Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

Dylan straightened his tuxedo and walked steadily up the dark green carpet. His posture was upright, and his expression was calm and composed, without the slightest awkwardness or arrogance, which resonated wonderfully with the applause and gazes behind him.

Once Dylan was standing in the center of the stage, Amelie Boynes spoke again, her voice still steady and powerful: "Next, please welcome our guest of honor—Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge—to the stage to present the medal to Mr. Dylan Hawkwood!"

Cornering in the corner, Connelly Fudge heard his name called, slowly raised his head, took a deep breath, and tried to straighten his slightly hunched back, attempting to look more energetic so as not to appear gloomy and disheveled in such a solemn occasion. His facial muscles twitched stiffly a few times as he tried to force a proper smile, but the thought of his precarious ministerial position and his bleak future brought an indescribable bitterness that surged from the bottom of his heart and spread to every part of his body.

He felt as if a heavy stone was blocking his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Even when he tried his best to move the corners of his mouth, all he could manage was a helpless, bitter smile that was more like a cry than a smile. This smile was full of resentment, anxiety, and deep exhaustion, without any joy or pride that a recipient of an award should have. With this bitter expression, Connelly Fudge dragged his heavy steps slowly toward Dylan in the center of the stage.

His legs felt like they were made of lead; every step he took was stiff and seemed to require immense effort. Photographers along the way had already found their angles and were frantically pressing their camera shutters. The clicking sounds were incessant, and blinding flashes went off one after another, creating halos of light that made Connelly Fudge unable to open his eyes, and even brought tears to his eyes.

Finally, Cornelius Fudge reached Dylan's side. He squinted, his eyes slightly blurred by the flashes, and with a trembling hand, carefully took out the "Order of Merlin, First Class" from an exquisite box held by a staff member beside him. Under the alternating flashes of the lights, the golden medal shone even brighter. On the front of the medal were the letters "OM" engraved with exquisite craftsmanship, the characters clear and neat, exuding an undeniable sense of solemnity. The edge of the medal was adorned with a dark green ribbon edged with silver, the ribbon's soft and smooth texture complementing the gold medal perfectly. The entire medal was as exquisite as a work of art that embodied painstaking effort.

Those familiar with the rules of the Order of Merlin know that the rank of the Order is distinguished by the color of the ribbon. The ribbon of the First Class is dark green, symbolizing authority and honor; the Second Class is purple, symbolizing nobility; and the Third Class is pure white. This striking dark green, however, was like a thorn in Cornelius Fudge's eyes, pricking his heart with pain. He had never imagined that he would be in such an awkward position to award such a supreme honor to a boy decades younger than himself.

Connelly Fudge picked up the sash and awkwardly pinned the medal to Dylan's tuxedo. As their hands briefly clasped, the flashes from the surrounding cameras intensified, almost without stopping. The blinding light made Connelly Fudge's face appear exceptionally pale and bloodless, further highlighting his haggard and disheveled appearance.

After putting on the medal, Connelly Fudge let go of Dylan's hand, took a half step back, coughed a few times to clear his dry throat, and began to recount Dylan's past achievements and his significant contributions in this incident, word by word, according to the prepared script. His voice was a little hoarse, his tone was flat, and even carried a hint of perfunctoriness, completely lacking the expected fervor and passion.

For Dylan, such an award ceremony speech was not unfamiliar; he had already gone through a similar process once before. Therefore, he did not find Cornelius Fudge's somewhat dry speech difficult to accept. During this break, he began to mentally review the books and materials he had stored, organizing the knowledge he had accumulated over this period of time, which could be considered a good "reading time."

Even awards can't stop him from studying.

Of all the people who endured the entire awarding ceremony, Cornelius Fudge was probably the most tormented. He had to suppress the bitterness and resentment in his heart while maintaining the dignity of the Minister of Magic, carefully choosing each word to read out the words praising Dylan. Every word felt like it was tearing at his nerves, but he knew that as long as he was still in the Minister's seat, he had to complete this ceremony, even if his heart was already in turmoil.

The awarding ceremony proceeded smoothly without any unexpected incidents. When Amelie Bones announced the official end of the ceremony in a loud voice, enthusiastic applause rang out again in the hall. The various directors of the Ministry of Magic, who had been waiting on the sidelines, then stepped forward one by one to congratulate Dylan, their words full of appreciation and respect. The surrounding guests also crowded around again, wanting to have further conversations with Dylan or take photos with him, making the scene lively and extraordinary.

Dylan looked at the crowd that was gathering around him and couldn't help but feel a headache coming on.

Dylan simply made an excuse and slipped away.

For Cornelius Fudge, today was absolutely the worst day of his term—without a doubt. He was going to personally award the Order of Merlin, the highest honor in the wizarding world, to that brat Dylan Hawkwood—and he was even the youth representative!
It wasn't even his choice; it was Dumbledore's!

Just thinking about these two things made him feel a tightness in his chest, and an indescribable sense of frustration welled up in his heart. Or rather, ever since he returned from dealing with the prison break incident on Azkaban Island, he had never had a good day; it was all just awful things!

What initially gave him a major headache was Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. As Minister of Magic, he should have taken control of the situation immediately. However, the search teams composed of Dementors were dispatched wave after wave, and after several months, there was still no substantial progress. Not only was the search unsuccessful, but what devastated him even more was that the Dementors, on whom he had placed his hopes, were being attacked by Sirius Black repeatedly, and their numbers were dwindling.

Before he could even catch his breath, an even bigger surprise happened—Sirius Black was actually framed!

This news struck him like a bolt from the blue, instantly putting him at a disadvantage. Even worse, Peter Pettigrew, who had been on the run for years and presumed dead, appeared alive and well before him, witnessed by a group of wizarding professors! In the end, Voldemort had returned!
Upon hearing the news, he nearly collapsed. He had hoped that with Headmaster Dumbledore personally intervening, things might not have gotten so bad that they were beyond repair. However, reality slapped him in the face once again. Dylan Hawkwood's previous judgment had come true once more—Voldemort had indeed attacked Azkaban!
He not only successfully turned the Dementors who guarded the prison against their will, but also destroyed the formidable Azkaban Castle, nearly causing the hundreds of dangerous prisoners imprisoned inside to escape by sea, posing a deadly threat to the entire English magical world.

Although the crisis was eventually resolved, as Minister of Magic, he was undeniably responsible. Public trust had plummeted, and his position was already teetering on the brink of collapse. So many misfortunes and setbacks were condensed into his short few years in office. Cornelius Fudge couldn't help but wonder if he was cursed by someone. Otherwise, how could he have been so unlucky?
He slowly stood up from his seat, letting out a heavy sigh as he allowed these terrible memories to flood his mind.

He longed to confide in someone, to say something, to communicate something, but after thinking it over, he couldn't find anyone to talk to. Helpless, Cornelius Fudge could only go to the Leaky Cauldron alone. He found a corner seat, ordered several glasses of redcurrant liqueur with a high alcohol content, and poured them down his throat one after another. He just wanted to get drunk enough to temporarily forget all his troubles and setbacks, so that at least he could sleep more soundly at night and not have to endure the torment in his heart while tossing and turning.

After drinking for an unknown amount of time, Connelly Fudge swayed as he stood up, staggered out of the Leaky Cauldron, and turned into the brightly lit Diagon Alley. He remembered that he still needed to have a robe made for his farewell speech—although he knew in his heart that this robe might only be seen in public once, it was always good to have a decent outfit, at least so that he wouldn't be too embarrassed when he left his ministerial position. He looked up at the conspicuous sign of the Transcendental Clothing Store in the distance and couldn't help but let out a long sigh.

In the past, let alone ordering a custom-made robe from the Transcendental Clothing Store, even for more expensive luxury items, his position as Minister of Magic would have allowed the Ministry to reimburse him in full without a word of complaint. But now, things are very different. Even when he makes a purchase at the relatively affordable Madam Malkin's Robes boutique, the Ministry of Magic's finance department will repeatedly question and verify his claims before reluctantly approving his reimbursement. This fall from grace fills him with resentment and bitterness.

Ugh!
My life.

It's like walking on thin ice!
As evening fell, the setting sun painted the western sky like flames, bathing Hogwarts Castle in a warm orange-red hue. Dylan walked back to the castle, and when he entered the Great Hall and found his usual seat at the Gryffindor dining table, his roommates immediately surrounded him, their faces full of curiosity and anticipation, bombarding him with questions: "Dylan! Tell us, how grand was the Ministry of Magic's investiture ceremony? Were many important figures from the wizarding world present?"

“There are quite a few people here. Many directors of the Ministry of Magic, members of Wizengamor, and representatives from various magical institutions are all present.” Dylan nodded slightly.

As soon as he finished speaking, the Gryffindor students who had been eating with their heads down immediately dropped their knives and forks and rushed over, forming a large circle around Dylan. Everyone's face was filled with curiosity and excitement, and their eyes were full of anticipation, eager to hear more details about the awarding ceremony.

Not only that, but students from the neighboring Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin houses were also attracted by the lively scene, putting down what they were doing and gathering around with eager expressions.

In an instant, the center of the auditorium became packed with people, and the noise was deafening, almost drowning out the clattering of cutlery in the restaurant.

Such a large gathering made all the prefects present nervous. With the end-of-term banquet about to begin, in order to avoid crowding, trampling, or accidental injuries, the prefects immediately and spontaneously organized themselves to form a human wall around the crowd. While maintaining order, they gently advised everyone: "Please restrain yourselves a little, don't crowd together, just listen to Dylan slowly, and be careful!"

“This is roughly what the Ministry of Magic’s awards hall looks like…” Dylan first cast a sound amplification spell to ensure his voice could be clearly heard by everyone. Then, he took his wand out of his pocket and waved it gently toward the ceiling of the hall.

A thick cloud of white smoke instantly billowed from the tip of the wand. The smoke seemed to have a life of its own, swirling and churning in mid-air before rapidly spreading outwards, soon enveloping the entire auditorium. As the smoke continued to spread, Dylan gently pressed the wand against his temple, closed his eyes, concentrated, and slowly drew out a thin, long silver thread—this was the memory thread he had extracted about the awards hall.

The thread of memory floated gently in the air, its surface shimmering with a soft yet striking silver light, like a twinkling galaxy. Dylan opened his eyes, flicked his wrist, and the thread of memory floated up, merging directly into the thick white smoke spreading above.

The next second, something magical happened. The thick smoke began to take shape, and the iconic furnishings in the awards hall gradually became clear and specific—armored warrior statues stood on both sides, holding long swords and solemn expressions; a thick, dark green carpet was laid in the center of the hall, with an exquisite "W" character outlined in silver thread, making it look particularly dignified; and countless shimmering runes hung from the ceiling, emitting a faint glow, like stars in the night sky.

Amidst the students' gasps of amazement, a lifelike "awards hall" appeared in Hogwarts' Great Hall. Every student within felt instantly transported to the Ministry of Magic's awards ceremony, becoming a distinguished guest invited to participate, able to clearly see everything around them and even feel the solemn atmosphere. (End of Chapter)