Chapter 88 - Chapter 88: Minister of Magic

POV of the Minister for Magic

Cornelius Fudge sat in his chair in the Minister for Magic's office, reading documents. But his mind was otherwise occupied. He was already preparing for his triumph today—a complete change of staff at the Ministry. He was mentally rehearsing his speech and twirling his bowler hat in his hands.

Upon becoming Minister for Magic, he had devised a brilliant plan: to wait until the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix went mad from the effects of Dark Magic and killed each other off. Then he would be left alone at the political summit. And it all worked!

There were practically no attacks—which meant the Death Eaters had killed each other. Dumbledore had been ousted from all his posts and was now telling the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest about the power of love. He had recently killed himself during a risky magical experiment. You-Know-Who had probably gone completely insane and was wandering somewhere in the void. Everything had turned out rather well.

"Minister, the Head of the Department of Mysteries is here for an urgent audience," announced the secretary, who had entered after knocking.

He really should give some advance warning...

"Let him in," he ordered.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries entered his office.

"Good day, Minister."

The visitor had a resonant voice and was currently kneading some sort of silvery mass in his hands. Fudge knew he was perfectly safe in his office. He and his guest were separated by the powerful protections of the office, with guards nearby. Loyal people who had been checked for Polyjuice Potion, mental implants, Metamorphmagus abilities, extraneous vows, the Dark Mark, and more...

Cornelius felt a piercing gaze on him from beneath the mask. Although not even the guest's eyes were visible, he could have sworn the gaze was simultaneously nonsensically foolish and cunning. After learning that his employee sometimes used Dark Magic for research purposes as part of his duties, he had no doubt—the poor fellow was also a lunatic, like so many others, though not a violent one.

The slender man straightened up as much as his habitually stooped shoulders would allow, walked in hastily, and perched on the very edge of the guest chair.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries was a good specialist. The recently implemented ultra-elastic materials and self-decomposing packaging alone were worth a great deal. The new high-speed lifts in the Ministry with built-in g-force absorbers also deserved special thanks.

They had established a trusting relationship—the man recognized Cornelius's administrative talent. His acquaintance was not only a knowledgeable wizard but also didn't look down on non-wizards and had an unconventional way of looking at things. At one point, Cornelius had pulled the man's file; he was particularly surprised by the entrance exams for the Department of Mysteries. Among hundreds of questions, there were various sorts, including some unrelated to Magic. For example: "How do you measure the internal diagonal of a brick between the top-right and bottom-left corners?" Some used spells, some cut the brick and measured, and wizards from non-wizarding families recalled the Pythagorean theorem. The future Head of the Department of Mysteries simply moved the brick by its length, then pulled a tape measure from his pocket and measured the required distance.

But he valued this man not for his various tricks. The Head of the Department of Mysteries had effectively supported the new Minister for Magic's reforms and, despite the havoc the Death Eaters had wreaked in the Ministry due to the negligence of the previous Minister and the Head of the Auror Office, had managed to procure a working Time-Turner for Cornelius.

The guest fidgeted with the silvery lump in his gloved hands, as if looking for a suitable spot on the upholstery to stick it, like a Muggle with chewing gum. Then, finding none, he hastily sat down and shoved the lump into his pocket. Having managed to control his fussiness, the wizard clasped his hands tightly, looking at him through a bluish mask.

"There are rumors in the Ministry that you want to carry out major staff changes, including replacing the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Minister?" the wizard inquired in a voice full of condescending friendliness.

"Is something troubling you?" Cornelius continued benevolently. "It's time for you to take a well-deserved rest. You will always be a valuable specialist and can continue your research. Theoretically. After all, we both know your job is hazardous. Perhaps you're upset or feel dissatisfied about your reassignment—now that the time has come?"

As the guest still did not reply, Fudge leaned across the matte-white rectangular desk and demanded in his most charming tone:

"Come on, my friend, out with it."

The Head of the Department of Mysteries continued to sit with his head bowed. He only raised the absent gaze of the bluish stones in his mask until it locked on Fudge, and he flinched slightly. His body seemed to shrink, and his hands gripped each other in an unbreakable hold.

"I know," he said quietly and with great effort, "you think I'm mad."

Fudge leaned back in his chair and tried to raise his eyebrows in a surprised arch.

"Oh, no need to feign astonishment," the Head of the Department of Mysteries continued. He spoke more confidently now that the first step had been taken. "You know the meaning of that word as well as I do. Even better—we both had to conduct historical research on the subject. In both the magical and non-magical worlds."

But Fudge was not required to answer.

"Madness," the guest repeated thoughtfully. "A significant deviation from the norm. An inability to adapt to all the rules that form the basis of human behavior."

"Nonsense!" Fudge said, regaining his composure and putting on his warmest and most irresistible smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You're a little tired, thrown off balance, so your nerves are frayed—that's perfectly understandable, given the burden you've carried for so long. The Second Wizarding War has passed, a Civil War has raged in Britain, and you're still working! A little rest will restore your strength, a good long vacation away from all this. And as for you being... well, that's just ridiculous."

"No," his companion objected, pinning Fudge with his gaze. "You think I'm mad, just like almost all the employees in the restricted part of the Department of Mysteries, like the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. That's why you're preparing to replace us with your own people, whom you've been training for almost a year in your 'Institute of Political Leadership.' And this is after you became Minister for Magic with the help of the Department of Mysteries and with my help."

Fudge could find nothing to counter the finality of this statement. For the first time, his smile was somewhat uncertain. He started to say something, but hesitated to continue and looked at his guest, hoping he would speak, but the man stared at the floor again.

Fudge leaned back in his chair and thought. When he spoke again, his voice sounded more natural, without the previous comforting and paternal tones.

"Alright, my friend. But tell me honestly: won't you and your colleagues feel happier after being relieved of all your duties? You'll be provided with luxurious conditions—freedom of movement, a lot of money, the opportunity to start a family... How long can you sit in the depths of the Ministry? You've worked for the good of the state, now it's time to live for yourself!"

His visitor nodded grimly.

"Yes, I would like to have what everyone else has... what I've been deprived of all these years... a new life... but..."—even though Fudge couldn't see his face, he was ready to swear that his face tensed under the mask—"you see..."

"But?" Fudge insisted.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries swallowed hard. He seemed unable to continue. Gradually, he slumped in his chair toward one of the armrests.

Fudge rose from his desk and approached the man. The sympathetic expression on his face was now quite sincere.

"Why don't you really tell me everything," he said simply. "By a strange coincidence, I owe all this to you. And now there's no point in keeping it a secret... there's not the slightest danger."

"Yes," the other agreed, "for a month now, there has been no threat of a coup. And if anyone ever tried to rebel, for that there is,"—he shifted his gaze to the opposite wall, where a barely noticeable vertical slit, hidden by magic, indicated the presence of another door—"for that, there is the secret police."

Fudge was stunned. He hadn't thought this man knew about that. A restless thought stirred in his mind: The cunning of the mad. But a moment later, his complacency returned. He approached his guest and began to speak. The truth.

"You know, my friend, I've always had special feelings for you," he said. "And not just because your quirks helped me become Minister for Magic. I always felt you were different from the others. From those who see nothing but their research, or whom only circulars prevent from delving into the depths of Dark Magic. And there were times when..."—Fudge hesitated.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries bent slightly, as if under the weight of friendly hands.

"When I was sane?" the other finished for him decisively.

"As you are now," Fudge remarked gently. "I always felt that, even if twistedly, even if not completely, you understood me. And that meant a lot to me. I was lonely, terribly lonely—thanks to the Time-Turner, these eleven months stretched into eight years for me! I slept under the Time-Turner, drank potions, thankfully I didn't need to cast much magic. And so it went for eight whole years! I had to abandon old friends and even just write letters to my nephew. No camaraderie, not even with the people I trained at the Institute of Political Leadership. I had to play a role in front of them too, hiding certain facts from them for fear they would try to seize power over my head, being insufficiently prepared. And no one supported me as a friend, except perhaps for my own hopes and you at times. And all for a noble cause: to rid Magical Britain of Dark Magic. Now that it's all over, a new life will begin for all citizens of Magical Britain. A world where there will be no Dark Magic, as it will be legally banned at all levels. A monstrous power, akin to nuclear energy among non-wizards, which should theoretically heat homes and protect, but instead just disintegrates its users and threatens everyone with total annihilation. After all, even brilliant minds, like Albus Dumbledore once was, couldn't resist it. And I'm glad I succeeded."

His companion listened attentively. He was sure the man understood everything, even if he didn't share his views. Fudge found it strange that such a fleeting understanding could arise between a madman and a sane person.

"Nowadays, Dark Magic is a walking atavism, my dear fellow," Fudge said in a new, unusually passionate tone. "An atavism from ancient times. Studying history, I very quickly came to the conclusion that the critical moment began during the time of the Founders, when Slytherin's experiments led to failure. He wanted to combine the archaic with progress, but he failed. Instead of the future, he led his followers to a simulation of the past. Instead of freeing himself from limitations like erekhu, he completely ruined himself, his lineage, and his followers. Why do we need Dark Magic? A very long time ago, all the dangerous creatures in this world that nothing but Dark Magic could affect were destroyed. The adoption of the Statute of Secrecy made wars between wizards unnecessary, and it's much easier to hide weak spells from non-wizards. The need for super-powerful destructive spells acting on an extremely deep level disappeared—and Dark Magic became the domain not of warriors who bought the right to exist for others with their lives and sanity, but of maniacs. Those who want to break everything but can build nothing, because they know how to do nothing. Soon, words like 'madness,' 'insanity,' 'lunacy,' 'psychosis' will practically disappear from the wizards' lexicon, and the concepts themselves—from our consciousness! Mental deviations in wizards will be no more common than in non-wizards, and the mad wizards themselves will not possess dangerous weapons!"

The Head of the Department of Mysteries raised his head.

"But there is another way," he was answered. "Several ways. Yes, Dark Magic is dangerous, like poison. Dark Magic is objectively bad. Perhaps it shouldn't be used. But maybe it should be preserved—just in case? After all, something might come to us from who knows where, and we shouldn't be completely defenseless. Either we will go somewhere, or something or someone will come to us. Deep preservation for Dark Magic is quite enough. We can continue the old course—keep research under control and secret, as it has been for several centuries. The Department of Mysteries was created for this, among other things. Or... fantastic, of course... one could carefully measure the level of erekhu for each person and ensure that a critical level is not reached. It's not necessary to explain all the nuances to them, it's enough to reliably explain the risks, but not give explanations as to why. Now everyone is normal. Or if not—it's their own fault, they should have assessed their risks better. Everyone will decide for themselves whether to use Dark Magic and in what quantities, reaping the benefits and risks. And in case they can't control themselves... To avoid a civil war... you need a lid for the toilet bowl—someone who will be above all this... 'shit'."

What is he talking about? A super-wizard is needed in a system of checks and balances? The cunning of the mad, Fudge thought.

"At first, I refused to make any conclusions about Albus Dumbledore," Fudge began to say. "But over time, his actions became completely meaningless, and what was observed became more and more detached from his declared goals. I don't know if erekhu is the reason for his stubbornness, or if his behavior is a conscious choice. The result is the same. Gradually, I understood how and why it happened. It's not just that a magically developed civilization presented humanity with a wider range of self-expression, contradictory possibilities, and confronted it with mental and emotional overstrain. Albus Dumbledore was just as much a psycho as You-Know-Who, just not as violent. In the psychiatric literature of 20th-century Muggles, a certain type of psychosis is described that arises as a result of success. An unbalanced individual moves forward towards his goal, overcoming numerous obstacles on his way. He reaches the goal, but immediately collapses, exhausted. Suppressed self-doubt gets out of control, and he realizes he doesn't know what to strive for. His energy, which until now had helped him fight, turns against him and destroys him as a person. When Dark Magic is finally outlawed, the entire magical world will become healthier, there will be no more difference between pure-bloods and 'Muggle-borns,' and social inequality will be reduced... Do you understand where I'm going with this? No super-wizard is needed! We are moving from a 'paternal model' of society to a 'fraternal' one. This is called freedom!"

His companion slowly nodded.

"A very interesting point of view," he said in a somewhat absent tone.

"Even if you reluctantly accept my idea as a basis," Fudge continued, "you will easily understand everything else. Cyclical fluctuations in our financial system occur regularly. I immediately realized that this new head of the finance department must be prone to bouts of manic depression every month and a half or simply suffers from a split personality: on one hand, he's a spendthrift, on the other—a miser. But most likely, the first diagnosis is correct. Why is the Department of Culture stagnating? Because its head is a figurehead, everything is run by his deputy, Thordens—and he is a clear victim of Diogenes Syndrome. Why is there a revival in the Department of Extraterrestrial Research in the Department of Mysteries? Because Blackwood is gripped by hypomania."

The Head of the Department of Mysteries looked at him in surprise.

"But..."

"Yes, I know that you and some of your colleagues have a certain, albeit distorted, awareness of the differences between your personalities, but nevertheless, you have a complete lack of understanding of the fundamental nature of these deviations. But let's continue. As soon as I assessed the situation, I immediately knew what to do next. As a rational person, capable of setting certain real tasks for myself, as a person surrounded by individuals whose mistakes and contradictory characters were easy to exploit, I could, over time, achieve any possible goal. By then, I was already in the management apparatus. After three biological years under the Time-Turner, I had surrounded myself with loyal supporters and knowledge, and my influence immediately skyrocketed. Like in Archimedes' famous aphorism, I found a fulcrum and could now move the world. I gained the ability to issue laws under any pretext, the real purpose of which was to weaken the neuroticism of the great mass of people by depriving them of unsettling temptations and introducing a more organized and orderly way of life. I gained the ability, by adapting to my colleagues and fully utilizing my outstanding work capacity, to more or less keep world events in my hands—at least, to prevent the worst from happening. We don't need a war. I still don't know why everyone was so against us. But I managed to peacefully calm Magical China, which, theoretically, could field more than a million wizards—an unheard-of number! At the same time, I got the opportunity to roll out my Eight-Year Plan: to start training on a small scale, and then, as a sufficient number of teachers and more groups became available, both from the security forces and the Department of Mysteries, and from our society as a whole, which were composed of promising leaders, carefully selected on the principle of relative freedom from neurotic tendencies."

"But surely..." the Head of the Department of Mysteries began excitedly, jumping up from his chair.

"What?" Fudge asked quickly.

"Nothing," the visitor muttered glumly, sitting back down.

"Well, that's almost everything," Fudge concluded, a little more dejectedly, "except for one minor point. I couldn't afford to move forward recklessly—without any protection. Too much depended on me. There was always the danger of being displaced as a result of an outburst of unhealthy, but no less effective, violence from my own colleagues, momentarily out of control. And only because I had no other choice, I decided on this dangerous step. I created,"—he glanced at the inconspicuous slit in the opposite wall—"my own secret police. And since I was threatened from all sides—the Order of the Phoenix, the former Auror Office, and the Death Eaters—I had to defend myself by any means necessary. A vile method, though it achieved its goal. I would be happy to see the end of all this. As soon as everything is working as it should, I will step down from all my posts. The only thing is, I'll name a couple of streets after myself, award myself the Order of Merlin, First Class, and make a statue of myself in the Ministry, but that's... a forgivable, slight vanity—compensation for years of work. Now do you understand why I did it?"

He looked questioningly at the chair and was shocked to find that this individual was laughing at him, holding a gaseous lump between his fingers.

"I once lightly applied Dark Magic to an experimental Pensieve, and a plasma-like mass began to flow out of it," they began to explain to him in a naive tone. "A strange substance," his guest continued. "A rarefied liquid or gas that retains a certain volume. At first, it enveloped the entire floor, and then it covered all the furniture. Essentially, I got a portable Pensieve that is always with me..."

Fudge leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt a little tired and tried to relax. He wanted this day to be over soon. Fudge knew well: it was not worth getting upset that he couldn't get through to this wizard. In the end, he had won the main victory. He had always suspected that his accidental friend was as hopeless as many of the others, but still...

"Don't worry. The office will be fine," he said with immense good nature. "Your successor will try to get rid of this substance. Now you know why I was forced to replace you?"

"That's just it!" Fudge flinched at the unexpected roar.

The visitor jumped from his chair and quickly approached the desk.

"That's exactly why I came to you. We are friends, after all. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I can't be removed like this. Not me, not anyone else. It won't work. You can't do it. Just keep working as Minister for Magic, without changing anything on a global scale."

Fudge quickly rose from his desk. He tried to smile benevolently and calm himself, though it was not easy. He was incredibly tired.

"Yes, my friend," he said soothingly, "if I can't do it, then I can't. But tell me why. Let's sit down, discuss it again, and you'll tell me the reason."

After all, the main rule is—don't argue with madmen.

"Yes, I think that would be best," the man said quietly but confidently. "I must tell you everything. There's just no other way. Though I had hoped I wouldn't have to tell you everything. But if you stop—it will be better for you."

The last phrase was uttered with a semi-questioning intonation. He looked obsequiously at Fudge. The latter nodded, continuing to smile. The man returned to his seat and sat down.

"So," he finally said, nervously squeezing the lump, "it all began when you wanted to become Minister for Magic. You were always an unusual person. Hard-working, but with 'tunnel vision'—focusing on your work, you could miss secondary details. But someone thought it would be funny, that it would even be useful,"—he glanced at Fudge. "You really did a lot for society, remember that. Of course, a little different and with different methods than you initially planned," he added, closely examining the ball. "We accomplished a lot while you were Minister. Magic as a resource—it gives something, it takes something. The economic opportunities of society, like any others, are limited, and it seemed reasonable to us to use common funds, for example, those allocated by society for security, so that the expected number of possible victims from all types of dangers would be minimal. Of course, solving such a task is very far off and it is not our central paradigm, but the task itself is very important, as it serves as a basis for comparing risks from various activities and in various fields. The very formulation of this task rejects the often-used speculative slogan about the 'unlimited value of human life,' but this is not entirely true. One can be killed by charming spells, or by falling off a broom. And Muggles, who scream about the pricelessness of human life, continue to use technology that is subject to failure and is a source of pollution or danger, while they themselves have come to some acceptable solutions through an evolutionary path. We did the same as with technology—a group of specialists, having discovered a yet unformalized task, trusted their intuition, reinforcing it with an analysis of the existing level of qualitative characteristics. No one is immune to mistakes, but as a result, a specific 'natural selection' occurs, and mechanisms and institutions that are too incorrectly designed 'die out.' Thus, the formation of expedient norms, many characteristics, subjective opinions is carried out... We also took into account not only comparisons with risk in different situations, but also the patterns of public opinion, whether the risk is voluntary or forced. Risking one's own life and freedom is an attribute of personal freedom, which is highly valued, while forcing other people into such a risk is an attack on personal freedom, which is fundamentally assessed negatively. The same group—a conscript army or volunteers—can be assessed by society in completely different ways. We differentiated dangers for personnel and the population differently, studied what risk people consider acceptable or unacceptable. We also took into account considerations regarding risk density. The simultaneous death of a certain number of people in an accident or natural disaster is assessed very sharply, much more sharply than the death of a larger number of people as a result of several smaller disasters that occurred within one week in different places and countries. At the same time, it should be noted that there is a saturation point—with an increase in the number of deaths, dissatisfaction grows non-linearly, each additional death causes less and less irritation, such is the effect of human subjectivism. Approximately the same with the effect of summing disasters over time—if they occur more often than a certain time, an effect of summing public dissatisfaction is observed. We were particularly interested in the turning point of the 'probable risk—probable profit' curve. There is another side to the comparison. In principle, all people are mortal. And even in ordinary life, one cannot avoid a certain probability of accidental death. It is pointless to invest resources in personal safety when people can be saved in other ways. On the surface, this looks like the 'common good,' but this is not entirely correct. What is the common good? Again, it is impossible to answer this question unequivocally, because the 'good' has no official creed, it is not the Catholic Church with its catechism. The common good—is it the maximization of humanity's income? Total? Average? Median? Maximization of life expectancy? One immortal? A hundred super-long-livers? Or adding a little more time to everyone's life? However, the ideas that, in my opinion, constitute the essence of the 'common good'—personal rights and freedoms, freedom of speech, freedom of research, freedom to achieve something with one's labor and to dispose of that something—were not visible in Grindelwald's concept, and it doesn't matter what he said. He failed to combine modernism with atrocities, just as Slytherin or the early You-Know-Who failed to combine modernism with the archaic before him. Grindelwald relied not only on false initial assumptions, but also made a series of catastrophic mistakes in carrying out his work. The point is not that he lost—his system was stillborn from the beginning. Unity is like wool. It was useful to people at the dawn of their existence, when they accidentally stumbled upon some acceptable solutions, and any deviation from the norm meant death. But now there is no use for unity! The point is not for everyone to go in one direction—the point is to allow people to go where they want, see where the profit and survivability are higher, and go there too. And what did Grindelwald do instead? The ideas of all who had previously built the 'common good' largely grew out of anti-Enlightenment ideas—romanticism, romantic militancy, the belief that progress is impossible without struggle or violence. Again, there is no official answer to the question of whether all this is an integral part of the 'Common Good' or not, because the 'Common Good' was not a closed club or organization. Moreover, Grindelwald used force. It is much more expedient to invest money not in war, but in scientists to ensure qualitative superiority, in teachers to teach people new achievements or proven spells, in doctors, because the longer a person lives and the less sick they are, the higher the labor productivity. And to prevent people from fleeing the country—make life in it better than that of competitors. Not to stupefy the population with propaganda, but to really become the best. The security forces should protect a brilliant standard of living, not rob those who do something. The ideas that are now being advocated—reason, science, humanism as the reduction or refusal of senseless sacrifices, progress—are in no sense key to what we have seen before. Romanticism poses a real threat to progress. Idealists are professionally unfit for leadership positions in the state. It is important to understand that the very idea of progress does not presuppose that everything without exception should become better for everyone, everywhere, and always. This is, of course, desirable, but... That would be a miracle, not progress. Progress does indeed face certain threats. To acknowledge progress is not to deny the existence of problems. To acknowledge it is to understand what we have achieved and what we risk. To seek a way to solve problems, and if unpopular measures are needed—to take responsibility for their application if there is no other way out. Yes, there are problems. But the general trend of recent times is that the world for wizards is generally getting better. Naturally, this is not happening everywhere—otherwise it would be a miracle. But it has happened for a sufficient number of people, while the expected average and median life expectancy, median income, and minimum income are growing, the number of prisoners has decreased, prison conditions have improved, knowledge has become more accessible and less forbidden, new jobs have been created... We have seen: our cause is not fruitless. This is not utopia, not romanticism, it is truly a good thing, although, frankly, it is not quite universal. We have really achieved a lot in the world and in the country and with each step we reap the fruits of our labor. Accordingly, we should make even more efforts to achieve our triumph where something threatens us. You do understand me, don't you?" asked Elison.

"Not quite," escaped Fudge. Don't contradict him, don't contradict him, he insistently reminded himself.

Elison nodded nervously.

"Allow me to show you a harmless card trick," said the guest.

Fudge nodded.

With wandless magic, the Mask created a deck of ordinary playing cards and laid them face down on the table.

"Choose any one, Minister. Just don't show it to me."

Fudge feared nothing, but any person who had studied at Hogwarts knew for certain—it's foolish to take unknown things into your hands.

He drew his wand and levitated the third card from the left so that only he could see it.

"The Seven of Spades? Am I right?" he was asked.

"Yes. How did you guess? Luck? Divination? Legilimency? Or perhaps... your mask? I looked at the card, you used the built-in vision system to magnify the image of my eyes and saw the reflection in them, and there was the seven of spades..."

"They are all sevens of spades," he was answered, with a wave of a hand.

All the cards turned over. And indeed—sevens of spades. Fudge cleared away the unnecessary cards with his wand.

"What is all this circus for?" he asked.

"I'll explain more simply. Take, for example, the regulations you issued for the work of the Unspeakables or for the libraries of the Auror Office or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. For some reason, they change very quickly as things go on. For example, your ban on 'certain' literature. Especially on rituals of human sacrifice and Dark Magic. Everyone was shocked by it. How can you search for criminals if you don't know what the forbidden spell looks like yourself? They laughed at you. But gradually, as I already said, this law formally turned into another."

"I personally inspected the bookshelves both in the Department of Mysteries and in the libraries of the security forces," Fudge said quietly and calmly. "And there were no wild and terrible drawings, like a person turned inside out, which used to be found at every turn."

"Just because a book isn't there doesn't mean it was destroyed. They could have just destroyed the library card. Moreover... did you open the books or listen to them? Did you look at even one?" Fudge was asked placatingly.

"For eight years I was terribly busy," Fudge replied. "Of course, I read the official reports concerning these matters. Sometimes I selectively looked through some books."

"Well yes, all that official procedure," his companion agreed. "The guys first wanted to encrypt or put an illusion on the cover. And then they just changed the bindings and title pages. All the golems had to do was insert books with the old content into monochrome covers. The contrast only pleases the eye more. And you were shown selective books in which there is nothing dangerous. Remember, many of your laws, as I've already told you, were useful. They saved us from unnecessary noise and from all sorts of nonsense."

'All that official procedure,' stuck in Fudge's head. And all those cards... a choice without a choice... An uncontested vote... Probably, his companion was lying. Or had gone mad. Never mind, he would check everything.

"Yes," Fudge listened again, "and let's take the ban on engaging in various kinds of Dark Magic, with a long specification by category. It began to operate quite properly, but with a small amendment: 'If you really don't want to.' It was extremely necessary, you don't understand,"—his fingers nervously played with the ball. "But the main thing is freedom. If someone can work better than another, why forbid him? A wizard will be more productive than a non-wizard due to his abilities. If you give them equal opportunities—for example, to use magic and dispose of the results of their labor, a wizard will live better than a non-wizard. And if suddenly some wizard is magically stronger than other wizards—it's logical that he will be able to arrange his life better. You just have to not interfere with things taking their course. As for the bans... Like with Muggles. If you want to smoke, and you're an adult, you can. We've warned you about the harm. Find the balance between risk and personal gain yourself. How successfully—depends only on your intelligence. Dark Magic is not a drug. It is a tool, dangerous, but potentially very useful. For a share of your income, we will back you up. We won't just rob you—we are ready to stand up for you for this money. Not banditry, but symbiosis. The state can be considered a variant of an insurance company. Or as an independent arbitrator in a system of open doors. And for the population... A risk lower than ten to the minus eighth power is considered negligibly small and is not regulated, a risk higher than ten to the minus fourth is considered unacceptable and requires a special sanction from the Ministry and a special license from... competent persons. Between these boundaries, an individual compromise between profit and probable losses is allowed. We now issue licenses—for ordinary people, only Dark Magic with a risk of dying higher than GH5 is forbidden. And your ban on using various kinds of Rejuvenating and Cosmetic Potions? They are, nevertheless, legally sold, albeit under different names. And you don't even have to kill anyone—Muggles die by the tens of thousands in car accidents, you can borrow a couple of organs, slipping a processed organ from livestock into a person's body. Or by cremating the body..."

Almost involuntarily, Fudge called for the guards. Immediately, the wall disappeared, and in its place appeared a dozen combat wizards who stood next to the Minister. Alright, he would listen to this psycho.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries took out a Crystal Ball, in which there was a recording. Fudge knew that nothing dangerous could be brought into his office, and he began to watch with curiosity.

An ordinary Muggle city. At first, his gaze swept over the smooth, gleaming facade of a building and stopped on the terraces and the tree-lined road below.

The people seemed calm and organized. But suddenly there was some momentary confusion, two cars collided on the road. It seemed that after the collision they were made of a single solid piece of crumpled paper. Then the scene was interrupted—he saw wizards working on the bodies of Muggles in a Muggle morgue, extracting what could be used for potion-making. The recording ended.

Fudge shuddered. An edit. Or a coincidence. Muggles also use bodies in medical schools? One or two bodies for study per year... It's all a coincidence, he told himself angrily. It has no statistical significance. For eight whole years, no, for now only less than one year, Magical Britain has been firmly moving towards sanity, despite occasional relapses. He had seen it with his own eyes. He had seen the daily improvement, seen enough to be sure. It was foolish of him to listen to this rambling nonsense from the permanent Head of the Department of Mysteries, who had been there since almost the beginning of the century, which had nevertheless affected him. He was tired after a year with the Time-Turner, and this man had been working with a Time-Turner, albeit not as intensively, for over half a century! Poor fellow, good thing he's not violent!

Fudge was just very tired and looked at his watch. But nothing could be left to chance. He, along with the guards, would thoroughly inspect the Department of Mysteries before his speech. And everything else, for that matter.

"Excuse me," he said somewhat abruptly and rudely, walking past the chair where the Head of the Department of Mysteries was sitting. "I would be happy to continue this conversation, but I have to go to a meeting." — "But first, I want to visit the Department of Mysteries again. Personally. I'll call for more guards right now."

"I will gladly escort you, Minister!" the guest jumped from his chair.

More guards appeared in the office. Fudge was surrounded in a box formation.

"Is he bothering you?" the head of his security, with the callsign 'Raven,' asked in a hoarse voice, pointing his wand at the Mask.

For a moment, Fudge thought he saw an evil, vengeful glint in the man's eyes. But a fraction of a second later, it was gone.

"Not at all, Firlau," he answered calmly. "We are just discussing a work matter. I am going to the Department of Mysteries now. Everything is fine."

"Very well," said 'Raven' doubtfully, and after a short pause, he reluctantly holstered his weapon.

"And now," the Head of the Department of Mysteries said nonchalantly, "we shall take a walk."

They went out into the corridor and headed for the lift.

"You shouldn't go to the meeting or visit the Department of Mysteries. You must give me a chance to explain everything to you. We are friends, after all!"

Don't contradict him, Cornelius was sick to death of the muttering. In the end, he gave in.

"You can talk to me right in the lift."

They got into the lift, and it shot off.

"You see, it's not just about your laws," Fudge was quickly enlightened. "There are many other things that were never carried out as they were written in your official documents. Take, for example, the budgets of the departments. As far as I know, the reports said that spending for the Department of Extraterrestrial Research was regularly and sharply cut. In fact, during your year of leadership, it increased tenfold."

Fudge laughed to himself. Yes, yes, and where did the money come from? And how could that have been overlooked? What was it spent on? Researching travel within the planets of the Solar System? A good cause, but it's completely pointless—the Death Eaters stole Earth from the Hall of Planets, without it the system's balance is disrupted. There's nothing to research—so he cut the budget.

"Of course, you couldn't have known all this," Fudge was enlightened like a child. "You couldn't be in all parts of Magical Britain at the same time and control the work. Even with a Time-Turner, that's beyond a single person's ability!"

And there's also the schedule of surprise inspections that he told no one about! He was completely confident in his information. But the lift kept going and going...

"Besides, you've now sharply cut the Auror Office's expenses."

"Of course," Fudge was so stupefied with fatigue that he continued the conversation purely out of inertia. "It was full of traitors! The secret police are capable of maintaining order! Just think of the risk we take, giving weapons to Dumbledore's fledglings or putting Dark Magic in the hands of yesterday's children."

"Yes, I know," he was interrupted. "But you are far from knowing everything that's happening. We have abandoned the principle of non-use of force in the international arena. Mercenary work is legally permitted. People, as it turns out, are not so against fighting. But there are wars and there are wars: mercenaries go to fight for money. They don't care who or where they kill—the main thing is that they get paid well and on time. And if their expected income, multiplied by the probability of staying alive, is higher than their expected income in a peaceful society—they will agree. But there are not enough mere mercenaries. Some people are romantically inclined: to die and kill for their country, so that, in case of death or injury, you are not abandoned and they don't pretend they've never seen you before. A soldier, unlike a mercenary, needs to win military glory, to have awards and honor. So that this soldier later has a pension, benefits, and is considered, in the end, a veteran, and not just someone who in his youth threw spells at someone somewhere and got some Galleons, a disability, or holes in his body for it. Magical Britain is involved in low-intensity conflicts in Africa and Asia. It's just that officially, Magical Britain doesn't admit it. To avoid irritating the people, Magical Britain sends mercenaries and so-called 'volunteers' to hot spots, who actually exist, but formally do not. A mercenary cannot be legalized. To legalize mercenaries is to recognize them as soldiers. And to recognize them as soldiers is to admit that we are waging war. But we, if we are fighting there, plan to say it honestly—for the sake of the romantics. And then let those who are fighting there really get something other than contempt, broken health, and a small sum of money in a pouch. We are moving in this direction. There are already four squads of legal Dark combat wizards. A Military Department has been organized, and it is bursting with applicants. The competition is eighteen people per spot. The number of military personnel in Africa is constantly increasing—there are locals who want to serve us too. Those who win always have many friends. And the mercenaries... they perform semi-bandit, resource-gathering functions. To ensure no wizards attack us, a defensive army of Magical Britain is being created. You-Know-Who acts as a guarantor of Magical Britain's independence, portraying himself as a personified weapon of mass destruction—the one who managed to stop Dumbledore, who had united all the Deathly Hallows in himself. And if it weren't for this immortal—we would all have been hanged very soon. This is politics: whoever loses is tried for war crimes. Steal a thousand Galleons—you'll be jailed, steal a million Galleons—you'll buy your way out, a billion Galleons—they'll jail the one you stole from, and if you steal a trillion Galleons—you'll be elected lifelong head of everything. As for the armed forces... Wizards play a guiding role, and the main cannon fodder in the army is magical creatures, golems, and hybrids of Muggles and technology."

Don't contradict him, Fudge told himself mentally. How pitiful this psycho is. And less than a year ago he was almost normal! He must have jumped from the first stable point of erekhu accumulation to the second...

"What for?" he asked. He was just collecting flaws in this delusional worldview.

"You see, we want to protect ourselves when we announce the change in policy. Secrets are good, but selection acts not only at the level of constructed mechanisms, but also at the level of ideas. If an idea is secret, and we cover up its mistakes, then we cannot get rid of internal contradictions or errors in the idea. The idea stagnates, and the world continues to change, which sooner or later leads to defeat. An idea can outlive a person, but that's not enough. You need to improve along with the world, move forward, discard what was previously useful but is now unnecessary, improve your qualifications... You need to be like a phoenix—burn in the flames to be reborn young again. The question of coming out of the shadows is a matter of time. If you were asking about Dark Magic and the armed forces, then we need to keep werewolves under control and be ready to destroy the next Tlautliputzli, which is still in its cocoon. The goblins offered it to us. Barriers against the Tlautliputzli must be tested on real demons, therefore, we had to slightly open up the basics of demonology. Someone has to watch over the Horned Serpent hatchery in England. Results have been obtained in breeding basilisks. Programs have also begun to import Acromantulas into the country and negotiations to stop hunting vampires in exchange for their normal behavior, population self-control, and 'partnership relations.' In addition, despite the fact that Argentina, Chad, Sudan, and the Central African Republic have already acknowledged their military defeat, our low-intensity conflicts continue. Namely..."

Fudge closed his eyes. How much more, he asked himself, how much he had seen that recently people like Harrison, whom he had easily tolerated for eight whole years, had become unbearably tiresome for him. Now even the thought of the conference he would soon be chairing couldn't stir him. What was this? A reaction to success or to the end of eight years of tension?

"Do you know how many levels there are in the Ministry of Magic?" he was suddenly asked.

Fudge didn't immediately catch the new notes in the voice, but he answered at once:

"Eleven."

"Then what floor are we on now?"

Fudge looked at the lift indicator. Nineteen? An illusion? An optical illusion?

A chill ran down Fudge's spine, and he felt his reason slowly beginning to leave him. Thoughts of unknown changes to the Ministry's design came to his head. Damned g-force absorbers—it was impossible to tell with what acceleration and in which direction the lift was moving! And the lift's arrow was already showing twenty-four. Was the lift broken?

"Guards!" Fudge yelled.

But the guards did not react. Neither did the emergency Portkey. Nor the artifacts. Nor the communication. Nor Apparition. And when he tried to draw his wand, he received several disarming spells from his silent guards. He grabbed his Time-Turner, which he had used for many years, but it didn't work.

"During maintenance, a remote deactivation function was added to your Time-Turner," his 'friend' informed him.

"Why, Elison?" he asked.

"Mr. Fudge, you are truly the best possible Minister for Magic, and we were interested in keeping it that way," the Head of the Department of Mysteries told him as they all stepped out of the lift. They found themselves in an atrium, almost as huge as the one at the entrance to the Ministry.

"Who built this and how?" he asked.

"We've had a lot of work in the last year. But the equipment for tunnel construction and mining operations, bought from Muggles with colored paper, works wonders after being enchanted. The goblins helped for money. We have no shortage of workers."

The Head of the Department of Mysteries pointed to several people in Ministry employee uniforms and made a sign with his hand. They instantly transformed into huge wolves. And then back into people.

"I understand your surprise. It was very difficult to develop clothes for werewolves that wouldn't be ruined during transformation. But we managed it!"

"Those are werewolves!" Fudge exclaimed.

"These are citizens of Magical Britain in public service. Not the most prestigious, of course. But in eight months here, they've earned more than they did in their entire lives before."

Werewolves working in the Ministry. This was some kind of joke. The thought made cold sweat break out on Fudge's face. Some clever childish prank. Fudge began to grope his way along the line of his guards, unexpectedly bumping into Raven.

"Raven, get me out of here!"

Fudge had seen Raven in action. He could easily take down half a dozen wizards. True, there were twenty of them here... But he didn't need to defeat anyone, just give him a chance to escape...

"Your Raven is actually our man, just like the others," the Head of the Department of Mysteries answered him. "His name is Jugson, and he is a Death Eater. Prepare yourself for other surprises," he was warned.

The wall slid aside.

Bright sunlight blinded him.

His head spun sharply.

Right in the room, a small sun the size of a dragon was burning above the floor.

"Impressive, isn't it?" he was told in passing. "Cold nuclear fusion. We didn't have to change the Muggles' prototype much. A little improvement to their superconductors, cast a chronosphere spell... The shell of altered time will allow the reactor to cool down so it doesn't melt the surrounding structures. And the rest of the design is minor details. It's just another one of those charming new things that you and the previous ones so persistently banned in your legislative activities. It simply couldn't have appeared before. And not because we suddenly got smarter, not at all. As soon as wizards were allowed to do business with Muggles, our treasury immediately filled with money and the unemployed from the magical world almost completely disappeared, except for those who don't want to work forty hours a week for money. How did we achieve this? It was simple—we stopped hounding those who tried to do it before. Just didn't interfere. The same was done with Muggle inventions and Dark Magic. Before, we couldn't do anything with Muggle inventions. And not because a large amount of magic conflicts with electricity—there are many Muggle things without electricity: a gramophone, a music box, a revolver, explosives, and there's little electricity in a car. It was just forbidden! The same with Dark Magic—it's one thing not to kill people, but you can't use a chicken in a sacrifice! You can eat it, you can kill it for pleasure, but you can't use it in a ritual. And the very attempt to combine magic and technology in one... I honestly admit, I didn't even think about such a thing. But for this, the most elementary measures turned out to be enough—not to interfere with those who are engaged in it. Hiring Muggles to work for wizards—it's not necessary to drag engineers and computer scientists into the Ministry. And as a result... No, we don't control Muggles. But we are no longer isolated from them. Of course, this is not a window into the Muggle world. Just a small casement window. To see what's interesting there. To steal or copy something. To throw out the trash. Your laws and prohibitions... All sorts of incomplete stairs, roads to nowhere, lovely paths in gardens ending in a cliff instead of steps. Consider that the building committee decided to extend the lift shaft for sightseeing purposes. It succeeded so well that a magical alarm system had to be installed to protect the structure from goblins. But we came to an agreement with them—they love gold very much and those who bring it to them."

He fell silent and shifted his gaze from the sun to Fudge. Fudge looked at the man in black clothes and a bluish mask. He looked so much like a Death Eater, only theirs had white masks, with patterns...

All this contradicted Fudge's life experience.

"This is simply impossible! A mad project! You can't allow Muggle things to be enchanted—the Statute of Secrecy will fall!"

"You think too narrowly, Minister. You can use enchanted Muggle things in your own home. You can use Muggle things in newly created, entirely magical settlements or government institutions. It's all very simple," Fudge was told. "Doesn't this remind you of anything? For eight years you spent in this building above us. Every day you used this lift. But it never even occurred to you that you could go down several more levels with a password, a blood sample, and a magical imprint. Don't you think something similar could have been happening in other spheres of current public life?"

Fudge blinked stupidly. He watched as a new squad of wizards approached him.

"But," he said uncertainly. "But..."

Fudge only saw the smiles of his guards.

"I'm not finished," this time the voice sounded in Fudge's head. "Now I'll explain everything to you. You could have continued to be the Minister for Magic for the rest of your life. We would have somehow tolerated the double-entry bookkeeping and all that. Still locked in your office, limited to countless official documents and friendly chats with me and my colleagues. You would have lived in a world invented for you, in a colossal theater. Many 'rulers of their states' live like that, having built a theater for one spectator for themselves. We would have had to give up the Institute of Political Leadership and your Eight-Year Plan, which negatively affect the course of affairs. Of course, at first we were as interested in them as we were in you becoming the leader. Your plan had enormous potential. But the ban on Dark Magic, the bans on enchanting Muggle things... Right now it's easy to hide this from you, but soon this circus will become too expensive, while being completely meaningless and unproductive. After all, when there is a graduation from your Institute of Management, we will have to fool new people, and that is too expensive and troublesome. Why create unnecessary entities?"

The Head of the Department of Mysteries noticed that Fudge glanced at his watch.

"No," said the voice of the Head of the Department of Mysteries, still in Fudge's head, "I'm afraid your students won't be waiting for you in the conference room on the third floor. What foolish thoughts you have. 'They will be offered a change of employer. And those who disagree... Those who cannot be taken by Imperius or Confundus, those who are not interested in money and are not frightened by threats, will become material for the High School of Necromancy, opened at the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries. I'm afraid, in any case, they will remain in the Ministry forever,'" —his voice took on notes of sympathy. "It won't be like that at all. They will work well and will be happy with everything when they learn the outcome of the Eight-Year Plan. True, it will already be the Ministry of... well... a slightly different Minister."

"And in this respect too, you underestimated us," Fudge felt like he was going mad—he still heard a voice that no one else heard. A moralizing voice. "We just gave you unreliable information. We significantly exaggerated the danger of Dark Magic to the mind. Each of us looks a little impractical in certain situations. Such is human nature. And you didn't even notice how you received not power, but only a sham of power. And as for psychos in power... Very few of us are mad, only a few are violent. Psychos are impractical. But give them a job that suits their mental disorder, and they will act quite successfully. Don't Muggles have plenty of abnormal artists, writers, or politicians? It's an art—to find a suitable job for a person. That's why the wizard working in the Finance Department ensures that the fluctuations of the credit system occur rhythmically. That's why, for the Department of Extraterrestrial Research to prosper, it is headed by a person constantly gripped by euphoria. And the head of the Military Department is a paranoid only slightly less so than Moody."

"In that case, why?" Fudge asked aloud. "Why me?"

"Why were you chosen as the leader?" Elison quickly began to broadcast directly into Fudge's consciousness. "Is it not clear to you? Did I not tell you that you did many useful things? You are an outstanding administrator. Your work capacity is impressive. You did a lot to discredit Albus Dumbledore. Albus did not want to overthrow you, but if Voldemort had been in your place, everything would have been different. You stopped the searches and raids, the old Auror Office went underground. You allowed us to establish international contacts. You preserved the appearance of legality and legitimacy of power. You amnestied the House of Marvolo Gaunt. You helped rebuild Hogwarts, introduced the right people into the Wizengamot. You interested us. In fact, you are a unique personality. And as you know, it is the Dark Lord's principle—to allow each individual to express himself as he wishes. To let everyone work for him, even if they are unaware of it. In your case, this rule allowed you to become the Minister for Magic. All things considered, the rule worked well. Everyone lived wonderfully, many good laws were introduced, we learned a lot, although we did not get everything we had hoped for, but that never happens. Unfortunately, now we will be forced to end this experiment with you."

The guards pushed Fudge towards the open side door. The voice continued to speak inside his skull, while Fudge tried in vain to resist, recalling Occlumency.

"Of course, you don't understand why this was necessary. Dark magic... It all concerns the question of sanity. What is sanity—now? At any time? It is strict adherence to the norm. Conformity to the principles that underlie human behavior. But in our age, it is the deviation from the norm that has become the norm. The inability to adapt to the rules has become the standard of adaptability. This is perfectly clear, isn't it? This will allow you to understand your own case. For many years you stubbornly continued to observe norms and obey certain principles. You were completely unable to adapt to the society around you. Despite all your attractive character traits, we were left with only one option regarding you. What is forgiven to ordinary people is unacceptable for the holder of such a high post. The higher the power, the higher the responsibility."

"Resignation?" Fudge asked hopefully.

"I don't see a beard and a multi-colored robe on myself."

In the doorway, Fudge turned. His ability to speak had finally returned to him.

This man is definitely mad! Even if this is all true—why tell him? They could have just killed him quietly.

"You're all psychos!" he shouted. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I didn't invent this ritual, and magic is full of mysteries. For the High Magic of souls, everything is important—even the emotions and feelings of the subject of the influence. The success of the ritual increases if the object learns an important secret before the ritual. Even if the Dark Lord himself will perform the ritual—I don't want to take any risks."

The Dark Lord? A ritual? In the Ministry?

"Are you saying that all these years you were just indulging me?" he asked hoarsely and sharply.

The second squad of wizards drew level with him.

One of the wizards, who had a sleeping phoenix on his shoulder, began to speak.

"Jugson, pack Fudge up. And take him to the Ritual Hall, we still have work to do. Unacceptable negligence!"

The door closed in sync with Fudge's scream.

Soon, the body of the Head of the Department of Mysteries—Elison Harris, Dumbledore's peer—would be found. Dead. Old age, what can you do.

An hour later, Voldemort emerged from the door with Cornelius Fudge, who was kneading a silvery lump in his hand. Fudge put the lump in his pocket.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries, and now the Minister for Magic, was free from his vows and his mask—in both a literal and figurative sense. After all, a mask can be worn on more than just the face. Soon he would see the sky. The sky of a new world...

The Dark Lord watched him with a stern face.

"I am very glad that I will no longer see Fudge," said the Dark Lord.

The two of them slowly approached the lift. It was time to announce the change of policy in Britain. Voldemort—the father of the nation. But don't worry. He has plenty of his own business and has no time for you. There will still be elections, there will still be salaries. A super-wizard does not interfere in the affairs of mere mortals, and he certainly has more important things to do than torture the ordinary people of his country just for fun. Yes, Voldemort simply occupied an ecological niche that had been vacant for centuries, and it was not only about magical power, but also about specialization, experience, and worldview. For centuries, the vacant position of the super-wizard was empty. Voldemort had been moving towards his status for years: an incredible level of mastery of Dark Magic, huge personal capabilities, a strange phoenix familiar, Metamorphmagus abilities, immortality, and now also mastery of all types of magic. Cornelius Fudge will simply sign a peace treaty with him. Magical Britain can sleep peacefully—after all, Dark Lords are not elected, they are made. Such is the outcome of his Plan. A very wise decision—not to fight someone who is impossible and unnecessary to defeat, because... How does it go in his speech?... "We have two paths. The first is to steal and get relatives and friends onto the list of the richest people in the Magical World, but at the same time leave the randomly surviving people on scorched earth. The second is to work professionally, serving our constituents, to make Magical Britain the most prosperous country in the Magical World. Naturally, we will choose the second path, because the first path was already chosen by Albus Dumbledore."

And what about Dumbledore? Who is better—Albus Dumbledore or Voldemort? Fried meat and cognac are better than lemon drops, and besides, Voldemort laughs at his jokes.

"He was already starting to bother me a little," the new Fudge began to say. "I was tired of pretending to be a madman in front of him, an absent-minded genius, someone with immense intellect but near-zero wisdom. I was, honestly, beginning to fear for my... mental health!"—his face suddenly took on a completely nonsensical expression.

And then a burst of laughter from two people erupted. Not the kind that frightens children. But simple, cheerful laughter.

"Funny, Mr. Fudge," said the Dark Lord.

But the new Fudge was already calm. Being a fool is a difficult calling. Those who say that laughter is good for you are lying.

Elison, or rather Fudge, was thinking hard.

He had no illusions. Some think they understand Voldemort or mean something to him. Folly. No one means anything to Voldemort, we are all something between livestock and objects. But Voldemort will never act irrationally, impulsively, and always pays for work. After all, that's the best advertisement! And Voldemort also professes the principle—"he who is not against me is with me."

Times are changing. Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Flamel either died or disappeared... Living legends are departing.

A month since the death of Albus Dumbledore. Almost a year since the death of Gellert Grindelwald, two legends of the magical world. But of both of them it can be said—"no prophet is accepted in his own country."

Dumbledore's death became a major event in world politics and a secondary news item in Magical Britain. Albus is the only one of the great wizards of the 19th century of whom it can be said that he changed the world. The changed world is not grateful to him for this and reveres him as a political tyrant, and the New Magical Britain growing on the ruins of Dumbledore's Magical Britain has not yet been able to decide what it is busy with: great-power nostalgia or building democracy. Thousands of wizards in Britain, whom Albus tried to free, dislike (if not to say—hate) Dumbledore precisely for the freedom they briefly received. They did not need it, were not ready for it, and this "vain gift, random gift" caught them by surprise. It cannot be said that Dumbledore was ahead of his time—he was one of the few informal leaders who intuitively heard it accurately and followed it as best he could. He contributed to the transformation of the magical world from the feudalism of the most ancient and noble families of the early 19th century into a pro-Muggle model, where at least on paper "all are equal." A Muggle-born Minister for Magic—unthinkable. The Minister for Muggles being told the truth about wizards—unthinkable. Albus ran into the future until he got tired and fell behind. But this leap of his still hinders Voldemort, and his liberated compatriots blame Dumbledore—more than anyone else—for the fact that the fruits of freedom turned out to be inedible for them.

Albus was never Minister for Magic, but everyone understood—he would not let a decision completely unacceptable to him pass into life. And any decision he liked would receive his support. Albus's star began to shine when everyone was already tired of trying to kill Grindelwald. The Second Wizarding War... Everyone saw only two paths: either wizards rule Muggles, or Muggles, having wised up in a couple of centuries, rule wizards. And who could handle dominion over Muggles better than Grindelwald? But now we are fighting against Grindelwald and winning. Which means only the second option remains... The bodies of old wizards were carried out at very short intervals, and propaganda did not have time to change the portraits of heroes. The surviving wizards already understood that Grindelwald would be crushed by numbers, but the expression on the faces of the "front row" of rulers was perpetually mournful and had almost nothing in common with life—a strange mixture of incomprehension of what was happening and a premonition of the inevitable end was frozen on them and became a living death mask of the magical world. There was no energy in them, no striving for life, no joy. It was a panopticon of political corpses, locked in a deadly struggle among themselves for power, albeit sometimes with open violence, which was explained away as an outbreak of "dragon pox." Good thing it wasn't an influenza epidemic, a night of long knives, a year of faulty brooms, or even—explosions of nail heads in chairs. It seemed that as soon as Grindelwald was defeated, a Third Wizarding War would begin among the allies.

The appearance of Albus Dumbledore among these faces was an absolute surprise. In a certain utilitarian sense, it was completely illogical in the established system of power and way of life, although the logic of life is precisely that at a decisive moment it brings to the surface of being an element alien to the system and contradicting it, whose mission is to break this system, to clear the way for vital forces.

Disputes still go on about whether Albus himself understood his mission in its full scope, whether he realized what tectonic shifts in the world order he was producing. This will forever remain the mystery of Albus Dumbledore, whatever he himself said about it. Because it was impossible for anyone to fully foresee the results of his efforts. Albus Dumbledore was liberating for development and self-realization forces whose release into freedom did not allow for accurate prediction of their actions, nor for an assessment of all consequences, nor for insuring all risks. Primarily in his own country, in which at the time of his coming to power, compared to Muggles, there were not so many institutions of freedom.

Liberation makes life multi-variant, and this variability of development, which opened up equally to people, countries, and the world as such, became the main result of his work, including predetermining his own political fate.

Dumbledore could not and did not, of course, set himself the goal of destroying the magical world or merging it with the Muggle one. For this goal, one must either elevate Muggles to the level of wizards, or lower wizards to the level of Muggles. He simply wanted to free the weak from the dictate of the strong. He had nothing against competition, but he cut off its extreme forms. He, having risen to the pinnacle of power, saw with a living child's mind the unnaturalness of what was happening to the magical world and tried to start the mechanisms of life in the decrepit body. His influence is primarily an attempt to resuscitate a dying system, which somehow worked in the 17th century, but now was moving by inertia like a chicken with its head cut off, and no knowledgeable person any longer believed in a happy ending for the magical world.

But the forces of life he liberated did not agree to develop in the existing forms; they sought completely different life paths corresponding to themselves, and from that moment he entered a race with accelerating time, which in the end, as a bearer of power, he lost, because the challenges of life turned out to be more complex than all the development options he had supposed.

Albus Dumbledore lost, definitively and irrevocably. He lost ideologically—why should everyone be equal? A wizard can do more than a Muggle. This is an objective reality. And if someone has more opportunities, that someone will achieve more if he competes with a pre-emptively weaker opponent. All that is needed is to allow it.

Albus lost politically. His attempt to turn the world into a non-zero-sum game failed. There are always losers and winners, and you can play at cooperation with the citizens of your own country. At worst—with allies. If you want to play the saint—with wizards and magical creatures. Except for centaurs, of course. They did not agree to cooperate. Let them sit quietly in their reservations.

Dumbledore lost militarily, achieving only his own death.

Dumbledore was very strongly bound and burdened by political problems and military conflict and underestimated the consequences of economic problems.

Strictly speaking, there were no problems with the economy in Britain. The usual order suggested that people somehow cooperate and live on their own. And it worked, until the Dark Lord came. The Dark Lord did not destroy anything, he simply built his own system next to it. And everyone began to defect to it.

Voldemort began to give out money to the citizens of the magical world for no reason, without even thinking of abolishing the old system of benefits. This is the zero level of welfare. And then... Want money? Go work, most profitably—in the vector that we have shown. Even the dumbest wizard can be taught a couple of tricks, sufficient for semi-assembly line work. Those who are smarter master ritualism, those who want to take risks—Dark Magic.

In Magical Britain, there are now practically no criminals—they are all abroad. Working.

In Magical Britain, there are practically no unemployed—every month everyone receives booklets with job offers. And qualifications... We'll train you, then you'll work it off.

This would have ended in a crisis of overproduction, but for now, only we have this. And then... People are lazy. Why should another country make something of its own when it can buy from us? Besides, the Dark Wizards there will fight among themselves, plundering their own country, while we have Voldemort—a living system of checks and balances against those who get too out of hand. And one thing can be said for sure: Voldemort is not interested in money. This man... wizard... being... Dark Lord is absolutely incorruptible, because a person has nothing to offer him. The Dark Lord cannot be intimidated or killed. He cannot be deceived. You can betray him, but only once.

Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand... He was an unsuccessful economist and could not keep the economic situation in the country in hand. Perhaps he simply did not understand the problem. When you offer a wizard a salary for his life and several new houses, and also convince him that in the future all atrocities will be committed against non-citizens of Magical Britain (torture and sacrifice are forbidden even for prisoners, and as for Fudge... he brought it on himself), then most will agree. Perhaps Albus simply did not understand that an ordinary person would rejoice at a new house or a bank account just as Albus Dumbledore himself would rejoice at one of the Deathly Hallows.

And Albus could do nothing! Give out money from Flamel? The people will degrade. Open new growth markets? Extensively, this means new territories. But there are none, just as there is no access to the Muggle world. Intensive technologies? Allow Muggle things to be enchanted? The Statute will go to the flobberworms. The probability that someone in the Ministry would want more problems for the same money is near zero. And the snobs are against it too. Allow Dark Magic? Here Albus himself is against it.

Voldemort, paradoxically, turned out to be closer to the people. He built the concept of "open doors." Earn. Improve. Don't forget to share. We are ready to stand up for you for your money, and the one who is right is not the one who pays more, but the one who lives by the laws we have adopted. You can't be a hooligan in your own country! If you're a complete fool and can't do anything—catch this benefit. It's yours no matter what, as long as you're alive. Want to live well? Then work. More self-governance. Open your own business or take a booklet. The main thing is—don't get caught by Muggles.

Usually, a dictatorship relies on the elites to crush the masses, or on the masses to crush the elites. Voldemort relied on everyone at once and crushed Dumbledore.

It was in these conditions that Dumbledore's strength—the fact that he, it seems, had absolutely no need for money, taxes, export and import of resources, loans, debts—was also his undoing. Very soon, the relative economic freedom under Voldemort's sauce managed to bear fruit in the country. Both welfare for all, and incredible wealth, and luxury for the 1 percent, who turned out to be mostly pure-blood supporters of the Dark Lord. It was the fact that Dumbledore never created the best economic model for Magical Britain that predetermined his loss of public support to a greater extent than other mistakes, political or military.

But Albus simply could not do it. All the Dark Lord's actions were carried out within a completely different paradigm, a completely different logic of decision-making, a different organization of the state apparatus, an organically different political model of the country, and most importantly—a different understanding of what is possible and expedient.

Dumbledore, and indeed anyone, did not and could not have had political experience of this kind, although he had neither the motive nor the desire to do so. No country in the magical world had experience of political and economic transformation, of creating a Statute of Secrecy within the Statute of Secrecy, of building a colossal state machine parallel to the old logic of the world, merged with the Death Eaters, and then—of transforming this machine into a society of "free wizards." Free, above all, from the old laws.

Albus Dumbledore's desperate efforts to change something became an experience that no one needs and will never be fully analyzed.

After the military defeat at Azkaban, other defeats finished Albus off. I am sure he lived on the edge. He tried to fix everything until the very end, but as soon as the people tasted the new life, the old life ceased to be worthy of armed struggle for it, especially considering the alternative: Voldemort throws spells that are not at all stunning. People's views on Albus became more and more contemptuous—a psycho and a murderer did more for us in a year than you did in your whole life. So who is the psycho and murderer here? Dumbledore's own course in the eyes of the population ceased to be reformist, as the Hogwarts Headmaster would have liked—and became the most reactionary force in society. It's not just about the help of the press and mudslinging. Albus refused to modernize. Then the reformers left him, and the conservatives were not there from the beginning, and those who remained neutral no longer wanted to spend time and effort to help the old man.

Perhaps Albus could have drowned his opponents in blood, but he did not do it. He was afraid to let his forces run free and held them in his hands until the last moment, until the citizens of the magical world hated him fiercely and finally. The old system betrayed him. Dumbledore himself drove himself first into a political grave, and then into a literal grave. The number of those willing to follow him turned out to be vanishingly small. He does not know Dumbledore's true motives, but most likely, in the end, he simply wanted to take revenge on Voldemort, which is why he took no one with him. To everyone else, the mad old man simply wanted to drag the whole country into the grave or into the "wrong common good"—poverty and ignorance for the sake of his vision of the world, but Voldemort saved everyone.

Dumbledore's former comrades-in-arms left him, accused him of indecisiveness, inconsistency, contradictoriness. And it didn't matter what they accused him of—whether it was for not using Dark Magic at the Crouches' house, or for using Dark Magic at the Lestranges' house. Ordinary people can certainly be understood, but objectively this increased the influence of reactionary ideas on Dumbledore, which eventually became almost a blockade.

The more opportunities the Dark Lord opened up for the country and every citizen of the magical world, the more Albus resisted it. The liberating energy of the magical country demanded actions of a larger scale. This avalanche of needs turned out to be much more powerful than any expectations and significantly exceeded all the capabilities of the outdated state system of Magical Britain. Albus Dumbledore tried to protect this system. The system began to work against him. He began to fall behind the times and lose the initiative.

Dumbledore, in the new conditions, was never able to fully launch the democratic mechanism of a multi-party system and parliamentarism, to rise above interest groups and become the "president of the people."

The old man lost support. No one would have elected him leader—neither through elections, nor through a secret conspiracy, and he himself did not use force. He lost all his posts and positions. The trauma of insufficient legitimacy, the transformation of the old man in the eyes of the people into an incapacitated and clumsy political intermediary whose authority was falling before their eyes, deprived him of the opportunity at a decisive moment to appeal directly to the people, to talk to them over the heads of the bureaucracy, to begin full-fledged reforms or actions.

From the battle at Azkaban until his death, Dumbledore remained more the leader of the Order of the Phoenix than a politician or public figure. The death of his supporters, the death of his brother, perhaps the death of Grindelwald... The cup of the past turned out to be much heavier than he could have imagined. The further it went, the more it shackled his movements. Albus tried to take political revenge by military means, even using forbidden methods in the penultimate battle, but he miscalculated in the main thing—the people, liberated by Voldemort, no longer wanted to wear the yoke. The yoke of self-restraint. The yoke of morality. The yoke of non-interference in another's world.

At that moment, Albus finally lost political leadership, and the power seekers sensed their strength.

Paradoxically, it was Albus Dumbledore who began to free the wizards. Only he freed them from restrictions within the magical world. Voldemort, on the other hand, freed wizards from restrictions in the use of their power. From conscience. Wizards are now like colonizers of a new continent...

Why did people follow Albus reluctantly, but run after Voldemort as soon as he beckoned them? If he were a fool, he would assume that while Albus was developing luck up to forty million, Voldemort was developing charisma to the same figures. No. It's much simpler. Albus offered people the way up, and Voldemort—the way down.

Albus, in perspective, could have built a more egalitarian world than the current one. Instead, he opened the way for the entire modern political elite—the one that does not recognize his services to the country and the world, and the one that hates him.

From the moment Albus left all his posts, practically no one understood the main thing. It turned out funny: his own wayward political children took away Albus's positions. A huge part of the citizens of Magical Britain never accepted for themselves one of the main postulates of freedom—and in the case where you receive it as a given, and in the case where you pay a high price for it, you still personally bear responsibility for how you use the conditions of freedom. And no one bears this responsibility to a greater extent than you yourself. For most people, freedom is when everything is a buzz. And a buzz has no limits!

The lessons of freedom turned out to be questions that need to be answered daily. And this difficult personal work inspired practically no one, and for some, it became a heavy burden. These fetters of non-freedom still prevent people from comprehending and accepting everything done by Albus Dumbledore.

Albus placed the value of a person, the value of a personality, above the value of his own power.

Even after his exile, he advocated for freedom of speech, freedom of belief, freedom of conscience.

In gratitude, people became his principled opponents.

He recognized the value of public criticism of the authorities.

He had long ago raised the question of changing the penal system and of public control over the Department of Mysteries, but he was never able to solve them, which also led to a personal dramatic denouement.

Albus Dumbledore, a native of a semi-estate magical world, where it was always believed that the strongest is right, even if he is clearly insane, was able to rise to the understanding and expression of European humanitarian values at a level that surpassed the level of understanding of the fundamentals of world politics by his contemporary leaders of the leading countries of the Muggle West.

The only thing Albus didn't show was that he could surrender. Although this can be called an inability to adapt.

Throughout his political life at the pinnacle of power, he did not strengthen, but weakened his personal power, contributed (often without wishing it himself, but fully aware of the meaning of what was happening) to the creation of new centers of power, new vectors of influence, new political institutions.

But he did not fully realize the influence of the legacy of centuries of pure-blood power and the opposition of his enemies. The Death Eaters, created initially as an apparatus of coercion and violence, constantly relapsed, hitting both the people and Dumbledore personally as the first person of the state in the hardest way. He underestimated the risks of Dark Magic, he underestimated his enemies. And most importantly—he underestimated Voldemort.

The state of the country and Albus Dumbledore's political life were severely undermined by events burdened with blood and enmity: the death of Ariana, the war with Grindelwald, the war with his former student, the civil war in Magical Britain... With each new bloodshed, he lost legitimacy—regardless of whether he himself was accused of organizing the bloodshed or of not using force.

But at the decisive moment, when the use of force remained the only (and meaningless, he understood this well) way to protect his personal power, he consciously refused violence, because the main victim of the use of force in any scenario would be the people.

He left, avoiding bloodshed.

He cleared the way for others, gave them the opportunity to act.

But practically no one spoke out either in defense of the old Magical Britain or in defense of Albus Dumbledore. This was no longer necessary for either the elite or the common people.

His choice in favor of freedom turned out to be stronger than he himself. Stronger than a country that grew up in non-freedom. Stronger than a people who had suffered for freedom, but had not realized all its challenges.

He chose for the country and the world "his ridiculous multi-colored robe, a size too big," and many found it very uncomfortable, empty, cold. Elison once did some work with his memory and remembered his feelings when he was just born. It was very similar.

Albus Dumbledore is the only wizard who has reliably used High-level Dark Magic and possessed incredible power, while remaining Light even in death, and at the same time, the only leader of a country in the magical world for many centuries who has a unique achievement for the holders of such abilities and the Elder Wand: even after his resignation, he remained a political and public figure. Most importantly—he remained (perhaps even fully became) a free man.

For centuries and centuries before Dumbledore, the end of power meant the end of life for a wizard-politician who personified the state, and for some of his predecessors, life ended in the agonizing convulsions of power. Dumbledore showed that the end of power is not death, the end of power is the continuation of life.

He did not ask for legal guarantees of immunity for himself, his family, or his friends when he retired. For all the time he possessed absolute powers, in the search for compromising material regarding Dumbledore, not a single 'case' appeared that they could have won in the old court, neither for political assassinations, nor a single suspicion of financial dishonesty, nor a single accusation of selfish interest. Neither he himself nor his friends became founders of joint-stock companies, inhabitants of offshores, or organizers of mafioso-like cooperatives. He allows that Albus had an infinite amount of money from Flamel. But why didn't he spend it on property, status items, and an army of servants?

Being in the state apparatus for a long time, the old man did not add a single award sheet for himself, not a single award, for all the time he was at the head of the state (including as Chief Warlock).

In fact, he took nothing for himself.

Albus—this is important and necessary to recognize—left no political heirs. No one became his political successors, did not take into account his achievements, did not learn his lessons. And this is not his mistake or his shortcoming. It was intended that way. According to Albus's plan, his successor was to be the people of Magical Britain. But it was not to be. The new ones came to power for power's sake. And they came to magic not for magic itself, but to use magic to rise above the rest.

The main difference between Albus and Voldemort is that Albus fought not for power, but for its reform, he gave up the highest power himself, and did not sit on the throne, clinging to it with all his limbs, he did not blame the people for anything, but gave them the right and a real opportunity for independent choice. They did not choose him. He did not blame anyone and continued to act on his own.

That is why no one loves him. Today no one can recognize him as their political predecessor and never will.

The result is logical. Thirty days ago, one man, in whose hands were all the instruments of the highest earthly power—the Deathly Hallows—tried to reform a system that was losing its vital forces, to find a way out of the dead end, to lead the people to freedom. He saw the way out in the elimination of Voldemort, but only him, although Dumbledore could have conjured many nuclear bombs and sent Magical Britain back to at least the ice ages.

Dumbledore's way out turned out to be completely different from what anyone had imagined. But he stoically accepted this conclusion of history, the will of the people, his fate.

He sacrificed personal power for public freedom.

He set an example of respect for freedom as the main institution of life, the main public value of modernity. He gave the strongest impulse in the magical world of the century for the creation of a strategically new system of global political coordinates for Magical Britain and the world.

Albus Dumbledore chose freedom for himself and for them too.

In response, ordinary people and others answered and are answering the questions put to them, without even mentioning his name, without even thinking about him. They are afraid to say Voldemort's name; he, for example, has recently been saying this name only mentally. No one is afraid to say Dumbledore's name, and if they do, they usually add—"damn him" or "get lost."

The vector of Dumbledore, who left power and then life—his steps, his achievements, his mistakes—will never again become a strong vector in world politics. This vector will not continue to work, will not continue to create a space of freedom for wizards in different countries, whose fate was decided during the years of Voldemort's rise.

People will never grow to the size of Albus Dumbledore's ridiculous robe.

Based on his personal life experience, one can say, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was a very old, incredibly wise, and infinitely kind wizard. He loved the world very much, his native England, Hogwarts school, and even people. Yes, he loved people too. Both wizards and Muggles, both adults and children. Simply because they were part of the world in which he so enjoyed, but found it so difficult to live.

As a child, he often told Albus that it would be difficult for him to live. Dumbledore was too naive, too soft, too... everything too much. He had the clear gaze of a person with an "open soul," a sharp researcher's mind, a seething thirst for activity that led him to places Albus did not want to go at all.

But enough philosophy. Reality awaits him. As practice shows, for a highly organized mind, death is just another adventure. One should not believe those who say that life is one: there are many lives. Now not only the magical world has a future, but he personally does too!

How profitable is it to sympathize with some and go with others? Very profitable. For what did Albus offer? To die for freedom? Burning yourself, light the way for others? You should have at least offered paradise. No, that wouldn't have worked on him: you can't even take a shiny object from a Niffler by offering it twenty shiny objects after death in Niffler paradise.

What decision can be made with such initial data? Can I just join the aggressor right away, to live long and happily in wealth and luxury, to die of old age in the end?

With death, Albus, you will never prove or punish anything. If you thought that your own death would inspire someone, then no. Nothing will happen, except that the very people you wanted to impress will twirl a finger at their temple. Death itself is meaningless: regardless of whether you hang yourself because of unrequited love or go into a battle that cannot be survived, or the bloody Voldemort tortures (though he really does torture) and kills (though he really does kill). Bloody Voldemort will only rub his hands that you have removed yourself from the gene pool. You will never prove anything with death. You can only prove with life, with the substance of life.

What did you offer us, Albus?

Propaganda is controlled by someone smart and cynical from above. Here we see something completely different—a mad phantasmagoria, extremely far not only from reality (that's fine! he could have promised paradise), but also from the elementary laws of plot construction and plausibility. A world hopelessly distorted by the good-natured fantasy of Gryffindors in love with reality. And it would be one thing if there were a decorative paradise that no one would see until death, but there is a genuine earthly utopia into which they propose to dive headfirst—imaginary, ideal, impossible.

The "common good" does not exist. There are goods for those who are with Him, and the reward is adequate to the work. But He does not plan to destroy the rest either. Let them live as they want, if they don't get in the way.

The work will be done and paid for. And who does the work—He doesn't care. He also allows you to think whatever you want. And even to speak.

And the material... For some rituals, very old people from another country on the verge of death will do. A day or two of life won't make a difference to them. Besides, Muggles are always dying. Car accidents... mortality in underdeveloped countries...

A Statute within a Statute. Brilliant. The Department of Mysteries knows a thing or two about secrecy, and wizards are already used to the fact that there is an institution that does who-knows-what, but they still pay for it. A state monopoly on the use of Muggle inventions and trade with Muggles in super-large volumes. And Muggles are free to write their own laws, to live and die by them.

It's time to surface from his thoughts and be glad that the resettlement into a new body went according to plan.

"Fudge's" face became serious and prophetic. Even if he has regressed in magic in the new body, the knowledge remains, right? And he also got many years of new life, new youth. He made the right choice. In everything. The only thing he didn't know the answer to was where to put the salary of the Head of the Department of Mysteries, the Minister for Magic, and his share as an Inner Circle Death Eater. What to spend so much money on? He would probably have to get married.

He walked forward, thinking about the future and the role he was to play in it. The Golden Age of Magical Britain is beginning. Other magical countries? They will also have a Golden Age if they do as he does, and not as Albus Dumbledore did. Then it will be time for him to personally meet with the heads of the Departments of Mysteries of other countries, with whom he previously only corresponded.