The atmosphere was lively, with American wizards dressed far more like Muggles than their British counterparts—Harry meant that at least they didn't have wizards wearing skirts on their heads as a joke.
But what truly caught his eye was the massive golden Thunderbird statue suspended in midair at the far end of the hall. It was strikingly lifelike and undeniably impressive, its outstretched wings nearly eclipsing the entire domed ceiling, making the crystal chandeliers seem insignificant by comparison. Streams of light flowed between its feathers, shimmering with patterns that foretold future weather.
Then there was the enormous clock positioned at the center of the hall. Unlike ordinary timepieces, its face bore no numbers from one to twelve. Instead, it displayed a spectrum of colors—green, yellow, orange, red—each marked with distinct inscriptions.
"That's the Magical Exposure Level Clock," said Dumbledore, who had appeared at Harry's side unnoticed. He tilted his head to study it. "Let's see… oh, it's already reached High Threat, has it?"
"Magical Exposure Level?" Harry asked without turning, his eyes still on the clock. "Can something like that really be quantified? How do they measure it?"
"It's a secret of the American Magical Congress," Dumbledore said with a light chuckle. "Unlike in Britain, American wizards are very particular about distinguishing themselves from Muggles. This clock is a product of that mindset. The more Muggles become aware of the magical world, the higher the exposure level climbs, and the pointer moves up from the green 'Safe' zone."
"So it's orange now—High Threat," Harry said, studying the clock. "I didn't think much of it before, but seeing it marked like this makes it feel… unsettling."
Beyond High Threat, there were two even more severe levels: Unexplainable Critical and Emergency. Harry figured that if the pointer reached those, the magical world might as well be fully exposed.
"I suspect that's precisely what the President of the Magical Congress wants most wizards to understand," Dumbledore said, patting Harry's shoulder. "Come along, the meeting room is upstairs. I must say, it's fortunate you're here, Harry. I'm not sure I could handle all the technical questions on my own. After all, while I may be a shaman, I'm still just an apprentice at heart."
"No need for modesty, Dumbledore," Harry said reassuringly. "The best teachers for a shaman are the elements and spirits themselves. I'm confident your talent will carve its own path."
The two strode down a corridor, Dumbledore moving with a vigor that belied his century-plus years.
"Thank you for the compliment. I'll accept it graciously," Dumbledore said with a smile. "But you've changed more than I expected, Harry. You look utterly exhausted. When was the last time you had a proper night's sleep?"
Harry stopped in his tracks.
"Hm?" Dumbledore turned, curious. "Something wrong?"
"No, nothing," Harry said, letting out a deep sigh. "I just suddenly remembered how I used to drag you out of bed in the middle of the night for work… Sorry."
"Now I'm in your shoes," Harry added with a self-deprecating smile.
The retribution wasn't exactly swift, but it wasn't slow either.
Dumbledore blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before his expression morphed into one of barely suppressed laughter.
"I'm delighted you've realized how much your antics tormented a hundred-year-old man, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling as he fought back a grin. "But even with that apology, I'm not letting you off to rest at Hogwarts. Come now—those with ability must bear the greater burden."
"I just hope things don't get worse," Harry sighed, quickening his pace to keep up.
The Americans lived up to their reputation as wealthy upstarts. Of all the Ministries of Magic Harry had visited, the American Magical Congress's meeting room was by far the most opulent. Many of the statues were gilded or crafted from pure gold, though spatial concerns were secondary—wizards could always expand a room with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
Standing at the podium, Harry looked out at the crowd below, recognizing many faces—Ministers of Magic or key personnel from various countries' magical governments, people he'd met during his recent travels.
"Good day, everyone. I'm Harry Potter," he said, keeping his introduction brief. Time and energy were in short supply, and he couldn't visit every Ministry personally. "Some of you already know me, but for those who don't, that's fine. I'm here to deliver a warning."
This was an emergency meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards, where decisions would become binding conventions for all Ministries, unless a nation found specific provisions utterly unacceptable. Even then, the Statute of Secrecy remained universally upheld, with no exceptions. Violators were imprisoned—or worse.
The Statute of Secrecy had held firm, its success evident in the magical world's continued concealment from Muggle eyes.
"I regret to inform you all," Harry began, his voice steady despite the weight of his words, "that the magical world is on the verge of being exposed to Muggles."
Ignoring the murmurs rippling through the crowd, he continued, "We cannot control the will or actions of the elements. The foundation of the Statute of Secrecy is crumbling—that's the core issue. Wizards can no longer conceal the traces of increasingly active elemental spirits."
"We must start planning for a world where magic is exposed."
His speech was interrupted as the room erupted into chaos. Even Dumbledore's repeated bursts of loud fireworks from his wand couldn't quell the uproar as wizards turned to their neighbors, frantically discussing the implications.
Many Ministry officials had already sensed something was amiss during Harry's earlier visits to their countries, where he'd outlined measures to address the elemental resurgence. Though some were reluctant to admit it, every forward-thinking wizard had considered the Statute of Secrecy's vulnerability.
It was hard to describe the feeling—a fundamental part of daily life, a law of the world, a societal necessity—something assumed to be unchangeable, like a permanently enchanted spell, was now facing its end.
It was about to vanish.
For many older wizards, raised under the Statute's protection, this was unthinkable. It felt as if a piece of their lives had been ripped away.
The dominant emotions were confusion and fear.
Fear of how Muggles would react. Fear of—war.
War.
From the dawn of recorded history, war had been a constant. Peace was merely a fleeting bubble.
Less than fifty years had passed since the last great war that threatened the entire magical world. Was even this brief peace too much to sustain?
Harry exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, then leaned against the podium, resigned to wait. The wizards below were too agitated to continue, their behavior at odds with their prestigious titles—many were Ministers of Magic, after all.
Harry spotted Fudge, gesticulating wildly to another wizard, his hands flailing up and down.
It took some time before Harry could restore order with a loud burst of wand-fireworks. Whispers lingered, but at least he could continue.
"Thank you," Harry said with a nod. "I'm relieved no Aurors rushed up to arrest me when I said the Statute of Secrecy is nearing its end."
A few nervous laughs broke out.
"Is that funny?" Harry asked pointedly. "We all know how Ministries worldwide have dealt with those who threaten the Statute over the past century—arrest and imprisonment, without question."
"Can't we just lock up the elements that threaten the Statute?" shouted the Ethiopian Minister of Magic, standing abruptly. "It's no different from what we've always done."
"Good question," Harry replied, meeting his gaze. "So tell me—how do you imprison the environment itself?"
"Or rather, how do you arrive in time to whisk away a milk elemental that leaps out of a Muggle family's breakfast glass and erase their memories?"
"You might manage one family. But ten? A hundred? A thousand? Ten thousand?" Harry pressed. "Let me be clear: in 1991—last year—the global Muggle population was 5.383 billion. I can honestly say I've never seen that many people in my life."
The Minister fell silent. He'd personally dealt with elemental spirits popping up in Muggle homes and knew Harry's scenario was all but inevitable.
No one laughed. The staggering figure—5.383 billion—stunned the room. For wizards, it was hard to fathom such a number, whether it counted people or even pigs.
"No need to doubt the data's accuracy. Muggles track their population meticulously every year. You can verify it yourself," Harry said briskly. "My question is this: do you have enough people, time, or energy to monitor 5.383 billion individuals? To watch for elemental spirits manifesting around them? To wipe their memories?"
Silence.
No one could answer. The question itself was devastating—no one could bear the burden of surveilling everyone.
Even the Soviet Minister of Magic couldn't respond.
It wasn't just impossibility; in the international magical community, such surveillance was deemed unethical, rejected by mainstream values.
"We all know the answer," Harry said softly, scanning the room. "That's why I called this a warning—a future that will come, whether wizards accept it or not, as inevitable as the sun rising and setting."
"And I must regretfully add that what you're facing now is only the beginning—except in areas I've flagged as experiencing accelerated elemental resurgence," he continued. "If you doubt the future I'm describing, I invite you to visit Hogwarts. The entire Hogwarts region is teeming with awakened elemental spirits, now a part of the students' daily lives."
"As the world's elemental forces continue to awaken, one day the entire globe will resemble Hogwarts—a world brimming with elemental spirits."
"What does that mean?" asked the Bulgarian Minister.
"It means you'll be far busier than you are now," Harry replied after a moment's thought. "And no matter how busy you are, you likely won't be able to stop ordinary Muggles from noticing elemental spirits."
"In recent weeks, more than one person has asked me why, as the discoverer of elements and the founder of elemental magic, I seem to oppose their resurgence. I've answered this before, and my stance hasn't changed."
"I'm human, and a balanced elemental environment is essential for human life. Any extreme imbalance is catastrophic for ordinary people. We've witnessed too many disasters in recent weeks to ignore this."
"It's not about rejecting the resurgence but about proactively managing it, keeping changes within a reasonable and acceptable range," Harry said earnestly. "I'm just an ordinary Hogwarts professor—perhaps, as some of you say, a master of elemental magic."
"As that master, I've given you my most professional advice. The rest is up to you, the Ministers of Magic."
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