?"
Fudge blinked. "...What?"
It wasn't that he didn't know what a television was—he just doubted whether Dumbledore had gone senile and was confusing things.
Just then, a voice from not far behind said:
"Allow me to introduce it to you, Minister. This is the latest creation by Mr. Wade Grey and his two collaborators, Mr. Fred Weasley and Mr. George Weasley—a magical version of television: Streaming Mirror!"
Fudge turned around and saw Marchionni, pressing his hat to his chest in a polite gesture as he explained.
Fudge paused, as the name struck a familiar chord.
"Weasley?"
He suddenly snapped his head toward the scruffy, lanky Ministry employee standing not far from him.
Arthur Weasley was equally shocked:
"Fred and George? M-my two sons? They're only in their fourth year!"
He wanted to ask if the man had gotten their names wrong, but under the curious gazes of his colleagues, Mr. Weasley managed to hold back with great difficulty.
Marchionni chuckled, "Mr. Wade Grey is only a second-year, and he invented the Book of Friends a year ago."
Arthur Weasley closed his mouth awkwardly, and barely kept his seat on the edge of the bench as his mind was still in disbelief.
On one hand, he knew his twin sons were indeed very clever. On the other hand, he had always harbored a fear of receiving news of their repeating a year, being expelled, or dropping out altogether.
Meanwhile, as the group peppered him with curious questions, Marchionni calmly began his explanation:
"The Streaming Mirror is a modified version of the two-way mirror. It can transmit real-time images and sound. In a moment, you'll see how it works—it's bound to amaze you..."
"When I saw it for the first time, I could hardly believe my own eyes..."
"Mr. Grey and the two Mr. Weasleys have entrusted our Aslan Magical Workshop with the production and sales. Before long, you'll be able to have one at home..."
"Too expensive? …Sir, have you seen a Muggle television? If Muggles can enjoy the joy of television, why should we wizards settle for just the radio? Don't you want to watch Celestina Warbeck's concert right from your own home?"
"Think of the happiness it can bring you—this price is actually a bargain... And remember, the Streaming Mirror has a lifetime of use. If you break it down, it costs less than 0.1 Knut per day..."
Hearing this familiar sales pitch, Wade finally glanced back briefly.
From behind Marchionni's eloquent demeanor, he could almost see the sinister grin of a capitalist.
It is true that the magical Streaming Mirror has a long lifespan… but once technology advances, who will still want to use an old version?
The crowd, utterly captivated by Marchionni's words, failed to notice this nuance—including Fudge, who had earlier been paying attention to Wade.
Suddenly, the silver-white surface of the mirror flickered, and an image of the maze interior appeared.
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