Harry Potter with Technology System-Chapter 393: Chaos

Dudley, of all people, thinking he had any real significance in Voldemort's grand plan. Running around playing Junior Death Eater like it wasn't going to get him killed the second he outlived his usefulness. Vernon, even worse, believing that a man like Voldemort would ever see him as anything other than a disposable pawn.

Not his problem.

He stretched out, letting the tension drain from his muscles. He had work to do, but for now, he let his thoughts settle.

Voldemort was back. The world would panic. And Harry... well, he had preparations to make.

Harry exhaled through his nose, his thoughts drifting to something else.

At the start of the year, he made a promise.

Crouch Jr. had escaped justice once. He had helped torture Neville's parents into insanity and walked free because his father had been powerful enough to sweep it under the rug. That injustice had lingered like a ghost over Neville's life, and months ago, Harry had told him—Crouch Jr. would be his to deal with when the time came.

And now? Now, the man was locked in Ministry custody, facing trial under Amelia Bones' watch. Harry had the chance—he could've done it, could've handed the Death Eater over to Neville and let him decide.

But when he approached him earlier, Neville had just shaken his head and patted Harry's shoulder.

"I'm just glad you're fine," he had said simply. "Aunt Amelia won't let him go easy. You've done enough."

For a moment, Harry had considered insisting. But Neville's expression had been steady, resolved, not the face of someone backing down, but of someone who had found peace in knowing justice would be served.

So Harry let it go.

--

The next morning, Hogwarts was a mess.

The moment Harry walked into the Great Hall, the noise hit him like a brick wall. The students were buzzing with frantic energy, clustered in groups, whispering furiously over breakfast. The Daily Prophet had wasted no time—front page, bold letters:

DARK LORD RETURNS: POTTER PROVIDES UNDENIABLE PROOF

Below it, a moving image captured from his recording—Voldemort standing in the graveyard, red eyes gleaming, Rookwood and Wormtail at his side. Even if the Wizengamot tried to downplay it, there was no denying it now.

A few students glanced up as Harry entered. Some stared outright. Others avoided looking at him at all, as if afraid making eye contact would get them cursed.

Harry sat with his friends, eating in silence. The Prophet had gone all in—front-page headlines, full-page spreads, dramatic accounts of the chaos at Hogwarts. It was a complete mess.

The whole world now knew what a disaster the Triwizard Tournament had been. Not just because of the incompetent security, but because a Death Eater had been impersonating a Hogwarts professor all year, Voldemort had been resurrected, and the entire thing had been a setup to kill Harry.

Harry didn't particularly care about the outrage in the newspapers or the panic rippling through the wizarding world. That was expected. What he did feel was a bit of regret for Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Amelia, as Minister, had to deal with the fallout. She wasn't an idiot like some of her predecessors—she would've never allowed something this reckless under her watch. But she hadn't been in charge when the tournament was arranged, and now, she was the one left to clean up the mess.

Kingsley had been one of the judges and, by extension, caught in the same storm. Harry had a decent relationship with both of them, which was exactly why he hadn't thrown the entire judging panel under the broom. He'd done what was necessary—exposing Voldemort in any other way would have risked his own plans—but that didn't mean he enjoyed seeing the few competent people in the Ministry get dragged into the fallout.

Across the table, Tracey nudged Daphne, nodding at the newspaper she was reading. "Read this part," she said, grinning. "They're absolutely losing it."

Daphne skimmed the article, then arched an eyebrow. "A public inquiry? That'll be a disaster."

"Oh, absolutely," Blaise said, leaning back lazily. "But it'll be fun to watch."

Pansy snatched the paper from Daphne's hands, scanning the article with a smirk. "It says here some old Wizengamot fossils are demanding Dumbledore explain how he let a Death Eater waltz around the castle for a year."

"I'd pay to see that," Theodore muttered, stirring his tea.

"Can't wait for him to give his 'sometimes we must trust in the good of people' speech," Draco drawled, imitating Dumbledore's tone with an exaggerated wave of his hand.

Tracey snorted. "Or 'happiness can be found even in the darkest of times'—"

"—if only one remembers to be a gullible idiot," Blaise finished.

Harry huffed out a quiet laugh as Pansy flipped the page, scanning the rest of the article. "Oh, here we go," she said. "Some of the international schools are reconsidering ties with Hogwarts after this 'shocking breach of security.'"

"Well, they're not wrong," Neville muttered.

"I mean, we all knew Hogwarts was a madhouse," Ginny said. "But this is next-level even for us."

Harry didn't disagree. This was worse than an Umbridge running loose or Dementors nearly sucking out students' souls. This time, the entire world had proof that Hogwarts wasn't safe.

Not that it would change anything. People would scream about it for a while, demand reforms, and then forget all about it when the next big scandal hit. That was just how the magical world worked.

Harry sighed, looking around. Karkaroff was missing. He disappeared after that night. They had found Krum bound and bruised in the maze the night before, tangled in thick vines, unconscious but breathing. The Aurors had pulled him out, carrying him straight to the hospital wing, where he was now recovering alongside Moody—the real one. The old Auror had been locked in his own trunk all year, drugged and half-starved, but he'd be fine once Pomfrey was done with him. Both of them were expected to make full recoveries, though Moody had already started growling about "teaching those Ministry idiots a lesson in security."

Fleur was gripping Neville's arm, her usual composed demeanor cracked just enough to show the worry underneath. She wasn't shaking, but her fingers were curled tight against his sleeve, knuckles slightly pale.

"What if I 'ad reached ze Cup first?" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

It wasn't funny, but a few of them smiled anyway. Because the truth was, it had been impossible from the start. With Harry in the tournament, there had never been a chance for anyone else to win. But if by some absurd twist of fate Fleur had reached the Cup instead of him? She'd be dead.

Neville, still getting used to being dragged around by Fleur on a regular basis, cleared his throat. "You didn't, though," he said, patting her hand awkwardly. "So, no point worrying about it."

Fleur sighed, shaking her head, but didn't let go.

Tracey leaned her elbow on the table. "It does make you think, though. What if someone else had been taken? I mean, Harry's Harry, so he got out, but—" She stopped, her gaze flicking toward the front of the Hall where Crouch Jr. had been dragged out the night before. "They really didn't care who got sent, did they?"

Blaise snorted. "Of course not. Any of us would've just been another dead body to them."

Daphne was still reading the Prophet, absently pushing her eggs around on her plate. "It's a mess," she said, flipping the page. "Half the Ministry is scrambling to cover their arses. The other half is pretending they had no idea anything was happening."

"They didn't," Pansy pointed out. "They're all useless."

Susan coughed lightly next to Harry.

Pansy smirked. "You know what I mean, Suz. Not your aunt or the few others who actually have a brain."

Susan rolled her eyes but didn't argue. The rest of the Ministry wasn't exactly winning any awards for competence.

-----

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