After Orsaga and the corpse were taken away by the Aurors, the Great Hall of Hogwarts descended into chaos.
No one had anticipated witnessing a horrifying scene where an Auror transformed into a monster and launched an all-out battle against the professors and other Aurors.
For a group of young students—many of them just children—the experience was intense, even traumatic.
Especially when that monster nearly succeeded in killing one of the nearby students.
One of the Purgators, after a long moment of contemplation, suddenly had a flash of realization. His eyes lit up.
"I get it now. This is what that 15% plot deviation was about! Looks like Voldemort's power far surpasses what the movies ever showed."
It made no sense that a newcomer, just like himself, would possess the kind of power that could instantly transform an Auror into a monstrous creature. But if the person behind it all was Voldemort, working from the shadows, then it suddenly became perfectly logical.
He must have staged the entire scene to draw Dumbledore's attention, using the distraction as a cover to make a move for the Philosopher's Stone and begin his resurrection.
Another Purgator, who had been planning to approach this one to discuss an alliance but hadn't had time to speak yet, was immediately struck by the logic.
He too had an epiphany.
"That actually makes a lot of sense. Voldemort's true strength… really is beyond imagination."
And it wasn't just the two of them. All around the hall, students, teachers, even janitorial staff were discussing the possibility of Voldemort's return.
Some claimed Voldemort had already been reborn long ago, and today's event was a warning—a demonstration of his presence.
Others swore they had seen a suspicious hooded figure skulking around Diagon Alley just a few days prior, and that this man was almost certainly Voldemort himself.
Some believed that while Voldemort might have died, someone had inherited his will and now chosen to rise again to plunge the wizarding world back into darkness.
In the corner of the hall, Professor Quirrell dared not make a sound.
He cowered, wiping cold sweat from his forehead, lips sealed.
Strangely, he found himself half-believing what they were saying.
They were all so convincing. Some of them even had detailed theories on the sequence of events.
In his mind, he couldn't help but mutter to himself:
'My Lord… you're amazing…'
From the back of his head, a growling voice replied,
'Shut up and get lost…'
At the Ministry of Magic
With a flash of magical light, Orsaga—still in magical restraints—was transported to the Ministry.
To be honest, it was a new experience for him.
Many of the people he'd consumed in the past had experienced something similar, and he had read their memories. But this was his first time being shackled himself.
Not that he minded. He treated it as just another interesting twist in the game.
Nearby, Dumbledore was arguing with the Aurors.
"Putting handcuffs on a child is abuse!"
He had been the one to hand Orsaga over, but his personality—and his duty as Headmaster of Hogwarts—made it difficult for him to accept seeing Orsaga bound in restraints.
So he continued protesting the entire way.
One of the Aurors snapped back, clearly irritated.
"That's enough! Do you understand how dangerous this kid is? Our commanding officer died because of him!"
Just thinking about how their superior had transformed into a hideous monster before everyone's eyes made the Auror shudder. His tone grew heavier with fear and frustration.
If he hadn't personally witnessed the horror, he wouldn't have dared speak so harshly to someone like Dumbledore.
Dumbledore looked at the young man, whose face he vaguely remembered from his student days. Seeing the fear on his face, Dumbledore could only sigh in resignation.
'Tom… how long will your mistakes continue to haunt us?'
Orsaga, meanwhile, paid no attention to their drama.
He was busy observing the people around him inside the Ministry.
A quick assessment left him with only one conclusion.
A bunch of weaklings.
Sluggish movements, unsteady footing, unfocused magical energy—it was a universal problem here.
He couldn't help but suspect that someone could probably shoot half these wizards dead with a handgun.
Compared to the wizards he'd encountered during his forced labor days in another magical world, the ones here were downright pathetic.
Over there, even without spells, some wizards could crush weaklings like these with their bare hands.
And most of them were ruthless veterans when it came to killing and destruction—a quality Orsaga found almost nostalgic.
To outsiders, the sight of a young boy being escorted in chains by a group of stern-faced Aurors was shocking, almost surreal.
People around them stared in disbelief, expressions frozen like they'd just seen an alien land.
"Are those Aurors out of their minds? Shackling a child?"
"I think so too…"
The murmurs of the crowd only made the already irritable Aurors angrier. But bound by duty, they couldn't explain anything, and so they simply led Orsaga forward as if they were out for a casual stroll.
Later, in a sealed room…
A short, elderly man in formal attire scowled as he glanced at the shackled boy.
He turned to the Aurors and Dumbledore and asked sharply,
"This is the problem child you're all talking about?"
One of the Aurors replied quickly, "Yes, Minister Fudge."
Cornelius Oswald Fudge slammed his hand down on the table in fury.
"Do you know how many people have already called me to report that you're abusing a minor?"
The Aurors fell silent, unable to offer a response.
After scolding his subordinates, Fudge turned to Dumbledore with a serious expression.
"I expect this matter to be resolved properly. I don't want to hear any more nonsense about some dead lunatic coming back from the grave. That's a relic of the past, and it belongs in the trash heap of history."
He then looked toward Orsaga and softened his tone slightly.
"Young man, we're going to run a few tests. If everything checks out, you'll be back in school in no time. Nothing to worry about."
As a seasoned politician, Fudge knew exactly when to be stern and when to act friendly.
Orsaga gave a casual nod. He didn't even know where he was or who this old man was supposed to be.
Fudge, taking Orsaga's indifference as the reaction of a clueless child, wasn't concerned.
"Excellent," he said, turning to his staff.
"Bring it in."
Soon after, a large object was wheeled into the room.
It resembled an enormous magnifying glass.
Fudge pointed at it with visible pride.
"This is the Mirror of Dreamshade Essence—one of the most valuable artifacts from our deep vaults. It's said to date back to the age of Merlin and has been preserved by the Ministry for generations. Its purpose is to reveal the true essence of anything it shines upon. Once its lens is focused on this boy, any hidden abnormalities will be exposed."
He ordered his staff to point the mirror at Orsaga.
Orsaga stood still, slightly curious.
"Is this some kind of demon-detecting mirror?"
Unbothered, he allowed the mirror to scan him.
The moment the red light from the lens hit him, the mirror began to react.
Everyone turned toward it, eager to see what secrets it might reveal.
Then, before their very eyes, the mirror began to melt—just like a block of ice in the sun.
Within seconds, it had turned into a puddle of thick, viscous liquid.
'Figures. Another piece of junk,' Orsaga thought with a mental shrug.
From his perspective, the mirror had reacted just like the earlier Auror: it had glimpsed a fraction of his true essence—and instantly failed to withstand it.
His true form, if seen directly, could drive most beings insane or kill them outright.
And the deeper aspects of his essence were even more extreme. Any weak creature that came into contact with it would suffer physical mutation or be branded by his presence.
He had shown no hostility toward them.
He was simply observing, treating them like toys.
But even this passive exposure was too much. The sheer pressure of his growing power had become something they couldn't endure.
Looking down at the liquified remains at his feet, Fudge fell into stunned silence.
Dumbledore leaned over and asked quietly, "What now?"
Fudge didn't reply immediately.
After a few more seconds, he stared at the melted mirror, then at Orsaga—still standing there calmly, completely unfazed.
Voice trembling, Fudge muttered, "Let's… let's just send him to Azkaban for now…"
As Orsaga was escorted away by a team of Aurors, Cornelius Fudge could only stare, heart pounding with lingering fear.
His mind echoed with one helpless thought:
'Tom Riddle… how did you become this powerful?'
Without even realizing it, he had begun to believe what Dumbledore had said earlier.
It must be Voldemort. This was all his doing.
___
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